Latin Translations of Greek Texts from the 11th to the 13th Century 9004707565, 9789004707566

Citation preview

T H E M E D I E V A L

Edited by Paraskevi Toma and Péter Bara

M E D I T E R R A N E A N

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* * * *

T H E

M E D I E V A L

M E D I T E R R A N E A N

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Latin Translations of Greek Texts from the 11th to the 13th Century

BRILL

Latin Translations of Greek Texts from the 11th to the 13th Century

The Medieval Mediterranean peoples, economies and cultures, 400–1500

Managing Director Frances Andrews (University of St Andrews)

Editors Corisande Fenwick (University College London) Paul Magdalino (University of St Andrews) Maria G. Parani (University of Cyprus) Larry J. Simon (Western Michigan University) Daniel Lord Smail (Harvard University) Jo Van Steenbergen (Ghent University)

Advisory Board David Abulafia (Cambridge) Benjamin Arbel (Tel Aviv) Hugh Kennedy (SOAS, London)

Volume 143

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/mmed

Latin Translations of Greek Texts from the 11th to the 13th Century Edited by

Paraskevi Toma Péter Bara

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Sententiae (Livre IV des Sentences), Peter Lombard, fol. 1. Bibliothèque municipale de Bordeaux (ARK 27705/330636101_MS_0149): https://selene.bordeaux.fr/ark:/27705/330636101_MS_0149 /v0001 (CCO 1.0) Last accessed July 24, 2024. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at https://catalog.loc.gov

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0928-5520 isbn 978-90-04-70756-6 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-72167-8 (e-book) DOI 10.1163/9789004721678 Copyright 2025 by Koninklijke Brill BV, Plantijnstraat 2, 2321 JC Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill BV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Brill Wageningen Academic, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau and V&R unipress. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill BV via brill.com or copyright.com. For more information: [email protected]. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Foreword ix Paraskevi Toma and Péter Bara List of Figures and Tables xix Notes on Contributors xxi 1 2

The Status of the Greek Language in the West until the End of the Thirteenth Century A Brief Survey 1 Tamás Mészáros “Greek Thought, Latin Culture:” Triggers and Tendencies behind Greek-Latin Translations, ca. 1050–1300: Preliminary Observations 22 Péter Bara

Part 1 Texts and Transmission 3

Between Success and Failure: Latin Medieval Translations of Aristotle’s Zoology 95 Pieter Beullens

4

The Reception of the Parva naturalia, “Completing Aristotle,” Commentaries and Associated Texts in the Twelfth to Thirteenth Centuries 116 Michael W. Dunne

5

The Latin Translation of the Eugenian Recension of Stephanites and Ichnelates 139 Marc D. Lauxtermann

6

Translators, Networks, Production and the Travel of Manuscripts between the East and West – the Pseudo-Dionysian Work and John Saracen’s Translations: a Case Study 158 Paola Degni

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Part 2 Translators and Methods 7

Translators, Translations, and Bilinguals in Thirteenth-Century Constantinople How Did Greeks Learn Latin? 181 Elizabeth A. Fisher

8

A Philosophical Debate at the Nicaean Court (1253) and the Thirteenth-Century Translation Movement 210 Dimiter Angelov

9

In Search of Perfect Equivalence: the uerbum de uerbo Method in Burgundio of Pisa’s Translations of Galenic Works 234 Anna Maria Urso

Part 3 Greek-Latin Polemic 10

The Filioque Lost in Translation during the Twelfth Century 263 Alessandra Bucossi

11

“Translating Bread:” Notions of Etymology and Theory of Meaning in the Latin-Greek Controversy on the Azymes 292 Luigi D’Amelia

Part 4 Multilingual Practices 12

Untranslatable Law: Explaining the (Non-)Transfer of Byzantine Legal Knowledge in Medieval Southern Italy 325 James Morton

13

Translation and Other Forms of Contact between the Greek and Latin Languages in Western European Liturgical Manuscripts, Eighth to Thirteenth Centuries 351 Teresa Shawcross

Contents

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14

Latin Responses to Greek Inscriptions (Twelfth–Thirteenth Centuries): Texts and Objects 397 Brad Hostetler

15

The Bilingual Inscriptions in the Nativity Church in Bethlehem: an Epigraphic Convergence 428 Estelle Ingrand-Varenne Index of Names 463 Index of Passages Cited 468 Index of Place 470 Index of Works Referred To 472

Foreword This volume examines the ‘phenomenon’ of translation from Greek into Latin from the eleventh century to the thirteenth.1 It is based on the papers given in an online workshop, organised by the editors in June 2021. Greek to Latin translations exerted their most noticeable influence in the scientific realm in the later Latin Middle Ages.2 These translated texts prompted Western scholars to rediscover the works of classical Greek and Byzantine authors.3 Though our agenda focuses on translations of scientific texts,4 the collection of essays here also offers the reader insights into the broader cultural, social, and political functions and implications of individual translations and translation more broadly as a practice. As is clear from the chapters that follow, knowledge of Greek, the source language of the translated texts in question, was a rarity in the Middle Ages in Western Europe, as was knowledge of the classical or Byzantine contexts and culture in which the source texts were written.5 Greeklessness, to use Carlotta 1 The word ‘movement’ is consciously avoided because it was used by researchers since Charles H. Haskins in connection with the timeframe of the long-twelfth-century renaissance/renewal (see Péter Bara’s essay). It needs further study to link thirteenth-century translations with earlier ones and ask whether it is proper to broaden the timeframe of one single ‘phenomenon’ that includes different ‘movements’. 2 In this volume, a broad definition of science is applied “that will permit investigation of the vast range of practices and beliefs about the operations of nature that preceded the modern scientific enterprise,” see David C. Lindberg, Michael H. Shank, “Introduction,” in The Cambridge History of Science. Vol. 2: Medieval Science, ed. David C. Lindberg, Michael H. Shank (Cambridge, 2013) p. 6. Medieval people explained the workings of nature through other means than modern scientists, so there was a place for disciplines that do not constitute part of the scientific realm today, such as medical astronomy. On the classification and denomination of sciences, consult Joan Cadden, “The Organization of Knowledge: Disciplines and Practices,” in The Cambridge History of Science. Vol. 2: Medieval Science, ed. David C. Lindberg, Michael H. Shank (Cambridge, 2013), 240–268. 3 See Péter Bara’s essay for an overview of translated texts that also assembles the works cited in this Preface in its bibliography section. 4 Esoteric texts are not examined in this volume, though a state-of-the-art presentation on thirteen-century prophetic knowledge by András Kraft enriched the original workshop’s programme. 5 Cf. the case of translators from Arabic who, with very few exceptions, did not learn proper Arabic since they used ‘shadow translators’ who essentially did the work instead of them: Dimitri Gutas, “What Was There in Arabic for the Latins To Receive?: Remarks on The Modalities of the Twelfth-Century Translation Movement in Spain,” in Wissen über Grenzen: Arabisches Wissen und lateinisches Mittelalter, eds. Andreas Speer, Lydia Wegener (Berlin, New York, 2006) pp. 14–17.

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Dionisotti’s term,6 however, does not suffice in itself to explain the proliferation of translations from the second half of the eleventh century. Researchers have tended to approach the question only with assumptions concerning general patterns of textology, yet there must have been an interest in the translated material on the part of the translator, the patron (when there was a patron), and specific social groups to whom the translated texts were addressed, to name only some of the crucial factors.7 So far, neither have scholars provided an overarching framework explaining the flurry of translation activity from the mid-eleventh century nor have they offered anything approaching an exhaustive list of elements in the historical setting of the period that were conducive to translation.8 There is much to be said about the audiences and reception of the texts, yet in many respects, the secondary literature has not gone beyond the general picture drawn by Charles Homer Haskins in his 1924 and 1927 monographs and other publications.9 Welcome advances have certainly been made in the field of Greek-Latin translation studies over the course of the past century. Researchers have provided overviews of the lives, careers, and oeuvres of prominent translators and the reception histories of their translations,10 critical editions have been published (such as the Aristoteles Latinus11 and the Archimedes collection12), synopses of episodes in this history of translations have been presented focusing on a region or centre where translations

6 7 8

9 10

11 12

A. Carlotta Dionisotti, “On the Greek Studies of Robert Grosseteste,” in The Uses of Greek and Latin: Historical Essays, eds. A. Carlotta Dionisotti, et al. (London, 1988), p. 28. See e.g., Steven P. Marrone’s view: Robert Pasnau, Robert, Christina van Dyke, eds., The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy, Vol. 1. (Cambridge, 2010), p. 51. Cf. in the field of Arabic studies: Gutas, “What Was There” and his book, to which the title of the present essay also alludes: Greek Thought, Arabic Culture. The Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early ʿAbbasaid Society 82nd–4th/5th–10th c. (London, New York: 1998), or Daniel G. König, “Sociolinguistic Infrastructures. Prerequisites of Translation Movements Involving Latin and Arabic in the Medieval Period.” In Connected Stories. Contacts, Traditions and Transmissions in Premodern Mediterranean Islam, eds. Mohamed Meouak, Cristina de la Puente (Berlin, Boston, 2022), pp. 11–75. Charles H. Haskins, Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science (New York, 19673); Charles H. Haskins, The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge, Mass., 1924). Haskins, Studies; Marie Thérèse d’ Alverny, “Translations and Translators,” in Renaissance and Renewal in the Twelfth Century, eds. Robert Louis Benson, Giles Constable (Cambridge, Mass., 1982), pp. 421–463; Walter Berschin, Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: from Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa. Rev. and expanded ed. Washington DC, 1988. https://hiw.kuleuven.be/dwmc/research/al. Accessed 2023 July 27. Marshall Clagett, Archimedes in the Middle Ages, 5 vols. (Madison, Philadelphia, 1964–1984).

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were produced,13 and rigorous discussions have been offered of the reception history of a single text14 or a coherent group of texts.15 Little has been done, however, to further a nuanced understanding of the comparatively sudden and striking rise in the production of translations in the roughly 250-year period under study as a whole, i.e., as a coherent response to a specific set of historical circumstances.16 While this volume will not present an answer to such a complex question, arguably brings further our understanding in the four fields the essays analyse. Translations from Greek to Latin between the 11th and 13th centuries constitute a separate ‘phenomenon’ to explore,17 in other words, the timeframe this volume covers has been carefully chosen. It is determined by the nature of the source material and aims to fill in gaps left by previous scholars. Our decision was also influenced by the changing dynamics of the medieval Mediterranean world, which was the story of the expanding Latin West towards Sicily, the Levant, and finally Byzantium itself. Alfanus of Salerno (1020–1080) and Constantine the African (died before 1099) are often called forerunners of a twelfth-century ‘translation movement’. It would be difficult, similarly, to assess the role of translations in the thirteenth century without including the work of the towering figure, William of Moerbeke. Our choice of timeframe was also influenced by recent research. The volume Translation Activity in Late Byzantine Worlds. Contexts, Authors, and Texts, edited by Panagiotis Athanasopoulos, paid attention to translations in Byzantium from Latin into Greek between 1261 and the fifteenth century. We resolved to focus on the 13

14 15 16

17

Michael Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court as a Centre for the Translation of Classical Texts,” Mediterranean Historical Review 35 2 (2020): 147–167; Pieter de Leemans, ed., Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred of Sicily (Leuven, 2014). Fabrizio Amerini, Gabriele Galluzzo, eds., A Companion to The Latin Medieval Commentaries on Aristotle’s Metaphysics (Leiden, 2014). Börje Bydén, Filip Radovic, eds. The Parva Naturalia in Greek, Arabic and Latin Aristotelianism: Supplementing the Science of the Soul (Cham, 2018). The expression ‘translation movement’ was used by researchers since Charles H. Haskins in connection with the timeframe of the long-twelfth-century renaissance/renewal. It needs further study to link thirteenth-century translations with earlier ones and ask whether it is proper to broaden the timeframe of one single movement or there were different ‘movements’. With triggers, characteristics, and impacts dissimilar to systematic translation efforts in other epochs, such as the translation programme of John Scotus Eriugena (see e.g., Joel I. Barstad, “Eriugena as Translator and Interpreter of the Greek Fathers,” in A Companion to John Scottus Eriugena, eds. Adrian Guiu (Leiden, 2019), pp. 267–296) or Anastasius Bibliothecarius (see, f.i. Réka Forrai, “The Readership of Early Medieval Greek-Latin Translations,” in Scrivere e leggere nell’ alto Medioevo (Spoleto, 2012), pp. 293–313).

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preceding period, beginning with the activities of Constantine the African and discussing translations from Greek into Latin. The last systematic surveys of translations from Greek to Latin between 1050 and 1300 were produced in 1982 and 1988.18 In this volume, Péter Bara’s introductory essay outlines recent developments and results concerning translators and their works. The contributors analyse specific topics, which were singled out with a rationale behind them. Athanasopoulos’ volume focused on textual evidence without considering other media, which has been a prevalent practice in modern research since the pioneering work of Charles Homer Haskins.19 Our volume, in contrast, includes various media types, such as graffiti, inscriptions, and art historical objects. The novelty of this volume also lies in the foci of our research. While previous scholars approached Greek to Latin translations regionally and chose groups of translators and translated texts following a chronological order, we decided to examine this phenomenon on a thematic basis. Our contributors study texts and their transmission, focus on translators as principal agents of knowledge transfer and their methods, examine religious polemic, finally investigate multilingual practices in different media and contexts of use. The volume begins with two introductory essays that clarify the general level of knowledge of Greek in the Latin Middle Ages and offer an overview of the cultural backdrops against which the various texts were translated. Tamás Mészáros persuasively shows that proficiency in Greek was retained only at specific places in specific regions in the territories of the West in which Latin was used after the fall of the Roman Empire, such as Southern Italy or Rome. He points to the marginalisation of Greek by surveying the available lexica, grammar, and learning tools. Moreover, he explains that the status of Greek changed in the course of the eleventh century through the renewal of the sciences in the West and increasingly polemical religious debates. Mészáros concludes his essay with the observation that from the fourteenth century onwards, the arrival of Byzantine Greeks in Italy dramatically improved the quality of Greek education. Péter Bara surveys translations from Greek to Latin between 1050 and 1300, exploring in particular the reasons behind textual production. He emphasises the translators’ systematic results and identifies four factors conducive 18

19

Marie Thérèse d’ Alverny, “Translations and Translators,” in Renaissance and Renewal in the Twelfth Century. Edited by Robert Louis Benson and Giles Constable (Cambridge, 1982), 421–463; Walter Berschin, Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: from Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa. Rev. and expanded ed. (Washington DC, 1988). Haskins, Studies and The Twelfth-Century Renaissance.

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to translating activity during the period, namely Western eastward expansion, Greek-Latin religious polemics, educational reform and the founding of universities, and the emergence of a system of patronage. The first section of the volume (Texts and Transmission) focuses on translated texts and their reception history. Pieter Beullens examines a less successful Greek-Latin translation project of Aristotle’s zoological treatise Parts of Animals. Alongside the popular translations by Michael Scotus from Arabic and William of Moerbeke from Greek, there is an anonymous translation from Greek which survived in a single manuscript. Beullens takes Pietro Rossi’s hypothesis further, who suggested similarities between the vocabulary of the anonymous translator and Bartholomew of Messina. Beullens argues convincingly for Bartholomew’s authorship, yet he refutes Drossaart Lulofs’ assumption that Moerbeke reworked the anonymous Latin version when he produced his own. Moreover, Beullens supports that the anonymous translation of Parts of Animals was part of an Aristotelian zoological collection, which, except for the text in question, was lost during transmission. He bases his assumption on a marginal note in the manuscript Padova, Biblioteca Antoniana XVII 370 and Albert the Great’s use of a now-lost Latin version of Aristotle’s On the Motion of Animals, which Bartholomew might have rendered early in his career and which could have been part of the same zoological collection. Michael Dunne investigates the reception history of Aristotle’s Parva naturalia. In accordance with recent scholarship, he reads these small works together with Aristotle’s De anima, constituting the development of ‘psycho-physiology’. The Parva naturalia were partly studied in Late Antiquity, and only a partial translation/rewriting of these works was available to Averroes, who influenced Western writers through Michael Scot’s Latin version (ca. 1230). These texts were rendered from Greek into Latin by James of Venice and William of Moerbeke, but their contents fluctuated until the seventeenth century. The first commentary was written in Anna Komnene’s circle (first half of the twelfth century), and it exerted no influence on the Medieval West, where the texts were studied first in England before their introduction in Paris ca. 1250. Dunne surveys thirteenth-century commentators and their methodologies. He recognizes three phases in textual reception (John Blund’s investigations in the early thirteenth century, the influence of Michael Scot’s translations after 1230, and the use of Moerbeke’s works after 1260), which are deeply explored based on the case of the De longitudine et brevitate vitae. Marc Lauxtermann studies the Latin translation of Stephanites and Ichnelates, a fable of Indian origin about life and intrigues at court which has been translated into Middle Persian, Arabic, Greek, Latin, and European vernaculars. The Latin text, which survived in two fifteenth-century manuscripts, contains

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vocabulary specifically connected to the Norman and Hohenstaufen Southern Italy and suggests that the text dates to between 1190/1194 and 1266. The translator compiled his version from the Greek translations of Symeon Seth and the Eugenian recension (enabling modern editors to fill lacunae in the latter) and also used an Arabic text. Lauxtermann suggests that the translator was a speaker of Greek, with Greek schooling, who also had a good command of Latin. Lauxtermann characterises the Latin version with the term “textual promiscuity,” referring to the author’s method of free compilation and adaptation from sources in different languages and versions. Unfortunately, the Latin text did not enjoy wide circulation due to the fall of the Hohenstaufen rulers. Paola Degni reconstructs the Western transmission history of the Dionysian Corpus in the Middle Ages. The writings of Pseudo Dionysios the Areopagite were a synthesis of different philosophical and religious traditions, and they became central texts in the Patristic literature. Degni gives an overview of Dionysios’ cult and the extraordinary success these texts enjoyed in the West. She also discusses John Sarracenus’ twelfth-century translation and gives a brief narrative of his life and an overview of the manuscript sources and translation methods he used. She argues that by the mid thirteenth-century, the Latin Dionysian corpus was being studied as a chain of translations by Scottus and Sarracenus at the University of Paris and in mendicant studia. The Translators and Methods section turns attention to the translators themselves, who were the principal agents in knowledge transfer. Elisabeth Fisher offers biographical sketches of four thirteenth-century Constantinopolitan figures who gained prominence in church administration due to their language skills. Simon of Constantinople, John Parastron, Manuel Holobolos, and Maximos Planudes were bilinguals with a high level of proficiency in Latin and Greek. Using modern terminology on bilingualism, Fisher reconsiders their family backgrounds, their education, their careers, and their works as translators. Dimiter Angelov investigates the ways in which William of Moerbeke profited from his stay in the empire of Nicaea in April 1260. William visited the court of Nicaea to negotiate the release of Western aristocratic prisoners captured at the battle of Pelagonia (1259). During his embassy, William worked on rendering Alexander Aphrodisias’ commentary on Aristotle’s Meteorology into Latin. Angelov presents a unique source, Emperor Theodore II Laskaris’ Letter 125, which refers to the details of a Hohenstaufen embassy led by Berthold of Hohenberg to the Nicean court. Interestingly enough, Berthold brought scholars with him, and a learned debate arose between the Byzantines and the Westerners. Angelov discusses particularities of this debate, explains

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the emperor’s views concerning Western erudition, and points to the manuscript exchange as a form of gift-giving. Anna Maria Urso takes us to the medical field, investigating how Burgundio of Pisa rendered Galenic texts into Latin. Urso explains that translations from Arabic were highly influential in creating a medical vocabulary in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Translations from Greek, in contrast, had an impact on the university curricula and medical theory only in the early thirteenth century. Burgundio of Pisa played a central role in these developments, as he was following the content of the Late Antique Alexandrian medical canon. Urso portrays Burgundio as a translator who was constantly searching for ways to apply the literal translation method (“verbum de verbo”) and present the Greek texts with the highest possible accuracy. Urso notes, however, that Burgundio opted for more free rendering if this improved the clarity of the target-language text. The volume’s third unit entitled Greek-Latin Polemic shows the role language barriers played between Greek and Latin rite Christians. Alessandra Bucossi examines Greek-Latin polemic concerning the debated term filioque. Bucossi calls attention to the linguistic richness of Greek compared to the poverty of Latin when the same theological and philosophical problems were being discussed. She also investigates improvements in linguistic accuracy in Byzantine pneumatology. Lastly, Bucossi explains how the complexity of Greek and the developing technical vocabulary in some ways hampered understanding between those who used Greek and those who used Latin, even when emperors such as John II and especially Manuel Komnenos pursued a policy of rapprochement. Luigi d’Amelia investigates the linguistic aspects of the anti-Latin polemics concerning unleavened bread (azymum) in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. The paper focuses on Byzantine theological methods, namely the analysis of specific words through their occurrences in the Scriptures and their etymologies. By studying the writings of four Byzantine authors (Leo of Ohrid, John Oxeites, Nicholas of Methone, and Leo of Russia) and a Latin theologian (Anselm of Havelberg), d’Amelia shows how Byzantines believed that leavened bread should be used in the mass. They drew on debated ideas of classical philosophy, such as whether a name could reveal an essence of a thing by nature or imposition and whether universal notions stood behind specific concepts. According to Leo of Ohrid, the word bread (ἄρτος) is derived from the Greek αἴρω, expressing the rising of the bread during leavening. Humbert of Silva Candida, however, countered this argument using a passage from John Damascene, which d’Amelia reconstructs. John Oxeites, on the other hand, stressed that ἄρτος originated from αἴρεσθαι (“to take as food”). Since pagans

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and Christians alike consume bread prepared with yeast, it is reasonable to use it also in the Eucharist. Nicholas of Methone identified the root of ἄρτος in “to be seasoned” (ἀρτύω) or being perfect (ἄρτιος). As unleavened bread lacks something, it cannot fit these criteria, and people do not associate it with the notion of bread (prepared with sourdough) in their minds. Anselm of Havelberg understood the Byzantine etymological point and claimed that the adjective ἄζυμος must have been added to indicate unleavened bread clearly, since ἄρτος itself meant the bread used by all the people, which was leavened. The essays in the fourth section, Multilingual Practices, go beyond the boundaries of strictly speaking textual translations. They consider the ways in which translation as a practice was part of (or lacked from) everyday activities such as state administration or liturgy and illustrate the impact of multilingualism on art historical evidence. James Morton studies legal texts in the Norman and Hohenstaufen courts of Sicily and Southern Italy. These courts were major centres of translation activity, and the kingdom’s administration was trilingual, so one would reasonably expect to find many Byzantine legal texts among the translated works. However, Morton shows that there were not any direct translations from Greek into Latin. He argues that the unique cultural and institutional pluralism of the Norman Kingdom of Sicily actually reduced the demand for translations of Byzantine legal texts into Latin. It is well-documented that the kingdom had parallel but separate judges ‘of the Latins’ and ‘of the Greeks’, each following their own inherited legal traditions. Latin judges had no professional need to read Byzantine law, whereas Greek judges did need to read the new laws issued (in Latin) by the kings of Sicily. Teresa Shawcross deals with the conventions available in order to represent, display, and give access to Greek in Latin liturgical texts. She argues that Greek and Byzantinising elements that became part of the liturgical practice had the same performative role as Latin elements. An essential religious function of the Greek texts, whether they were read or chanted, was to create mystical solemnity and represent the transcendent or angelic choir standing in the presence of God. Furthermore, an important political role played by the Graecising liturgical elements in twelfth-century Rome was to connote the pope’s imperial might, as opposed to the citizenry of the city seeking to gain power at the expense of Saint Peter’s heirs. Shawcross also explores language mixing in the twelfth-century Roman Ordines, and she proves that translation did not take place in the strict sense. The corresponding Greek and Latin texts were produced separately. Language contact was stimulated by rhetorical strategies, such as pairing Greek and corresponding Latin texts, transliteration, and musical interpretation.

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Brad Hostetler presents inscriptions on Byzantine reliquaries that came into the possession of the Latin-speaking world in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The first part of his essay deals with the term ‘literary epigraphy’ and examines how Latin writers used references to Byzantine Greek inscriptions in their texts. By implying the presence of an inscription, referring to it as “Greek letters”, or transcribing it, the Latin author could cast himself as an eyewitness to – and thus a reliable authority on – the given object. In the second part, Hostetler describes how Byzantine objects were rehoused in new containers, frames, and other adornments inscribed with Latin inscriptions. Hostetler uses the examples of the Stavelot Triptych and the Byzantine reliquary of the True Cross in the Gradmont Abbey, destroyed during the French Revolution, to support his arguments. He explains that the Stavelot triptych bore Byzantine enamels, and their Greek inscriptions, which served as the visual elements that communicated the Byzantine origins of the sacred object, still remain. On the other hand, the Grandmont reliquary contained a piece of the True Cross with a Greek epigram. The epigram was commissioned by Alexios Doukas, and the author of the poem was probably Nicholas Kallikles, the court poet. The reliquary came into the possession of Amalric, the Latin King of Jerusalem, who donated it to the Grandmont abbey. Craftsmen in the local Limousin workshop rehoused the relic in a new frame, and it was given a new Latin epigram, as the Greek was no longer readable. Hostetler demonstrates that the Latin epigram is meant to match the Greek epigram in size and form, even if it addressed a new audience. Estelle Ingrand-Varenne analyses the inscriptions and graffiti on the Nativity Church of Bethlehem, which were unveiled after the restoration work on the church between 2013 and 2020. The inscriptions, which are in different languages, differ from the perspective of their contents, but they coexisted side by side, and they can be read as interreferences to one another. Ingrand-Varenne describes these interreferences as a dialogue on three levels: equivalence, adaption, and selection. She argues that the saints’ names on both sides of the church’s nave constituted linguistic, sonorous, graphic, and visual counterparts. She then explores the two secular texts praising Manuel, the king Amalric of Jerusalem, Ralph, the bishop of Bethlehem, and Efrem, the artist. She explains that the two texts were written jointly, filling in the same spaces with inverted parallels in structures and innovative elements, but following the Byzantine and Western epigraphic conventions. The third aspect, namely selection, is demonstrated through the church councils’ monolingual representation in Greek or Latin.

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Note on the Titles of Works Cited This volume collects essays from different scholarly fields in which various conventions have been established. Our contributors have referred to the titles of works in English, Latin, Greek, and Arabic according to these conventions. Paraskevi Toma and Péter Bara

Figures and Tables Figures 13.1 13.2 13.3 13.4 13.5 13.6 13.7 13.8 13.9 13.10 13.11 13.12 14.1 14.2 14.3 14.4 14.5 14.6 14.7 14.8 15.1 15.2 15.3 15.4 15.5 15.6 15.7 15.8 15.9

Oxford, Bodleian, Auct. f. 4. 32, fol. 24r 355 Oxford, Bodleian, Auct. f. 4. 32, fol. 28v 356 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16r 358 Bernkastel–Kues, St. Nikolaus–Hospital/Cusanusstift, 9, 62r Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16r 360 Laon, Bibliothèque municipale Suzanne Martinet, 444, 4v 363 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2290, fol. 7v 364 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16v 366 Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss. fol. 204/432 371 Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss. fol. 205/433 372 D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, fol. 203r 375 D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, fol. 203v 376 Oxford, Bodleian, 775, fol. 182r 380 Protaton reliquary 401 Relic of the cranium Saint Mamas 404 Engraving of the face relic of John the Baptist at the Cathedral of Amiens 407 Enamel medallion with Saint John the Baptist from an icon frame 408 Stavelot Triptych, full view 410 Stavelot Triptych, detail of the lower triptych 411 Engraving of the relic of the True Cross in the Byzantine reliquary 414 Engraving of the inscription on the Byzantine reliquary, formerly of the Grandmont Abbey 416 Plan of the saints on the columns in the Nativity Church 435 St Anthony painted on a column in the Nativity church of Bethlehem 436 St Cosmas with his name in Greek and in Latin painted on a column in the nave of the Nativity church of Bethlehem 438 St Macarius with his name in Greek and in Latin painted on a column in the nave of the Nativity church of Bethlehem 439 The bilingual inscription of the bema in the Nativity church of Bethlehem 442 The ecumenical Councils of the Church 449 The provincial synods of the early church 450 St John the Baptist painted on a column in the nave of the Nativity church of Bethlehem 452 Bilingual inscription of the gospel (Jn 1:29) on the scroll of St John the Baptist in the Nativity church of Bethlehem 453

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Figures and Tables

Tables 12.1

Surviving manuscripts of Byzantine civil law from southern Italy (References are to Ludwig Burgmann et al., Repertorium der Handschriften des byzantinischen Rechts. Teil I. Die Handschriften des weltlichen Rechts (Nr. 1–327), Forschungen zur byzantinischen Rechtsgeschichte 20 (Frankfurt am Main, 1995)) 331 12.2 Translated texts in southern Italian civil law manuscripts 341

Notes on Contributors Dimiter Angelov Harvard University Péter Bara HUN-REN Research Centre for the Humanities (Budapest) Pieter Beullens Katholieke Universiteit Leuven Alessandra Bucossi Ca’Foscari Università di Venezia Luigi D’Amelia Sapienza Università di Roma Paola Degni Ca’Foscari Università di Venezia Michael Dunne National University of Ireland Maynooth Elizabeth Fisher The George Washington University Brad Hostetler Kenyon College Estelle Ingrand-Varenne Université de Poitiers Marc Lauxtermann University of Oxford Tamás Mészáros Eötvös Lóránd University (Budapest)

xxii James Morton The Chinese University of Hong Kong Teresa Shawcross Princeton University Paraskevi Toma Independent Scholar Anna Maria Urso Università di Messina

Notes on Contributors

Chapter 1

The Status of the Greek Language in the West until the End of the Thirteenth Century A Brief Survey Tamás Mészáros The twelfth-century monk Honorius of Autun (Honorius Augustodunensis), a disciple of Anselm of Canterbury in his Clavis Physicae, half summarised and half reproduced John the Scot’s (Johannes Scotus Eriugena) Periphyseon (De divisione naturae), a work of natural philosophy. In addition to the text, the oldest manuscript preserving Honorius’ compilation also contains carefully prepared illustrations.1 The picture on the recto of folio 3 shows two men face to face, engaged in a deep conversation. The bearded figure on the left is raising his right hand, explaining his position, while the man on the right is expressing his own thoughts in the same posture, accompanied by the same gesture, while each is holding a densely filled scroll in his left hand. Above the heads of the two figures are semicircular frames converging in the middle, lending the picture the character of a diptych. On the outside of the frame are the names of the characters. The figure on the left is called Theodorus, the one on the right Johannes. The title above the picture helps clarify the situation: hic titulus est / libri huius: disputa- / tio abbatis Theodori, / genere greci, arte / philosophi, cum Iohanne viro / eruditissimo romane / ecclesie archidiaco- / no genere scotho. Perhaps what is more noteworthy than the real names or identity of the characters2 is the meeting of the ‘worlds’ they represent, East and West (Orient and Occident), and the peaceful, productive cooperation that ensues. The unknown illuminator may also have wanted to convey the impression, through

1 Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 6734. The digital reproduction is available from https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b90665224/f3.item.r=Latin%206734. Accessed 2024 Nov. 15. 2 The reference to Theodorus is erroneous: he was not the author of the work but a character in its first part.

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_002

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the symmetrical nature of the mirror image, that the two worlds, despite their undoubted differences, are, in fact, one and the same. The inextricable unity of different cultures is also evident in the composition of a trilingual psalm book from the early twelfth century, which probably came to the West as a gift from a noble Norman lord in Palermo, Sicily. The text of the psalms is copied in three columns: the Greek on the left, the Latin in the middle, and the Arabic on the right.3 We could go on with similar examples. Still, the picture would remain incomplete if we failed to mention that there were always those who had little tolerance for differences and were not interested in cooperation but in competition. Moreover, others were sometimes ready to impose what they supposed was the truth or real truth by force. On occasion, the attempts at ecclesiastic union went together with a demand for linguistic unity; the Dominican monk Adam, for example, went as far as naming the complete abolition of the Greek language as a prerequisite for uniformity.4 Fortunately, there are few examples of such an extreme position. In the present paper, I attempt to briefly summarise what we know about the Western use and educational tools of Greek – a key device of communicating ideas between the two worlds – between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries.

1

The Use of Greek in the West until the Eleventh Century

Although the knowledge of Greek and other foreign languages was taken for granted in the Roman Empire by virtually all social groups, and Greek language teaching is abundantly documented even after the fall of Constantinople (1453), the relative paucity of sources makes it far from clear what happened to Greek between the two dates, i.e., roughly between the late imperial period and the event traditionally regarded as the beginning of the ‘Greek Renaissance’, the launch of Manuel Chrysoloras’ career in Florence (1397).5 3 London, British Library, Harl. 5786. For a detailed description of the manuscript, see A Catalogue of the Harleian Manuscripts, in the British Museum, 3 (London, 1808), p. 296. 4 Bernhard Bischoff, “The Study of Foreign Languages in the Middle Ages,” Speculum 36 (1961), 223. 5 From the rich scholarship devoted to the issue, F. Ciccolella’s terse overview must be singled out: Federica Ciccolella, Donatus Graecus: Learning Greek in the Renaissance (Leiden – Boston, 2008), pp. 75–97. See also Charles Homer Haskins, The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge, Mass. – London, 1927); Walter Berschin, Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter: Von Hieronymus zu Nikolaus von Kues (Bern – M甃ࠀnchen, 1980); Michael W. Herren, Shirley Ann

The Status of the Greek Language in the West

3

It is not my task here to trace the antecedents back to the idyllic position of the Greek language in the era of the Roman Empire,6 but there is no doubt that, from about the Punic Wars onwards, all educated Romans learned Greek since the very beginnings of Roman literature are linked to Greek literature by a thousand threads, from Livius Andronicus to Plautus and Cicero. As far as can be seen, language learning followed traditional methods. Morphological study played a prominent role, based on the principle of syncrisis, or comparison. They also lay emphasis on the expansion of the vocabulary by memorizing glossaries and literary excerpts. A typical exercise would be translating verse into prose or prose into verse, Greek into Latin or Latin into Greek. Clearly, having a Greek-speaking person in the household greatly increased the effectiveness of learning, but the most important factor – as ever when Greek language teaching was booming – was the mass demand. This was based on the acknowledgment that knowing Greek was indispensable in the study of the lore accumulated and handed down in the Greek language. It was precisely this mass demand that disappeared in late antiquity. According to the widely known model, the death sentence of the Greek language was sealed by the break-up of the Roman Empire into a western and an eastern part. In the East, Byzantium would preserve its antique Greek heritage. By contrast, in the West there was no adequate Greek proficiency from about the fifth century onwards and the conquests of Justinian could not delay these adverse changes either.7 The fundamental obstacle was that although the language of the ‘new faith,’ Christianity, was Greek, the new inhabitants of Western Europe did not consider themselves heirs to Greek antiquity; for most Christians, the content of Greek culture was rejected as inherently pagan, the form consequently becoming unappealing for a long time. It did not help matters that in the seventh and eighth centuries, Byzantium had neither the strength nor the time to cultivate substantial cultural relations with the

Brown, ed., The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages (London, 1988). 6 To mention but a handful of important titles from the vast literature: Henri-Irénée Marrou, Histoire de l’éducation dans l’Antiquité (Paris, 1948), English version: The History of Education in Antiquity, trans. George Lamb (New York, 1956); Arnaldo Momigliano, Alien Wisdom: The Limits of Hellenization (Cambridge, 1975); Stanley F. Bonner, Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny (Berkeley – Los Angeles, 1977); William V. Harris, Ancient Literacy (Cambridge, 1989); Raffaella Cribiore, Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton – Oxford, 2001). 7 See for example Robert Browning, Medieval and Modern Greek (Cambridge, 1969), pp. 53–56 with further literature.

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West, first because of the Arab conquest and second because of the battles against the iconoclasts. It was only after a prolonged interruption that Europe reawakened to its shared Greco-Latin tradition, partly because of the Ottoman expansion threatening Christianity, partly due to the increasing numbers of Byzantine emigrants who not only brought along their Greek culture but also revived language teaching.8 Nevertheless, this traditional picture needs to be nuanced at several points, as the “Graeca sunt, non leguntur” catchphrase is as little a reflection of the real situation as the improvised hexameter attributed to the novice Purchart of St Gallen: “Esse velim Grecus, cum sim vix, domna, Latinus.”9 After the dissolution of the Empire, Greek did not disappear either uniformly or completely from the West. In Italy, and especially in the area of the former Magna Graecia (Southern Italy, Sicily), native speakers of Greek, who could use their own language in everyday life, remained in significant numbers.10 Equally important was Rome’s role as a centre of intellectual life and place of the papal Curia. Greek monasteries were founded in Rome as early as the seventh century, where Greek monks would educate the later archivist-translator Anastasius Bibliotecarius.11 Apart from the libraries of the Basilian monks in Southern Italy, these monasteries proved to be the principal repositories of Greek-language manuscripts.12 I must also mention the Italian 8

9

10 11

12

We must also bear in mind that the language spoken is far from being the same as classical literary Greek. The gap between the spoken and the literary language is steadily widening over time: Anna Komnene already apologises in her historical work when she cannot find a suitable antique name for a barbarian group of people and must call them ‘vulgar’, which is used in practice but is not up to the perfection of the Attic style (VI, 14 Reinsch 199, 25–27; X, 8 Reinsch 304, 27–28). And when we speak of the Western interest in Greek, we are referring mainly to written, literary, antique-Attic Greek, not to vulgar, vernacular Greek, the mother tongue of Byzantine commoners. Ekkehard IV, Casus sancti Galli 94, ed. Hans F. Haefele, Ernst Tremp, Franziska Schnoor (Wiesbaden, 2020), p. 417. See Peter Stotz, “Esse velim Grecus … Griechischer Glanz und griechische Irrlichter im mittelalterlichen Latein,” in Die Begegnung des Westens mit dem Osten: Kongreßakten des 4. Symposions des Mediävistenverbandes in Köln 1991 aus Anlaß des 1000. Todesjahres der Kaiserin Theophanu, ed. Odilo Engels, Peter Schreiner (Sigmaringen, 1993), pp. 433–451. Roberto Weiss, “The Greek Culture of South Italy in the Later Middle Ages,” in Medieval and Humanist Greek. Collected Essays by Roberto Weiss (Padova, 1977), pp. 13–43. For further details on Anastasius, see e.g., Réka Forrai, “Anastasius Bibliotecarius and His Textual Dossiers: Greek Collections and their Latin Transmission in 9th Century Rome,” in L’Antiquité tardive dans les collections médiévales: Textes et représentations, VIe–XIVe siècle, ed. Stéphane Gioanni, Benoît Grévin (Rome, 2008), pp. 319–337. On the role of the Papal Curia in using Byzantine heritage and models, see Teresa Shawcross’ article in this volume.

The Status of the Greek Language in the West

5

port cities, where it was possible to maintain not only commercial contacts, but also cultural relations; cf. the ‘Neapolitan translators’ in the second half of the ninth century.13 Thanks to the above, the presence of the Greek language in Italy can be continuously documented during the ‘Dark Ages’ as well.14 Furthermore, there had always been other regional centres in Western Europe which, for various reasons, placed particular emphasis on cultivating Greek for a longer or shorter period of time. For instance, Greek monks had arrived in England and Ireland as early as 668, sent by Pope Vitalian. One of them, Theodore of Tarsus, would even become Archbishop of Canterbury. Still, we should not assume that they had a deep knowledge of Greek. Take, for example, the case of Aldhelm of Malmesbury, ‘England’s earliest classic’ from the second half of the seventh century, and his abbreviations.15 In his dialogue De metris et enigmatibus, Aldhelm attempted to imitate the letter signs seen in Junillus’ Instituta regularia divinae legis to designate the characters. He misunderstood the true meaning of ‘Μ’ (mu) and ‘Δ’ (delta) completely. Thus, the word μαθητής (“disciple”), abbreviated M in the original, became magister (“master”), and the word διδάσκαλος (“master”), abbreviated Δ, became discipulus (“disciple”).16 This reversal resulted in a curiosity of literary history since it is the student asking tendentious questions to test his teacher’s knowledge and not the other way around. The notion of the ‘Irish miracle’,17 which had been a topos of earlier scholarship, to the effect that the survival of Greek studies after the fall of the Roman Empire was due almost exclusively to the obsession of Irish monks, can now be safely relegated to the realm of medieval legends. We should also be cautious about the claim that in ninth-century Western Europe, the Irish alone would have known any proper Greek.18 There is evidence that the Irish were aware of the Greek alphabet already by the seventh and eighth centuries, they used Greek vocabulary from late antique sources (St Jerome, Macrobius, Isidore, and others), they comprehended short liturgical texts, and later, they deepened their knowledge during European study tours.19 Such things could be said about almost all of Western Europe. It would 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Chiesa, Paolo. “Ambienti e Tradizioni Nella Prima Redazione Latina Della Leggenda Di Barlaam e Josaphat,” Studi Medievali 24 (1983), 521–544, especially 532–543. Berschin, Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter, pp. 194–210. Berschin, Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter, p. 125; Ciccolella, Donatus Grecus, pp. 88–89, n. 42. Aldhelm, Opera, ed. Rudolf Ehwald (Berlin, 1919), pp. 81–96. Henri Daniel-Rops, ed., The Miracle of Ireland (Dublin – London, 1959). Ludwig Traube, O Roma nobilis: Philologische Untersuchungen aus dem Mittelalter (M甃ࠀnchen, 1891), p. 354. Berschin, Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter, pp. 121–124, 163–164.

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be impossible to identify the linguistic remains of the Greek language intermittently surfacing in various places. However, they might amount to little more than practising the alphabet, using a word (usually misspelt) in a manuscript, compiling short quotations by Latin authors, or entering Greek vernacular passages in a manuscript.20 Paradoxically, a large proportion of the text fragments handed down in the Greek language reveal a lack, rather than presence, of Greek proficiency.21 From Charlemagne to Charles the Bald (8th–9th c.), the court culture of the Carolingians represented higher standards in terms of the Greek language.22 Sporadic Greek studies in monastic schools proliferated from the middle of the ninth century onwards, with minor local centres emerging (Laon, Auxerre, St Gallen, etc.). This was partly due to an upsurge of religious devotion and an interest in religious matters, primarily in the precise text of Scripture. It could be also that the leaders of the empire were intensively seeking to establish diplomatic relations with Byzantium to secure peace between the parties through marriage. This, of course, required a degree of linguistic proficiency, which means employment and training of interpreters and diplomats. In 827, the Byzantine Emperor Michael II gifted Louis the Pious with a manuscript containing the theological treatises and ten letters of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite as a symbolic gesture of the dialogue between the two worlds.23 The codex then found its way to St Denis, where it was translated into Latin by Abbot Hilduin and his team of translators. Although the translation promoted the cult of St Denis, the quality of the Latin text itself left very much to be desired (outlandish neologisms, unpredictable connotations, etc.).24 It is no wonder that a few decades later, the Greek original had to be retranslated at 20

21 22 23 24

Bernhard Bischoff, “Vulg愃ࠀrgriechisch-lateinisches Glossar (Zehntes bis elftes Jahrhundert),” in Anecdota novissima: Texte des vierten bis sechzehnten Jahrhunderts, ed. Bernhard Bischoff, Quellen und Untersuchungen zur lateinischen Philologie des Mittelalters 7 (Stuttgart, 1984), pp. 248–249; Michael W. Herren, “Evidence for Vulgar Greek from Early Medieval Latin Texts and Manuscripts,” in Herren & Brown, ed., Sacred Nectar, pp. 57–84; Walter Berschin, “Greek Elements in Medieval Latin Manuscripts,” Herren & Brown, ed., Sacred Nectar, pp. 85–104. See Bernhard Bischoff, “Das griechische Element in der abendl愃ࠀndischen Bildung des Mittelalters,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 44 (1951), 27–55. Berschin, Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter, pp. 130–193. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, gr. 437. The digital version of the manuscript is available from https://gallica.bnf.fr/view3if/ga/ark:/12148/btv1b6000953x/f13. Accessed 2024 Nov. 15. See Michael Lapidge, Hilduin of Saint-Denis. The Passio S. Dionysii in Prose and Verse (Leiden  – Boston, 2017), pp. 64–80 esp. p. 73: “Hilduin’s translation of the Corpus Dionysiacum is at best difficult to understand, at worst simply incomprehensible.”

The Status of the Greek Language in the West

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the command of Charles the Bald. The work was carried out by John Scotus Eriugena, summoned to Paris as a professor of philosophy and theology, who was also responsible for other translations from Greek (Maximus the Confessor, Gregory of Nyssa).25 Later on, as is customary, further translations followed Eriugena’s version of Dionysius. John Sarrazin (Johannes Sarracenus) rendered the text into Latin in the twelfth century,26 Robert Grosseteste in the thirteenth, and Ambrose Traversari (Ambrose of Camaldoli) in the fifteenth. The baton was later passed from the Franks to the Ottonian dynasty of the Saxons. Otto had already established diplomatic relations with Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, but the legations continued after his death, as well. It was through constant negotiations with his successors that Theophanu, the niece of John Tzimiskes, was eventually wedded to Otto II on April 14, 972 (instead of Anna Porphyrogenita, who had originally been chosen). Our most important source on the Byzantine court in the tenth century is a subjective summary of the preparatory negotiations, the account of Bishop Liutprand of Cremona, head of the German-Roman diplomatic mission. A Lombard, Liutprand himself had learned some Greek, as the relatively numerous Greek expressions in his works attest.27 Although Greek was indeed being marginalised in the politically divided West, its modest presence28 was still being felt towards the turn of the millennium and literary translations were already being produced.29 There is no doubt that between the sixth and the eleventh centuries, Greek grammars

25 26 27

28

29

See Joel I. Barstad, “Eriugena as Translator and Interpreter of the Greek Fathers,” in A Companion to John Scottus Eriugena, ed. Adrian Guiu (Leiden – Boston, 2019), pp. 267–295. See Paola Degni’s article in this volume. Johannes Koder, “Liutprand von Cremona und die griechische Sprache,” in Johannes Koder, Thomas Weber, Liutprand von Cremona in Konstantinopel: Untersuchungen zum grieschischen Sprachschatz und zu realienkundlichen Aussagen in seinen Werken (Wien, 1980), pp. 17–70. See also Willem J. Aerts, “The Knowledge of Greek in Western Europe at the Time of Theophano and the Greek Grammar Fragment in ms. Vindobonensis 114,” in Byzantium and the Low Countries in the Tenth Century: Aspects of Art and History in the Ottonian Era, ed. Victoria D. van Aalst, Krijna Nelly Ciggaar (Hernen, 1985), pp. 78–103. Guglielmo Cavallo, “La circolazione dei testi greci nell’Europa dell’Alto Medioevo,” in Rencontres de culture dans la philosophie médiévale: Traductions et traducteurs de l’antiquité tardive au XIVe siècle, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse, Marta Fattori (Louvain-La-Neuve – Cassino, 1990), pp. 47–64. See for example Carmela Vircillo Franklin, “Hagiographic Translations in the Early Middle Ages,” in Les traducteurs au travail: Leurs manuscrits et leurs méthodes, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse (Turnhout, 2001), pp. 1–18.

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were scarcely available, if not entirely absent.30 Knowledge of Greek was acquired mainly from native environments and through visits to Byzantium. Nevertheless, as the examples below will make it clear, certain linguistic aids were available in this period, too, even if their effectiveness might inspire a smile from today’s perspective.

2

Education Tools until the Eleventh Century

2.1 Grammatical Fragments Two little works that might generously be called grammatical fragments date from the ninth to tenth centuries. The first treatise (TI ECTIN DOCTUS) is available in a manuscript of the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, lat. 528, dating from the second half of the ninth century.31 The text is written in two columns: in Greek uppercase letters on the left and in Latin lowercase letters on the right. Despite its brevity (a mere fifty lines), the text shows a number of phonetic phenomena (iotacism, a shortening of diphthongs and long vowels, a blending of hard and aspired consonants). The copyist’s uncertainty is most evident in the mixing of Greek and Latin letters even within Greek words. Nor is the content particularly impressive: it is a simple question-and-answer text; generically a straightforward erotema, which was very popular in Byzantium: MEPOC �U�U. TI MEPOC �U�U ESTIN. ONOMA ECTIN. �OCA �APE�ONTE TUTO ONOMATI EX. �OIA. �OIOTIC, CYNKPICIC, GENOC. APITHMOC, CKEMA, �THOCIC.

Pars orationis. Quae pars orationis est. Nomen est. Quot accedunt huic nomini. Sex. Quae. Qualitas, conparatio, genus. Numerus, figura, casus.32 etc.

More interesting seems to be the Ms. 114 (= Philol. 109), Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, which preserves the beginning of a Greek grammar 30 31 32

Anna Carlotta Dionisotti, “Greek Grammars and Dictionaries in Carolingian Europe,” in Herren & Brown, ed., Sacred Nectar, pp. 1–56. See Henri Omont, “Grammaire grecque du IXe siècle,” Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes 42 (1881) 126–127; Ciccolella, Donatus Grecus, p. 90. “What is doctus? / Part of speech. / What part of speech? / Nominal. / How many properties does this nominal have? / Six. / Which ones? / Quality, comparison, gender / Number, figure, case.” My translation.

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(13r–15v). The novelty here is that the structure of the book is surprisingly similar to that of modern grammar books. The discussion of the alphabet, the numerals, and the articles is followed by exercises of declension, categorized according to grammatical gender. The omicron-stem masculine gender is represented by the unknown author, probably a monk named Fromund from Cologne, through ὁ κύριος; the omicron-stem neuter gender through τὸ ὄνομα, τὸ ἔργον, and τὸ σκαμνίον; the alpha-stem feminine gender through ἡ μοῦσα, ἡ γυνή, ἡ ἡμέρα; and the semi-vocal (iota) stems by the example of the declension of ἡ ἀγ뎳αλίασις. Next comes the irregular noun ὁ ἀνήρ, then a glossary of some 200 words collected from biblical and liturgical texts, and finally the nouns ὁ ἱερεύς / ἡ ἱέρεια and the sigma-stem adjectival forms εὐτυχής / εὐτυχές. It is noteworthy that for some nouns there is a clear correspondence with the nominal chapter of Donatus’ Ars minor.33 For centuries, though, the so-called Hermeneumata remained the most widespread aids to learning Greek.34 2.2 Hermeneumata Both commercial contacts and pilgrimages to Greek-speaking areas required a certain knowledge level of the language in order to facilitate everyday life. To acquire this, those learning Greek as a foreign language could make use of the so-called hermeneumata (“interpretamenta” in Latin), a textual genre known from the second, third and fourth centuries (but probably of even earlier origin). Each hermeneuma, in keeping with its name,35 is a kind of a simplified Teach Yourself book from antiquity. Hermeneumata contain (1) bilingual glossaries, lists of words and phrases arranged in alphabetical order or grouped according to a thematic principle; (2) simplified conjugations and declensions (grammatical materials); (3) collections of short sentences and dialogues (colloquies), emphatically intended for practical use, to develop speaking skills and to acquire the necessary vocabulary; and, occasionally, (4) as a reading exercise, simpler texts by more easy-to-comprehend authors (Hyginus, Aesop, the prose synopsis of the Trojan War, the sayings of the Emperor Hadrian) are also included. Although hermeneumata were originally intended to help native speakers of Greek to learn Latin, their bilingual structure made them equally suitable later on as an aid to the study of Greek by Latin speakers, whether schoolchildren in the western part of the Roman Empire learning Greek or

33 34 35

Ciccolella, Donatus Grecus, p. 90. Bischoff, “Das griechische Element”, 27–55. The Greek verb ἑρμηνεύω roughly means “to translate” or “to explain.”

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adult readerships.36 Manuscripts containing hermeneumata date from the eighth century until the first half of the sixteenth century. 2.2.1 Glossaries Among the bilingual glossaries, the two most common types are alphabetical lists and thematic collections of words related to everyday routines, such as the parts of the body, basic vocabulary for eating and drinking (i.e., the names of meat, poultry, fish, or vegetables), or terms related to entertainment. For example, Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana Leidensia37 lists no fewer than thirty-four vegetable names (CGL 3, 16, 13–22; Flamini 33, 886–895): Περὶ λαχάνων λάχανα καυλία μαλάχαι σεῦτλα ἕλειον κινάραι λόβια ἀπαρίνη κολοκύνθαι 36

37

38

De oleribus olera colicula malbe beta asparagum cardi fasioli lappa cucurbitai38 …

The items belonging to this genre were first summarized in Goetz’s collection: Georg Goetz, Gustav Loewe, ed., Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum, 3 (Leipzig, 1892), hereafter referred to as CGL. Recent contributions: Giuseppe Flamini, ed., Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana Leidensia (Munich – Leipzig, 2004); Eleanor Dickey, ed., The Colloquia of the Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana, 2 vols. Vol. 1. Colloquia Monacensia-Einsidlensia, Leidense-Stephani, and Stephani from the Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana (Cambridge, Eng., 2012), Vol. 2.: Colloquium Harleianum, Colloquium Montepessulanum, Colloquium Celtis, and Fragments (Cambridge, Eng., 2015). See also Anna Carlotta Dionisotti, “From Ausonius’ Schooldays? A Schoolbook and Its Relatives,” Journal of Roman Studies 72 (1982), pp. 83–125; Janine Debut, “Les Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana: une méthode d’apprentissage des langues pour grands débutants,” Κοινωνία 8 (1984), 61–85; Janine Debut, “Les Hermeneumata Monacensia,” Les Études Classiques 55 (1987), 180–193; Kalle Korhonen, “On the Composition of the Hermeneumata Language Manuals,” Arctos 30 (1996), 101–119; Bořivoj Marek, “The Hermeneumata (Pseudodositheana) and Their Didactic Use,” Acta Universitatis Carolinae: Philologica 2 (2017), pp. 127–152. The term Pseudodositheana derives from the fact that, starting from the sixteenth century, hermeneumata were attributed to Dositheus Magister (fourth century AD) because some manuscripts preserved the texts inserted into the Latin grammar he had translated to Greek. “On vegetables / vegetables / sea alga / mallow / beetroot / asparagus / artichoke / bean / burdock / pumpkin.” My translation.

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But there are also many thematic collections for a more educated audience, such as lists of feasts, catalogues of winds, vocabulary related to religious life, and the Greek and Latin equivalents of various gods are frequently paired up as well. Hermeneumata Einsidlensia, before the actual catalogue of divinities, even provide (not unprecedentedly) higher classification criteria (CGL 3, 236, 22–33): οἱ θεοὶ ἀθάνατοι οἱ θεοὶ ἵλεῳ οἱ θεοὶ οὐράνιοι οἱ θεοὶ μέγιστοι οἱ θεοὶ ὕψιστοι οἱ θεοὶ κύδιστοι οἱ θεοὶ ἐπίγειοι οἱ θεοὶ ὑπόγειοι ἢ καταχθόνιοι οἱ θεοὶ κατοικίδιοι οἱ θεοὶ πατρῶοι39 οἱ θεοὶ θαλάσσιοι ὁ ἡμίθεος

dii immortales dii propitii dii caelestes dii maximi dii summi dii gloriosissimi dii terrestres manes lares, genii penates dii marini semideus, indigenes40

2.2.2 Grammatical Materials Since applicability is the primary purpose, we often see verb conjugations, as well. These tables are, however, never complete, only excerpting a few forms from the paradigm of each verb. Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana Leidensia, for instance, which by and large lacks Greek accents and aspirations and is not too concerned about orthography, summarises the forms of the Greek verb πίνω (“to drink”) as follows (CGL 3, 3, 53–4, 6; Flamini 2, 53–3, 68): πειννω πειννις πιννι πιννωσιν πιεται επιννον επιννες 39 40

bibo bibes bibet bibant bibete bibebam bibebas

Recte: πατρῷοι with iota subscriptum. “Immortal gods, propitious gods, celestial gods, main gods, greatest gods, most glorious gods, terrestrial gods, subterranean gods, domestic divinities, ancestors’ gods, marine gods, demigods.” My translation.

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επιννεν επιννομεν πεπωκειν πεπωκις πεπωκει πεπωκισαν πιομεν πιεται πιονται

bibebat bibebamus biberam biberas biberat bibebant bibamus bibetis bibent

Equally interesting is the prologue of Hermeneumata Monacensia, whose analytical comprehensiveness is far more ambitious than previous attempts, with word families reminiscent of those in modern dictionaries. The author is not content with a slavish translation of even simple expressions but tries instead to present broadly a range of the compounds and synonyms of the words discussed – although this involves the omission of Greek letters for a phonetic transcription of sorts. The lexical knowledge seems also uncertain here and there (CGL 3, 119, 1–8): Agathi tichy agathos tychos kai agathi tichi sinagati tichi tichi agathi eytichos

bona fortuna bona fortuna et bona fortuna cum bona fortuna fortuna bona feliciter

2.2.3 Colloquies The colloquium-type exercises are of a partly narrative or descriptive nature, summing up the events of a day from dawn to evening, their short, easy-to-remember sentences covering all activities from waking up to going to sleep. Colloquium Stephani, for instance, has the following list for usual morning routines (Dickey 1:234): Ἠγέρθην πρωῒ ἐξυπνισθείς, καὶ ἐκάλεσα παῖδα.

Surrexi mane expergefactus, et vocavi puerum.

I got up in the morning, having been woken up, and I called a [slave] boy.

The Status of the Greek Language in the West

ἐκέλευσα ἀνοῖξαι τὴν θυρίδα. ἤνοιξεν ταχέως.

iussi aperire fenestram. aperuit cito.

13

I told [him] to open the window. He opened [it] quickly.

At other times, the colloquium is a situational dialogue: what would the participants under particular circumstances say? From a conversation in Colloquium Harleianum, for instance, one may learn what to say when they want to notify someone of being forced to miss an appointment due to an urgent task (Dickey 2: 27): Δράμε οὖν καὶ εἶπε αὐτῷ ἵνα μείνῃ με. ἔχω γὰρ αὐτῷ τίποτε εἰπεῖν.

Curre ergo et dic illi ut maneat me. habeo enim ei aliquid dicere.

So run and tell him to wait for me. For I have something to say to him.

2.2.4 Texts With their verbum de verbo translations presented in a two-column layout, the hermeneumata strongly remind one not only of present-day vocabulary notebooks but also of translation exercises that were recorded on papyri at schools in the Hellenistic period. Even the line breaks of a passage in Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana Leidensia – an anecdote relating to Emperor Hadrian – are based on the illustration and drilling of grammatical structures (CGL 3, 31, 24–28; Flamini 68, 1747–59): Αἰτοῦντός τινος, / ἵνα στρατεύηται, / Ἀδριανὸς εἶπεν· / Ποῦ θέλεις / στρατεύεσθαι; / Ἐκείνου λέγοντος· / Εἰς τὸ πραιτώριον, / Ἀδριανὸς ἐξήτασεν· / Ποῖον μῆκος ἔχεις; / ⟨Λέγοντος ἐκείνου⟩· Πέντε πόδας / καὶ ἥμισυ, / Ἀδριανὸς εἶπεν· / Ἐν τοσούτῳ / εἰς τὴν πολιτικὴν / στρατεύου, / καὶ ἐὰν καλὸς / στρατιώτης ἔση, / τρίτῳ ὀψωνίῳ / δυνήσῃ / εἰς τὸ πραιτώριον / μεταβῆναι. Petente quodam, / ut militaret, / Adrianus dixit: / Ubi vis / militare? / illo dicente: / in pretorio, / Adrianus interrogavit: / Quam staturam habes? / ⟨dicente illo⟩: quinque pedes / et semis, / Adrianus dixit: / Interim / in urbanam / milita / et, si bonus / miles fueris, / tertio stipendio / poteris / in pretorio / transire. Someone asked him to take him on in the army. What unit do you want to serve in? asked Hadrian. In the Praetorian Cohorts, said the other.

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Hadrian asked him, what is your height? Five foot six. Hadrian said: To begin with you must go into the Urban Cohorts and after three years if you are a good soldier you will be able to get into the Praetorians.41 It is clear from the above that the available language-learning tools were hardly sufficient for anything beyond basic communication, which level of competence was certainly insufficient for the understanding of literary texts and the production of nuanced translations. Despite the rudimentary conditions, some literary translations would still emerge occasionally, but their quality – as seen through Hilduin’s example – was inadequate, even when native speakers had aided the translator.

3

The Use of Greek in the West during the Eleventh to Thirteenth Centuries

In the eleventh century, there continued to be an eagerness to interpret the texts of Scripture and the legacy of the Church Fathers. After the Great Schism of 1054, the importance for the representatives of the Western Church to be able to express their own views on theological issues in Greek and to understand the views of their opponents increased even more. Furthermore, another argument in favour of the Greek language was gaining ground; namely, the desire to spread the science handed down in Greek in the West.42 Even if the definition of science is not always clear,43 the content of the works translated into Latin demonstrate that the main areas of interest were medicine (Galen) as well as certain aspects of natural science, especially astronomy (the Almagest) and philosophy (Plato and mainly Aristotle), which were partly transmitted through Arabic.44 In cases, magic and the occult sci41 42 43

44

Translated by George Lamb, in Marrou, History of Education, p. 263. See Luigi D’Amelia’s study in this volume and Alessandra Bucossi’s discussion on the filioque. See Charles Homer Haskins, Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science (New York, 1967); Dominic O’Meara, “Conceptions of Science in Byzantium,” in The Cambridge Intellectual History of Byzantium, ed. Anthony Kaldellis, Niketas Siniossoglou (Cambridge, 2017), pp. 169–170. For more detail on the Arabic reception of Greek culture, see Dimitri Gutas, Greek Thought, Arabic Culture (New York, 1998). For certain factors of Arabic transmission, see Charles Burnett, Arabic into Latin in the Middle Ages: The Translators and their Intellectual and Social Context (Farnham – Burlington, 2009); Maria Mavroudi, “Translations from Greek into Latin and Arabic during the Middle Ages: Searching for the Classical Tradition,” Speculum 90 (2015), 28–59.

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ences also entered the scene,45 however, intensive and ever-widening translation activity was never motivated by the pleasure of reading for its own sake but rather by a desire to acquire knowledge that could be put to practical use.46 More signs of this ambition were also beginning to appear in the field of language learning. It was perhaps in England in the first half of the thirteenth century that the lack of the didactic foundations and modern tools of teaching Greek was first recognised, or at least most clearly formulated.47 As Roger Bacon puts it: Multi vero inveniuntur, qui sciunt loqui Graecum, et Arabicum, et Hebraeum, inter Latinos, sed paucissimi sunt, qui sciunt rationem grammaticae ipsius, nec sciunt docere eam: tentavi enim permultos.48 There are many among the Latins who can speak Greek, Arabic, and Hebrew, but very few know the grammatical system of the language; nor do they know how to teach it: indeed, I have tested very many of them.49 Bacon’s friend, Bishop Robert Grosseteste of Lincoln, tried to create the conditions for a paradigm shift by inviting Greek monks to England and supporting the acquisition of appropriate reference books.50 Whether Grosseteste’s agent, John of Basingstoke, was able to meet the challenge and collect Greek grammar books during his travels to the East is unknown. Similarly, the “little book,” in which the Flemish Franciscan Gérard de Huy author of the trilingual (Latin, Greek and Hebrew) verse grammar Triglossos summarised the basic parts of speech, has been lost. By this time, Grosseteste was presumably using a copy of the Suda and the Etymologicum Gudianum, as well as a monumental Greco-Latin dictionary. The latter served as a model for the Lexicon Arundelianum, a text whose fragments

45 46 47 48 49 50

Charles Burnett, “Late Antique and Medieval Latin Translations of Greek Texts on Astrology and Magic,” in The Occult Sciences in Byzantium, ed. Paul Magdalino, Maria Mavroudi (Geneva, 2006), pp. 325–359. See also Péter Bara’s essay in this volume. For the English context, see Michael Lapidge, “The Study of Greek at the School of Canterbury in the Seventh Century,” in Herren & Brown, ed., Sacred Nectar, pp. 169–194. Roger Bacon, Opus tertium c. 10, ed. John Sherren Brewer (London, 1859), p. 33–34. Translated by Federica Ciccolella, in Ciccolella, Donatus Grecus (see above, n. 5), p. 94. For more detail on Grosseteste’s Grecian culture in general, see James McEvoy, Robert Grosseteste (Oxford, 2000), pp. 113–121.

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alone survive and whose original was subsequently lost.51 Grosseteste was not only interested in the study and teaching of languages but also actively involved in translations (e.g., Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, Letters of St Ignatius, etc.), following the word for word (verbum de verbo) principle. Most of what he had learned came not just from books but from his Greek friends, as well, above all Nicholas Graecus, who was living in Buckinghamshire. However, the achievements of Daniel de Morlai, Basingstoke, Grosseteste, William de Mara, to name a few, were all transcended by those of Roger Bacon, a doctor mirabilis, who had gained experience during his European peregrinations and who would undertake nothing less than to compile the first Greek grammar textbook for Westerners combining the Greek and Latin grammatical traditions. Bacon’s grammar is preserved in the fifteenth-century manuscript (Ms. 148, Corpus Christi College, Oxford), but even this codex does not contain the complete work.52 The manuscript ends with the conjugation of the verb τύπτω, leaving it open to conjecture whether it had originally contained any syntactic sections. In addition to a few other minor fragments, mention should be made of a manuscript in Cambridge (Ms. Ff VI. 13), whose Greek parts (ff. 67–69) are preserved in Latin script. The work itself is based on a critical revision of the Byzantine didactic tradition. Although in its structure (erotemata) and individual examples, it resembles the later grammars by Constantine Lascaris and Manuel Chrysoloras, which draw from the same source, it strives to simplify the available samples (e.g. diminishing the number of declensions). In its present form, the grammar can be divided into three main sections and several smaller subsections. The first part contains some remarks on elementary phonology (alphabets, diphthongs, diacritics, etc.) and abbreviation marks in manuscripts, as well as reading and writing exercises; the second and more extensive part is based on a comparison of Greek and Latin linguistic phenomena (the usual syncrisis), followed by a detailed discussion of diphthongs, prosody, and metrical phenomena, but it breaks off abruptly at the discussion of accents. The third part is fragmentary from the outset and examines issues of declension and conjugation. Although its overall approach to grammar cannot be called original, as it is modelled on earlier traditions, its standards are high due to its careful editing 51 52

For more detail, see Anna Carlotta Dionisotti, “On the Greek Studies of Robert Grosseteste,” in The Uses of Greek and Latin: Historical Essays, ed. Anna Carlotta Dionisotti, Anthony Grafton, Jill Kraye (London, 1988), pp. 19–39. Edmund Nolan, Samuel A. Hirsch, ed., The Greek Grammar of Roger Bacon (Cambridge, 1902).

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and thoughtfully executed compilation. For example, the reading exercises in the first part (Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary, Apostles’ Creed, etc.) provide the Greek pronunciation along with the Latin and Greek texts. Concerning declension, Bacon is dissatisfied with the grouping of nouns according to their nominative endings, just as he sees no practical use for grouping them according to gender. Instead, he calls attention to the singular genitive ending, claiming that on this basis all types of nominal declension can be assigned to one of only three categories.53 As far as verbs are concerned, Bacon illustrates conjugation through the verb τύπτω, first detailing the necessary aspects of the definition of verb forms: mood, voice, class, form, number, person, tense. Although Bacon’s grammar was not widely circulated and its impact was therefore very limited, it can undoubtedly be considered a singular achievement of its kind. Of course, to achieve the linguistic standard necessary to convey and transfer ideas, the Greek vernacular contacts remained crucial.54 Shortly after the end of the thirteenth century, there glimmered some hope for the further strengthening of the Greek language. The Council of Vienne in 1311, except for abolishing the Knights Templar, also dealt with the teaching of the so-called ‘pagan tongues’ at a university level. The Council adopted Ramon Llull’s (Raymundus Lullus) proposition that it was necessary to teach Arabic, Hebrew, and Syriac at university since a command of the languages spoken by the majority of the ‘infidels’ would make missionary work in the East more effective. Some versions of the Council resolutions included the teaching of Greek, too.55 Accordingly, the universities of Paris, Bologna, Oxford, Salamanca, and the Pontifical Court then in Avignon were obliged to provide language seminars for the teaching of the languages concerned including Greek. Unfortunately for financial reasons, the practical implementation of the resolution fell through and real progress was not made until Humanism and the Renaissance.

53 54

55

See Nolan, Hirsch, The Greek Grammar of Roger Bacon (see above, n. 52), pp. 146–151. For the linguistic background of the individual translators, see e.g. Peter Classen, Burgundio von Pisa: Richter, Gesandter, Übersetzer (Heidelberg, 1974); Roberto Weiss, “The Translators from the Greek of the Angevin Court of Naples,” in Weiss, Medieval and Humanist Greek (see above, n. 9), pp. 108–33; Marie-Thérèse D’Alverny, “Translations and Translators,” in Renaissance and Renewal in the Twelfth Century, ed. Robert Benson, Giles Constable (Cambridge, Mass., 1982), pp. 421–462; José Martínez Gázquez, “The Translations from Greek into Latin in the Middle Age,” Revista Internacional d’Humanitats 50 (2020), 99–109. For the variants, consult Roberto Weiss, “England and the Decree of the Council of Vienne on the Teaching of Greek, Arabic, Hebrew, and Syriac,” in Weiss, Medieval and Humanist Greek, pp. 68–79.

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Bibliography Primary Sources Aldhelm, Opera. Ed. Rudolf Ehwald. Berlin, 1919. Anna Comnenae Alexias. Rec. Diether R. Reinsch, Athanasios Kambylis. Berlin – New York, 2001. Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum. Vol. 3. Ed. Georg Goetz, Gustav Loewe. Leipzig, 1892. Ekkehard IV. St. Galler Klostergeschichten (Casus sancti Galli). Ed. Hans F. Haefele, Ernst Tremp with the assistance of Franziska Schnoor. Wiesbaden, 2020. Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana Leidensia. Ed. Giuseppe Flamini. Munich – Leipzig, 2004. Roger Bacon. Opus tertium. Ed. John Sherren Brewer. Fr. Rogeri Bacon opera quaedam hactenus inedita, 3–310. London, 1859. The Colloquia of the Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana, 2 vols. Ed. Eleanor Dickey. Vol. 1. Colloquia Monacensia-Einsidlensia, Leidense-Stephani, and Stephani from the Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana. Cambridge, 2012. Vol. 2.: Colloquium Harleianum, Colloquium Montepessulanum, Colloquium Celtis, and Fragments. Cambridge, 2015. The Greek Grammar of Roger Bacon. Ed. Edmund Nolan, Samuel A. Hirsch. The Greek Grammar of Roger Bacon and a Fragment of His Hebrew Grammar. Cambridge, 1902.

Secondary Literature A Catalogue of the Harleian Manuscripts in the British Museum 3. London, 1808. Aerts, Willem J. “The Knowledge of Greek in Western Europe at the Time of Theophano and the Greek Grammar Fragment in ms. Vindobonensis 114.” In Byzantium and the Low Countries in the Tenth Century: Aspects of Art and History in the Ottonian Era. Ed. Victoria D. van Aalst, Krijna Nelly Ciggaar, 78–103. Hernen, 1985. Barstad, Joel I. “Eriugena as Translator and Interpreter of the Greek Fathers.” In A Companion to John Scottus Eriugena. Ed. Adrian Guiu, 267–295. Leiden – Boston, 2019. Berschin, Walter. Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: From Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa. Washington, 1988. Berschin, Walter. “Greek Elements in Medieval Latin Manuscripts.” In The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages. Ed. Michael W. Herren and Shirley Ann Brown, 85–104. London, 1988. Bischoff, Bernhard. “Das griechische Element in der abendl愃ࠀndischen Bildung des Mittelalters.” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 44 (1951): 27–55. Bischoff, Bernhard. “The Study of Foreign Languages in the Middle Ages.” Speculum 36 (1961): 209–224.

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Bischoff, Bernhard. “Vulg愃ࠀrgriechisch-lateinisches Glossar (Zehntes bis elftes Jahrhundert).” In Anecdota novissima: Texte des vierten bis sechzehnten Jahrhunderts. Ed. Bernhard Bischoff, 248–249. Stuttgart, 1984. Bonner, Stanley F. Education in Ancient Rome: From the Elder Cato to the Younger Pliny. Berkeley – Los Angeles, 1977. Browning, Robert. Medieval and Modern Greek. Cambridge, 1969. Burnett, Charles. “Late Antique and Medieval Latin Translations of Greek Texts on Astrology and Magic.” In The Occult Sciences in Byzantium. Ed. Paul Magdalino, Maria Mavroudi, 325–359. Geneva, 2006. Burnett, Charles. Arabic into Latin in the Middle Ages: The Translators and their Intellectual and Social. Farnham – Burlington, 2009. Cavallo, Guglielmo. “La circolazione dei testi greci nell’Europa dell’Alto Medioevo.” In Rencontres de culture dans la philosophie médiévale: Traductions et traducteurs de l’antiquité tardive au XIVe siècle. Ed. Jacqueline Hamesse, Marta Fattori, 47–64. Louvain-La-Neuve – Cassino, 1990. Chiesa, Paolo. “Ambienti e Tradizioni Nella Prima Redazione Latina Della Leggenda Di Barlaam e Josaphat.” Studi Medievali 24 (1983): 521–544. Ciccolella, Federica. Donatus Graecus: Learning Greek in the Renaissance. Leiden – Boston, 2008. Classen, Peter. Burgundio von Pisa: Richter, Gesandter, Übersetzer. Heidelberg, 1974. Cribiore, Raffaella. Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt. Princeton – Oxford, 2001. D’Alverny, Marie-Thérèse. “Translations and Translators.” In Renaissance and Renewal in the Twelfth Century. Ed. Robert Benson, Giles Constable, 421–462. Cambridge, Mass., 1982. Daniel-Rops, Henri. ed., The Miracle of Ireland. Dublin – London, 1959. Debut, Janine. “Les Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana: une méthode d’apprentissage des langues pour grands débutants.” Κοινωνία 8 (1984): 61–85. Debut, Janine. “Les Hermeneumata Monacensia,” Les Études Classiques 55 (1987): 180–193. Dionisotti, Anna Carlotta. “From Ausonius’ Schooldays? A Schoolbook and Its Relatives.” Journal of Roman Studies 72 (1982): 83–125. Dionisotti, Anna Carlotta. “Greek Grammars and Dictionaries in Carolingian Europe.” In The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages. Ed. Michael W. Herren and Shirley Ann Brown, 1–56. London, 1988. Dionisotti, Anna Carlotta. “On the Greek Studies of Robert Grosseteste.” In The Uses of Greek and Latin: Historical Essays. Ed. Anna Carlotta Dionisotti, Anthony Grafton, Jill Kraye, 19–39. London, 1988.

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Forrai, Réka. “Anastasius Bibliotecarius and His Textual Dossiers: Greek Collections and their Latin Transmission in 9th Century Rome.” In L’Antiquité tardive dans les collections médiévales: Textes et représentations, VIe–XIVe siècle. Ed. Stéphane Gioanni, Benoît Grévin, 319–337. Rome, 2008. Gutas, Dimitri. Greek Thought, Arabic Culture. New York, 1998. Harris, William V. Ancient Literacy. Cambridge, 1989. Haskins, Charles H. Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science. Cambridge, Mass., 1924. Haskins, Charles H. The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century. Cambridge, Mass. – London, 1927. Herren, Michael W. and Brown, Shirley Ann, eds. The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages. London, 1988. Herren, Michael W. “Evidence for Vulgar Greek from Early Medieval Latin Texts and Manuscripts.” In The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages. Ed. Michael W. Herren and Shirley Ann Brown, 57–84. London, 1988. Koder, Johannes. “Liutprand von Cremona und die griechische Sprache.” In Liutprand von Cremona in Konstantinopel: Untersuchungen zum grieschischen Sprachschatz und zu realienkundlichen Aussagen in seinen Werken. Ed. Johannes Koder, Thomas Weber, 17–70. Wien, 1980. Korhonen, Kalle. “On the Composition of the Hermeneumata Language Manuals.” Arctos 30 (1996): 101–119. Lapidge, Michael. “The Study of Greek at the School of Canterbury in the Seventh Century.” In The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages. Ed. Michael W. Herren and Shirley Ann Brown, 169–194. London, 1988. Lapidge, Michael. Hilduin of Saint-Denis. The Passio S. Dionysii in Prose and Verse. Leiden – Boston, 2017. Marek, Bořivoj. “The Hermeneumata (Pseudodositheana) and Their Didactic Use.” Acta Universitatis Carolinae: Philologica 2 (2017): 127–152. Marrou, Henri-Irénée. Histoire de l’éducation dans l’Antiquité. Paris, 1948. English version: The History of Education in Antiquity. trans. Lamb, George. New York, 1956. Martínez Gázquez, José. “The Translations from Greek into Latin in the Middle Age.” Revista Internacional d’Humanitats 50 (2020): 99–109. Mavroudi, Maria. “Translations from Greek into Latin and Arabic during the Middle Ages: Searching for the Classical Tradition.” Speculum 90 (2015): 28–59. McEvoy, James. Robert Grosseteste. Oxford, 2000. Momigliano, Arnaldo. Alien Wisdom: The Limits of Hellenization. Cambridge, 1975.

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O’Meara, Dominic. “Conceptions of Science in Byzantium.” In The Cambridge Intellectual History of Byzantium. Ed. Anthony Kaldellis, Niketas Siniossoglou, 169–182. Cambridge, 2017. Omont, Henri. “Grammaire grecque du IXe siècle.” Bibliothèque de l’École des Chartes 42 (1881): 126–127. Stotz, Peter. “Esse velim Grecus … Griechischer Glanz und griechische Irrlichter im mittelalterlichen Latein.” In Die Begegnung des Westens mit dem Osten: Kongreßakten des 4. Symposions des Mediävistenverbandes in Köln 1991 aus Anlaß des 1000. Todesjahres der Kaiserin Theophanu. Ed. Odilo Engels, Peter Schreiner, 433–451. Sigmaringen, 1993. Traube, Ludwig. O Roma nobilis: Philologische Untersuchungen aus dem Mittelalter. M甃ࠀnchen, 1891. Vircillo-Franklin, Carmela. “Hagiographic Translations in the Early Middle Ages.” In Les traducteurs au travail: Leurs manuscrits et leurs méthodes. Ed. Jacqueline Hamesse, 1–18. Turnhout, 2001. Weiss, Roberto. “Greek in Western Europe at the End of the Middle Ages.” In Medieval and Humanist Greek. Collected Essays by Roberto Weiss. 3–12. Padova, 1977. Weiss, Roberto. “The Greek Culture of South Italy in the Later Middle Ages.” In Medieval and Humanist Greek. Collected Essays by Roberto Weiss. 13–43. Padova, 1977. Weiss, Roberto. “England and the Decree of the Council of Vienne on the Teaching of Greek, Arabic, Hebrew, and Syriac,” In Medieval and Humanist Greek. Collected Essays by Roberto Weiss. 68–79. Padova, 1977. Weiss, Roberto. “The Translators from the Greek of the Angevin Court of Naples.” In Medieval and Humanist Greek. Collected Essays by Roberto Weiss. 108–133. Padova, 1977.

Chapter 2

“Greek Thought, Latin Culture,”: Triggers and Tendencies behind Greek-Latin Translations, ca. 1050–1300: Preliminary Observations Péter Bara

This introduction provides the background for the rest of this volume by examining both the context within which the translations were produced and identifying major factors that shaped the remarkable proliferation of translations in the period in question. The introduction consists of two parts. It begins with an overview of agents,1 who played important roles (translators, their patrons, and, in a few cases, the scholars who read the texts) alongside the translated texts and the hubs with which these agents were associated. This is followed by preliminary analytical observations. This overview familiarises the reader with basic details concerning Greek-Latin translators and their texts. Taking the translators’ careers, their translated texts and the context of the texts’ production as its point of departure, it asks why specific texts were translated in particular places and at particular times.2 The second analytical part of the introduction singles out four factors that influenced the translation phenomenon:3 Western European expansion from the eleventh century,

1 The material is organised chronologically into subheadings according to translators or specific groups of translators. At the present state of my research, I find that the role of translators and the scientific community (namely patrons and scholars) to which they belonged constituted an overriding organising principle behind the production of translated texts. To bring an example, in the case of the spatial aspect it was translators’ (and the manuscripts’) mobility that connected knowledge hubs in Southern Italy, Greece, or the Holy Land with Western, Latin-using knowledge centres. 2 The survey does not replace Berschin’s last systematic overview, which appeared in 1988. At the same time, it incorporates the findings of recent investigations and presents, in certain aspects, a richer picture than Berschin was able to provide. For general overviews, consult fn. 8–14 in the Preface. Compiling a database or inventory of Greek-Latin translators is a desideratum underway by this essay’s author. 3 The author of this essay is aware of the fact that his explanation is far from being comprehensive. Deciphering the coherence behind the Greek-Latin translation movement(s) during the period as a whole needs further study. A model study can be mentioned here: Charles Burnett, “The Coherence of the Arabic-Latin Translation Program in Toledo in the Twelfth Century,” Science in Context, 14 1–2 (2001), 249–288.

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_003

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educational reform, Greek-Latin religious polemics, and the activity of patrons. Crucially, this introduction offers a critical vantage point from which translators can be seen not as independently working or self-standing actors. Rather, their work can be understood at least partly as the product of the historical backdrop, including the audiences who sponsored, received, interpreted, and promulgated the new texts.

1

Translators: Agents of Knowledge Transfer

1.1 Amalfitan Translators Amalfi, the southernmost promontory of the Byzantine duchy of Naples, played a leading role in Mediterranean trade from the ninth century to the second half of the eleventh century.4 The effects of the Norman occupation of the city, which began in 1073, are presented in recent scholarship in terms of transition and continuity rather than as the end of a long upheaval.5 Amalfitans were present in hubs such as Mt Athos and Constantinople, and this gave rise to opportunities for translations.6 The monk Leo produced the Latin version of the bios of St. Michael of Chios in an Athonite context. The text needs further study, as only its prologue has been published, and the dating is uncertain.7 Paolo Chiesa has drawn a picture of Amalfitan merchants with literary interests who resided in Constantinople and commissioned interpreters to translate Greek works.8 In all likelihood, the first Latin translation (BHL 979B) from Greek of the ‘edifying story’ of Barlaam and Ioasaph can be linked

4 Patricia Skinner, Medieval Amalfi and its Diaspora (Oxford, 2013), pp. 212–249. 5 It has been suggested that the eastward flow of the Amalfitans did not end with the Norman occupation, Skinner, Medieval Amalfi, p. 218. 6 For the translator’s point of view, see Paolo Chiesa, “Ambiente e tradizioni nella prima redazione latina della Leggenda di Barlaam e Josaphat,” Studi Medievali 24 (2), (1983), 521–544, and Walter Berschin, “I traduttori d’Amalfi nell’XI secolo,” in Cristianità ed Europa: Miscellanea di studi in onore di Luigi Prosdocimi, ed. Cesare Alzati (Rome, 1994), pp. 237–243. Otherwise, see Skinner, Medieval Amalfi, pp. 215–221; fn. 14 and 24 are particularly instructive. 7 See the prologue in Max Bonnet, “Nota in Miraculum a S. Michaele Chonis Patratum,” Analecta Bollandiana 9 (1890), 201–203 and some remarks in Albert Siegmund, Die Überlieferung der griechischen christlichen Literatur in der lateinischen Kirche bis zum zwölften Jahrhundert (Munich, 1949), pp. 270–271 and John Duffy, “Byzantine Religious Tales in Latin Translation: The Work of John of Amalfi,” in Byzantine Culture in Translation, ed. Bronwen Neil et al. (Leiden, 2017), pp. 119–120, where Duffy dates Leo’s activities to the eleventh century. 8 Chiesa, “Ambiente e tradizioni,” pp. 540–542. Chiesa’s hypothesis is also confirmed in José Martínez Gázquez, ed., Hystoria Barlae et Iosaphat: (Bibl. Nacional de Nápoles VIII.B.10) (Madrid, 1997), p. xviii.

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to the Amalfitans residing in Constantinople and dates to 1047.9 The layman Leo, who was probably one of the merchants, commissioned one of the many interpreters who might have been a member of the Amalfitan Benedictine monastery in Constantinople.10 This first version did not influence the later tradition.11 Instead, the Latin ‘versio vulgata’ (BHL 979) was rendered into Latin ca. 1170 in Paris and was widely disseminated.12 The translator John worked in the same Constantinopolitan environment. He was a bilingual monk and priest of Amalfi who spent some time in the Zoodochos Pege monastery in Constantinople during the second half of the eleventh century.13 He translated 42 edifying tales selected from Moschos’ Spiritual Meadow and other sources.14 However, the manuscript Vind. lat. 739 contains his unpublished translations of a sermon on Nicholas of Myra, the life of St Eirene, and a bios of John the Almsgiver that is different from the one translated by Anastasius Bibliothecarius and might be from John’s pen.15 In all likelihood, the life of St Eirene is connected with the Amalfitan Church in Constantinople, the Santa Maria Latina.16 As Chiesa has demonstrated, the translators of Amalfitan origin consciously reflected on the techniques of ninth-century and early tenth-century Neapolitan translators.17 Their working methods, such as the recurrent use 9 10 11 12 13

14 15 16 17

See Gázquez, Hystoria and Chiesa, “Ambiente e tradizioni,” pp. 528–532 with a discussion of the previous scholarship. It is still unclear what role was played by the anonymous interpreter in the imperial court, as is clearly stated in the preface and rightly pointed out by Franz Dölger: Der griechische Barlaam-Roman: ein Werk des h. Johannes von Damaskos (Ettal, 1953), p. 24. Constanza Cordoni, et al., eds., Barlaam und Josaphat. Neue Perspektiven auf ein europäisches Phänomen (Berlin, 2015), p. 61. Franz Josef Worstbrock, “Die Lateinische ‘Versio Vulgata’ des Griechischen Legendenromans von Barlaam und Josaphat,” Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur (T甃ࠀbingen) 142 3 (2020), 391–417. Aleksandr P. Každan, et al., eds., The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, 3 vols. (New York, NY, 1991), (hereafter ODB) 2 1062 s. v. “John of Amalfi;” and Duffy, “Byzantine Religious Tales,” pp. 115–118 with the details on editions and previous scholarship; Paolo Chiesa, “Dal culto alla novella. L’evoluzione delle traduzioni agiografiche nel medioevo latino,” in La traduzione dei testi religiosi, ed. Claudio Moreschini et al. (Brescia, 1994), pp. 162–165. Michael Huber, ed., Liber de miraculis (Heidelberg, 1913). Adolf Hofmeister, “Zur Griechisch-Lateinischen Uebersetzungsliteratur des Fr甃ࠀheren Mittelalters: Die Fr甃ࠀhere Wiener Handschrift Lat. 739,” Münchener Museum Für Philologie Des Mittelalters 4 2 (1924): 129–153; Duffy, “Byzantine Religious Tales,” p. 116. Hofmeister, “Zur griechisch-lateinischen Uebersetzungsliteratur,” p. 140. Chiesa, “Ambiente e tradizioni,” pp. 534–544. For the Neapolitan translators (ninth–tenth centuries), see Paolo Chiesa, “Scopi e destinatari delle traduzioni dal greco nel medioevo latino. Una prospettiva politica,” in Miscellanea Graecolatina III, ed. Stefano Costa, Frederico Gallo (Milano  – Roma, 2015), pp. 117–133 and Edoardo D’Angelo, “Agiografia

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of a mixed literal and loose translation technique, and their relation to the Campanian translators need further clarification.18 The Amalfitans’ interest in hagiographic and spiritually edifying texts is remarkable. There is no academic-scholarly programme behind them, in contrast with several other translators. Their translations showcase how an earlier Amalfitan tradition found new raw materials and inspiration in the Greek-speaking places where they arrived.19 1.2 Translators Associated with Salerno and Monte Cassino In the second half of the eleventh century (ca. 1059–1099),20 scientific texts were translated in Southern Italy and Sicily in the milieu of the medical school of Salerno21 and the Benedictine monastery of Monte Cassino.22 A Pisan observer some decades later emphasised that “both in Sicily and Salerno…there

18

19

20

21

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latina del Mezzogiorno continentale d’Italia (750–1000),” in Hagiographies. Histoire internationale de la littérature hagiographique latine et vernaculaire en Occident des origines à 1550. 8 vols., ed. Guy Philippart, et al. (Turnout, 2006), 4: 41–134. These translators seem to linger between the notions of literal translations and loose translations, and the secondary literature also uses this distinction. For Leo the Athonite, see Chiesa, “Ambiente e tradizioni,” pp. 536–537; for the interpreter of the Buddha-legend, Chiesa, “Ambiente e tradizioni,” p. 542 says that he did not take sides in the literal vs. loose-debate but worked in isolation, which also characterised the fate of his translation (see my note above). Regarding John of Amalfi, John Duffy argues that he was aware of the debate but did not pick one or the other technique, Duffy, “Byzantine religious tales,” pp. 119–122. For another note on John’s rewriting technique, see Réka Forrai, “Translation as Rewriting: A Modern Theory for a Premodern Practice,” Renaessanceforum 14 (2018), 43. Amalfitans translated Greek religious works, which they did not find in Egypt and Northern Africa, where the Amalfitans’ presence is attested, see Skinner, Medieval Amalfi, pp. 224–231. They did not show any interest in medical or scientific literature, as was also true in the case of Salerno. Charles Burnett, “The Statement of Medieval Latin Translators on Why and How They Translate Works of Science and Philosophy from Arabic,” in Why translate science?: Documents from Antiquity to the 16th Century in the Historical West (Bactria to The Atlantic), ed. Dimitri Gutas, et al. (Leiden, Boston, 2022), pp. 445–446. The origins of the Salernitan medical school go back to the ninth century, though it was founded in the tenth. See Paul O. Kristeller, “The School of Salerno: Its Development and its Contribution to the History of Learning,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 17 2 (1945), 138–194; Patricia Skinner, Health and Medicine in Early Medieval Southern Italy (Leiden, Boston, 1997), pp. 127–148. See Monica H. Green, “Medical Books,” in The European Book in the Twelfth Century, eds. Erik Kwakkell, Rodney Thomson (Cambridge, 2018), pp. 278–288; Danielle Jacquart, “Principales étapes dans la transmission des textes de médecine (xie–xive siècle),” in Rencontres de cultures dans la philosophie médiévale, Traductions et traducteurs de l’Antiquité tardive au xive siècle, eds. Jacqueline Hamesse, Marta Fattori (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1990), pp. 254–259.

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are students of these matters [i.e. medicine], and there are Greeks and people who know the Arabic language.”23 The towering authorities to whom the translations were attributed were Alfanus, a monk and archbishop of Salerno (1020–1080), and Constantine the African (d. before 1099), who brought an Arabic medical corpus from Tunisia.24 Several anonymous translators and commentators of medical texts also worked in this milieu.25 Alfanus rendered Nemesios’ On the Nature of Man from Greek.26 An anonymous translator rendered Galen’s Tegni (Ars parva) from Greek under Constantine’s authority.27 In this eleventh-century setting, a tool for medical instruction comprising five short medical treaties gradually took shape,28 and by the thirteenth century it had become widely known in the manual named

23

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25 26 27 28

Charles Burnett’s translation, see idem, “Antioch as a Link,” in Arabic into Latin in the Middle Ages: the Translators and Their Intellectual and Social Context (Aldershot, 2009), p. 39 § 1: “et in Sicilia et Salerni, ubi horum maxime studiosi sunt, et greci habentur et lingue gnari arabice.” The text is taken from Stephen of Antioch’s preface to his Breviarium, see below. On Constantine’s career, see Raphaela Veit, “Quellenkundliches zu Leben und Werk von Constantinus Africanus,” Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 59 (2003), 122–152. For an overview of the translations from Arabic attached to his authority, see Monica H. Green, “Reconstructing Constantine the African’s Life and Oeuvre,” pp. 1–6, https://www.academia.edu/5839605/Monica_H_Green_Reconstructing_Constantine _the_African_s_Life_and_Oeuvre_paper_presented_at_the_conference_Texts_and_Con texts_A_manuscript_conference_Ohio_State_University_sponsored_by_The_Center_for _Epigraphical_and_Palaeographical_Studies_October_7_8_2011. Accessed 2023 July 24. The lack of critical editions of Constantine’s work at present does not allow for any assessment of the possible motives behind his translation programme, Monica H. Green, “Gloriosissimus Galienus: Galen and Galenic Writings in the Eleventh-  and TwelfthCentury Latin West,” in Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen, eds. Petros BourasVallianatos, Barbara Zipser (Leiden, 2019), p. 334. For preliminary observations, see ibidem. See e.g., Burnett, Charles, “Physics Before the Physics,” in Arabic into Latin in the Middle Ages: the Translators and Their Intellectual and Social Context (Aldershot, 2009), pp. 66, 77, 71–77. Nemesii episcopi premnon physicon sive peri physeos anthropou liber. Ed. Karl Immanuel Burkhard (Leipzig, 1917). Monica H. Green, “Gloriosissimus Galienus,” p. 326. Compiled, probably, by Constantine the African himself. Its earliest surviving witness seems to be Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 7029, which was produced in Monte Cassino in the last quarter of the eleventh century, see Monica H. Green, “Rethinking the Manuscript Basis of Salvatore De Renzi’s Collectio Salernitana: The Corpus of Medical Writings in the ‘Long’ Twelfth Century,” in La ‘Collectio Salernitana’ di Salvatore De Renzi, ed. Danielle Jacquart and A. Paravicini Bagliani (Florence, 2008), pp. 20, 46–47.

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Articella (Little Book on the Art of Medicine).29 The Articella included the Latin versions from Arabic of Hippocrates’ Aphorisms30 and Prognostics,31 two Byzantine treatises translated from Greek, namely Philaretos’ On Pulses32 and Theophilos’ On Urines,33 and an Arabic medical manual. The latter was translated or compiled by Constantine the African from the Arabic Pantegni, which was a handbook divided into writings on medical theory and practice, together with other works of a medical nature also from Arabic.34 Constantine gave it the Graecising title Isagoge of Ioannitius. Despite the known contact between Alfanus and Constantine, the parallel work on the same texts suggests that one cannot talk about a single community of medical scholars there.35 It also can be assumed that some texts were already in use in Arabic Sicily and Byzantine Southern Italy before the activity of the identifiable translators.36 The other salient feature of these translations is that they were made from Arabic and Greek: despite their Graecising character of the translations,37 the scholars worked from the manuscripts at their disposal. If they could not find a Greek copy, they sought an Arabic one, originating from Sicily or Northern Africa.38 The selection of the translated 29 30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37

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Collected by an anonymous author, see Plinio Pioreschi, The History of Medicine. Vol. V: Medieval Medicine (Omaha, NE, 2003), p. 235 with further bibliography. Later, the collection grew with the addition of other texts, see ibidem. It is debated whether the text was translated from Greek or Arabic, see: Paul O. Kristeller, Bartholomaeus Musandinus and Maurus of Salerno and Other Early Commentators of the “Articella” (Padova, 1976), pp. 57–87; Burnett, “Physics Before the Physics,” 79. fn. 82. Translated from the Arabic, see: Bengt Alexanderson, Die hippokratische Schrift Prognostikon: Überlieferung und Text (Göteborg, 1963), pp. 170–173. Translated from the Greek, which circulated in Byzantium anonymously, or under Galen’s name, see: Cornelius O’Boyle, The Art of Medicine: Medical Teaching at the University of Paris, 1250–1400 (Leiden, 1998), p. 91; Kristeller, “Bartholomaeus, Musandinus,” pp. 57–87. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos, Innovation in Byzantine Medicine: the Writings of John Zacharias Aktouarios (c.1275–c.1330) (Oxford, 2020), pp. 42–43, for the Latin text and influence, see Luciana R. Angeletti, Berenice Cavarra, “Critical and Historical Approach to Theophilus’ De Urinis,” American Journal of Nephrology 14 (1994), 282–289. Charles Burnett, Danielle Jacquart, Constantine the African and ʿAlī Ibn Al-ʿAbbās Al-Magūsī: the Pantegni and Related Texts (Leiden, New York, 1994). Burnett, “Physics before the Physics,” p. 73. Burnett, “Physics before the Physics,” pp. 77–79. See also Green, “Gloriosissimus Galienus,” p. 325 fn. 14. Danielle Jacquart. “A l’aube de la renaissance médicale des Xie–XIIe siècles: l’Isagoge Johannitii et son traducteur.” In La science médicale occidentale entre deux renaissances (XIIe s.–XVe s.) (Aldershot, 1997), pp. 209–240; Burnett, “Physics Before the Physics,” pp. 79–80; Gerhard Baader, “Zur Terminologie des Constantinus Africanus,” Medizinhistorisches Journal 2 no. 1 (1967): 36–53. Burnett, “Physics before the Physics,” p. 80.

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texts shows not only interest in the medical practice but also curiosity about natural phenomena relevant to medicine (such as the role of elements, the four humours, etc.).39 This interest in the naturalia finally led Salernitan masters to consult Aristotle’s natural philosophy.40 1.3 Stephen of Pisa (Early Twelfth C.) Constantine the African’s compilation of the Pantegni was censured by Stephen, a savant of Pisan origin who worked in his city’s quarter in Antioch. He rendered the Pantegni into Latin again in 1127. He appended to this translation a Greek-Arabic-Latin list of medicines and herbals after consulting Dioscorides’ On Medical Material in Greek and Arabic.41 This was the most complete herbal and medical glossary42 until the Renaissance, and it targeted a Southern Italian audience.43 Stephen wrote an account of Ptolemaic astronomy entitled Liber Mamonis, which was largely based on the Almagest,44 but he also considered previous Latin scholars such as Macrobius. A twelfth-century Latin manuscript in Milan indicates that in 1121, a Latin Rhetorica ad Herennium was copied for a certain Stephen of Antioch. The manuscripts, associated with Stephen have in common the use of a system of numeration: the Latin letters in their alphabetical order have been used as decimal digits on the analogy of Greek and Arabic.45 Charles Burnett found traces of the same system in the manuscripts of the Aristotelian Physica Vaticana and Metaphysica media. Drawing also on linguistic parallels, he suggests that the two twelfth-century Aristotelian versions derive from Stephen’s circle.46 Burnett also called attention to collaboration among scholars working in Spain and Pisa: the interest of Abraham ibn Ezra (1089–1167) in arithmetic found a Pisan collaborator who might have been

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40 41 42 43 44 45 46

It is evident from the very title Alfanus created for Nemesios’ On the Nature of Man that he had received an anonymous manuscript. Alfanus called it “premnon physicon, sive stipes naturalium,” i.e. the trunk of natural things/sciences from which, in the author’s view, new branches of the natural sciences will grow. Jacquart, “Principales étapes,” p. 258. Burnett, “Antioch as a Link,” p. 8. The main source for Simon of Genoa’s late thirteenth-century Synonyma. See Burnett, “Antioch as a Link,” p. 9. Burnett, “Antioch as a Link,” 39 § 1. Charles Burnett assumes that the first Latin translation of the Almagest is also linked to Antioch. See Burnett, “Antioch as a Link,” p. 13. Burnett, “Antioch as a Link,” p. 10. Charles Burnett, “A Note on the Origins of the Physica Vaticana and Metaphysica Media,” in Tradition et traduction: les textes philosophiques et scientifiques grecs au moyen âge latin. Hommage à Fernand Bossier, ed. Rita Beyers et al. (Leuven, 1999), pp. 59–69.

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identical to Stephen or one of his colleagues.47 It seems that the Antiochene connection of Pisa brought other fruits as well. Works on weather forecasting were translated,48 and the Pisan astronomical tables were drawn up ca. 1150.49 Furthermore, it is presumably not a pure coincidence that Leonardo, the Pisan mathematician (1170–1240), eagerly adapted Hindu-Arabic numerals and Arabic mathematical methods.50 1.4 Translators in Norman Sicily The Norman Kingdom of Sicily under the reigns of Roger II (1130–1154) and William I (1154–1166) was an important centre for textual patronage.51 However, translations were only produced under Roger’s successor.52 Both rulers presided over a kingdom in which different cultures met: Latin, Greek, and Arabic. Three languages were in use in the administration, giving each culture a place in the court.53 However, it seems that it was not the cosmopolitan nature of the court and kingdom, as Charles Homer Haskins had claimed, that created a need for translations.54 In this volume, James Morton shows that cultural pluralism per se does not necessarily demand or produce translations, as legal pluralism removes a motive for translations. Michael Angold recently showed that translations had been produced in the crisis periods when a Latin elite came to dominate the kingdom. Hence, the benefits of multilingualism had 47 48

49 50 51 52

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Burnett, “Antioch as a Link,” p. 15. The earliest versions of two of them are found in a manuscript in the McClean collection of the Fitzwilliam Museum that was translated into Latin in Spain simultaneously. A second text is attributed to John of Seville, but the MS clearly shows signs of Pisan origin, see: Burnett, “Antioch as a Link,” p. 16. Later replaced by the Toletan tables, see Charles Burnett, “The Transmission of Arabic Astronomy via Antioch and Pisa,” in The Enterprise of Science in Islam: New Perspectives, ed. Jan P. Hogendijk, Abdelhamid I. Sabra (Cambridge, MA, 2003), pp. 23–40. Burnett, “Antioch as a Link,” p. 16. The most recent analysis is Michael Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court as a Centre for the Translation of Classical Texts,” Mediterranean Historical Review 35 (2), (2020), 147–167. Roger aimed to establish the place of his kingdom in the known world. As Latin geographical literature could offer very little, he commissioned Muhammad al-Idrisi, a Muslim scholar, to create an Arabic description and a silver globe, see Alfred Hiatt, “Geography at the Crossroads: The Nuzhat al-mshtaq fi ikhtiraq al-afaq of al-Idrisi,” in Cartography Between Christian Europe and the Arabic-Islamic World, 1100–1500. Vol. 3., ed. Alfred Hiatt (Leiden, Boston, 2021), pp. 113–137. With respect to ecclesiastical geography, the king provided support for the work of a Byzantine refugee, Neilos Doxopatres, who composed a Greek treatise on the five patriarchates: Vitalien Laurent, “L’œuvre géographique du moine sicilien Nil Doxopatris,” Échos d’Orient 36 (1937), 5–30. Giuseppe Mandalà, Inmaculada Pérez Martín, eds., Multilingual and Multigraphic Documents and Manuscripts of East and West (Piscataway, NJ, 2018), pp. 33–123. Haskins, Studies, pp. 142 and 156; Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” 147–149.

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to be channelled to a Latin elite.55 Single cases of translators confirm these hypotheses and illustrate in more depth what is described as the ‘Sicilian school of translators’. Henry Aristippus was a cleric, translator, and chief minister in the court of William I (1154–1166) from 1160–1161.56 He eventually fell from favour and was imprisoned and died in 1162. The sources do not reveal when or where Henry learned Greek, he seems not to have known Arabic, and this was one of the alleged reasons for his fall from grace. He visited Constantinople as the ambassador of the Sicilian king and brought back manuscripts as diplomatic gifts from Manuel I Komnenos. These included Ptolemy’s Almagest and the Greek Prophecy of the Erythrean Sibyl.57 This diplomatic mission is dated to 1156–1158, but Michael Angold argued that this must have occurred earlier, presumably before 1156, when Henry did his first translation, Plato’s Phaedo.58 According to our present knowledge concerning the available manuscripts in Italy at the time, Angold could not identify a single manuscript that would have been at Henry’s disposal. However, an 1154 mission of Italian ecclesiastics to Manuel I could have provided an occasion for Henry not only to bring home the Almagest and the Sibylline text but also to acquire all the raw material for his later translation programme. In addition to Plato’s Phaedo, Henry also translated the Meno. Presumably, Aristippus’ personal interest in these texts has something to do with the fact that the philosopher Aristippos, Henry’s namesake, is mentioned only in these Platonic dialogues.59 However, in addition to Henry’s self-representation, a conscious programme lay behind these translations. As we know from the letter accompanying his Latin version, Henry started translating Plato’s Phaedo in June 1156, when William I besieged Benevento.60 55 56 57

58 59 60

Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” 148. Haskins, Studies, pp. 162–168; Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” 149–156; John B. Dillon, “Henry Aristippus,” in Key Figures in Medieval Europe: An Encyclopedia, ed. Richard Kenneth Emmerson et al. (New York, NY, 2006), pp. 45–46. The prophecies were probably translated only sometime in the thirteenth century (1241: shorter version, 1249: longer version). Jamison, in: Evelyn M. Jamison, Admiral Eugenius of Sicily: His Life and Work and the Authorship of the Epistola Ad Petrum and the Historia Hugonis Falcandi Siculi (London, 1957), pp. 21–32 connected some base texts for these translations to admiral Eugenios, which Christian Jostmann rejected: Sibilla Erithea Babilonica: Papsttum und Prophetie im 13. Jahrhundert (Hannover, 2006), pp. 196–246 rejected. For other manuscripts Henry might have acquired in Constantinople, see below. Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” p. 150. Berschin, Latin Letters, p. 273; Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” p. 150. Henry Aristippus, Phaedo interprete Henrico Aristippo, ed. Lorenzo Minio–Paluello (London, 1950), pp. 89–90.

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Trapped inside the city walls was Pope Adrian IV, who was compelled to recognise William as the legitimate ruler.61 As Angold has shown, it was a crucial moment of legitimation and restoration of royal authority. The letter was dedicated to an Englishman who brought an important message to the north: William I was the patron of philosophers and learning, and the philosophers, in turn, were providing guidance for him as the ruler. The Kingdom of Sicily was no more than the restoration of the ancient Sicilian realm. This was obviously identified with the polity of the tyrant Dionysios of Syracuse. Dionysios made painstaking efforts to demonstrate that his rule cannot be claimed to be a tyranny. He invited Plato himself to serve as the tutor to his son, and, as is clearly noted in book 5 (c. 8–9) of the Meno, the other dialogue which Henry interpreted, Plato tamed the tyranny of the Sicilian court. In the twelfth century, William I was attacked by opponents who denounced him as a usurper and put his life in danger. Henry’s Phaedo not only illustrated William I’s role as a patron of erudition but also reflected upon his conduct. The Phaedo’s main theme is the immortality of the soul. It demonstrates Aristotle’s bravery in the face of imminent execution and his unshakeable faith in the values he had promoted. Henry Aristippus’ translation suggested that William I, like the Phaedo’s Aristotle, would remain unchallenged in the present and unshakable in the face of oblivion.62 Henry Aristippus’ rendering of Plato’s Meno took this parallel further.63 The text focuses on the acquisition of virtue. This could have been a central motif in justifying the powerful positions of Henry and his associates.64 By studying Plato, they could lay claim to a moral ascendancy over their rivals and defend the reputation of the Norman king and his wise counsellors. Henry promoted this programme through some of his other translations as well.65 In addition to the two Platonic dialogues, he also rendered Gregory of Nazianzos’ orations into Latin.66 Henry’s choice fell on Gregory as the Christian Plato, so the taste and tone of philosophy in the Norman court took

61 62 63 64 65 66

Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” p. 149. Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” pp. 149–150. Henry Aristippus, Meno interprete Henrico Aristippo, ed. Victor Kordeuter, Cariotta Labowsky (London, 1940). Such as Theoridus of Brindisi, admiral Maio, or Hugh, the archbishop of Palermo, whom Henry mentioned in the prefatory letter to Phaedo as well: Henry Aristippus, Phaedo, p. 89 l. 12. Henry Aristippus, Meno, p. 6 l. 14. The translation did not survive, see Catalogus Translationum et Commentariorum, ed. Paul Oskar Kristeller, et al. (Washington, 1971), 2: 47–48.

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a more Christianised form.67 Furthermore, at the request of Admiral Maio, William I’s chief minister, and Hugo, the Archbishop of Palermo, Henry did a partial translation of Diogenes Laertios’ Lives of the Philosophers. According to Angold, by rendering Diogenes’ Lives, Henry emphasised the role played by highly educated officials in the Norman court.68 Henry translated Book 4 of Aristotle’s Meteorology into Latin and also dealt with scholia pertaining to this book.69 Henry’s interest in this text stemmed from his study of the wonders of Mount Etna. The first anonymous translator of the Greek Almagest arrived in Sicily from Salerno in 1158 or 1159 and found Henry investigating the volcano’s lava flows, which often threatened Catania.70 In all likelihood, Henry sought an explanation for the phenomenon by reading and translating Aristotle’s Meteorology, a text which deals with the liquefying and congealing of matter. As has been emphasised by Haskins and Angold, translations in the Sicilian court were funded by a group of literati who were leading state functionaries.71 Admiral Maio stood out among them.72 He was a Lombard, a native of Bari, and himself the author of a commentary on the Lord’s prayer.73 It has been demonstrated that Maio read Aristippus’ translation of the Phaedo, of which there are echoes in his work.74 As Angold has pointed out, it is more than a pure coincidence that Maio’s ascendancy, which began in 1149, paralleled the 67 68

69

70 71 72

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Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” p. 151. Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” p. 151. These two translations are known only from fragments that John of Salisbury used, see Dillon, “Henry Aristippus,” p. 45. An attempt has been made to identify the Greek manuscript source of Laertios’ work: Tiziano Dorandi. Laertiana: studi sulla tradizione manoscritta e sulla storia del testo delle Vite del filosofi di Diogene Laerzio (Berlin, New York, 2009), pp. 201–222. Meteorologica, liber quartus. Translatio Henrici Aristippi, ed. Elisa Rubino, Aristoteles Latinus X.1. (Brepols, Turnhout, 2010); F.J. Fobes, “Mediaeval Versions of Aristotle’s Meteorology,” Classical Philology 10 3 (1915), 310–311; Lorenzo Minio-Paluello, Opuscula: The Latin Aristotle (Amsterdam, 1972), pp. 57–86. Henry’s edition was replaced later by William of Moerbeke’s translation of the entire Aristotelian work, see below. Haskins, Studies, pp. 159–160. Haskins, Studies, p. 190; Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” passim; Daniele Molinini, “The First Sicilian School of Translators,” Nova Tellus 27 (2009), 198. Hubert Houben, “Between Occidental and Oriental Cultures: Norman Sicily as a ‘Third Space’?” in Norman Tradition and Transcultural Heritage, ed. Stefan Burkhardt, et al. (Farnham, 2013), p. 27; Bernardo Pio, “Maione de Bari,” in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani: https://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/maione-da-bari_%28Dizionario-Biografico%29/. Accessed 2023 Oct 30. Fraja, Valeria De, ed. Expositio orationis dominice (Roma, 2015). Donald Matthew, “Maio of Bari’s Commentary on the Lord’s Prayer,” in Intellectual Life in the Middle Ages. Essays Presented to Margareth Gibson, ed. Lesley Smith, Benedicta Ward (London, 1992), pp. 119–144.

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rising translating activity in the Norman court.75 Maio and his associates used their knowledge of Antiquity to justify their ambitions and to demonstrate that the court was a seat of philosophy. During the crisis at the beginning of William I’s reign, the tools and strategies used by the circle of court officials to give symbolic expression to their positions of influence, their understanding of history, and their political leanings were key elements of the efforts of the king and the court to give symbolic expression to the king’s position as ruler and his right to rule as a means of challenging his adversaries. Henry Aristippus brought the Greek manuscript of Ptolemy’s Almagest or Megiste syntaxis to Palermo.76 As the Wölfenb甃ࠀttel preface tells, a medical student from Salerno arrived to translate the piece. He found Henry studying the manuscript in the hopes of learning more about the volcano of Mount Etna, and Henry was apparently only reluctantly willing to give him access to the manuscript. The Latin translation is only partly edited, and further work needs to be done to identify the anonymous translator. Haskins, Angold, and David Juste have convincingly shown that he cannot have been Henry of Carinthia.77 Angold’s suggestions on the French connections of the translator are noteworthy, taking into account the connections of some medical masters with the French elite during the period.78 Proklos’ Elementatio physica can be added to the list of works by the anonymous translator of the Almagest.79 The editor of the text, based on substantial similarities between the two translations, argued that the same person had rendered the two works into Latin. It can be assumed that the anonymous translator of the Almagest also translated Euclid’s Elements.80 The translation includes books 1–13, book 15, and a compendium of books 14 and 15. John Murdoch compared the Greek version with the Arabic ones, and he argued that it was probably the anonymous interpreter of the Almagest who translated

75 76

77 78 79 80

Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” p. 152. Haskins, Studies, pp. 157–164 and the preface at pp. 191–192. See also most recently: Elena Nicolai, La tradizione greco-latina e arabo-latina del I libro dell’Almagesto. Saggio di analisi e traduzione, PhD thesis (Padova, 2010), pp. 1–35, 57–62. See the present status artis about the available Latin manuscripts and pertaining literature: David Juste, “Ptolemy, Almagesti (tr. Sicily ca. 1150),” in Ptolemaeus Arabus et Latinus. Available at https://ptol emaeus.badw.de/work/21. Accessed 2023 Jun 28. Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” 153–154. See below the case of Burgundio and Bartholomaeus and Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” pp. 155–156 with further literature. Helmut Boese, ed., Procli Diadochi Lycii elementatio physica (Berlin, 1958). John E. Murdoch, “‘Euclides Graeco-Latinus’: A Hitherto Unknown Translation.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 71 (1967), 263–270.

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the Latin version. A mathematical text, the treatise De isoperimetris, could be added to the list of scientific texts translated in the court of Palermo.81 The anonymous author of the Wölfenb甃ࠀttel preface to the Almagest writes that Henry Aristippus did not let him translate Ptolemy’s work, and instead he worked first (“praelusi”) on the translation of Euclid’s Optics, Catoptricks, and Data and also on Proklos’ aforementioned Elementatio physica.82 The manuscripts of these works can be traced to the beginning of the thirteenth century, but they were probably translated in the twelfth century.83 1.5 Moses of Bergamo (d. after 1156/1157) Moses of Bergamo was a translator and poet.84 He came from Bergamo, and he remained in Constantinople from before 1129 until at least 1136. Moses was one of the chief interpreters in the 1136 discussion between Anselm of Havelberg and Niketas of Nikomedeia. His letters provide rich material about his circumstances compared to other Italians who pursued translation activities in the capital. There are details about his travels to Bergamo, his financial status, his books (which perished in a fire), and his stay in the Venetian quarter, which suggests that he had connections with Venetians. Several scholars, most recently Alex R. Suarez, have hypothesised that Moses was an official imperial interpreter and secretary.85 This is plausible, as he accompanied Emperor John II Komnenos on his Danubian campaigns, similarly to Leo Tuscus, who was referred to as “imperialium epistularum interpres” during the reign of Manuel I. Suarez argues that he replaced Cerbanus Cerbano as an imperial interpreter around 1125.86 In Suarez’s view, this happened because Moses belonged to a small Italian city and not to communities like Venice or Pisa, which had commercial and political interests in the sphere of the Byzantine empire.87 Suarez’s idea is persuasive, especially if one keeps in mind that Cerbano fled Constantinople to support his Venetian compatriots during their 81 82 83 84

85 86 87

Hubert L. Busard, “Dear Traktat De isoperimetris, der unmittelbar aus dem Griechischen ins Lateinische 甃ࠀbersetzt worden ist,” Medieval Studies 42 1 (1980), 61–88. Haskins, Studies, p. 197 l. 33–35. d’Alverny, “Translations,” p. 434. Charles H. Haskins, “Moses of Bergamo,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 23 1 (1919), 133–142; Giovanni Cremaschi, Mose del Brolo e la cultura a Bergamo nei secoli XI–XII (Bergamo, 1945); ODB 2:1417 s. v. “Moses of Bergamo;” Alex R. Suarez, “From Greek into Latin: Western Scholars and Translators in Constantinople during the Reign of John II,” in John II Komnenos, Emperor of Byzantium, ed. Alessandra Bucossi, Alex R. Suarez (London, 2016), pp. 100–105. Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” pp. 101–102 with details on previous scholarship. Details regarding Cerbanus see below. Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” p. 102.

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Eastern expedition in 1122–1125.88 Nonetheless, Moses seems to have been a faithful citizen of Bergamo. He praised his native town in a long Latin poem Liber Pergaminus, which, according to a marginal gloss, was commissioned by Emperor John II.89 As an interpreter, Moses not only wrote Latin documents in the context of the Byzantine administration, as the translation of a Venetian donation charter suggests.90 Moses asserted that he had learned the Greek language and literature (“litteras me didicisse”) to promote Latinate science.91 He rendered into a Latin a Greek anthology of Biblical texts, the Excerptio compendiosa.92 This was a collection of writings by an anonymous author that survives in two Greek versions. The collection contains more than 650 annotated Biblical citations which are intended to prove that the Old Testament prophecies were realised in Christ’s lifetime or during the history of the church. According to the preface, Moses found the libellus by accident, and it roused his interest. There is no indication of a dedicatee or patron.93 François Dolbeau claims that Moses may have been interested in the text of the Scripture itself, the Greek commentary tradition of which was richer in Byzantium than in the West. Furthermore, the anthology aims to promote the conversion of Jews to Christianity, which was a popular topic at the time if not a new one.94 Dolbeau also shows that Moses produced an acceptable translation with some flaws.95 The second piece that Moses rendered into Latin is the treatise on Christ’s disciples ascribed to Epiphanios of Salamis. His translation is the only evidence regarding the text.96 Moses’ interest in the Greek language, accentuation, and grammar is also shown by his discussion of Greek phrases in Jerome’s biblical prefaces.97 Lastly, in addition to Moses’ profile as a translator dealing with religious topics, Filippo Ronconi on paleographical grounds hypothesised that Moses 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97

See below. Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” p. 100. However, Moses composing the poem in Latin makes John II’s patronage dubious. Luigi Lanfranchi, ed., S. Giorgo Maggiore (Venice, 1968), 2:382. François Dolbeau, “À propos d’un florilège biblique traduit du grec par Moïse Bergame,” Revue d’histoire des textes 24 (1994), 341. Dolbeau, “À propos d’un florilège biblique.” Dolbeau, “À propos d’un florilège biblique,” 341. Dolbeau, “À propos d’un florilège biblique,” 341. See also Paschal the Roman’s Disputatio contra Judaeos below. Dolbeau, “À propos d’un florilège biblique,” 348–354. François Dolbeau, “Une liste ancienne d’apôtres et de disciples, traduite du grec par Moise de Bergame,” Analecta Bollandiana 104 (1986), 299–314. Cremaschi, Mose del Brolo, pp. 163–195.

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was the author of interlinear Latin working translations in the codex Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Suppl. gr. 388.98 The manuscript contains the first Latin translations of Theognis of Megara’s Elegies (second book), Dionysios Periegetes’ Periegesis, and the hexametric Maxims by Pseudo-Phocylides. If the attribution is right, Moses’ interest in translating Greek poetry was unique during the epoch. 1.6 Cerbanus Cerbano (ca. 1080–after 1135) The name Cerbanus Cerbano covers two people who were both active as translators from Greek into Latin. It is reasonable to assume that these two personages were identical.99 The ‘first’ Cerbanus Cerbano was born in Venice to a noble family in the 1080s. One of his relatives was the patriarch of Grado, another one, Peter, was allegedly a member of the Venetian élite. Cerbanus was a clergyman and priest who spent some time (“aliquantum commoratus”) in the court of Alexios I and John II Komnenos. His exact position is unclear, but scholars have claimed, based on Cerbanus’ knowledge of Greek and Latin and his translatory activity, that he was an imperial interpreter.100 When the news arrived that the Venetian fleet had launched an expedition to Tyre (1122–1125), Cerbanus wished to join his fellow citizens. However, Emperor John II denied this request, so Cerbanus fled the capital. Unfortunately, he was caught in Ikaria and sent back to the emperor. But Cerbanus managed to flee again and reached Chios, where he found the Venetian fleet returning from the Holy Land. In Chios, Cerbanus entered the sanctuary of the martyr Isidoros and removed the relics to transfer them to Venice. This brought Cerbanus into conflict with the doge Domenico Michiel, who disagreed with the priest’s audacious act. In all likelihood, Cerbanus returned to Venice with the fleet, but the sources contain no traces of him after this. The primary source on Cerbanus Cerbano’s career is his account of transferring the martyr’s relics (Translatio Isidori).101 There is also a fourteenth-century

98 99

100 101

Filippo Ronconi, “Il Paris. suppl. gr. 388 e Mosè del Brolo da Bergamo,” Italia Medievale e Umanistica 47 (2006), 1–27. The most recent biographical study is Bara Péter?, “A Venetian Translator in the Hungarian Kingdom? Cerbanus Cerbano’s Biography,” in Hit, Tudomány, Társadalom = Faith, Science and Community, ed. Vizy E. Szilveszter et al. (Budapest, 2021), pp. 493–508 with the discussion of previous scholarship. Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” pp. 94–97. Cerbanus, Translatio mirifici martyris Isidori a Chio insula in civitatem Venetam, ed. Paul Riant (Paris, 1886–1895; repr. 1967). It is available in a diplomatic edition, which, nevertheless, reproduces the sole fourteenth-century codex in which the text survived.

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mosaic in Venice (still visible today) offering a visual narrative of this story.102 The Translatio presents details of Cerbanus’ biography and also reveals that its author compiled Greek and Latin sources about martyr Isidoros and composed a vita of the saint.103 Cerbanus also wrote an epic poem about the Venetian expedition which does not seem to have survived.104 By and large, the Translatio Isidori is Cerbanus’ autobiography, and it was written in an apologetic tone. Thus, considering Cerbanus’ misfortunes in Constantinople and Venice, it is unsurprising that after 1135, one finds another Cerbanus in the Hungarian Kingdom who offers the Latin translation of Greek patristic texts to a Benedictine abbot. The ‘second’ Cerbanus was a guest of David, the abbot of the Benedictine monastery of Pannonhalma, whose incumbency dates from 1135 to 1150. He dedicated to his host the Latin translation of Maximos Confessor’s Chapters on Charity, which he found in the library of another Hungarian monastery at Pásztó/Pastuchium.105 The translator says he found several works by Maximos, of which he translated some treatises.106 The dedicatory letter is followed only by the Latin version of the Chapters on Charity. Another translation, the partial Latin version of John Damascene’s De fide orthodoxa, is attributed to the ‘second’ Cerbanus. It came down to us in three manuscripts containing the Latin version of the Chapters.107 Whereas the translation of De fide orthodoxa is faithful to the Greek text, Cerbanus’ rendering of Maximos’ Chapters in the modern edition deviates substantially from Cerbanus’ assumed Greek original. The editor used two manuscripts from a corrupted group, but Iván Boronkai has discovered traces of a better manuscript branch in Munich that my research complemented with many others.108 I am currently working on my edition of the Latin chapters, which will also shed light on Cerbanus’ translation technique. Cerbanus’ partial translation of John Damascene’s creed was superseded by Burgundio of Pisa’s translation of the entire work. Nevertheless,

102 103 104 105 106 107 108

Enzo De Francheschi, “I mosaici della cappella di Sant’Isidoro nella Basilica di San Marco a Venezia,” Arte Veneta 60 (2003), 6–29. Cerbanus, Translatio Isidori, pp. 321–322. Cerbanus, Translatio Isidori, p. 324. Cerbanus, Translatio Latina S. Maximi Confessoris de caritate ad Elpidium, ed. Andor Terebessy (Budapest, 1944). Cerbanus, Translatio S. Maximi Confessoris, p. 8. De fide orthodoxa. Versions of Burgundio and Cerbanus, ed. Éloi M. Buytaert (New York, 1955). Iván Boronkai, “Die Maximos-Übersetzung des Cerbanus (Lehren aus einer M甃ࠀnchener Handschrift),” Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 24 (1976), 307–336.

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Bavarian theologians and Peter of Lombard in Paris used Cerbanus’ translation in the late 1140s and early 1150s.109 1.7 James of Venice (d. after 1148) There are very few clear details about the life of James of Venice.110 He participated in the theological discussions in 1136, together with Moses of Bergamo and Burgundio of Pisa. In 1148, he wrote a letter to the archbishop of Ravenna.111 It seems that he was a cleric from Venice who stayed in Constantinople long enough to acquire a good command of Greek, which also influenced his use of Latin. However, his Venetian origins were important to him, as he wrote a historical work about Domenico Michiel’s 1122–1125 expedition to Tyre. It is possible that James held an official position at the Byzantine court as an interpreter. He is known as the translator of several Aristotelian works.112 These include scholia to the Prior Analytics,113 the entire text of the Posterior Analytics,114 the early version of the treatise On the Soul,115 fragments of the On Sophistic

109 110

111

112 113 114 115

Buytaert, De fide orthodoxa, pp. li–liv. Sten Ebessen, “Jacques de Venise,” in Max Lejbowitz, et al., eds., L’Islam médiéval en terres chrétiennes: Science et idéologie (Villeneuve d’Ascq, 2017), pp. 115–132. Accessed at: https://books.openedition.org/septentrion/13980#ftn13, my citations follow the digital numbering (1–40); Lorenzo, Minio-Pauello, “Iacobus veneticus grecus. Canonist and Translator of Aristotle,” Traditio 8 (1952), 265–304; and Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” pp. 97–100. Sten Ebbesen hypothesised that James returned to Southern Italy c.1140–1145, where the Parisian Alberic might have listened to his lectures during his Italian sojourn, Sten Ebessen, “Jacques de Venise,” 14–15. Sylvain Gouguenheim assumed that James stayed in Mont-Saint-Michel in France and produced there some of his works, see: Sylvain Gouguenheim, Aristote au Mont Saint-Michel: les racines grecques de l’Europe chrétienne (Paris, 2008). This idea was rejected by Sten Ebbesen (“Jacques de Venise,” 21–39) who argued that the presence of manuscripts preserving James’ text in good quality at Mont Saint-Michel did not necessarily mean that James produced them there. James’ own commentaries on the Second Analytics and On Sophistic Reasonings were not influential and survived in a few fragments, Sten Ebessen, “Jacques de Venise,” 1, fn. 1 with further details. Analytica priora. Translatio Boethii (recensiones duae), Translatio anonyma, PseudoPhiloponi aliorumque Scholia, Aristoteles Latinus III. 1–4, ed. Lorenzo Minio-Paluello (Bruges – Paris, 1962, repr. 1998). Analytica posteriora. Translatio Iacobi, Aristoteles Latinus IV.1, ed. Lorenzo Minio-Paluello (Bruges – Paris, 1968). Minio-Paluello, “Iacobus Veneticus,” 284–291.

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Reasonings,116 the Latin version of the Physics,117 and a partial translation (books 1–4.4) of the Metaphysics with scholia.118 William of Moerbeke’s translation of smaller Aristotelian works (On Length and Shortness of Life, On Youth, On Respiration, On Death and Life) are usually considered revised versions of earlier versions by James.119 It is a plausible hypothesis that James had contacts with the intellectuals around Anna Komnene whom the princess commissioned to comment upon Aristotle’s works.120 Sten Ebbesen argued that James used Aristotelian codices for his translation project that might have been in Michael of Ephesos’ possession.121 Ebbesen established the link between James and Michael on the basis that James translated Michael of Ephesos’ commentary on the On Sophistis Reasonings. James’ translation shows that he used Michael’s final version and his earlier drafts as a model. Otto Demus’ suggestion that James of Venice can be connected to twelfth-century inscriptions in Saint Mark’s cathedral is difficult to prove.122 1.8 Burgundio of Pisa (1110–1193) Burgundio was a Pisan jurist, diplomat, statesman, and Latin translator of Greek works.123 As his epitaph and literary activity show, he also had a keen interest in medicine.124 He was born in Pisa, but scholars have tended to assume that he spent many years in Constantinople as a younger man, where he learned Greek, living probably in the Pisan quarter, which was established in 1111.125 In 1136, Burgundio appeared in Constantinople as a translator (“interpres”), together with Moses of Bergamo, at the theological discussion of 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125

De sophisticis elenchis. Fragmenta Translationis Iacobi, Aristoteles Latinus VI.2, ed. Bernard G. Dod (Leiden – Bruxelles, 1975). Physica. Translatio Vetus, Aristoteles Latinus VII. 1, ed. Fernard Bossier, Jozef Brams (Bruges – Paris, 1957). Metaphysica, lib. I–IV.4. Translatio Iacobi sive ‘Vetustissima’ cum Scholiis et Translatio Composita sive ‘Vetus’, Aristoteles Latinus XXV.1, ed. Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem (Bruxelles – Paris, 1970). Minio-Paluello, “Iacobus Veneticus,” pp. 284–291. Robert Browning, “An Unpublished Funeral Oration on Anna Comnena,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 8 8 188 (1962), 6–8. Sten Ebessen, “Jacques de Venise,” pp. 16–20. Otto Demus, The Mosaics of San Marco in Venice, 2 vols. (Chicago, 1984), 1.1: 272. Peter Classen, Burgundio von Pisa: Richter, Gesandter, Übersetzer (Heidelberg, 1974); ODB 1 340 s. v. “Burgundio of Pisa.” Classen, Burgundio von Pisa, p. 8. Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” p. 105; Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem, Marwan Rashed, “Burgundio de Pise et ses manuscrits grecs D’Aristote: Laur. 87.7. et Laur. 81.18,” Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale 64 1 (1997), p. 178.

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Anselm of Havelberg, Lothar III’s envoy to John II Komnenos. The first part of the debate was held in the Pisan quarter. Despite the theological nature of the dispute, the Pisan Burgundio’s presence might have helped the rapprochement between Pisa and Byzantium against Roger II of Sicily.126 He then returned to Pisa, where he held different state positions. Peter Classen has done extensive research on his career as a Pisan jurist.127 From 1168 to 1171, Burgundio took part in a delegation to emperor Manuel I Komnenos to restore Pisa’s position with its commercial rivals at Constantinople.128 During the 1136 delegation to Constantinople or in the subsequent years (1136–1140), Burgundio acquired several Greek manuscripts which he brought to Pisa. These philosophical and medical manuscripts are now located in different European libraries and constituted part of the textual basis of Burgundio’s translation activity.129 As Nigel Wilson, Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem, and most recently Paola Degni have demonstrated, the manuscripts were produced by the grammatikos Ioannikios and his associates in Constantinople.130 Wilson’s idea that they were copied partly by Burgundio himself (which would mean that Burgundio knew Greek at least that well) has not met with much support among scholars, though Burgundio arguably wrote not only Latin but also Greek marginalia on the manuscripts. Burgundio of Pisa’s translation activity probably started around his first known visit to Constantinople in 1136. Alex R. Suarez hypothesises that it was James of Venice, himself the translator of texts of Aristotle as well, who nurtured an interest in the philosopher’s work in Burgundio when they met during the 1136 theological dispute.131 In addition, Burgundio enjoyed the patronage of Pope Eugenius III, who was of Pisan origin. Burgundio’s credentials as a 126 127 128 129

130 131

In some months’ time, a Pisan embassy again arrived in Constantinople, see Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” p. 105. Classen, Burgundio von Pisa. Franz Dölger, Regesten der Kaiserurkunden des oströmischen Reiches: Von 565–1453. Teil 2, Regesten von 1025–1204 (Berlin, Boston, 2019), no. 1499. The best overview is Paola Degni, “I manoscritti dello ‘scriptorium’ di Gioannicio,” Segno e Testo (2008), 179–248 with a detailed discussion of the previous literature. At the moment, not all the manuscript sources of Burgundio’s translations have been identified, see Stefania Fortuna, Anna Maria Urso, “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore di Galeno: nuovi contributi e prospettive,” in Sulla tradizione indiretta dei testi medici greci. Atti del II Seminario internazionale di Siena (Certosa di Pontignano, 19–20 settembre 2008), ed. Ivan Garofalo (Pisa, 2009), p. 145. Nigel Wilson, “A Mysterious Byzantine scriptorium: Ioannikios and his Colleagues,” Scrittura a Civiltà 7 (1983), 161–176; Paola Degni, “Burgundio e I manoscritti di Gioannicio: la questione dei marginalia,” Medicina nei Secoli: Arte e Scienza 25 3 (2013), 797–814. Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” p. 106.

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translator may also have been brought to the pope’s attention by Anselm of Havelberg.132 The third person who arguably influenced Burgundio’s translations was Bartholomeus Salernitanus, a teacher in Salerno’s medical school. He asked Burgundio to translate the list of the Galenic works as an appendix to the medical handbook entitled Ars medica.133 The list of Burgundio of Pisa’s translations is only partial, and only some of them have been critically edited. The manuscripts he brought from Constantinople were the basis for his translations of Aristotle’s works. Robert Durling has demonstrated that the translation of Aristotle’s On Coming-to-be and Passing-Away, attributed earlier to an anonymous author and edited by Joanna Judycka, was produced by Burgundio.134 It has become clear, furthermore, that Burgundio also contributed to the fragmentary antiqua translatio of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics,135 based on two manuscripts, deriving from the scriptorium of Ioannikios.136 Burgundio took a strong interest in the Galenic corpus throughout his life, particularly after having acquired manuscripts in Constantinople in the 1130s. At present, sixteen pieces are attributed to Burgundio as translator,137 and stylistic and lexical analyses may well yet help scholars identify other anonymous translations that could persuasively be attributed to him. Currently, the translations are dated to the 1150s onwards.138 Stefania Fortuna has suggested that Burgundio’s translatory activity was a conscious programme: he was rendering into Latin those Galenic works which were part of the Alexandrian canon.139 The two other treaties (Galen’s commentary on Hippocrates’ Aphorisms140 and De victus ratione in morbis acutis) that Burgundio translated were part of the medical curriculum in Salerno and are included in a list in the twelfth-century

132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140

Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” p. 106. Vienna ÖNB Vind. pal. 2504 fol. 39v, see Richard J. Durling, “Burgundio of Pisa and Medical Humanists of the Twelfth Century,” Studi Classici e Orientali 43 (1995), 96. Richard J. Durling, “The Anonymous Translation of Aristotle’s De generatione et corruptione (Translatio vetus),” Traditio 49 (1994), 320–330. Ethica Nicomachea. Translatio antiquissima lib. II–III sive Ethica vetus, Translationis antiquioris quae supersunt sive Ethica nova Hoferiana, Borghesiana, Aristoteles Latinus XXVI 1–2, ed. René A. Gauthier (Leiden, 1972–1974). José Antonio Poblete, “Itinerario de las traducciones latinas de Ethica Nicomachea durante el siglo XIII,” Anales del Seminario de Historia de la Filosofía 31 1 (2014), 46–51, 65. For the list, see: Fortuna and Urso, “Burgundio de Pisa traduttore di Galeno,” p. 148. Fortuna and Urso, “Burgundio de Pisa traduttore di Galeno,” pp. 143–144. Fortuna and Urso, “Burgundio de Pisa traduttore di Galeno,” pp. 147–149. It was only the To Glaucon that Burgundio did not interpret. Burgundio’s translation is only partial.

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handbook Articella.141 In parallel to Burgundio’s translations of writings by Galen, almost the same works were rendered from Arabic to Latin.142 Danielle Jacquart has pointed out that versions from the Arabic reached wider circulation than Burgundio’s rather precise translations at the end of the thirteenth century and the beginning of the fourteenth.143 Burgundio’s theological translations consist of John Chrysostomos’ Homilies on Matthew, which was finished in late 1151 at the request of Pope Eugene III, who supplied a Greek manuscript from the Latin patriarch of Antioch. Burgundio’s complete translation of John Damascene’s On Orthodox Faith (1153, or 1154) replaced Cerbanus’ partial version.144 In 1165, Burgundio dedicated his translation of Nemesios’ On Human Nature to Frederick I.145 When sent for a second time as a delegate, Burgundio found the manuscript of Chrysostomos’ Homilies on John, but he finished the translation only in 1179, when it was read during the Lateran Council. This work was pursued, according to the preface, for his son’s salvation, who had died in Constantinople. Burgundio also translated passages from Justinian’s Digest and the Geoponika.146 1.9 Leo Tuscus (Died 1182) Leo Tuscus was an official translator (imperatoriarum epistolarum interpres)147 at the court of Emperor Manuel I Komnenos.148 He was of Pisan origin and worked in close quarters with his brother Hugh Heteriano, who was a court theologian and later Roman cardinal.149 Leo stayed in Constantinople during Manuel I’s theological controversy with Demetrios of Lampe (the “Father 141 142 143 144 145

146 147 148 149

Fortuna and Urso, “Burgundio de Pisa traduttore di Galeno,” p. 149; Anna Maria Urso, “La traduzione de Burgundio del commento di Galeno ad Aphorismi,” Medicina nei Secoli: Arte e Scienza 25 3 (2013), 855–888. For a comparative list, see Michael McVaugh, “Galen in the Medieval Universities, 1200–1400,” in Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen, ed. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos, Barbara Zipser (Leiden, 2019), p. 380. Jacquart, “Principales étapes,” pp. 260–261. Buytaert, De fide orthodoxa, pp. ix–xv. Burgundio thought that it had been authored by Gregory of Nyssa, and this idea gained traction and was echoed by others. Thomas Aquinas quoted Gregory accordingly, see Catalogus Translationum et Commentariorum, ed. F. Edward Cranz, et al. (Washington, 1984), 5: 25. Jean-Louis Gaulin, “Sur le vin aum moyen âge. Pietro de’ Crescenzi lecteur et utilisateur des Géopoliques traduites par Burgundio de Pise,” Mélanges de l’école française de Rome. Moyen âge-temps modernes 96 1 (1984), 96–106. On this office, see most recently Suarez, “From Greek into Latin,” pp. 108–109. Haskins, Studies, pp. 215–219; ODB 2 1218 s. v. “Leo Tuscus.” Antoine Dondaine. “Hugues Ethérien et Léon Toscan.” Archives d’ histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge 19 (1952), 67–134.

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greater than I”-debate). He then accompanied the emperor on his campaign to Bithynia and Lykaionia (1173–1176). From there, in all likelihood, in 1176, he sent his brother Hugh a translation of the dream book of Achmet Ben Sirin.150 Subsequently, Leo translated the liturgy of John Chrysostom at the request of the Aragonese envoy Ramón de Moncada to make the Byzantine service comprehensible for a visitor.151 Maria Mavroudi thoroughly assessed the Oneirocriticon of Achmet and called attention to the preface to Leo’s translation.152 In the preface, Leo asserts that his brother Hugh had a dream about Manuel I, and he translated the book to discover its meaning. In Hugh’s alleged dream, Manuel I was riding a bronze horse that mounted the Augustaion column in Constantinople and read a Latin booklet, surrounded by Latin literati. Peter Schreiner claimed that this was a parody of the emperor in the context of the “Father greater than I”-controversy, though Mavroudi has challenged this view. The answer to this question may shed light upon the use of translations in political contexts.153 1.10 Hugo Eteriano (ca. 1110–1182) Leo Tuscus’ brother Hugo was known as a theologian more than as a translator.154 He studied theology in Paris and Italy and then moved to Constantinople, alongside his brother. Hugo’s move eastward may well have been prompted by the Porretan controversy in France.155 Hugo might have searched Greek material for passages and ideas with which to buttress the position of his teacher Gilbert of Poitiers against the charges of Bernard of Clairvaux. Hugo continued his studies there and became an adviser to Manuel I Komnenos on questions 150 151 152 153 154

155

Work is currently underway on a critical edition of Leo’s version of the dream book: Ambrogio C. Pistoja, “The Oneirocriticon of Achmet in the West. A Contribution towards an Edition of Leo Tuscus’ Translation,” Studi Medievali 55 2 (2014): 719–758. André Jacob, ed., “La traduction de la Liturgie de saint Jean Chrysostome par Léon Toscan: Édition critique,” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 32 (1966), 111–162. Maria Mavroudi, An Arabic Book on Dream Interpretation: The ‘Oneiorocriticion of Achmet’ and Its Arabic Sources (Leiden, 2002); for the preface, see pp. 115–116. Haskins reproduced the preface in Haskins, Studies, pp. 217–218. See e.g., Chiesa, “Scopi.” The most recent overviews of his life and writings, with discussions of the earlier literature, are Janet Hamilton, “Hugh Eteriano: Life and Works,” in Hugh Eteriano: Contra Patarenos, ed. Janet Bernard, Sarah Hamilton (Leiden, Boston, 2004), pp. 109–155; Georgi Kapriev, Lateinische Rivalen in Konstantinopel: Anselm von Havelberg und Hugo Eterianus (Leuven, Paris, 2018); and Hugo Eterianus, Hvgonis Eteriani De sancto et immortali Deo, Compendiosa expositio, fragmenta Graeca, Epistolae, ed. Pietro Podolak, Anna Zago (Turnhout, 2020), pp. vii–xv. Hamilton, “Hugh Eteriano: Life and Works,” pp. 109–110.

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of Latin theology. He helped solve a Christological question in 1166 in a local council. Pope Lucius III appointed Eteriano to serve as a deacon and later as a cardinal. From the viewpoint of the present survey, two of his works merit attention, as they contain many excerpts from the writings of Church fathers, which Hugo rendered into Latin. The first is On Holy and Immortal God. The second is On the Difference between Nature and Person. The former contains three books discussing questions related to the Filioque.156 On the Difference is a short treatise on Trinitarian terminology, which Hugo wrote at the request of Peter of Vienna and Hugo of Honau, who were interested in the Byzantine point of view.157 1.11 Pascal the Roman (Second Half of the Twelfth C.) Pascal the Roman worked in Constantinople in the second half of the twelfth century.158 The sources offer clear indications of his presence in Constantinople between 1158 and 1169. It is difficult to say whether he was a Greek from Rome, a Roman who moved to the Byzantine capital, or someone wo had been born in Constantinople. What little we know about him is derived from the prefaces to his translations. Two of them are dedicated to Henry Dandolo, the Patriarch of Grado (ca. 1130–1186), which points to Pascal’s Venetian network.159 Thomas Ricklin has hypothesised about Pascal’s connections in the Venetian quarter of Constantinople.160 Pascal was a clergyman of lower rank with some knowledge of medicine, which did not qualify him to serve as a proper physician. His translation technique has not been systematically assessed, nor have his talents as an intellectual, which his choice of texts to translate admittedly calls into question.161 All four surviving works by Pascal are translations. On the one hand, Pascal’s sources show an interest in high-brow literature, such as the dream theory of 156 157 158

159 160 161

Hvgonis Eteriani De sancto et immortali Deo, pp. xv–xxxiv, pp. 9–260. Nikolaus M. H愃ࠀring, “The ‘Liber de differentia naturae et personae’ by Hugh Etherian and the Letters Addressed to him by Peter of Vienna and Hugh of Honau,” Medieval Studies 24 (1962), 1–34. The most comprehensive overview is Simone Collin-Roset, ed., “Le Liber Thesauri Occulti de Pascalis Romanus,” Archives d’ histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge 30 (1964), pp. 112–117; more recently, Thomas Ricklin, Der Traum der Philosophie im 12. Jahrhundert. Traumtheorien zwischen Constantinus Africanus und Aristoteles (Leiden, 1998), pp. 247–270; and Mavroudi, An Arabic book, p. 112. Charles H. Haskins, “Pascalis Romanus; Petrus Chrysolanus,” Byzantion 2 (1925), pp. 231–233. Ricklin, Der Traum, pp. 247–249 and p. 322. See Paul Magdalino, Maria Mavroudi, ed. The Occult Sciences in Byzantium (Geneva, 2007), p. 84.

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Aristotle and Artemidoros.162 On the other hand, he translated popular texts on dream interpretation and magic.163 Pascal dedicated his first work, dated to 1158 at the earliest, to Henry Dandolo. It was the Latin version of Disputation against the Jews, considered the work of Anastasios of Sinai.164 His second work is the Book of a Hidden Treasure.165 This is a Latin compilation of different sources, published in Constantinople in 1165.166 It is divided into three books. The first book discusses the nature of sleep and dreams based on ancient and medieval scientific, philosophical, and literary sources. The remaining two books are dream-keys translated from Artemidoros and Achmet’s Oneiorocriticon. The interpretations are arranged thematically, imitating but not precisely copying the sources. Chapter 2 of book 3 is a dividing line, as the remaining part reproduces Leo Tuscus’ translation of the Oneirocriticon. Therefore, Collin-Roset has assumed that Pascal did not finish the translation. Rather, a later copyist, she contends, added this part.167 Pascal rendered into Latin the Kyranides from Greek by 1169.168 The Kyranides is a sort of encyclopaedia of the occult powers of plants, animals, and stones in alphabetical order. It is based on several primary texts, all associated with the knowledge of Hermes Trismegistos. Based on Pascal’s preface, he was well acquainted with the source material.169 Mathias Heiduk has portrayed Pascal as a competent linguist exploring the thematic context of the work, and he has provided links to other titles as well.170 Charles Burnett has argued that Pascal, 162 163

164 165 166 167 168

169 170

Roger A. Pack, “Pascalis Romanus and the Text of Artemidorus,” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 96 (1965), 291–295; and Magdalino and Mavroudi, Occult Sciences in Byzantium, p. 84; Ricklin, Der Traum, pp. 247–270. See Francesco Monticini, “L’infiniment grand, l’infiniment petit. Astronomie et oniromancie dans le Liber thesauri occulti de Romanus Pascalis,” Revue des études sud-est européennes 55 1–4 (2017), 41–57; Matthias Heiduk, “Revealing Wisdom’s Underwear. The Prestige of Hermetic Knowledge and Occult Sciences among Latin Scholars before 1200,” in Networks of Learning: Perspectives of Scholars in Byzantine East and Latin West, ed. Sita Steckel et al. (Z甃ࠀrich, Berlin, 2014), pp. 143–144. Gilbert Dahan, ed., “Paschalis Romanus. Disputatio contra Judeos,” Recherches augustiniennes 11 (1976), 161–213. Collin–Roset, “Le Liber thesauri occulti,” pp. 117–198. Collin–Roset, “Le Liber thesauri occulti,” pp. 122–130; Mavroudi, An Arabic Book, pp. 112–113. Mavroudi, An Arabic Book, p. 113. Louis Delatte, ed., “La traduction latine du XIIe siècle,” in Textes latines et vieux français relatifs aux Cyranides (Liège, 1942), pp. 11–206. Heiduk, “Revealing Wisdom’s Underwear,” p. 145. Twelfth-century scholars used the Asclepius only, which was attested from late antiquity: Charles Burnett, “The Establishment of Medieval Hermeticism,” in The Medieval World, 2nd ed., Ed. Peter Linehan et al. (Routledge, 2018), pp. 126–127. See Haskins, Studies, p. 219. Heiduk, “Revealing Wisdom’s Underwear,” p. 145.

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presumably, also translated Liber Thessali de virtutibus herbarum and Liber de septem herbis, two texts of the Hermetic tradition, at a later date.171 Pascal the Roman’s fourth translation is the Ystoria beate Marie virginis.172 This was dedicated to the Patriarch Henry Dandolo some time before 1186. It is a translation of the Life of the Virgin by the monk Epiphanes, written in the eighth century. Pascal emphasises that he did not use all the Greek versions available to him; his Latin version survives in one copy. 1.12 Translators in France Gilbert, the bishop of Poitiers (after 1085–1154) showed an interest in Eastern theology.173 In his Biblical commentaries, Gilbert consulted authorities such as Jerome to illustrate the Greek or Hebrew equivalents of certain words.174 Hugo of Honau, one of his disciples, visited Constantinople and obtained treatises that Hugo Eteriano compiled based on Greek sources.175 Odo III, abbot of the Saint-Denis monastery in Paris between 1162 and 1169, was interested in acquiring works attributed to Dionysios the Aeropagite, whom he considered the patron saint of his monastery.176 In 1167, William the Physician brought him Greek manuscripts from Constantinople which are still preserved in Paris today.177 William also brought with him and translated Vita Secundi, a second-century philosophical text, as well as summaries of the Pauline epistles, the latter at the request of Herbert of Bosham.178 Another William, also a monk in the Saint-Denis monastery, rendered into Latin Michael Synkellos’

171 172 173 174

175 176 177 178

Charles Burnett, “Late Antique and Medieval Latin Translations of Greek Texts on Astrology and Magic,” in The Occult Sciences in Byzantium, ed. Maria Mavroudi, Paul Magdalino (Paris, 2007), p. 329. Ezio Franceschini, “Il Περὶ τοῦ βίου τῆς ὑπεραγίας Θεοτόκου di Epifanio nella versione latine medievale di Pasquale Romano,” in Studi e note di filologia latina medievale, ed. Ezio Franceschini (Milan, 1938), 111–124; see also Collin–Roset, “Le Liber thesauri occulti,” p. 117. Nicholas M. H愃ࠀring, “The Porretans and the Greek Fathers,” Medieval Studies 24 (1962), 181–209. See also Hugo Eteriano’s account above. For examples of the Psalms, see Theresa Gross-Diaz, The Psalms Commentary of Gilbert of Poitiers: From Lectio Divina to the Lecture Room (Leiden, New York, 1996), p. 46, for the Epistles: Arthur Landgraf, “Zur methode der biblischen Textkritik im 12. Jahrhundert,” Biblica 10 4 (1929), pp. 456–467. Sometimes the quotations from Greek fathers are very difficult to trace, as their names are not indicated. See above. Haskins, Studies, pp. 146–147; d’Alverny, “Translations,” p. 433. Roberto Weiss, “Lo studio del Greco all’ abbazia di San Dionigi durante il Medioevo,” in Medieval and Humanist Greek (Padova, 1977), p. 49. He also brought other manuscripts, the contents of which are unknown today.

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Laudatio sancti Dionysii based on the manuscript brought to Paris by William the Physician.179 John Sarracenus worked in France, and he made a commentary on Pseudo Dionysios’ Celestial Hierarchy c.1140. His great achievement was revising John Scotus Eriugena’s translation of the corpus Dionysiacum, which he completed after 1166. Sarracenus’ translation became the standard text until the end of the Middle Ages, used together with earlier versions, as Paola Degni shows in this volume. While Sarracenus’ principal achievement can be easily summarised, the little evidence about his career and the fact that there are no critical editions of his oeuvre make it difficult to offer a detailed study. Scholars date his birth to c.1110 based on the internal chronology of his oeuvre. As has been shown, his name ‘Sarracenus’ does not guarantee in and of itself that he was Muslim by faith or origin.180 Some considered John a Christian Greek based on his language skills, while others assumed that he had been a monk at the Parisian Saint-Denis monastery because he dedicated three of his translations to its abbot Odo III.181 It was Gabriel Théry who most coherently reconstructed John’s activities.182 He saw Sarracenus as a schoolmaster of English origin who was active in Poitiers, which was an English territory at the time.183 He assumed that John Salisbury had been Sarracenus’ patron since his first stay in France after 1137 and had commissioned him to translate the Dionysian corpus anew. John’s commentary on Celestial Hierarchy was a linguistic enterprise claiming that John Scot Eriugena produced an obscure Latin translation. John tried to give a useful tool for theologians who could not read Pseudo Dionysios in Greek.184 In the prologue, he left the explanation of the contents (“tractare”) to the more learned, whom he could not find among his contemporaries

179 180 181 182 183

184

Roberto Weiss, “Lo studio del Greco all’ abbazia di San Dionigi durante il Medioevo,” in Medieval and Humanist Greek (Padova, 1977), p. 51. Mark Edwards, “John Sarracenus and his Influence,” in The Oxford Handbook of Dionysius the Areopagite, ed. Mark Edwards et al. (Oxford, 2022), pp. 328–329. Marc Edwards, “John Sarracenus and his Influence,” pp. 329–330. Gabriel Théry, “Documents concernant Jean Sarrazin,” Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge 18 (1951), 45–87. Gabriel Théry, “Documents,” pp. 53–54. Théry’s hypothesis about John’s position as a master in Poitiers is based on John Salisbury’s letter to Poitiers’ arch-chancellor (Wiliam J. Millor, et al., eds., The Letters of John Salisbury. Vol. 2 (Oxford, 1979), pp. 422–425). In the letter, John of Salisbury asked for a copy of the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, which was completed under the arch-chancellor’s jurisdiction. Gabriel Théry, “Documents,” pp. 46, 49–50.

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(“apud nos”).185 So, John was paraphrasing and explaining the text and also adding relevant patristic passages.186 Théry dated the commentary to the period before before 1141, when Hugo of Saint Victor’s commentary on the Celestial Hierarchy was already available, and John could not have pointed to a missing contemporary commentary. Gabriel Théry also contended that John used only Eriugena’s version, without consulting a Greek text.187 Eriugena’s texts were only later revised based on the Greek manuscript.188 John’s principal goal was to eliminate Greek elements, such as transliterated Greek words and Graecising grammatical structures.189 Théry claimed that John’s Greek model was a copy of the manuscript that arrived in 875 in France, which differed from the text by Eriugena that had been brought there in 827.190 In addition to, strictly speaking, linguistic updates, John tried to avoid Latin expressions that might have led to an agnostic or pantheist interpretation of Dionysios.191 Scholars also claimed that John was adapting Eriugena’s version to the tastes of a twelfth-century audience. This is quite clear in John’s use of the words “aevum,” “habitus,” “operatio,” and “divisibilis” instead of “habitudo,” “actio,” and “partibilis.”192 Marc Edwards has suggested the influence of monastic spirituality in passages in which John seems to stress the importance of a purgative way, preceding divine illumination.193 It is also asserted that the aesthetics in the circles of abbot Suger of Saint Denys and the Victorine school exerted an influence on John’s translation.194 John dedicated his new translation of the Celestial Hierarchy around 1166 to John Salisbury and asked him to compare it with Eriugena’s text.195 In the letter, John promised to continue with the Ecclesiastical Hierarchy. Evidence of his correspondence with John Salisbury ends here. John Sarracenus dedicated the rest of his revisions 185

186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195

Gabriel Théry, “Documents,” p. 46: “In quorum explanacione librorum doctiores audire tacendo pocius vellem, si fieri posset. Sed quia nec expositor nec didascalus apud nos reperitur, qui hos edisserat […], nunc brevius nunc aliquantulum prolixius et aloquotiens quasi excedendo qualicumque sermon loquamur, ut si quis erudicior inde tractare voluerit, reseratam aliquatenus teneat viam.” Gabriel Théry, “Documents,” p. 46. Gabriel Théry, “Documents,” p. 48–49. Mark Edwards, “John Sarracenus and his Influence,” p. 335. Edward sometimes refers to Sarracenus as “a monk” inconsistently, ibidem p. 337. Elements of John’s revising programme are examined in Théry, “Documents,” pp. 61–87. Gabriel Théry, “Documents,” p. 61. Gabriel Théry, “Documents,” pp. 79–82. Gabriel Théry, “Documents,” pp. 82–84. Mark Edwards, “John Sarracenus and his Influence,” pp. 335–336. Yves Christe, Les grands Portails Romans: Etudes sur l’iconologie des théophanies romanes (Geneva, 1969), p. 160. Latin text in Millor, The Letters of John of Salisbury, 2: 312. John of Salisbury had exhorted John to complete the translation, see ibidem pp. 268–275.

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(Mystical Theology, Divine Names, Epistles) to Odo III, abbot of Saint Denis. John wrote for the theologians of his time to ease their work. His place in twelfth-century French intellectual networks needs further examination.196 At the moment, the scholarship offers a picture of John as he appears from his correspondence with John of Salisbury: an expert in Greek who was supposed to be able to clarify the difference in Byzantine thought between substance and nature.197 1.13 The Circle of Robert Grosseteste Robert Grosseteste (1168–1253) was a teacher from early in his career and also served as the Franciscans’ lecturer in theology at the nascent University of Oxford from 1129/30.198 From an early age, he showed an interest in the sciences, philosophy, and theology, and he became a prolific scholar.199 Grosseteste was appointed bishop of Lincoln in 1235, and he proved an innovative clergyman.200 However, he exercised influence on a European level as a translator. Scholars have claimed that the translation work of Robert of Grosseteste sprang from his internal motivation to study the very sources of theology and early Church history with philological accuracy. In going beyond the Latin text of the Vulgate, he followed the tradition of Jerome or Andrew of St Victor, to single out just one of his contemporaries.201 As Anna C. Dionisotti has argued, 196 197 198 199

200 201

Mark Edwards claimed that scholars associate John with the Victorine school, Edwards, “John Sarracenus and his Influence,” pp. 329. Edwards, “John Sarracenus and his Influence,” p. 329. See the letter in Millor, The Letters of John Salisbury, 2: 268–275. The letter contains only John of Salisbury’s question on ousia, Sarracenus’ reply, if he ever gave one, did not survive. James McEvoy, The Philosophy of Robert Grosseteste (New York, 1982), passim; James McEvoy, Robert Grosseteste (Oxford, 2000), pp. 19–31 and pp. 76–113. Work is still underway on a critical edition of his numerous writings, see https://grosse testesociety.org/projects/. Accessed 2023 Jan 7; Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, s. v. “Robert Grosseteste,” https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/grosseteste/. Accessed 2023 Jan 7; Some analytical overviews showing Grosseteste from different angles: Jack P. Cunningham, Mark Hocknull, eds., Robert Grosseteste and the Pursuit of Religious and Scientific Learning in the Middle Ages (Cham, 2016); McEvoy, The Philosophy; Richard William Southern, Robert Grosseteste: the Growth of an English Mind in Medieval Europe (Oxford, 1988); James R. Ginther, Master of the Sacred Page: a Study of the Theology of Robert Grosseteste, ca. 1229/30–1235 (Aldershot, 2004); Alistair Cameron Crombie, Robert Grosseteste and the Origins of Experimental Science 1100–1700 (Oxford, 1971). Philippa Hoskin, Robert Grosseteste and the 13th-Century Diocese of Lincoln: An English Bishop’s Pastoral Vision (Leiden, 2019), pp. 1–32. Dionisotti, “Greek Studies,” p. 26; James McEvoy, “Robert Grosseteste’s Greek Scholarship: A Survey of Present Knowledge,” Franciscan Studies 56 1 (1998), 255; McEvoy, Robert Grosseteste, pp. 113–122.

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Grosseteste launched his Greek studies quite late in life, in 1232.202 This was supported by new exchange channels between East and West: learned people and Greek books also became available in England. Grosseteste belonged to the network of the Franciscans (and the Dominicans), who had houses in recently conquered Constantinople and other cities in former Byzantine territory. It is not unlikely that Grosseteste had access to Greek books and acquired his manuscripts from two Franciscan friars.203 Grosseteste was influenced and probably taught by John of Basingstoke, who had just returned from the service of the Duchy of Athens.204 In 1235, Grosseteste appointed Basingstoke archdeacon of Leicester, but he had undoubtedly known him before. Basingstoke arguably instructed Grosseteste in Greek and might have worked as his assistant.205 We do not know when Grosseteste was able to begin to translate independently. Whatever the case, he had a southern Italian Greek named Nicolaus in his episcopal household who collaborated in his translation endeavours. Grosseteste definitely became highly proficient in Greek. His translations date to the period after his episcopal appointment (1235). They seem to have been intended for a clerical and university audience and are literal renderings of Greek texts. They are for educational use, critical editions of the time, as it were, targeting people who did not know Greek and who Grosseteste expected to recognise only the Greek letters eta and omega. The Latin version of the Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs is an exception, which was written in flowing, very readable Latin. Grosseteste used dictionaries, such as the Etymologicum Gudianum and the Souda Lexicon.206 He translated some 70 entries of the latter.207 His earliest translations are probably several writings by John the Damascene, including 202 203 204 205

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However, the pace of Grosseteste’s progress in Greek shown afterwards and his already existing glosses by that time suggest an earlier start the background to which is intriguing, McEvoy, Robert Grosseteste, p. 113; Dionisotti, “Greek Studies,” p. 31. Dionisotti, “Greek Studies,” p. 32. McEvoy, Robert Grosseteste, pp. 113–115. In Grosseteste’s case, Basingstoke’ mediating activity was assumed on the basis of such phrases in the commentaries as “ut Graeci dicunt” and “secundum Graecos.” In contrast, Dionisotti believed that these expressions referred to Grosseteste’s use of dictionaries and not to oral consultations with Basingstoke or Nicolaus Graecus. The overview is based on Harrison Thomson, The Writings of Robert Grosseteste, Bishop of Lincoln, 1235–1253 (Cambridge, 1940), pp. 42–70 and McEvoy, Robert Grosseteste, pp. 113–121; The Greek Commentaries on The Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle. Translated by Robertus Grosseteste, ed. H. Paul F. Mercken (Leuven, 1991), pp. 33–66. The manuscript is still unpublished, on its tradition, see Tiziano Dorandi, “‘Liber qui vocatur Suda’: La traduction de la ‘Souda’ de Robert Grosseteste,” Aevum 87 no. 2 (2013), 395–406.

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a retranslation of Damascene’s On Orthodox Faith. This was a systematic epitome of Greek theology and fitted well the systematising tendencies of the age, discussed before in the cases of Cerbanus Cerbano and Burgundio of Pisa.208 Grosseteste reworked Burgundio’s version. He also rendered six minor works into Latin,209 including the Dialectics (an essay about logic for theologians), The Hundred Heresies (of the first six centuries), Discussion Between a Christian and a Saracen,210 and On the Hymn “Thrice Holy”. The latter was debated in the context of Trinitarian theology, and Grosseteste added a personal note to it in which he explained his view of the Filioque. Grosseteste rendered into Latin the Letters of Ignatius of Antioch (including four spurious letters) ca. 1240.211 Grosseteste reedited the entire Dionysian corpus (1239–1243).212 It was a scholarly synthesis of the raw material available to him, including the examination of three manuscripts, the Latin translation of Maximos Confessor’s scholia, followed by the exposition of Grosseteste’s own commentary. While working on the writings of Pseudo Dionysios, Grosseteste also devoted attention to the Latin version of the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs, which he was doing with the assistance of Nicolaus Graecus.213 Testaments, as Marinus De Jonge has argued, promoted Christianity through Jewish testimonies and prophecies. Grosseteste worked on Aristotle’s On the Heavens, together with Simplikios’ Commentary on it, which he did not complete.214 Presumably at the same time he also rendered into Latin the Pseudo-Aristotelian De lineis indivisibilibus.215 Grosseteste’s reedition of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics

208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215

Charles Burnett, “The Twelfth-Century Renaissance,” in The Cambridge History of Science. Vol. 2: Medieval Science, ed. David C. Lindberg, Michael H. Shank (Cambridge, 2013), pp. 367–368. Meridel Holland, The Edition of Three Unpublished Translations by Robert Grosseteste of Three Short Works by John of Damascus, PhD thesis (Cambridge MA, 1980); idem, “Robert Grosseteste’s Translations of John of Damascus,” Bodleian Library Record 11 (1983), 138–154. Meridel Holland, “Robert Grosseteste’s Translation of John of Damascus’s The Dialogue of the Christian and the Saracen. An Edition and English Translation,” in Robert Grosseteste and His Intellectual Milieu, eds. John Flood, et al. (Toronto, 2013), pp. 239–248. Thomson, The Writings, pp. 59–63. Daniel A. Callus, “The Date of Grosseteste’s Translations and Commentaries on PseudoDionysius and the Nicomachean Ethics,” Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale 14 (1947), p. 209 and passim. Marinus de Jonge, “Robert Grosseteste and the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs,” Journal of Theological Studies 42 1 (1991), esp. pp. 120–122. Thomson, The Writings, pp. 66–67. It is a question why Grosseteste did not complete the Latin version. Unpublished, see Thomson, The Writings, pp. 67–68. Cecilia Panti questioned Grosseteste’s authorship, see Cecilia Panti, “The Evolution of the Idea of Corporeity in

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was completed around 1245.216 It was an undertaking similar to his edition of Pseudo Dionysios. Grosseteste replaced the earlier partial Latin version of the text and translated a twelfth-century commentary compilation stemming from ancient and Byzantine sources.217 Furthermore, he added a Pseudo Aristotelian work on passions, a fragment from the Eudemian Ethics,218 and his own summary of the text and its commentary alongside interlinear and marginal glosses discussing philological questions. Robert Grosseteste was a patron of learning himself, as a bishop who could afford to acquire manuscripts.219 He was a teacher and translator, which was a unique combination at the time. His interest in Aristotle’s writing stemmed from the increasing popularity of Aristotle in university milieus and beyond. At the same time, Grosseteste showed passionate interest, even on a philological level, in the origins of Christianity and its early writings.220 The composition of his theological works (Commentary on Galatians and On the Cessation of Laws) ran parallel with his work as a translator, which he undertook with the pastoral goal of purifying the Church of his time. 1.14 William of Moerbeke (Died ca. 1286) The work of William of Moerbeke constituted something of a milestone and even a breakthrough in the history of medieval translations, as William rendered the missing items in the list of Aristotle’s works from Greek into Latin and revised existing translations.221 His translations included related

216

217 218 219

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Robert Grosseteste’s Writings,” in Robert Grosseteste. His Thought and Impact, ed. Jack P. Cunningham (Toronto, 2012), pp. 111–140 at p. 123. Jozef Brams, “The Revised Version of Grosseteste’s Translation of the Nicomachean Ethics,” Bulletin de philosophie médiévale 36 (1994): 45–55; Jean Dunbabin, “Robert Grosseteste as Translator, Transmitter, and Commentator: The ‘Nicomachean Ethics’,” Traditio 28 (1972), 461. Anthony Lawell Declan, ed., Opera Roberti Grosseteste Lincolniensis. 2, Versio caelestis hierarchiae Psevdo-Dionysii Areopagitae (Turnholt, 2015), pp. xvii–xviii. Under the title De laudabilibus bonis or De virtute. An interlinear Latin translation of the Hebrew Psalter has been associated with Grosseteste. In this case, it is likely that the bishop provided support for the work, see Raphael Loewe, “The Medieaval Christian Hebraists of England: The superscriptio Lincolniensis,” Hebrew Union College Annual 28 (1957), 205–252. McEvoy, Robert Grosseteste, p. 141. Pieter Beullens, The Friar and the Philosopher: William of Moerbeke and the Rise of Aristotle’s Science in Medieval Europe (London and New York, 2023). For a biography and Moerbeke’s intellectual achievement, see the volume passim and particularly the summaries in Appendix 1 (biography) and Appendix 2 (list of Moerbeke’s translations, including their editions). Beullens’ monograph makes extensive analytical use of previous scholarship, which is collected, in the most comprehensive form, in Willy Vanhamel, “Bibliographie de

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commentaries as well as texts by other authors. Even more stiking is the pace at which he produced his translations, completing his project on Aristotelian texts (strictly speaking) between 1260 and 1268 and translating scientific texts by other authors by the end of his life, including a six-year-long break (between 1271 and 1277), when he served as a papal penitentiary. In the following paragraphs, I identify external and internal motivations for William’s work as a translator. William’s biography is scarcely documented. He was originally from Moerbeke, which might be associated with a locality in East Flanders, as has been claimed in some of the earlier scholarship, or with one in Northern France, as Beullens suggests.222 Beullens hypothesises that he was the bastard child of a nobleman, so he pursued an ecclesiastical career in the Dominican order. William might have learned Greek in Southern Italy.223 Whatever the case, in 1260, he produced his first translations in Greece (Thebes and Nikaia), implying that he already had some experience as a translator. Beullens connects William’s presence in Thebes to his family connections with Nicholas of Saint-Omer, the Western lord of the formerly Byzantine city. In 1260, Moerbeke visited Nikaia, presumably to plead the case of William of Villehardouin, a prisoner of war there until 1262 and a feudal lord of Nicholas of Saint-Omer.224 Beullens suggests that his translation of Alexander of Aphrodisias’ commentary on Aristotle’s Meteorology was the by-product of the long waiting time during the diplomatic procedure.225 William finished his translation of Aristotle’s On the Parts of Animals at the end of the same year. It is unclear whether William left Greece after that for Viterbo, where Pope Urban IV had brought together a group of scholars including Campanus of Novara, Thomas Aquinas, and Albert the Great (in 1262 and 1263). Scholars argue that Simplikios’ commentary on Aristotle’s Categories was rendered into Latin by March 1266, and William

222 223 224 225

Guillaume de Moerbeke,” in Recueil d’ études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286), ed. Jozef Brams, Willy Vanhamel (Leuven, 1989), pp. 301–330. For a chronological overview of Moerbeke’s oeuvre, see also Fernand Bossier, “Méthode de traduction et problèmes de chronologie,” in Guillaume de Moerbeke: recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286), eds. Jozef Brams, Willy Vanhamel (Leuven, 1989), pp. 257–294; and Jozef Brams, “Traductions and traducteurs la latins dans l’empire de Nicée et sous les Paléologues,” in Philosophie et sciences à Byzance de 1204 à 1453, ed. Michael Kakuros (Leuven, 2006), pp. 101–113. Beullens, The Friar, pp. 110–114. See Nigel Wilson, “The Libraries of the Byzantine World,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 8 (1967), 53–80, in particular 73–77. See Beullens’ captivating hypothesis, Beullens, The Friar, p. 114. See also Angelov’s paper in this volume about the scholarly milieu in the court of Nikaia.

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returned to Viterbo only after that.226 Arguably, Themistios’ commentary on Aristotle’s On the Soul was already completed there in 1267.227 This was a basic text for Thomas Aquinas to make his points in the Parisian Averroist controversy (1269–1270). In the wake of the debate, Thomas launched an enterprise to comment on the whole Aristotelian corpus to avoid future misinterpretations. After On the Soul and Physics came the Pseudo-Aristotelian Book of Causes. William completed his translation of Proklos’ Elements of Theology in 1268, which Thomas used, pointing out Proklos’ (Neoplatonic) influence on the Book of Causes.228 In 1268, William finished Ammonios’ commentary on Aristotle’s Peri hermeneias and John Philoponos’ commentary on Aristotle’s On the Soul. The former was used by Thomas first in the Latin tradition in his commentary on the Peri hermeneias. Thomas also used William’s translation of Aristotle’s Second Analytics (preferring it to James of Venice’s version). Thomas Aquinas’ project on commenting on the Aristotelian corpus remained unfinished by his death in 1274, but it gave authority to Aristotle’s works and, more importantly from the view of the present discussion to William of Morbeke’s translations. Thomas and William must have known each, as they were both Dominican friars, but the sources do not offer any clear indication that there was a direct connection between them as commissioner and teacher.229 Thomas’ examinations of Aristotle depended on William’s works and must have influenced the pace of his translations, although the choices William made with regards to the order in which he translated the texts are difficult to explain.230 The first partial translation of Simplikios’ commentary on Aristotle’s On the Heavens focused on the problem of eccentric orbit. Without the theory, Thomas could not cope with his commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics, so in this case, Thomas’ direct dependence on William’s work seems obvious.231 Thomas’ new treatises on Aristotle went into circulation after his death, alongside William’s works. It is probably not a pure coincidence that William’s translation of Aristotle’s

226 227 228 229

230 231

Fabio Acerbi, Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem, “Un nouveau manuscrit de la ‘Collection philosophique’ utilisé par Guillaume de Moerbeke: le Par. gr. 2575,” Przegl愃⠀d Tomistyczny 21 (2015), 219–288. Beullens, The Friar, pp. 78–79. Beullens, The Friar, p. 79. See the discussion of the question in Carlos Steel, “Guillaume de Moerbeke et Saint Thomas,” in Guillaume de Moerbeke: recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286), eds. Jozef Brams, Willy Vanhamel (Leuven, 1989), pp. 57–82 and Beullens, The Friar, pp. 80–84. Beullens, The Friar, p. 90. Beullens, The Friar, p. 90 and p. 94. The full version was completed in 1271.

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Poetics was not included among these texts and did not become part of the medieval canon.232 It also can be shown that William had a personal interest in texts dealing with free will, fate, and divine intervention. The Neoplatonic world vision might have influenced him.233 William translated The Book of Good Fortune, a compilation from the Magna Moralia and the Eudemian Ethics, which discussed whether good fortune happened to someone without personal merit.234 A work titled Geomantia on foretelling the future based on points in the sand and lines between them can be only tentatively attributed to William.235 The only manuscript William probably owned was a collection of Alexander of Aphrodisias’ treatises.236 From this, he translated On Fate.237 In 1270, William rendered into Latin Ptolemy’s De Analemmate, which deals with the positions of heavenly bodies, and his Tetrabiblos, which focuses on astronomy. The subject of these works led medieval readers to the topic of predicting the future, which fascinated William.238 William used Greek models to render Ptolemy’s text more literally than the translation from Arabic.239 William’s interest in human fate may have influenced his decisions when he was choosing the last texts he would translate: Proklos’ commentaries on Plato’s Timaeus and Parmenides240 and his Divine Providence, Free Will, and On Evil.241

232 233 234

235 236 237 238 239 240 241

Beullens, Pieter, Pieter De Leemans, “Aristote à Paris: le système de la pecia et les traductions de Guillaume de Moerbeke,” Recherches de théologie et philosophie médiévales 75 (2008), 131–132; Beullens, The Friar, p. 132. This explains William’s fascination with Robert Bacon’s and Vitello’s theories of light. See Beullens, The Friar, p. 102. Valérie Cordonier, Carlos Steel, “Guillaume de Moerbeke traducteur du Liber de bona fortuna et de l’Ethique à Eudème,” in The Letter before the Spirit: The Importance of Text Editions for the Study of the Reception of Aristotle, eds. Aafke M.I. van Oppenraay, Resianne Fontaine (Leiden, Boston, 2012), pp. 401–446. See Beullens, The Friar, p. 108 for details of the debate. Venice, Biblioteca Marciana, Gr. 258 (= 668). Beullens, The Friar, p. 102. Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem, Carlos Steel, Pieter De Leemans, eds., Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos in the Translation of William of Moerbeke. Claudii Ptolemaei Liber Iudicialium (Leuven, 2015), pp. 12–13, pp. 28–36. Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos, pp. 36–37. Plato of Tivoli’s rendering of the Tetrabiblos became, nonetheless, the standard text. It was an easier reading. Carlos Steel, ed., Proclus: Commentaire sur le Parménide de Platon, Traduction de Guillaume de Moerbeke, 2 vols. (Leuven, 1982–1985). Volume 2 includes the fragments from Proclus’s commentary on the Timaeus. Helmut Boese, ed., Procli Diadochi tria opuscula (De providentia, libertate, malo), Latine Guilelmo de Moerbeka vertente et graece ex Isaacii Sebastocratoris aliorumque scriptis collecta (Berlin, 1960).

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Going back in time, in 1268–1269, William translated mathematical texts,242 namely Archimedes’ On Spirals, Quadrature of the Parabola, On the Sphere and Cylinder, On Conoids and Spheroids, and On Floating Bodies, as well as Eutokios’ commentary on Archimedes’ On the Equilibrium of Planes and Hero of Alexandria’s On Mirrors. Pieter Beullens has argued that William proceeded from easier mathematical problems to be translated in the texts to more difficult ones and left some untreated, presumably due to their difficulty.243 Beullens also suggested that the three-year-long election procedure of Gregory IX gave room for William to translate.244 William’s interest in mathematics and optics can also be possibly explained by the presence of Campanus of Novara in the papal court from 1261 onwards.245 Campanus was a mathematician and produced a paraphrase of and commentary on Euclid’s Elements. Furthermore, just before William launched his project on Archimedes, the Franciscan Robert Bacon sent to Clement IV his works (the Opus maius and the Opus minus), together with a Treatise on Radiation. The works were part of Clement IV’s plans concerning the reform of university education, and they may have caught or kindled William’s interest in mathematics.246 William’s translation of Hero of Alexandria’s On Mirrors (finished in 1269) shows very clearly that he had an interest in optics. The Polish scientist Vitello used it in his Perspectiva, which he dedicated to William.247 After these productive years, William was elected penitentiary of Gregory IX.248 This was a sign of the pope’s reward, but it kept William occupied until 1277, when he began work on his next translations. As a papal officer, William played a crucial role in the Second Council at Lyons (1274), reciting the creed with the filioque formula in Greek alongside patriarch Georgios and

242 243 244 245 246 247 248

Marshall Clagett, “William of Moerbeke: Translator of Archimedes.” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 126 5 (1982), 356–366; Marshall Clagett, Archimedes in the Middle Ages, Vols. 2. 1–2 and 3. 1–2 (Philadelphia, 1976, 1980). Beullens, The Friar, pp. 90–91. Beullens, The Friar, pp. 94–95. William also translated Simplikios’ commentary on Aristotle’s On the Heavens in 1271. However, his presence in Viterbo in 1269 is not documented. Beullens, The Friar, p. 94. Agostino Paravicini Bagliani, “Witelo et la science de l’optique à la cour pontificale de Viterbe (1277),” Mélanges de l’École française de Rome. Moyen-Age, Temps modernes 87 (1975), 425–453. Agostino Paravicini Bagliani, “Le pénitencier pontifical Guillaume de Moerbeke. Deux nouveaux documents (1268, 1278),” in Medieval Studies in Honour of Peter Linehan, ed. Francisco J. Hernández, Rocío Sánchez Ameijeiras, Emma Falque (Firenze, 2018), pp. 209–223.

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John Parastron.249 William used the papal interregnum in 1277 to work on new material, this time from the field of medicine, and he translated Galen’s On the Properties of Foodstuffs.250 The text was not among Burgundio of Pisa’s translations. William dedicated it to magister Rosello, an Arezzo physician whom he probably met when the travelling papal court stopped there in 1276. William also made a list of Hippocrates’ works, which suggests that he had further plans with medical material.251 However, in 1278, William rose further in the Church hierarchy and was appointed archbishopric of Corinth. There, he finished Proklos’ three abovementioned treatises in 1280. Afterwards, he returned to Italy and again was given a position in the papal administration. He died in 1286. In conclusion, three factors influenced William’s career as a translator: his education (literacy in Latin and Greek), his being a Dominican friar, and his ties to the papal Curia. The Dominican and ecclesiastical networks (probably combined with his Flemish-French origin) provided William a livelihood as a diplomat, officer, and translator. 1.15 The Court of Manfred of Sicily (1258–1266) Manfred was raised in Frederick II’s court, which particularly encouraged knowledge of the sciences from texts in Arabic.252 He shared many of his father’s fascinations,253 including his general interest in knowledge (“scientia”) in various fields, from Aristotelian ethics to Herrmetic prognostication, and his love of books and debate among the learned. He restored the studium at Naples and approved the Salerno medical school. He was interested in translations, rendering, as its preface tells, the pseudo-Aristotelian De pomo from Hebrew into Latin.254 Manfred sponsored translations and handled their 249 250 251

252 253 254

Beullens, The Friar, pp. 97–98. Beullens, The Friar, p. 99. Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem, “La liste des oeuvres d’Hippocrate dans le Vindobonensis phil. gr. 100: un auto-  graphe de Guillaume de Moerbeke,” in Guillaume de Moerbeke: recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286), eds. Jozef Brams, Willy Vanhamel (Leuven, 1989), pp. 135–183. See Le scienze alla corte di Federico II (Turnhout, 1994) and William Tronzo, ed., Intellectual Life at the Court of Frederick II Hohenstaufen (Washington, 1994). See Steven J. Williams, “Like Father, Like Son? The Life and Reign of Manfred, King of Sicily,” in Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily, ed. Pieter de Leemans (Leuven, 2014), pp. 5–7 for further details. Paraskevi Kotzia, “De Hebrea lingua transtulimus in Latinam: Manfred of Sicily and the pseudo-Aristotelian Liber de pomo,” In Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily, ed. Pieter de Leemans (Leuven, 2014), p. 70.

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proper circulation, sending books to the University of Paris in 1264.255 Stephen of Messina, Ioannes de Dumpno, William of Luna, and, finally, Bartholomew of Messina can be associated with Manfred’s court as translators.256 Stephen and Bartholomew, both of whom worked from Greek material, interest us here. Stephen of Messina worked as a translator and was mentioned as a royal notary during the reign of Charles of Anjou, Manfred’s successor.257 He translated the existing Greek fragments from Abu Maʿshar’s On the Revolutions of the Years of Nativity. With this, he filled a gap in the astrological literature on the topic.258 In 1262, Stephen also rendered into Latin the Excerpts From the Secrets of Abu Maʿshar. Finally, Charles Burnett has hypothesised that Stephen rendered into Latin the Centiloquium Hermetis from an unidentified Greek source, which was a compilation of Arabic texts.259 Bartholomew of Messina was a prolific translator around Manfred’s time.260 It is unclear whether his title “magister” refers to him as the head of translators, a royal clerk, or simply someone who had acquired an academic degree.261 It is also difficult to substantiate that Bartholomew had assistants or that his output derives from a “school” around him.262 At the same time, Pieter Beullens 255

256 257

258 259

260

261 262

The question of which translations were sent is the subject of debate: René A. Gauthier, “Notes sur les débuts (1225–1240) du premier Averroïsme,” Revue des Sciences philosophiques et théologiques 66 (1982), 322–330; Fulvio Delle Donne, “Un’inedita epistola sulla morte di Guglielmo de Luna, maestro presso lo Studium di Napoli, e le traduzioni prodotte alla corte di Manfredi di Svevia,” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 74 (2007), 225–245. Pieter de Leemans, “Bartholomew of Messina, Translator at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily,” in Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily, ed. Pieter de Leemans (Leuven, 2014), pp. xv–xvii. See Charles Burnett, “Stephen of Messina and the Translation of Astrological Texts from Greek in the Time of Manfred,” in Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily, ed. Pieter de Leemans (Leuven, 2014), p. 156 fn. 2 with the details. Charles Burnett, “Stephen of Messina and the Translation of Astrological Texts,” pp. 162–164. Charles Burnett, “Stephen of Messina and the Translation of Astrological Texts,” pp. 158–162. On the Centiloquium, see also Jean-Patrice Boudet, “The Medieval Latin Versions of Pseudo-Ptolemy’s Centiloquium: A Survey,” in Ptolemy’s Science of the Stars in the Middle Ages. Ed. by David Juste, et al. (Turnhout, 2020), 283–304. de Leemans, “Bartholomew of Messina, Translator at the Court;” and Pieter Beullens, A Methodological Approach to Anonymously Transmitted Medieval Translations of Philosophical and Scientific Texts. The Case of Bartholomew of Messina, PhD thesis (Leuven, 2020), pp. 16–27. It can not be excluded that he produced some of his translations before or after Manfred’s rule. Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. 152–153. Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. 153–155.

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shows in this volume that Bartholomew developed as a translator. As a young man, Bartholomew might have rendered the entire corpus of Aristotle’s zoological treatises into Latin, only parts of which survived. Researchers have attempted to demonstrate that William of Moerbeke and Bartholomew collaborated, William doing the genuine Aristotelian works and Bartholomew the pseudo-Aristotelian writings. Beullens has refuted this idea in his thesis, claiming that the two translators had a shared intellectual network and even used the same manuscripts, but the contention that they cooperated directly is untenable.263 The scholarship at the moment does not allow us to describe a coherent programme behind Bartholomew’s output. Oly some influential features can be identified. Undoubtedly, Manfred’s fascination with the sciences and natural philosophy was a factor,264 though roughly half of the time it does not explain the choices Bartholomew made when it came to the texts he decided to translate.265 Furthermore, the translations that do not bear Bartholomew’s name or the name of a patron might have been completed before or after Manfred’s reign, or in other words, they were not sponsored or circulated under the king’s patronage.266 It also seems to have been important for Bartholomew to complete the missing Aristotelian works in a Latin version. In this respect, Theophrastos’ De principiis was considered an Aristotelian treatise at the time, and other translations, such as Hierocles’ Hippiatrika and the Pyrrhoniae informationes, had an affinity with Aristotle.267 Scholars have confidently attributed the following translations to Bartholomew: Aristoteles’ De mundo, Problemata, De signis, Magna moralia, and Physiognomica; Theophrastos’ De principiis; the De mirabilibus auscultationibus; and Hippocrates’ De humana natura and De natura pueri.268 Pieter Beullens argues for Bartholomew’s authorship in the case of other Latin versions as well:269 John of Alexandria’s commentary on Hippocrates’ Epidemics,270 Hierocles’ book on horse medicine, the translatio anonyma of the Rhetorics, the Rhetorica ad Alexandrum and De partibus animalium, and finally, the sceptic treatises by Sextus Empiricus.

263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270

Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. 155–157. de Leemans, “Bartholomew of Messina, Translator at the Court,” p. xxi and xix. de Leemans, “Bartholomew of Messina, Translator at the Court,” p. xxi and Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. 155–157. Beullens, A Methodological Approach, p. 158. Beullens, A Methodological Approach, p. 158. Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. 16–26. Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. 62–144. Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. 62–144.

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1.16 Peter of Abano (1248/1250–1315/1316) Peter was born in Abano, a small village in the area around Padua.271 Little is known about his life until the last decade of the thirteenth century. Then, Peter moved to Paris to study at the university, where he probably also taught. During his stay in Paris, he finished his Compilatio physionomiae in 1295.272 In connection with his teaching, the Dominicans charged Peter with heresy, but he was rescued through papal intervention. After leaving Paris, he visited different countries, including Constantinople (between 1297 and 1302), where he learned Greek. Before 1302, he returned to Padua and taught philosophy and medicine at the university. In 1310, Peter published his three major works: Conciliator differentiarum philosophorum et praecipue medicorum, Lucidator dubitabilium astrologiae, and Expositio problematum Aristotelis.273 In 1315, Peter was taken to court by the Inquisition, but he died before the sentence was pronounced. Peter’s oeuvre shows his keen interest in philosophy, medicine, and astrology.274 His explorations provided the framework for his work as a translator. He sometimes rendered texts from Greek into Latin in their entirety but sometimes only translated passages relevant to his train of thought. During his stay in Constantinople, Peter found a problemata collection. This contained a Greek text of the so-called Supplementa problematorum, the Problemata of Cassius Iatrosophista, and pseudo-Alexander’s Problemata.275 Peter translated all three works. His translations of the former two are known only 271 272

273

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275

On Peter of Abano’s life see most recently Graziella Federici Vescovini, Pietro d’ Abano tra storia e leggenda (Lugano, 2020), pp. 11–34. For his written output, see Lynn Thorndike, “Manuscripts of the Writings of Peter of Abano,” Bulletin of the History of Medicine 15 (1944), 201–224, list at p. 202; Eugenia Paschetto, Pietro d’Abano, medico e filosofo (Florence, 1984), pp. 34–48; Graziella Frederici Vescovini, ed., Il “Lucidator dubitabilium astronomiae” di Pietro d’Abano: Opere scientifiche inedite (Padova, 1988), pp. 31–36 regarding the Lucidator, De motu octavae sphaerae and De imaginibus; Matthew Klemm, Pieter De Leemans, “Pietro d’Abano,” in Medieval Science, Technology and Medicine: An Encyclopedia, eds. Thomas Glick et al., 404–405 (New York, London, 2005). Nancy G. Siraisi, “The Expositio Problematum Aristotelis of Peter of Abano,” Isis 61 3 (1970), 321–339; Lisa Devriese, Aristotle on the Ears: A Study and Critical Edition of Bartholomew of Messina’s Translation and Peter of Abano’s Commentary on Aristotle’s Problemata Physica. MA thesis (Leuven, 2013), pp. 47–61. See Peter’s wide interest in different topics based on his Expositio Problematum Aristotelis in Siraisi, “The Expositio Problematum Aristotelis,” pp. 325–337, and Matthew Klemm, “Medicine and Moral Virtue in the Expositio Problematum Aristotelis of Peter of Abano,” Early Science and Medicine 113 (2006), 302–335. Pieter De Leemans, “Was Peter of Abano the Translator of Pseudo-Aristotle’s Problemata Physica?” Bulletin de philosophie médiévale 49 (2007), 113–118 and passim.

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from references made by Peter to them in his works.276 In contrast, his rendering of pseudo-Alexander’s Problemata survives in an Escorial and a Vatican manuscript. According to the explicit of the former, the translation was finished in Padua in 1302.277 As Luigi Olivieri and Pieter de Leemans have demonstrated, contrary to the views of previous scholars, Peter did not render the pseudo-Aristotelian Problemata physica into Latin, nor did he have a Greek manuscript of the same work at his disposal. Instead, Peter used Bartholomew of Messina’s translation in his Expositio.278 Occasionally, he corrected Bartholomew’s text based on the Supplementa problematorum, which had common passages with Pseudo-Aristotle’s Problemata physica.279 Peter of Abano also translated Galenic treatises.280 As Pietrobelli and others have shown,281 his Galenic translations go back to a handful of Greek manuscripts, which Peter acquired in Constantinople. Thus, the Galenic translations were done after 1297 but before 1310, when the Conciliator was published, in which he referred to these works. One of the reasons behind Peter’s translations from Greek is that he found translations from Arabic occasionally imprecise (“mendosa et distorta”), although he made extensive use of them.282 Peter completed two of Burgundio of Pisa’s partial translations.283 These were the De sectis284 and two-thirds of the Methodus Medendi’s Book 14.285 276 277 278 279 280 281 282

283 284 285

Luigi Olivieri, Pietro d’Abano e il pensiero neolatino. Filosofia, scienza e ricerca dell‘Aristotele greco tra i secoli XIII e XIV (Padua, 1988), pp. 135–204; Leemans, “Was Peter of Abano,” pp. 110–113. Leemans, “Was Peter of Abano,” p. 115. Olivieri, Pietro d’Abano; Leemans, “Was Peter of Abano;” Devriese, Aristotle on the Ears, pp. 59–61. Leemans, “Was Peter of Abano,” p. 114. The most recent overview is Stefania Fortuna, “Pietro d’Abano e le traduzioni latine di Galeno,” Medicina nei secoli 20 2 (2008), 447–63. Antoine Pietrobelli, “Les manuscrits grecs de Pietro d’Abano,” Quaderni per la Storia dell’Università di Padova 50 (2017), 23–49; Stefania Fortuna, “Pietro d’ Abano e la traduzioni latine di Galeno,” pp. 452, 455–456. Marie-Thérèse D’Alverny, “Pietro d’Abano, traducteur de Galien,” in La transmission des textes philosophiques et scientifiques au Moyen Âge, ed. Charles Burnett (Aldershot, 1994), p. 33; Michael McVaugh, “The Lost Latin Galen,” Bulletin – Institute of Classical Studies 45 77 (2002), 159. Lynn Thorndike, “Translations of Works of Galen from the Greek by Peter of Abano,” Isis 33 6 (1942), 651–653; d’Alverny, “Pietro d’Abano traducteur de Galien,” pp. 31–38. See Nicoletta P. Darlon, “Il De sectis di Burgundio Pisano e il completamento di Pietro d’Abano: osservazioni preliminari per un’edizione,” Medicina nei Secoli 25 3 (2013), 815–854; and https://www.galenolatino.com/traduzioni.php?id=92. Accessed 2023 May 22. Peter translated Book 14 from chapter 12 to chapter 19, Fridolf Kudlien and Charles Durling, eds., Galen’s Method of Healing (Leiden, 1991), p. 121, and https://www.galeno latino.com/traduzioni.php?id=15. Accessed 2023 May 22.

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It is assumed that he also rendered the first six books of Methodus medendi from Greek into Latin. In addition, scholars from the Renaissance onwards tried to identify translations by Peter to which he referred in the Conciliator.286 Michael McVaugh offered the hypothesis that some of these translations did not even exist, as Peter only rendered specific passages and not entire works.287 In any case, at present, scholars attribute the following Latin Galenic translations to Peter:288 De atra bile, De bono corporis habitu, De inaequali intemperie, De marasmo, De optima corporis nostri constitutione, and De parvae pilae exercitio. Except for the De atra bile, Niccolò de Reggio retranslated all the text from Greek that Peter rendered into Latin.289 Preliminary results of a comparative reading of the De marcore show that Niccolò retranslated the same texts independently of Peter’s previous versions and results.290 In addition to Galen, Peter also rendered the pseudo-Hippocratic writing De medicorum astrologia into Latin.291 Peter was thus a new type of university magister who took pains to learn Greek.292 The work he did as a translator from Greek supported his activities as a scholar.

2

Triggers and Tendencies: Some Observations

2.1 An Overview of the Texts Translated The overview above has presented the translations from Greek into Latin during the period in question, offering some insights into how specific texts 286 287 288 289 290

291 292

Thorndike, “Translations,” pp. 649–650; d’Alverny, “Pietro d’Abano traducteur de Galien,” pp. 38–41. McVaugh, “The Lost Latin Galen,” p. 159. See each of the texts with detailed bibliography: https://www.galenolatino.com/tradut tori.php?id=4&l=p&p=1. Accessed 2023 May 22. Cf. d’Alverny, “Pietro d’Abano traducteur de Galien,” pp. 50–64 and Anna Maria Urso, “Pietro d’Abano e Niccolò da Reggio traduttori di Galeno: Il caso del De Marcore,” Galenos 8 (2015), 53–54. Anna Maria Urso, “Il caso del De marcore,” pp. 73–74. Cf. d’Alverny’s view that Niccolò retranslated and used Peter’s translations: d’Alverny, “Pietro d’Abano traducteur de Galien,” pp. 41–46, 50–64, which was questioned by Leemans: Leemans, “Was Peter of Abano,” 104. fn. 6. Pearl Kibre, “Hippocrates Latinus. Repertorium of Hippocratic Writings in the Latin Middle Ages (III),” Traditio 33 (1977), 292–295. Compare the example of Robert Bacon, who stressed the importance of Greek studies and composed a Greek grammar, though no translations by him have survived. See Edmond Nolan and S.A. Hirsch, eds. The Greek Grammar of Roger Bacon and a Fragment of His Hebrew Grammar (Cambridge, 1902).

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became available to a Latin readership. As a result of the translators’ efforts, the entire corpus Aristotelicum had been translated into Latin by the end of the thirteenth century.293 Plato aroused little attention compared to Aristotle: only his Meno and Phaedo were translated, and they failed to reach a broad readership. These texts were complemented by William of Moerbeke’s Latin version of Proklos’ commentaries on the Parmenides and the Timaeus. In contrast, works by Aristotle were translated in successive stages. At first, Arabic and Greek versions went hand in hand. As standards shifted and arguably became more professionally demanding and consistent, literal translation became the accepted and more concise method. Growing disapproval of ‘Arabic verbosity’, a label used to indicate that translations from Arabic were looser, and the concomitant belief that the Arabic translations ‘contaminated’ the Greek originals led to calls for new translations from the Greek. The corpus vetustius was replaced gradually by the corpus recentius, with some earlier versions remaining in use. In mathematics, Euclid remained a dominant authority.294 The early Middle Ages left incomplete epitomes of the Elements attributed to Boethius.295 During the epoch under discussion here, works arrived through Arabic texts, rendered by Adelard of Bath, Robert of Chester, and Hermann of Carinthia.296 The Data, Optics, and Catoptrics, finally, the Elements have been rendered from Greek, which were less influential than the versions from Arabic.297 After some partial translations from the Arabic, William of Moerbeke’s translations of the Greek Archimedes made him an accepted authority.298

293

294 295 296

297 298

Beullens, The Friar, pp. 19–46; Jozef Brams, La riscoperta di Aristotele in Occidente. Trans. Antonio Tombolini (Milano, 2003); Robert Pasnau, Christina van Dyke, eds., The Cambridge History of Medieval Philosophy. Vol. 2. (Cambridge, 2010), pp. 793–798; https://hiw.kuleuven.be/dwmc/research/al/about. Accessed 2023 July 27. Rirchard Lorch, “Greek-Arabic-Latin: The Transmission of Mathematical Texts in the Middle Ages,” Science in Context 14 (2001), 313–331, esp. 326–327. Murdoch, “Euclides Graeco-Latinus,” 286 fn. 2. with further literature. It is assumed that the Boethian epitomes influenced the twelfth-century translations from Arabic, see ibidem 249 and 286 fn. 2. Marshall Clagett, “The Medieval Latin Translations from the Arabic of the Elements of Euclid, with Special Emphasis on the Versions of Adelard of Bath,” Isis 44 (1953), 16–42; Hubert L. Busard, Menso Folkerts, eds., Robert of Chester’s (?) Redaction of Euclid’s Elements: The So-Called Adelard II Version (Basel, 1992). Murdoch, “Euclides Graeco-Latinus,” 249–302. Clagett, Archimedes in the Middle Ages. See Vol. 2 for Moerbeke and Vol. 1 pp. 1–15 for Archimedes’ impact on ideas in the Middle Ages.

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The medical profession underwent a revolution in the twelfth century.299 In the second half of the eleventh century, Salerno and Monte Cassino became the centres where available medical texts were copied and set for further circulation.300 When Constantine arrived at Monte Cassino, it was already a thriving medical centre on a European level. It secured not only the circulation of the new texts but also continuity with works from previous centuries.301 However, compared to the c. 60 texts available between the ninth and eleventh centuries, in the period between 1075 and 1230, some 200 texts were in circulation.302 The newly translated texts from Arabic and Greek became the core of the new corpus. The influx of texts based on Arabic originals surpassed in number those translated from Greek. The translated works were, in many cases, Arabic medical manuals containing a selected presentation from the teachings of classical Greek authorities. As has been noted in Burgundio’s case, Arabic texts and the Latin terminology deriving from those texts remained highly influential and proved superior to texts translated from Greek. Regarding translations from Greek, the overview above pointed to Nemesios’ On the Nature of Man, two Greek items in the Articella, and Galen’s Tegni. This all changed with Burgundio’s translations from Greek. He made available a significant part of the Galenic treatises covering medical theory as a whole.303 However, Galen did not become an established medical authority until the 1270s, despite the fact that his texts were promoted by Constantine the African and increased in number in the twelfth century because of the translations by Burngundio and the work of translators in Spain.304 After small additions by William Moerbeke and Arnau de Villanova,305 it was Niccolò da Reggio in the 299 300 301 302 303 304 305

Monica H. Green, “Medical Books,” in The European Book in the Twelfth Century, ed. Erik Kwakkel and Rodney Thomson (Cambridge, 2018), pp. 277–293; and Jacquart, “Principales étapes.” On the texts available, see Jacquart, “Principales étapes,” pp. 252–256. About the presalernitan corpus of the ninth–eleventh centuries, see Augusto Beccaria, I codici de medicina del periodo presalernitano (Rome, 1956). See Green, “Medical Books,” p. 281 with a list of European medical bestsellers during the long twelfth century. Green, “Medical Books,” pp. 269–282. Though the twelfth-century translators in Spain worked parallel with Burgundio from Arabic manuscripts, see McVaugh, “Galen in the Medieval Universities, 1200–1400,” p. 380. Green, “Gloriosissimus Galienus,” pp. 320–324 and passim; McVaugh, “Galen in the Medieval Universities, 1200–1400,” pp. 380–381. See elements of the ‘new Galen’, the texts that were indeed employed in teaching ibidem p. 387. Arnau translated the On Rigor, Arnaldi de Villanova opera medica omnia. Vol. XVI: Translatio libri Galieni de rigore et tremore et iectigatione et spasmo, ed. Michael McVaugh (Barcelona, 1981).

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early fourteenth century306 who undertook to (re)translate the whole Galen. This was an enterprise which was comparable to Moerbeke’s translation programme, but its influence nonetheless remained rather modest, as Niccolò employed new terminology against an established university tradition.307 Hippocrates arrived first through Arabic translations and was represented in the Articella (Aphorisms, Prognostics) and through Galen’s commentary on The Elements.308 Burgundio rendered from Greek a part of Galen’s commentary on the Aphorisms. William of Moerbeke only drew up a list of Hippocrates’ works. Bartholomew of Messina translated On Human Nature and the Nature of the Child, in addition to John of Alexandria’s commentary on the Epidemics. Finally, Peter of Abano produced a Latin version of On the Astrology of the Physicians. Greek patristic texts were already at hand in Latin translation in the eleventh century. Though Siegmund’s seminal monograph is outdated, it shows that bilingual Bibles, pieces of apocryphal literature, legal and theological inventories, and several writings from Church fathers were available.309 The period in question witnessed new interest in the already available patristic texts and in acquiring new ones,310 as the instances of Gilbert of Poitiers, Moses of Bergamo, or Peter Lombard demonstrate. Despite this, the increment from the eleventh century to the thirteenth is comparably not substantial. One could mention shorter works by Gregory of Nazianzos in translation by Henry Aristippus, Maximos Confessor’s Chapters of Charity, and John Damascene’s On the Right Faith from Cerbanus. Burgundio of Pisa completely translated the latter, adding also Chrysostomos’ Homilies on Matthew, the Homilies on John, and On the Nature of Man to the list of new texts. Two revisions of the Corpus Dionysiacum by John Sarracenus and Robert of Grosseteste show the importance of these texts. Grosseteste translated some of John Damanscene’s works, including for instance On the Right Faith,311 as well as Ignatios of Antioch’s 306 307 308 309

310 311

So, beyond the scope of this volume. Michael McVaugh, “Niccolò da Reggio’s Translations of Galen and Their Reception in France,” Early Science and Medicine 11 3 (2006), 290–291 and passim. Translated by Gerard of Cremona, Pearl Kibre, “Hippocrates Latinus: Repertorium of Hippocratic Writings in the Latin Middle Ages (IV),” Traditio 34 (1978), 219–221. Kibre referred to the existence of a translation from Greek, ibidem, 218. Albert Siegmund, Die Überlieferung der griechischen christlichen Literatur in der lateinischen Kirche bis zum zwölften Jahrhundert (M甃ࠀnchen, 1949). The most overarching collection on the reception of the church fathers is Irena Backus, ed. The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West. From the Carolingians to the Maurists, 2 vols. (Leiden, 1997). Marie-Dominique Chenu, “Le dernier avatar de la théologie orientale en Occident au XIIIe siécle,” in Mélanges Auguste Pelzer (Leuven, 1947), pp. 159–181. Already for the third time.

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Letters, and pieces on the Trisagion, late antique heresies. Compared to texts of classical Greek authors, patristic literature was less systematically translated in the Middle Ages. Specific authors received particular attention, such as Dionysios the Aeropagite, whose works were rendered into Latin for a second and then third time during the period under examination. The works of Leo Tuscus and Hugo Eteriano drew considerably on patristic sources312 but pertain to Greek-Latin polemical literature and to parallel developments in Latin and Greek theology, discussed below. Hagiography cannot be covered here due to the lack of genre-specific and up-to-date overviews. Martyrologia and saints’ lives were used in the liturgy, which has its own history, with different characteristics and chronologies compared to the scientific realm.313 As Teresa Shawcross explains in her paper, the Roman liturgy worked on internal tenth-century models. By contrast, the case of Amalfi shows that tenth-century Campanian translators influenced later translations that came into being due to the increasing presence of Amalfitan monks and merchants in the eastern Mediterranean. Or in other words, the changing parameters of the time also influenced the fields of hagiography in specific instances. Ptolemy’s Almagest was rendered into Latin first from Arabic and afterwards from Greek, but given its complexity, the compulsory astronomy course at the arts faculties was based on handbooks, such as Sacrobosco’s On Spheres, and not on reading Ptolemy in translation.314 Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos enriched astrological literature. Works labelled today as ‘esoteric’ came mainly via Arabic intermediaries. These texts were highly popular, but they circulated on different routes than scientific texts, which were linked to university contexts and ultimately were (re)translated from Greek.315 Medieval Latin versions of the Hermetic writings certainly played a role, though the actual support they enjoyed is unclear.316 The significance of these 312 313 314 315

316

E.g., Robert Lechat, “Le patristique grecque chez un theologian latin du XIIe siècle, Hugues Ethérien,” in Mélanges offerts a Charles Moeller, ed. Alfred Cauchie, Charles Michel (Leuven, 1914), pp. 484–507. Siegmund, Überlieferung, pp. 195–278. John North, “Astronomy and Astrology,” in The Cambridge History of Science. Vol. 2: Medieval Science, ed. David C. Lindberg, Michael H. Shank (Cambridge, 2013), p. 460. Charles Burnett, Magic and Divination in the Middle Ages: Texts and Techniques in the Islamic and Christian Worlds (Aldershot, 1996); Robert Halleux, “The Reception of Arabic Alchemy in the West,” in Encyclopedia of the History of Arabic Science, ed. Roshdi Rashed, 3 vols. (London: Routledge, 1996), 3: 886–902. Burnett, “Establishment of Medieval Hermeticism.”

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texts is that they provided an alternative to Aristotelian cosmology. In the twelfth century, through the translations by Adelard of Bath, Petrus Alfonsi, and Hermann of Carinthia, Arabic technical hermeticism dealing with the use of talismans, astrological divination, and necromancy entered the Latin West. The Latin vocabulary used in these works was established with the help of the Asclepius, which was a late antique translation of a Greek original. In his Heptateuchon, Thierry of Chartres also used the Asclepius. During the period in question, Leo Tuscus translated the Oneirocriticon of Ahmet from a Greek version. Furthermore, Pascal the Roman compiled from Greek sources an aid for dream interpretation, he also and translated the Kyranides, thus expanding the range of medieval Latin sources on the Hermetic tradition. 2.2 The Coherence behind Translations Scholars refer to the translating phenomenon, more precisely the part of it belonging to the long twelfth century as the ‘translation movement’.317 The word movement indicates some concerted effort by several people to achieve a particular goal. If one contends that a ‘movement’ started, this implies a standstill or a lack of ‘movement’ beforehand. In addition, modern scholars describe the translations from 1050 with the word movement because this term implies a dawning or shared awareness at the time that there was fascinating material at the disposal of Arabs and Byzantines going back to Greek classical antiquity, and this prompted people to rediscover new texts through translation. A striking feature of the translation ‘phenomenon’ is that relatively few (less than thirty) people actually produced a quantity of new materials that could be considered substantial. This is explained in part by the very status of Greek, as illustrated by Mészáros’ preceding essay. Becoming a translator required Latin and Greek schooling,318 as well as knowledge of the discipline’s terminology or even a willingness to invent new termini technici.319 It was 317

318 319

See fn. 1 in the Preface. Haskins, Studies, passim, denotes with the word movement the phenomenon of the ‘twelfth-century Renaissance’ and also its particular features, such as the proliferation of translations; D’Alverny, “Translations and Translators,” p. 422; Robert N. Swanson, The Twelfth-Century Renaissance (Manchester, 1999), p. 54; Charles Burnett, “Translation and Transmission of Greek and Islamic Science to Latin Christendom,” in The Cambridge History of Science. Vol. 2: Medieval Science, ed. David C. Lindberg, Michael H. Shank (Cambridge, 2013), p. 341. There is no study investigating the need for ‘double’ schooling. Examined by scholars, see e.g., Fernand Bossier, “Les ennuis d’un traducteur: quatre annotations sur la première traduction Latine de l’ Éthique à Nicomaque par Burgundio de Pise,” Bijdragen. Tijschfirt voor Filosofie en Theologie 59 4 (1998), 406–427; José Pablo

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comparatively easy for a Westerner to attend a Latin school, but this was not true for someone eager to pursue the study of Greek. The student had to visit and live for years in Southern Italy320 or Greece.321 The dearth of translators from Greek to Latin meant that the translation movement occurred through ad hoc and ad hominem arrangements. The reader of the preceding overview might feel that the texts in question were produced under coincidental circumstances. At first glance, the overview may resemble a collection of haphazard stories about specific individuals. Indeed, it was a coincidence that Cerbanus Cerbano, a Venetian refugee with special knowledge, arrived at the peripheries of Christian, Latin-rite Europe and found a Greek manuscript of writings by John Damascene. By contrast, the fact that the new text arrived fifteen years later in Paris and Peter Lombard used it in his teaching practice shows the openness or even thirst in the period for new material. The eagerness to acquire and translate texts is well attested by the efforts of maverick scholars such as Adelard of Bath to learn Arabic and travel great distances or the account in the Wolfenb甃ࠀttel preface about how devotedly a Salernitan medical student hunted for the new manuscript of the Almagest brought from the court of Manuel I Komnenos.322 Compared to Peter of Lombard, a hundred years later, Thomas Aquinas acquired very swiftly (in a matter of months or a few years) new Latin texts in the translation by William of Moerbeke. Not only did William translate the texts relatively quickly, but the texts also quickly grabbed the attention of attentive readers. This rapid pace at which texts were translated and then read in translation begs some explanation and prompts us to look for more general factors behind the translation movement.

320

321 322

Barragán Nieto, “Problemas de traducción de un texto científico griego en el Occidente medieval: El ‘Peri Fuseos Anthropou’ de Nemesio de Emesa,” Minerva (Valladolid, Spain) 19 (2006), 297–308 or Beullens, A Methodological Approach. An instructive glimpse at Apulia is Lars M. Hoffmann, “Bilingual Manuscripts as a Sign of a Social and Cultural Decline: The Abbot Nicolas-Nectarius of Otranto and the Greek-Speaking Community in Apulia During the First Half of the Thirteenth Century,” in Multilingual and Multigraphic Documents and Manuscripts of East and West, eds. Giuseppe Mandalà, Inmaculada Pérez Martín (Piscataway, NJ, 2019), pp. 343–348. See also Stefanos Efthymiades, “L’enseignement secondaire à Constantinople pendant les XIe et XIIe siècles: modèle éducatif pour la Terre d’Otrante au XIIIe siècle,” Nea Rhome 2 (2005): 259–275. See the aforementioned example of John Basingstoke, who studied in Athens. On the school system in Constantinople, see Paul Magdalino, The Empire of Manuel I Komnenos, 1143–1180 (Cambridge, 2009), pp. 325–331 with further works. Hanskins, Studies, pp. 106–108.

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2.2.1 The Expansion of Western Europe Scholars have clearly shown that, at the beginning of the eleventh century, Western Christian Europe began to expand.323 The territorial and economic growth of Christian lands can be explained by increasing agricultural production, which was followed by an increase in the population, growing urbanisation, advancements in crafts, different professions, and schooling, which will be treated in the second point. The growing European population coalesced in more sophisticated societies, which became more dominant in successive stages, first in the western Mediterranean and then in Byzantine territories and the Near East. Between 1050 and 1080, the middle part of al-Andalus was reconquered from the Islamic rule. Concurrently, the Normans took control of southern Italy and Sicily. The Italian city-states, and Amalfi in particular (eclipsed by) Venice, Genoa, and Pisa, came to play a leading role in the Mediterranean trade connecting the Levant with Latin Europe and establishing several trading posts. The presence of Westerners also took a more militant form through the crusades after 1095. Successive waves of knights, kings, paupers, and pilgrims appeared in Byzantium,324 Syria, and Palestine. From 1100, Latin kingdoms came into being in the Holy Land with a continuous presence even in regions that subsequently reverted to Islamic rule. During the Fourth Crusade (1202–1204), the Latins captured Constantinople, the Byzantine emperor was confined to Nikaia, and Western lords occupied the central and southern part of mainland Greece.325 The changing political and economic landscape of the Mediterranean brought about new connections, new types of communities, and the coexistence of different languages and cultural communities. This arguably shaped the birth of translations and their later development. The question, of course, is: how exactly did this happen? It is often assumed, simply, that multilingual and multiethnic environments brought about translations.326 This is an oversimplification at best, 323

324 325 326

A convenient introduction, discussing regional specificities, is David Luscombe and Johathan Riley-Smith, The New Cambridge Medieval History. Vol. 4, part 1 and 2 (Cambridge, 2008). For the later period, see David Abulafia, ed., The New Cambridge Medieval History. Vol. 5 (Cambridge, 2015); and Jonathan Shepard, ed., The Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire, c. 500–1492 (Cambridge, 2019), pp. 731–779. Krijna Nelly Ciggaar, Western Travellers to Constantinople: the West and Byzantium, 962–1204, Cultural and Political Relations (Leiden, New York, 1996). Filip van Tricht, The Latin Renovatio of Byzantium: The Empire of Constantinople (1204– 1228) (Leiden, Boston, 2011), pp. 1–10, 41–61. Haskins, Studies, p. 142: “The production of translations was inevitable in such a cosmopolitan atmosphere [referring to the twelfth-century Norman Kingdom of Sicily], and it was directly encouraged by the Sicilian kings.” See also ibidem p. 156.

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since translations were only produced when there was an interest in the translated material, which the audience of the translated texts could not otherwise understand.327 Multilingual regions were conducive to the advancement of translations insofar as they provided contexts in which people could be trained in Greek (and Arabic) and Latin. Their second contribution was the provision of the texts themselves in the form of manuscripts as raw material. In this respect, there were significant differences between centres of Arabic and Greek wisdom.328 Latin translators and scholars looking for classical texts in Arabic environments found teachers cultivating and creating an extended scholarly tradition that interpreted Aristotle or Euclid under Indian and Persian influence. By contrast, Byzantines read the same classical texts through the lens of their late antique Greek commentators. Multilingual regions and hubs influenced the translators’ careers. Bartholomew and Stephen of Messina probably learned Greek and Latin in southern Italy and worked in the Hohenstaufen courts in the same region. Greek-Latin bilinguals in Constantinople (the subject of Elisabeth Fisher’s paper in this volume) were by-products of the Latin occupation of the former Byzantine capital. They earned their living in the Byzantine court or as Mendicant friars. However, one salient feature of the epoch was that translators often travelled substantial distances.329 Several twelfth-century translators in Spain were external imports. They had learned Latin elsewhere and came to al-Andalus to learn Arabic and find manuscripts (and their students).330 John Basingstoke arrived in Athens after having had an education in Latin, and he returned to England after studying Greek and collecting manuscripts there. The Holy Land was not the place where translations were produced, even though Arabic, Syriac, Greek, and Latin speakers were living side-by-side and raw materials were available.331 Stephen of Antioch arrived from Pisa, and he learned Arabic and probably Greek in Antioch, but he translated works for a southern Italian audience.

327 328 329

330 331

Emphasised by Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” 147–149. Burnett, “Translation and Transmission,” pp. 347–348. This needs systematic analysis. At present see for instance, Péter Bara, “Greek-Latin Translators on the Move, 1050–1200. The Importance of Mobility and its Infrastructures,” unpublished presentation at the IMC in Leeds, 04 July 2023: https://www.imc.leeds .ac.uk/imc-2023/programme/. Accessed 2023 July 27. Gutas, “What Was There,” pp. 3–21. William Stephen Murrell, Dragomans and Crusaders: The Role of Translators and Translation in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean, 1098–1291. PhD thesis (Nashville, 2018), pp. 222–272. For Arabic manuscripts, see Gutas, “What Was There,” p. 11.

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There are also regional specificities that must be singled out. Dimitri Gutas has observed that the cultural conquest of a specific group by a dominant one is pursued through the appropriation of the former’s scientific achievements by means of translations.332 This certainly applies to reconquered Muslim Spain and the translations there from Arabic.333 The new Christian lords and representatives of the Latin church were eager to surpass local Muslims in their scientific achievements. Bishops sponsored translations, which were produced by ecclesiastics in their churches334 and singled out topics mainly connected with mathematics, astronomy, and astrology, which were studied and cultivated in Muslim Toledo or Saragosa.335 Gutas’ idea of cultural conquest cannot explain the launch of translations in Southern Italy. Sicily and Southern Italy became part of the Norman realm, and the territorial gains were sanctioned by the papacy, acknowledging Robert of Guiscard’s rule as his vassal. While Constantine the African did begin his career in Robert Guiscard’s entourage as a physician, the translations he produced from Arabic were connected to the interest in medical theory in the school of Salerno and in the monastery of Monte Cassino.336 The growing presence of Italian merchants in Byzantium and the East explains why most translators in the twelfth century were connected with one of the city-states and Constantinople.337 In the wake of the Fourth Crusade, Constantinople and the occupied Byzantine lands became the target of Latin missionary activity, and Latin-rite Christians and Orthodox started to live together more intensively.338 Byzantines became open to the results of the

332 333 334

335 336 337 338

Dimitri Gutas, “The Historical and Ideological Dimensions of Graeco-Arabic Studies: The Conquest of Knowledge from Alexander the Great to Meḥmed the Conqueror.” Intellectual History of the Islamicate World 3 1–2 (2015), 326–350. Dimitri Gutas, “What Was There.” Except John of Seville, Hermann of Carinthia, and Plato of Tivoli, about whom it cannot be determined whether they were churchmen: Dag Nikolaus Hasse, “The Social Conditions of the Arabic-(Hebrew-)Latin Translation Movements in Medieval Spain and in the Renaissance,” in Wissen über Grenzen: Arabisches Wissen und lateinisches Mittelalter, eds. Andreas Speer, Andreas, Lydia Wegener (Berlin, New York, 2006), pp. 72–73; Burnett, “The Coherence of the Arabic-Latin Translation Program,” pp. 252–253. Hasse, “Social Conditions,” pp. 69–71; Gutas, “What Was There,” pp. 6–12. Veit, “Quellenkundliches,” pp. 134–135 and passim. Samples from the rich literature were recently collected in Leonie Exarchos, Lateiner Am Kaiserhof in Konstantinopel: Expertise Und Loyalitäten Zwischen Byzanz Und Dem Westen (1143–1204) (Paderborn, 2022), p. 13. fn. 46. Nickihopros I. Tsougarakis, Peter Lock, eds., A Companion to Latin Greece (Leiden, 2014); Nickihopros I. Tsougarakis, The Latin Religious Orders in Medieval Greece, 1204–1500 (Turnhout, 2012).

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Latin sciences, which was a complete novelty: the Late Byzantine period bore witness to Latin to Greek translation literature.339 2.2.2 Polemics between Latins and Greeks Another general feature of the epoch of Western expansion was the rise of religious polemics between Latins and Greeks.340 The mutual contact between people of different rites entailed curiosity about the other’s liturgy and theological notions. As noted above, Leo Tuscus translated the liturgy of John Chrysostom at the request of the Aragonese envoy Ramón de Moncada. Plainly, the envoy wished to understand the Byzantine liturgy. Religious communities lived side by side, following their calendar, rituals, and performing the liturgy in their languages.341 Even if they shared sacred spaces,342 they did not share religious views.343 The period in question starts with the schism of Orthodox and Latin Christians in 1054344 and ends with the short-lived concession in the matter of filioque on the part of the Byzantines in the second council at Lyons (1274).345 As the overview of translated texts demonstrates, specific patristic authors attracted the attention of patrons and translators. These translations followed the patterns used in the translations of works by classical authors: the entire text was translated and the translator’s preface stressed the importance of 339 340

341

342 343

344 345

Panagiotis, Athanasopoulos, ed., Translation Activity in Late Byzantine World: Contexts, Authors, and Texts (Berlin, Boston, 2022). The most up-to-date and developing repertorium of authors, texts, and secondary works is hosted by the website of the RAP project: https://apps.unive.it/pric/rap. Accessed 2023 Oct 21. See also Tia Kolbaba, “Theological Debates with the West,” in The Cambridge Intellectual History of Byzantium, ed. Anthony Kaldellis and Niketas Siniossoglou (Cambridge, 2017), pp. 479–493. See for instance how a ‘Latin’ priest and church building became an asset even in the smallest merchant colonies of the Italian city-states throughout the Mediterranean: Gerald W. Day, “Italian Churches in the Byzantine Empire to 1204,” The Catholic Historical Review, 70 3 (1984), 379–388. E.g., in Jerusalem: Johannes Pahlitzch, Graeci und Suriani im Palästina der Kreuzfahrerzeit. Beiträge und Quellen zur Geschichte des griechisch-orthodoxen Patriarchats von Jerusalem (Berlin, 2001), pp. 181–235. Some samples: Robert Ombres, “Latins and Greeks in Debate over Purgatory, 1230–1439,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 35 1 (1984), 1–14; Johannes Pahlitzch, “Die beiden unter dem Namen des Joannes von Jerusalem 甃ࠀberlieferten ‘Reden 甃ࠀber die Azymen’,” in idem, Graeci und Suriani im Palästina der Kreuzfahrerzeit (Berlin, 2001), pp. 109–120; Tia Kolbaba, The Byzantine Lists: Errors of the Latins (Urbana, 2000). The most recent monograph is Axel Bayer, Spaltung der Christenheit: das sogenannte Morgenländische Schisma von 1054 (Vienna, 2002). Robert Burkhard, Das Zweite Konzil von Lyon (Paderborn, 1990).

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access to new material for Latins. In contrast, polemical works, such as the adversus Graecos/ contra Latinos literature346 and Hugo Eteriano’s De Sancto et immortali Deo, were not translations in the same sense. Eteriano, for instance, was an expert in both the Latin and Greek languages and theological traditions. He singled out some sentences from patristic and canonical authors to compile a treatise for a Latin audience.347 Theophlylaktos of Ohrid and authors of the “Byzantine lists” addressed a Greek audience.348 In cases of viva voce discussions, translations were done via oral interpreters.349 John II Komnenos and Manuel I invited Western theologians to discuss the debated questions in 1112, 1136, and 1166. Discussions in 1235 between the patriarch of Nikaia and papal envoys or the second council at Lyons (1272) are also cases in point.350 The minutes of these assemblies did not survive at all or only in the form of later compilations, biased by authorial intervention, as Anself of Havelberg’s Dialogi show.351 2.2.3 Educational Reform and the Universities The educational reform or upheaval of the eleventh and twelfth centuries was the strongest motive behind the translations that were done from Greek into Latin. Details of the process, such as the awareness of available materials,352 access to resources,353 and the transformation of their content,354 cannot be discussed here. The rise of cathedral schools in an urban setting led to the birth of universities. Undoubtedly, the most important audiences of the texts that were translated were connected to the universities. Students read almost all the works of Aristotle in the curriculum, and the instructors discussed them

346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354

For the variegated nature of this literature, see Alessandra Bucossi, Anna Calia, eds., Contra Latinos et adversus Graecos: The Separation Between Rome and Constantinople from the Ninth to the Fifteenth Century (Leuven, 2000). In that case, after completing the Latin version, he rendered it into Greek as well, which was, however an exception, see Hvgonis Eteriani De sancto et immortali Deo, pp. xix–xxxii. Kolbaba, The Byzantine Lists, pp. 23–32. Exarchos, Lateiner, pp. 116–145. The most recent overview with further works: Exarchos, Lateiner, pp. 183–190. Kapriev, Lateinische Rivalen in Konstantinopel, pp. 63–71. Gutas, “What Was There,” pp. 6–12; Green, “Gloriosissimus Galienus,” showing the relatively slow reception of Galen despite the fact that the texts were available decades earlier. Charles Burnett, “King Ptolemy and Alchandreus the Philosopher: The Earliest Texts on the Astrolabe and Arabic Astrology at Fleury, Micy, and Chartres,” Annals of Science 55 (1988), 329–368. See e.g., Tina Stiefel, “The Heresy of Science: A Twelfth-Century Conceptual Revolution,” Isis 68 3 (1977), 347–362.

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and commented on them, thus transforming the translations for further use.355 The need for specific texts was connected to the curricula and teaching practice of magistri in cathedral schools. The nascent universities took this role further. Subjects in the arts faculties and the curriculum in the specialised fields of theology, philosophy, and medicine determined which texts were favoured, read, and circulated. 2.2.4 Patrons Sicily and Southern Italy provided room for translations through royal patrons, and the papal curia was a meeting place for learned men who seemed to have influenced one another. In these hubs, texts were translated to satisfy the ruler’s thirst for knowledge. Manfred’s interest in falconry and horse medicine offer clear examples. They entailed the translation of texts into Latin that probably would not have been considered in other contexts. At the same time, these rulers sought to present images of themselves as learned leaders who governed with the help of philosophers. In other words, they provided financial support for translations as a matter of diplomacy and domestic public relations. Twelfth-century Sicily is a case in point, where leading functionaries, such as Henry Aristippus and Maio, constituted an erudite circle that crafted and promoted the image of the ruler. Plato’s Meno and Phaedo were translated specifically to underpin the image of William I as a learned ruler who sought guidance from his philosophers. Third, other cases show that the patrons were aware of the scientific novelties of their age, and they wished to support groundbreaking research. The support provided by Manfred of the studium at Naples or Clement IV’s efforts to assemble scholars or their works (in Bacon’s case) offer examples of this kind of patronage. In addition to kings and popes, monastic orders and ecclesiastic leaders also played an important role in promoting translation. Some of the Salernitan translations were produced in Monte Cassino, i.e. in a Benedictine environment. William of Moerbeke was only able to translate an overwhelming share of the texts he produced because he enjoyed the support of the Dominican order for most of his life. The Dominicans not only had theologians among their ranks such as Thomas Aquinas, but as part of the scientific programme of the order, they also had an ‘official translator’.356 We do now know whether David the Benedictine, abbot of Pannonhalma, sponsored Cerbanus’ translations in Hungary. By contrast, the incomes of the bishopric of Lincoln were 355 356

See e.g., Hilde De Ridder-Symoens, ed., A History of the University in Europe. Vol. 1: Universities in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, 1992), esp. pp. 312–335, 350–358, 377–385, 417–433. Beullens, The Friar.

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behind Grosseteste’s translation endeavour, which allowed him to acquire manuscripts from abroad and employ people in ecclesiastical offices, such as Nicholas Graecus and Basingstoke. Medical texts constitute a separate group that might be connected to the incomes of practising physicians. Translations in the context of the Salernitan school might fall into this category, as might the enquiry of Bartholomeus, the Salernitan magister, who asked Burgundio of Pisa to render the list of Galenic works into Latin. More straightforward evidence comes from the fourteenth century, which is beyond the scope of this volume but is nonetheless instructive: Niccolò da Reggio was sponsored by wealthy Neapolitan physicians to translate missing parts of the Galenic corpus.357 Sometimes, it is difficult to determine who sponsored a specific translation.358 In the prefaces to his works, Pascal the Roman addresses the patriarch of Grado, so some scholars have suggested that he was part of a Venetian network. Certainly, as a minor clergyman, he would not have been able to provide himself with parchment to produce his translations had he not become involved in business like trade or found employment at the court.359 By contrast, Moses of Bergamo’s case suggests that it was possible to be self-supporting. His translations testify to his interest in grammar and theology and the topic of the works he translated, and there are no explicit references to patrons. Moses’ correspondence shows that he acquired a nice library which, however, was destroyed in a fire. How did Moses earn his livelihood and acquire the raw material necessary for translation? If he was indeed employed by the court, as touched on above, this may have been his main source of materials for his translations. In a nutshell, the history of the ‘translation movement’ consists of accounts of accidental events and personal stories found in the biographies of translators. Broader historical phenomena created favourable conditions for translations and ran parallel with the birth of new texts, thus influencing the uses to which they were put and the ways in which they were disseminated. These factors included the expansion of Western Europe, religious polemics between followers of the Latin and Byzantine rites, developments in schools, the birth and growth of universities, and finally, patronage as system and practice.

357 358 359

Vivian Nutton, “Niccolò in Context,” Medicina nei secoli. Arte e scienza 35 3 (2013), 942–945. See also Burnett, “Translation and Transmission,” pp. 351–354. In Pascal’s case, it has been assumed that he was employed in the court: Exarchos, Lateiner, pp. 59–60.

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van Tricht, Filip. The Latin Renovatio of Byzantium: The Empire of Constantinople (1204–1228). Leiden, Boston, 2011. Vanhamel, Willy. “Bibliographie de Guillaume de Moerbeke.” In Recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286). Ed. Jozef Brams, Willy Vanhamel, 301–330. Leuven, 1989. Veit, Raphaela. “Quellenkundliches zu Leben und Werk von Constantinus Africanus.” Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 59 (2003): 122–152. Vuillemin-Diem, Gudrun, Marwan Rashed. “Burgundio de Pise et ses manuscrits grecs D’Aristote: Laur. 87.7. et Laur. 81.18,” Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale 64 1 (1997): 136–198. Vuillemin-Diem, Gudrun. “La liste des oeuvres d’Hippocrate dans le Vindobonensis phil. gr. 100: un autographe de Guillaume de Moerbeke.” In Guillaume de Moerbeke: recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286). Eds. Jozef Brams, Willy Vanhamel, 135–183. Leuven, 1989. Weiss, Roberto. “Lo studio del Greco all’abbazia di San Dionigi durante il Medioevo.” In Medieval and Humanist Greek, 44–60. Padova, 1977. Williams, Steven J. “Like Father, Like Son? The Life and Reign of Manfred, King of Sicily.” In Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily. Ed. Pieter de Leemans, 1–31. Leuven, 2014. Wilson, Nigel. “A Mysterious Byzantine scriptorium: Ioannikios and his Colleagues.” Scrittura a Civiltà 7 (1983): 161–176. Wilson, Nigel. “The Libraries of the Byzantine World.” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 8 (1967): 53–80. Worstbrock, Franz Josef. “Die Lateinische ‘Versio Vulgata’ des Griechischen Legendenromans von Barlaam und Josaphat.” Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur (Tübingen) 142 3 (2020): 391–417.

Part 1 Texts and Transmission

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Chapter 3

Between Success and Failure: Latin Medieval Translations of Aristotle’s Zoology Pieter Beullens

1

Aristotle’s Zoology in the Latin World

Aristotle’s zoology was a late arrival in the Latin medieval period. The philosopher’s logical works had played a vital role in education since Late Antiquity. Much of the ethics and the works on natural philosophy were translated into Latin in the twelfth century, both directly from Greek by Burgundio of Pisa and James of Venice, and through an Arabic intermediary by Gerard of Cremona.1 Finally, the corpus of the three major zoological treatises, i.e. De historia animalium, De partibus animalium, and De generatione animalium, became available in the Arabic-Latin version by Michael Scot early in the thirteenth century. In their colophons, the manuscripts explicitly link his activity with the patronage of emperor Frederick II. About fifty years later, William of Moerbeke translated the same works directly from Greek. He also produced translations of the treatises De motu animalium and De progressu animalium, which were previously unknown in the Latin world. The relatively high number of extant manuscripts shows that the translations were eagerly read. Scot’s version is extant in approximately sixty manuscripts, while there are nearly fifty that contain all or most of the treatises in William’s Latin. In addition, the two shorter works on movement and gait were included in a corpus of Aristotle’s Parva naturalia, which survives in nearly one hundred copies. The successful spread of Moerbeke’s translations was closely linked with their use in university teaching: the majority of manuscripts can be traced back to the production through exemplar and pecia in medieval academic circles.2

1 Jozef Brams, La riscoperta di Aristotele in Occidente (Milano, 2003); Pieter Beullens, De sleutel tot Aristoteles. Willem van Moerbeke en de overlevering van antieke wijsheid (Eindhoven, 2019); Id., The Friar and the Philosopher. William of Moerbeke and the Rise of Aristotle’s Science in Medieval Europe (Abingdon, 2023). 2 Pieter Beullens and Pieter De Leemans, “Aristote à Paris: le système de la pecia et les traductions de Guillaume de Moerbeke,” Recherches de théologie et philosophie médiévales 75 (2008), 87–135.

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In marked contrast to these two widely spread translations, an anonymous Greek-Latin translation of De partibus animalium alone is preserved in a unique manuscript from the same period. It was first brought to the attention of the scholarly world by Ezio Franceschini.3 The only extant copy is MS Padova, Biblioteca Antoniana XVII 370 (Ap), which is an important link in the chain of transmission of Aristotelian translations.4 It is particularly significant for those of Bartholomew of Messina, whose activity is traditionally situated at the court of king Manfred of Sicily (1258–1266). He acquired a reputation for his translation of several Aristotelian, pseudo-Aristotelian, and Hippocratic treatises.5 The Padovan manuscript is the codex unicus for his Latin versions of the pseudo-Aristotelian De mirabilibus auscultationibus and of Theophrastus’ De principiis. These two texts bear explicit attributions to Bartholomew in their titles or colophons. Similar attributions are available in the same manuscript for the Problemata, the Physiognomonica, and the De signis. For each of these translations, Ap is an exceptional witness. As for the section of Ap containing De partibus animalium, it does not have an identification nor a separate title. Both the rubric on fol. 88r and the running titles on the top of the pages identify the text as “liber xius” of De animalibus. Books II through IV of De partibus animalium are accordingly numbered XII through XIV of De animalibus. Immediately thereafter follows De generatione animalium with a rubric similar to the ones found for De partibus animalium. The five books of De generatione animalium are counted in the running titles as books XV through XIX of De animalibus. Then, without a break, comes De longitudine et brevitate vite labelled as book XX, followed by De iuventute et senectute, De morte et vita, and De respiratione together counted as book XXI of De animalibus. The presentation of the different treatises as sections of De animalibus is an unusual feature for this manuscript. An even more curious characteristic is that all works differ as far as their origin is concerned: De partibus animalium is an anonymous translation, William of Moerbeke is the translator of De generatione animalium and of De longitudine et brevitate vite, and the three texts under the heading of book XXI, viz. De iuventute et 3 Ezio Franceschini, “Le traduzioni latine aristoteliche e pseudoaristoteliche del codice antoniano XVII, 370,” Aevum 9 (1935), 3–26. 4 For the most recent detailed study of the physical appearance, content and history of the manuscript, see Ciro Giacomelli, “Le Patavinus Antonianus XVII 370: éléments pour une étude paléographique et textuelle,” Pecia 20 (2018), 45–80. 5 Pieter De Leemans, ed., Translating at the Court. Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily (Leuven, 2014); Pieter Beullens, A Methodological Approach to Anonymously Transmitted Medieval Translations of Philosophical and Scientific Texts: The Case of Bartholomew of Messina, PhD dissertation (Leuven, 2020).

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senectute, De morte et vita, and De respiratione come in the translatio vetus by James of Venice. It must be noted that in addition to this particular section in Ap under the title of De animalibus, the manuscript contains more zoological material, separated from the previously mentioned treatises by a Latin translation from the Arabic of the Liber de differentia spiritus et anime. The codex further includes Moerbeke’s De motu animalium, which is identified as such in its title, and a partial translation of De generatione animalium by the same translator without any heading and in a different version from the one preserved earlier in the codex.6 What can be called the ‘versio Antoniana’ of De animalibus strongly differs from the traditional gathering of Aristotle’s zoology in William of Moerbeke’s translations as known from the university transmission through exemplar and pecia.7 The arrangement of that collection was very likely inspired by Michael Scot’s translation from Arabic. The latter reproduced the order of the treatises De historia animalium, De partibus animalium, and De generatione animalium similarly to how he found them in his Arabic model. As for De longitudine et brevitate vite, De iuventute et senectute, De morte et vita, and De respiratione, in the Latin tradition, they belong to the Parva naturalia, not to the zoology. In the university textbooks of Moerbeke’s translations on zoology, the short treatises De progressu animalium and De motu animalium were inserted by the unknown editor of the corpus between the ten books of De historia animalium and the four of De partibus animalium, although they also had a separate transmission among the Parva naturalia. The insertion of the two shorter treatises in the zoological corpus is particularly revealing for assessing the designation of De partibus animalium as books XI–XIV of De animalibus in the ‘versio Antoniana’. The title cannot possibly be motivated by a parallel with the traditional Greek-Latin Aristotelian zoological corpus, where De partibus animalium forms books XIII–XVI of the 21-book collection, after the ten books of De historia animalium and the two shorter texts about movement and gait. If the reference to the first book of De partibus animalium as “liber xius” might suggest the absence or the hypothetical loss of the ten books of De historia animalium, nothing indicates that they were ever included in the codex. The fourteenth-century table of contents, now bound between the flyleaves of MS 6 About this ‘versio Antoniana’, see Aristoteles, De generatione animalium. Translatio Guillelmi de Moerbeka, ed. H.J. Drossaart Lulofs, Aristoteles Latinus XVII 2.V (Bruges – Paris, 1966), pp. XVI–XVIII. 7 Beullens and De Leemans, “Aristote à Paris”.

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Padova, Biblioteca Antoniana I 27, matches with the current state of the codex, except for the loss of 22 leaves at the end. These folios must have contained the missing part of the second version of De generatione animalium, and further De progressu animalium, De lineis indivisibilibus, and De coloribus.8 There is no reason to think that more quires are missing from inside the codex than what can be deduced from the index. Moreover, the text of De partibus animalium starts off on fol. 88r as a separate codicological entity of three quinio’s, i.e. 30 folio’s (the text ends on fol. 117v). These combined observations indicate that the scholar or his team (Ciro Giacomelli identifies three different scribes) who compiled Ap got the material for their collection from various origins. No similar eclectic manuscript is documented to be extant. The scholar’s or the team’s taste for the unusual probably accounts for the diversity of treatises and of translators that they included. It is conceivable that the source from which De partibus animalium was obtained once also contained a version of De historia animalium, or that at least its copyist was aware that a text of that kind in ten books existed, possibly from the Arabo-Latin version by Michael Scot, but it is by no means certain that a translation of De historia animalium by the same translator actually circulated at any point of time.

2

The Anonymous Translation of De Partibus Animalium: a Status Quaestionis

The anonymous translation of De partibus animalium has received little scholarly attention since its discovery by Ezio Franceschini in 1935.9 All information cited in the remainder of this chapter relies on the study of (just) book I by Pietro Rossi, an analysis of the relation of the anonymous translation to William of Moerbeke’s by Rossi, and my own inspection of digital images of the manuscript.10 Rossi’s study of the translation takes off from the customary comparison of particles, conjunctions, and adverbs based on Lorenzo Minio-Paluello’s 8 9 10

Giacomelli, “Le Patavinus Antonianus XVII 370”, p. 52. Franceschini, “Le traduzioni latine”. Pietro Rossi, “La Translatio Anonyma e la Translatio Guillelmi del De Partibus Animalium (Analisi del libro I),” in Guillaume de Moerbeke. Recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286), ed. Jozef Brams and Willy Vanhamel (Leuven, 1989), 221–245, in particular pp. 227–39; Id., “Les lignes de la tradition de la Translatio Guillelmi du De partibus animalium.” in The Aristoteles Latinus: Past, Present, Future, ed. P. De Leemans and C. Steel (Brussel, 2009), 67–83, in particular pp. 73–81.

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methodology.11 Without further specification of the reasons behind his choice, Rossi limits his investigation to the first book, which is relatively short, has a rather theoretical content, and therefore lacks the specific vocabulary of anatomy that is so abundantly scattered over the other books. Rossi first provides the quantitative comparison of the elements that have become canonical since Minio-Paluello’s first studies, viz. γάρ, δέ, δή, δῆλον, διό, εἴπερ, ἐπεί, ἔτι, ἤ, μέν, οἷον, ὅτι, τε, and τοιοῦτος. He compares their frequency in the two translations of De partibus animalium, the anonymous one and the one by William of Moerbeke, further in book I of De historia animalium, book I of the Meteorologica, and book I of De generatione animalium, all in William of Moerbeke’s translations.12 Rossi concludes that the anonyma cannot be considered an alternative version of William of Moerbeke’s translation, but must be the product of a different translator, whose specific stylistic characteristics he acknowledges. In the anonymous’ style he detects considerable correspondences with the method of James of Venice and Bartholomew of Messina, yet even these two translators do not match for more than half of the compared items, Rossi claims.13 From its outset, Rossi’s methodology in comparing the particles, conjunctions, and adverbs from the anonymous translation with Moerbeke’s versions alone influences the hypothesis of an identification of the anonymous translator with Bartholomew of Messina. It biases the general likelihood of a positive result, since Rossi does not explicitly list a comparison with Bartholomew’s vocabulary. Yet, his conclusion that there is only a partial match between Bartholomew and the anonymous colleague tacitly implies that he compiled a comparative list to arrive at these results. Since he cites three articles by Minio-Paluello,14 it seems reasonable to assume that he gathered the data about Bartholomew’s preferences from those articles and compared them with the vocabulary of the anonymous translator. In the table below, I revise the criteria on the basis of editions and texts that were not yet available to Minio-Paluello and add the data in the right column.

11 12 13 14

First used in Lorenzo Minio-Paluello, “Guglielmo di Moerbeke, traduttore della Poetica di Aristotele (1278),” Rivista di Filosofia Neo-Scolastica 39 (1947), 1–17. Rossi, “La Translatio Anonnyma”, pp. 227–232. Rossi, “La Translatio Anonyma”, pp. 238–239 and 243. Minio-Paluello, “Guglielmo di Moerbeke”; Id., “Henri Aristippe, Guillaume de Moerbeke et les traductions latines médiévales des ‘Météorologiques’ et du ‘De generatione et corruptione’ d’Aristote,” Revue Philosophique de Louvain 45 (1947), 206–235; Id., “Boezio, Giacomo Veneto, Guglielmo di Moerbeke, Jacques Lefèvre d’Etaples e gli Elenchi Sofistici,” Rivista di filosofia neo-scolastica 44 (1952), 398–411.

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γάρ

δέ δή δῆλον διό

ἐπεί ἔτι ἤ μέν οἷον ὅτι τε τοιοῦτος

Beullens

Anonyma (Rossi)

Bartholomew (M-P)

Bartholomew (rev.)

enim (74), igitur (3), autem (4), quidem (1), siquidem (1), nam (1), etiam (1), om. (3) autem (99), vero (63), et (2), om. (8) om. (3), utique (1), quidem (1), vero (1), etiam (1) manifestum (9; + est 3) propter quod (5)

enim, namque, nam

enim, namque, autem, vero, om.

autem, vero (sed)

quia, quoniam, cum

autem, vero, enim, et, om. utique, autem, iam, vero, om. – propter quod (unde, ideo, ideoque, propter hoc) quoniam, quia

amplius (adhuc)

–

aut (vel)

–

– ut, sicut, quasi, ita, puta quia, quod (quoniam) om. (autem, et)

– ut, sicut, quasi, tamquam, puta quoniam, quod, quia

talis, huiusmodi

talis, huiusmodi, hic

quoniam (8), quia (2), quando (?1) amplius (5), adhuc (3), om. (2) vel (45), aut (4), ut (?1), om. (3) quidem ut (44), veluti (4), sicut (4), om. (1) quia (19), quod (9), quid (1), quoniam (1), om. (2) om. (6), quidem (3), quoque (2), scilicet (1), vero (1) talis (25), huiusmodi (8), om. (2)

utique manifestum, videtur propter quod

–

Even on the basis of Minio-Paluello’s unrevised list it becomes clear that most of the studied terminology in the anonymous De partibus animalium has a strong resemblance with that of Bartholomew. My revised list draws the two vocabularies even closer together, as it eliminates the very rare “cum” as equivalent for ἐπεί. In addition, Minio-Paluello rightly noticed that “puta” for οἷον is almost exclusively found in the Magna moralia. Yet, since Rossi does not clarify on which basis he situates the matching rate of the studied items below half,

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there is little progress towards a positive identification to be expected from a further analysis of these data.

3

A Further Confrontation with Bartholomew’s Translation Practice

Rossi’s article includes long vocabulary lists comparing nouns, adjectives, and verbs in the anonymous translation and in Moerbeke’s terminology. They do not lead to tangible conclusions, all the more so because they are only based on a limited selection of lexemes from book I. Further probes into the anonymous translator’s vocabulary, greatly facilitated by the Greek word index of De partibus animalium published by Liliane Bodson, have proved extremely helpful to unmistakably distinguish Bartholomew’s hand in this text.15 First, Rossi’s treatment of particles, conjunctions, and adverbs is certainly open to additions and comments, especially if one takes the whole text into account instead of Rossi’s examination, which is limited to book I. The scholar notices that at its only appearance in book I, ἤδη is translated as “utique” and he queries the correctness of the observation by adding a question mark. As it is already documented in other translations, Bartholomew struggles to adequately distinguish between δή and ἤδη.16 The same adverb ἤδη is attested thirteen times in the whole text. It is once omitted from the translation (675b32), seven occurrences have the anticipated “iam” (646a32;b8; 651b10; 671b24; 675b36; 676a1; 678a8), yet in five passages the translator uses “utique” (642a36; 650a13; 659b26; 668b6; 688a31), which can be considered a typical choice for Bartholomew. As for δή, the second item of the pair, the twenty appearances in the treatise yield a very diversified harvest of renderings: “quidem” (6), “utique” (2), “etiam” (2), “iam” (1), “igitur” (1), “autem” (1), “vero” (1). Four more passages are to be added where the particle is omitted and two others where a different Greek variant was read. If any useful conclusion can be drawn from these observations, the extreme variance clearly signals that the translator is all but confident about his Latin equivalents.

15 16

Liliane Bodson, Aristote. De partibus animalium. Index Verborum. Listes de fréquence (Liège, 1990). Pieter Beullens, “True Colours. The Medieval Latin Translations of De Coloribus,” in Translating at the Court. Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily, ed. Pieter De Leemans (Leuven, 2014), 165–201, in particular pp. 172–173.

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Another signature translation in Bartolomew’s dictionary is “exinde,” which he uses as the Latin counterpart for several adverbs of distance, like ἐκεῖθεν (657b14; 659a32; 678a12; 695b8; 697a9) and ἐντεῦθεν (640a13; 664a1; 666a1;12; 675b17; 680b30; 688b30; 695a11) on thirteen occasions in De partibus animalium. Only once is “illic” prefered for ἐκεῖθεν (684a17). On the other hand, the study of semantemes provides important evidence. The semantic field of medical and biological sciences opens up a rich vein of correspondences with Bartholomew’s medical and other Aristotelian translations. Unfortunately, the copyist of Ap did not manage to deliver a copy without blemishes, to describe the result of his effort euphemistically. How is the apparent plural nominative “capronos” for σφῆκες (“wasps”; 683a9) to be understood without emendation, and what would that emendation have to be? Or “çiçane” for “μηλολόνθαι” (“cockchafer”; 682b14)? Even more puzzling is the abbreviated “g’ra” for “κρέξ” (“ruff” or “corncrake”; 695a22), unless the explanation for the enigmatic shorthand is that the scribe wanted to indicate with the abbreviated “greca” that he found Greek characters in his model. A similar mix-up must have happened with the translation of ὠμοπλάτη (693b1), for which Ap has “musculus humero ultima,” an obviously meaningless mistake. It seems a likely conjecture to write “musculus humeri spatula,” which provides a double reading. Bartholomew struggled with the adequate rendering of the Greek words for “shoulder(blade)” and experimented with “musculus”, an idiosyncracy if it is to be understood with that meaning. In his translation of the Physiognomonica, where ὦμος is six times correctly latinized as “spatula,” he also introduces “musculus” and “musculus spatularum” (two occurrences for each; 810b29;36 and 812b20;813a11).17 In contrast, the three passages in De partibus animalium where the same Greek word occurs are consistently rendered in Latin with the unproblematic “humerus.” The noun ὑμήν (“membrane”) gets a distinctive translation in Bartholomew’s translation of the Hippocratic De natura pueri, where it becomes “panniculus” in thirty-two instances.18 Accordingly, the adjective ὑμενοειδής is rendered as “in specie panniculi” and “panniculosus” (12.5 168.12 and 14), the verb ὑμενόω as “panniculo” (31.1 226.17). For the sake of comparison, William almost always prefers the transliteration “ymen,” yet sometimes also uses “pellicula,” possibly before he considered the Greek calque as a well established technical 17 18

Aristoteles, Physiognomonica. Translatio Bartholomaei de Messana, ed. Lisa Devriese, Aristoteles Latinus XIX (Turnhout, 2019). Cited according to the Greek text in Hippocrates, Über die Natur des Kindes (De genitura und De natura pueri), ed. Franco Giorgianni (Wiesbaden, 2006). The Latin text is printed in Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. xxvii–xlix.

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term.19 Burgundio of Pisa in the Galenic De interioribus and De complexionibus invariably has “membranum.”20 In De partibus animalium, there is variation for the noun between “panniculus” (655b17; 673b4;5;9; 682b18) and “pellicula” (657a30;b16;18; 677b14;36; 680a13; 681b17; 683b21; 691a23; once “pelliculus” 677b25), and similarly, but with a different ratio between them, for the adjective ὑμενώδης, between “panniculosus” (669a34; 672b25; 677b24) and “pelliculosus” (679a1). The latter Latin adjective is also found as the equivalent for δερματώδης (677b23). Bartholomew tends to link the Greek ἰχώρ with terminology that implies impurity, e.g. “sanies” in the Problemata (891a18) and in De mirabilibus auscultationibus (838a29; 845a8), while in the Hippocratic De natura pueri both “putredo” (18.4 186.14) and “putridum” (30.12 226.2) occur.21 The transliteration “ychor” of the Greek word into Latin characters can be found in the Problemata (931a26). For the sake of comparison: in De historia animalium, William of Moerbeke almost exclusively sticks to the transliterated term, except for one instance of “sanguis tenuis” (incidentally, in De natura pueri 13.3 172.8, Bartholomew once uses “grossus sanguis;” it is unclear which thought process caused this rendering). Burgundio of Pisa has either a transliteration, or the Latin words “liquor” and “humor.”22 In De partibus animalium, the term is transliterated as “ichor” on four appearances (647b12; 651a17;18;b18), just once it is rendered as the distinctive equivalent “sanies” (653a2). Although the treatise does not explicitely deal with procreation, it does contain a considerable number of compound adjectives on -γονος and -τοκος. Bartholomew developed a distinctive and stereotypical way to process them, since he almost invariably renders them using generativus with another element in the genitive, mostly preceding the adjective. An exception to the 19 20

21

22

See the index in Aristoteles, De historia animalium. Translatio Guillelmi de Morbeka. Pars altera: lib. VI–X, ed. Pieter Beullens and Fernand Bossier, Aristoteles Latinus XVII 2.I.2 (Turnhout, 2020). See the indices in Galenus, Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΚΡΑΣΕΩΝ “De complexionibus”, ed. Richard J. Durling (Berlin-New York, 1976), and Id., Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΤΩΝ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ ΤΟΠΩΝ “De interioribus”, ed. Richard J. Durling, 2 vols. (Stuttgart, 1992). Aristoteles, Aristotelis quae feruntur De mirabilibus auscultationibus. Translatio Bartholomaei de Messana, accedit Translatio Anonyma Basileensis, ed. Gemma Cornelia Johanna Livius-Arnold, Doctoral dissertation (Amsterdam, 1978). The text of the Problemata is cited according to the Aristoteles Latinus Database, online at www.brepolis.net. Stefania Fortuna, Anna Maria Urso and Paola Annese, “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore di Galeno: nuovi contributi e prospettive,” in Sulla tradizione indiretta dei testi medici greci, ed. Ivan Garofalo, Alessandro Lami and Amneris Roselli (Pisa-Roma, 2009), 139–175, here p. 168.

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position rule is the translation of θηλύγονος as “generativus feminarum” in the Physiognomonica (808a36), but the correlated verb θηλυτοκέω in the Problemata (909a32) is rendered as “feminarum generativus sum.” Analogous adjectives are latinized in the same mould: πολύγονος becomes “multorum generativus” in De mirabilibus auscultationibus (836a22), the Problemata (898a11), and De natura pueri (31.1 226.12), and “multorum generativus” is also used in the Problemata for πολυτόκος (891b9) and for πολύτεκνος (892a38). Their opposite μονοτόκος becomes “unius generativus” in the same work (894a9; 898a13). De partibus animalium contains the terms πολυτόκος (“multorum generativus,” 688a34;b16), μονοτόκος (“unius generativus,” 688b7;23), ὀλιγοτόκος (“paucorum generativus,” 688a32;b2;22), ζῳοτόκος (“animalium generativus,” 655a5), and ᾠοτόκος (“ovorum generativus,” 657a25). If the identification of the translator must now lie beyond any reasonable doubt, puzzling features in this version of De partibus animalium remain, even in the area that was treated at the outset, the translation of particles. Usually, the translators from our reference period do not feel the need to introduce a Latin equivalent for τε, and if they do, the enclitic -que often is their first choice to render the Greek enclitic copula. In his analysis of the particles in book I, Rossi documents several variants, including two instances of “quoque,” and the same word is also used in the remaining books (e.g. 650a31; 679a31; 691a3). However, it can hardly be considered a recurrent feature in Bartholomew’s previously known works, where only one similar case of this equivalence seems to be documented (Problemata, 862b9).

4

A New Translation or a Revision?

In the preface to his Aristoteles Latinus edition of De generatione animalium, H.J. Drossaart Lulofs expresses his conviction that William of Moerbeke’s Latin version of De partibus animalium is not a new translation, but rather a revision based on a copy of the Anonyma similar to the one found in Ap.23 Unfortunately, the Dutch scholar does not give evidence for his claim. In an attempt to assess the probability of Drossaart Lulofs’s position, Pietro Rossi calculates the ratio of the divergent readings between the two Latin translations. Rossi starts from the comparison of a few passages from Moerbeke’s versions of the Analytica posteriora, De sophisticis elenchis, and the Metaphysica, with the older translations and thus establishes that in known revisions by

23

Aristoteles, De generatione animalium, p. XIII.

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Moerbeke, the Dominican’s version varies in comparison with the underlying texts for 5–10% of the words. When Moerbeke’s original translations are set against similar Greek-Latin translations of the same texts by other translators, the ratio of variation between the two versions lies at 25–32%. In the case of De partibus animalium, the variation rate between Moerbeke’s version and the Anonyma, which I have ascribed to Bartholomew, averages around 25%, which Rossi calculates on the basis of two samples. His examination forms convincing evidence to accept that the two translations were independently produced and that the correspondences between them must be mainly caused by the use of a similar verbum de verbo translation method.24 It cannot be excluded, however, that traces of a secondary influence between the two translations survive in MS Vaticano, Biblioteca apostolica Vaticana, Vat. lat. 2095 (Vb). Rossi sees this manuscript as “le résultat d’un travail attentif de collation entre la traduction de Moerbeke et la traduction Anonyma” – or rather, Bartholomew’s translation, as I have demonstrated.25 A comparable conclusion can be drawn for the text of De historia animalium as preserved in the same manuscript, where “les traces d’une comparaison avec la traduction de Scot font de Vb le témoin d’un travail philologique remarquable.”26

5

Remnants of a Third Zoological Corpus?

The intriguing question remains: why are there no traces among the treatises of the zoological corpus of another translation by Bartholomew than De partibus animalium? While working in Sicily he must certainly have been aware of the existence of other texts on animals written by Aristotle. Michael Scot had translated De historia animalium and De generatione animalium together with De partibus animalium from one and the same Arabic source, and he had dedicated the whole collection to Frederick II, the father of Bartholomew’s patron Manfred. The explanation may simply lie in the possibility that Bartholomew had no manuscript model for more texts than De partibus animalium at his disposal. In Bartholomew’s time, Aristotle’s major zoological treatises circulated as separate entities in Greek. Collective manuscripts of all Aristotelian writings

24 25 26

Rossi, “Les lignes de la tradition”, pp. 77–81. Rossi, “Les lignes de la tradition”, p. 81. Pieter Beullens, “L’Histoire des animaux en pièces détachées,” in The Aristoteles Latinus: Past, Present, Future, ed. P. De Leemans and C. Steel (Brussel, 2009), 47–57, here p. 51.

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on zoology did not make their appearance before the fifteenth century.27 And even if some other works were within Bartholomew’s reach, it is perfectly possible that he gave preference to the one text that, in his opinion, might have seemed the philosophically most challenging. If, on the other hand, his version of De partibus animalium survived in only one copy by a stroke of good luck, there is no compelling reason why Bartholomew could not have translated other treatises that have subsequently gone lost. As I already described, in the codex unicus (Ap) the books of De partibus animalium are numbered from XI through XIIII. Does that indicate that the scribe just knew of the existence of De historia animalium as the ten books that were supposed to precede? Or did Bartholomew also translate the ten books of De historia animalium and ordered them consecutively in the same way as they were known from Scot’s Arabic-Latin version? Whether a scribe or the translator himself was responsible for the numbering system in Ap cannot be decided, and neither is there certainty whether that other translation ever existed. However, MS Cesena, Biblioteca Malatestiana, Sin. VII.4 (Ce), which contains the complete corpus of Aristotelian zoological writings in William of Moerbeke’s translation, preserves a fascinating clue on fol. 5v in the margins of De historia animalium. A later hand noted there the remark “id est paniculi” as an alternative for “ymenes” found in the body of the text (494b29). In my characterisation of Bartholomew’s approach to the semantic field of medicine, “panniculus” stood out as his signature translation for ὑμήν. Would it not be an extraordinary coincidence to find precisely that variant as a gloss linked to William’s equally characteristic transliteration? Is it possible not to conjecture some form of secondary influence from Bartholomew’s work? In at least one other passage in the Cesena manuscript, the same hand intervened in the margins with a comparable annotation. In the right margin of fol. 142v, alongside the text of De generatione animalium, William’s transliteration from the Greek “monotokon” (which was incompletely copied by the original scribe, but supplemented between the lines at a later stage) is glossed with the words “id est unius generativum” (748a17). Here too, the presence of a word group that so strikingly typifies a feature from Bartholomew’s semantic field of medicine cannot easily be interpreted as a fortuitous circumstance. Just like in the previous case, William’s text contains a transliteration from the Greek. For the untrained reader those must have been perplexing. The appearance of a clarifying note is therefore not surprising as such. William in De 27

Friederike Berger, Die Textgeschichte der Historia Animalium des Aristoteles (Wiesbaden, 2005).

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historia animalium explains the analogous adjectives πολυτόκος and ὀλιγόγονος as “multe prolis” and “pauce prolis,” and in his earliest version of De generatione animalium ὀλιγοτόκος becomes “paucorum paritivus.” These examples are all comparable periphrases to replace or to explain the Greek compound adjective. We have seen, however, that the use of “generativus” preceded by a genitive appears in a sufficiently large number of Bartholomew’s genuine translations that it must be considered typical of his lexical preferences. Unless by the greatest of coincidences another scholar arrived at a similar Latin rendition for the Greek term, this marginal gloss must be somehow tied to Bartholomew’s activity. The precise connection can only be established after the completion of the critical edition of Bartholomew’s De partibus animalium. The fact that the marginal glosses are found in this particular manuscript of Moerbeke’s version of Aristotle’s zoology provides an important clue in the search for their origin. Both Ce and Ap can geographically be linked to Padua and chronologically to the early fourteenth century. It is probable that Ap was produced in that city in the Veneto around the same time, while Ce was sold within the same city walls in 1308. A note on the flyleaf documents the transaction: “Iste liber est magistri Francisci de Mantua medici in civitate Mantue habitatoris et fuit emptus Padue per magistrum Petrum de Abano precio VII solidorum denariorum venetorum grossorum sub M.CCC.VIII de mense septembris.”28 One cannot overlook the fact that by the beginning of the fourteenth century surprisingly more Aristotelian texts were available in Padua than one might anticipate. The best known example of that wealth of unexpected knowledge was the presence of a now lost copy of Moerbeke’s rare translation of the Poetica that went through the hands of Alberto Mussato.29 As for how Ce changed owners, the deal saw the involvement of the famous scholar Pietro d’Abano who seems to have facilitated the sale, or at least so the preposition per in the note on the flyleaf seems to imply. Pietro possibly also had a link with the Antonianus Ap. For some time, it was thought that he had studied the manuscript, but recently obtained evidence makes the scenario rather unlikely.30 In conclusion, the geographical and personal connections between the two manuscripts Ce and Ap do not give irrefutable answers about the presence of certain rare Aristotelica in early-fourteenth-century North Italy. Fascinating 28 29 30

Guido Billanovich, “Pietro d’Abano e il codice Antoniano XVII 370,” Italia medioevale e umanistica 28 (1985), 221–294, here pp. 292–294. H.A. Kelly, “Aristotle-Averroes-Alemannus on Tragedy: The Influence of the Poetics on the Latin Middle Ages,” Viator 10 (1979), 161–210, in particular pp. 188–193. Giacomelli, “Le Patavinus Antonianus XVII 370”, pp. 56–58.

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hints in the form of two marginal explanatory notes can be interpreted as pointing to the existence of a third, no longer extant, manuscript that contained an elusive translation of De historia animalium, and possibly even of De generatione animalium, by Bartholomew of Messina. Attractive though the idea might be, much more substantiating evidence is needed to retrieve the possibility from the realm of mere hypothetical thinking.

6

The Lost Translation of De Motu Animalium

In the earlier part of this article, I focused on De partibus animalium and the two other major treatises from Aristotle’s zoological corpus. It must not be forgotten that another text with related content has analogous features to those that I have described here. An anonymous translation of De motu animalium is only known from quotations preserved in Albert the Great’s commentary named De principiis motus processivi. Pieter De Leemans was able to separate the precise phrasing of the Latin translation from Albert’s commentary in which it was embedded, in particular by determining the characteristics of the lost Greek model that the translator had in front of him. De Leemans hypothetically situates the translation in the same period and environment as Bartholomew’s activity, i.e. at the court of King Manfred in South Italy. He substantiates his claim by tracing the origin of the lost Greek manuscript used by the translator to Casole near Otranto in Apulia.31 De Leemans finds an additional corroboration for this assumption in Albert’s testimony that the great Dominican came upon the Latin translation “in Campania iuxta Greciam.” De Leemans’s discovery about the Greek model behind the lost translation comes as an important supplementary element to be added to the evidence that can be gained from the translator’s methodology and vocabulary. In the preface to his edition of the restored Latin translation, De Leemans highlights similarities between the fragmentary De motu animalium and some lexical choices made by Bartholomew of Messina. Interestingly, he also signals some striking parallels with the Rhetorica anonyma, which I was also able to ascribe to the same translator.32

31 32

Aristoteles, De motu animalium. Fragmenta translationis anonymae, ed. Pieter De Leemans, Aristoteles Latinus XVII 1.III (Turnhout, 2011), pp. LVI–LIX. Aristoteles, Rhetorica. Translatio anonyma sive Vetus et Translatio Guillelmi de Moerbeka, ed. Bernhardus Schneider, Aristoteles Latinus XXXI 1–2 (Leiden, 1978). For the attribution to Bartholomew, see Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. 89–100.

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Before assessing De Leemans’s judgements, we should remind ourselves of the difficult transmission that brought the translation to us. It is only through the meticulous comparison of Albert’s commentary with the Greek text, and in particular with the exact branch of the tradition to which the translator’s model belonged, that De Leemans was able to reconstruct the original wording. Even then, it cannot be excluded that individual words underwent changes during the transmission process, either at the hands of a careless copyist, or through a deliberate intervention by Albert the Great to accommodate the text to his needs. Any conclusion regarding the phraseology of the translation will accordingly remain subject to the limitations of this caveat. De Leemans perceives several lexical similarities between the anonymous translator and other works. The following are relevant for our purpose. The renditions “actio,” “proheresis,” and “obliquitas” for ἐνέργεια, προαίρεσις, and στρέβλη find parallels in the Rhetorica anonyma (“actio” also in translations previously attributed to Bartholomew of Messina and in those by several other translators). Further correspondences are traced for αἰδοῖον (“pudendum” in Bartholomew’s Problemata, although he alternates with “virga,” about which more below), κελεύω (“precipio” in the Rhetorica, although De Leemans overlooks similar instances in Bartholomew’s De mirabilibus auscultationibus 845b28; Problemata 876a6; 949b17; Magna moralia 1187a15;1193b4;7; 1196a1;2; 1198a18; Hippocrates’ De natura pueri 13.2 170.11), σημεῖον (“punctum” in Bartholomew’s version of De mundo), and αὐτόματον (“subitum” or “id quod subito movetur,” comparable with “subito” for ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου in the Rhetorica anonyma, 1354a10).33 However, De Leemans also establishes several correnspondences with features and lexical choices in other translators’ works from the same period. Some elements in the transmitted text of De motu animalium seem to be totally inconsistent with Bartholomew’s usual practice, or at least they find no confirmation in the extant translations. The renderings “precipue” (μάλιστα), “postquam” (ὅταν), “pridem” (πάλαι), “primitus” (πρῶτον, πρώτως), and “quotquot” (ὅσοι) have no parallels in his extant works, and the Latin terms do not even appear there, except for “postquam,” which can render ἐπεί (Problemata, 958b19), ἐπειδή (Magna moralia, 1197a6), ἐπειδάν (De mundo, 399b2; De mirabilibus ausculationibus, 841a3;b19; 844b33), ἐπήν (De natura pueri, 21.3 198.14), or ὡς (De mirabilibus auscultationibus, 845b31). Some selected equivalences in 33

For De mundo, see Aristoteles, De mundo. Translationes Bartholomaei et Nicholai, editio altera, ed. Willelmus L. Lorimer and Laurentius Minio-Paluello, Aristoteles Latinus XI 1–2 (Bruges – Paris, 1965). The text of the Magna moralia is cited according to the Aristoteles Latinus Database (www.brepolis.net).

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De motu animalium clash with Bartholomew’s virtually unvarying preferences, especially “hinc” for ἐντεῦθεν (elsewhere always “exinde,” except for “hinc” in De signis, ch. 31, and Rhetorica 1402a24; 1405b17) and “cum” for ὅτε (only in the first version of Albert’s commentary, as opposed to five times “quando,” which must be considered Bartholomew’s standard).34 Among all the variae lectiones or double readings that according to De Leemans must be attributed to the translator as attempts to render the Greek more accurately into Latin, no couple can be identified as established translations for the same Greek word in Bartholomew’s vocabulary, except for “concupiscentia” and “desiderium” that are used to render ἐπιθυμία in the Magna moralia.35 Moreover, Bartholomew seems to have had a different and probably better understanding of some terminology in comparison with what is found in De motu animalium. De Leemans mentions Bartholomew’s use of “virga” to render αἰδοῖον, while the translator of De motu animalium exclusively links that Latin word to its other meaning “wood” (βακτηρία, ξύλον). Admittedly, the latter meaning of “virga” is not unknown to Bartholomew either, as he demonstrates when he uses it to latinize ῥάβδος, “rod,” in De mirabilibus auscultationibus (846a28). It must be added that Bartholomew also struggles with the noun αἰδοῖον in De natura pueri (30.4 220.9), where he translates it as “testiculus,” although the context makes it clear that the female sexual parts are intended. Other instances from the semantic field of human anatomy and medicine for which the translator of De motu animalium betrays uncertainty include ῥάχις, which becomes “humerus,” while in the Problemata (867b23; 897a7;b26) and De partibus animalium (640a21; 651b34; 652a15; 654b12;14; 655a37) it is appropriately rendered as “spina” (once as “spinale”, 697a26). The translator of De motu animalium turns to the same “humerus” for ὦμος. A variant translation for the latter is “armus,” which can be parallelled with Bartholomew’s “armus latus” for ὠμοπλάτη in the Physiognomonica (807a34). De Leemans could have tied the connection with Bartholomew’s translations closer where he documents the difficulty that the translator experiences in accurately distinguishing the combinations μὲν οὖν and μὲν γάρ.36 De Leemans refers to a similar difficulty in the (then considered anonymous) Rhetorica, yet he could have mentioned the same peculiarity for De partibus

34 35 36

For De signis, see Theophrastus, Theophrasts Metaphysisches Bruchstück und die Schrift περὶ σημείων in der lateinischen Übersetzung des Bartholomaeus von Messina, ed. Walter Kley (W甃ࠀrzburg, 1936). Aristoteles, De motu animalium, pp. XLVII–XLVIII. Aristoteles, De motu animalium, pp. XXVI–XXVII.

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animalium, which Rossi had previously noticed without seeing Bartholomew’s hand in it. Per completezza, è utile aggiungere qui i dati relativi alla traduzione di μὲν γάρ e μὲν οὖν, che ricorrono rispettivamente 8 e 11 volte. L’Anonyma non pare distinguere tra l’una e l’altra espressione e rende la prima 4 volte con quidem igitur, 3 volte con quidem e 1 con igitur, e la seconda espressione 7 volte con quidem igitur, 2 con igitur, 1 con quidem e 1 con enim.37 Also in the translations previously attributed to Bartholomew, an equivalence of μὲν γάρ with “quidem igitur” is documented (De humana natura 166.1).38 For the strange “oportet quod” as the rendition of δεῖ and an infinitive clause, De Leemans could have referred to parallel constructions in the Problemata (925b1; 927b30; 965a19).39 Additionally, some characteristics of Bartholomew’s usus transferendi find an echo in peculiarities in the style of the translator of De motu animalium. For τοιοῦτος the three typical variants “hic,” “huiusmodi,” and “talis” are present, while λοιπόν ἐστι is rendered as “restat igitur” (700b4). De Leemans only prints “restat” in bold as part of the original translation, which suggests that “igitur” belongs to the commentary text added by Albert. However, Bartholomew shows an inclination not just to use λοιπόν with the meaning of “it remains” but also to add the connotation of a consequential adverb “then,” which it increasingly developed in later and modern Greek.40 It therefore cannot be excluded that “restat igitur” is the relic of a double reading with clear parallels in other texts that were unquestionably translated by Bartholomew. At least four further lexical preferences that are almost unique among contemporary translators connect the unattributed version of De motu animalium with the Rhetorica anonyma. The first instance is the already mentioned parallel between the Greek αὐτόματος and the Latin “subitus” in both texts (Rhetorica 1354a10 – De motu animalium 701b10). Similar cases for a deficient understanding of the exact nuances conveyed by Greek adverbs can be found for πολ뮻αχοῦ, which becomes “multotiens” (Rhetorica 1355a1; 1411b31 – De motu animalium 702a12), as opposed to “in multis locis” (once in the Rhetorica, 37 38 39 40

Rossi, “La Translatio Anonyma”, p. 229. Cited according to the Greek text in Hippocrates, De natura hominis, ed. Jacques Jouanna (Berlin, 1975). The Latin text is printed in Beullens, A Methodological Approach, pp. xix–xxv. Aristoteles, De motu animalium, p. XXVI. Beullens, “True Colours”, p. 175.

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1373a31; De mirabilibus auscultationibus, 838a31; and De mundo, 395b26), and ἄν rendered as “iam” (Rhetorica 1372a31; 1403a29 – De motu animalium 700a30). Not incorrect, but idiosyncratic seems the appropriate label for the equivalence between ἀντί and “loco” (nine instances in the Rhetorica – De motu animalium 701a31). In deciding the matter of Bartholomew’s relation to the anonymous De motu animalium, the crucial point is probably how sharp we want to hone our razor: if it looks like a duck … The version of De motu animalium found and used by Albert the Great comes from the same translation pond where Bartholomew’s other ducks used to swim. It quacks like Bartholomew’s duck, although it sometimes pipes a different tune. When we hear it muffled or distorted, we might want to blame that on the intermediary, i.e. Albert’s commentary that preserved it. Or can we surmise that this duck had not yet grown to its full maturity? Can chronology play an important part in the argumentation that De motu animalium is the immature product of an inexperienced translator? Albert is thought to have discovered the translation during his first trip to Italy in 1256–57.41 This date therefore forms the terminus ante quem for the translation. If we accept that it was produced by Bartholomew of Messina, it pushes the translation’s completion well before the traditionally accepted and only documented period of Bartholomew’s activity during king Manfred’s reign, viz. between 1258 and 1266, where the colophons of the ascribed translations situate his working environment. The hypothesis that De motu animalium is the product of a less experienced translator early in his activity is consistent with the editor’s observation that the translator “was not well-acquainted enough with the subtleties of the Greek language”.42 The same assessment of his ability can be read about the anonymous translator of the Rhetorica, who we now know to be Bartholomew of Messina: “Im 甃ࠀbrigen scheinen die Griechischkenntnisse des anonymen Übersetzers nicht besonders groß gewesen zu sein, die translatio vetus enth愃ࠀlt eine Vielzahl von Übersetzungsfehlern.”43 This general characteristic ties the translations of De motu animalium and of the Rhetorica together, as several particularities of their vocabulary also do. The most convenient explanation would be to see them as the early career efforts by one and the same translator, Bartholomew of Messina, whose methodology later evolved along with his increasing knowledge of the Greek language – although it is equally well possible that a further unknown translator produced it. 41 42 43

Aristoteles, De motu animalium, p. XVIII. Aristoteles, De motu animalium, p. LVII. Bernd Schneider, Die mittelalterlichen griechisch-lateinischen Übersetzungen der aristotelischen Rhetorik (Berlin – New York, 1971), p. 21.

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A More Nuanced View

At the start of this article, Michael Scot and William of Moerbeke were credited with the introduction of Aristotle’s zoology in the Latin medieval world. Their translations were successful as is shown by the many surviving manuscripts. Yet, they were not the only ones to translate the zoological works. In the thirteenth century at least one other translation was made of De partibus animalium and of De motu animalium, which reached few readers. It is an attractive hypothesis to consider them parts of a more encompassing endeavour that originally included all known treatises of Aristotle’s zoology. I have presented Bartholomew of Messina as the most likely translator of this hypothetical corpus. If that assumption is correct, it confirms his substantial contribution to the spread of Aristotelian translations in the Latin medieval world, although a considerable portion of his output was consequently lost in transmission.44

Caveat Since writing and revising this text in 2020–22, a new computational stylometric study has shown that the attribution of the Rhetorica anonyma to Bartholomew of Messina is less certain than I previously thought. See Pieter Beullens, Wouter Haverals, and Ben Nagy, “The Elementary Particles. A Computational Stylometric Inquiry into the Medieval Greek-Latin Aristotle.” Mediterranea 9 (2024), 385–408.

Bibliography Primary Sources Aristoteles. De mundo. Translationes Bartholomaei et Nicholai, editio altera. Ed. Willelmus L. Lorimer and Laurentius Minio-Paluello. Aristoteles Latinus XI 1–2. Bruges – Paris, 1965. Aristoteles. Physiognomonica. Translatio Bartholomaei de Messana. Ed. Lisa Devriese. Aristoteles Latinus XIX. Turnhout, 2019. Aristoteles. De historia animalium. Translatio Guillelmi de Morbeka. Pars prima: lib. I–V. Ed. Pieter Beullens and Fernand Bossier. Aristoteles Latinus XVII 2.I.1. Leiden – Boston – Köln, 2000.

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This article is a revised chapter from Beullens, A Methodological Approach.

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Aristoteles. De historia animalium. Translatio Guillelmi de Morbeka. Pars altera: lib. VI–X. Ed. Pieter Beullens and Fernand Bossier. Aristoteles Latinus XVII 2.I.2. Turnhout, 2020. Aristoteles. De motu animalium. Fragmenta translationis anonymae. Ed. Pieter De Leemans. Aristoteles Latinus XVII 1.III. Turnhout, 2011. Aristoteles. De generatione animalium. Translatio Guillelmi de Moerbeka. Ed. H.J. Drossaart Lulofs. Aristoteles Latinus XVII 2.V. Bruges – Paris, 1966. Aristoteles, Rhetorica. Translatio anonyma sive Vetus et Translatio Guillelmi de Moerbeka. Ed. Bernhardus Schneider. Aristoteles Latinus XXXI 1–2. Leiden, 1978. Aristoteles. Aristotelis quae feruntur De mirabilibus auscultationibus. Translatio Bartholomaei de Messana, accedit Translatio Anonyma Basileensis. ed. Gemma Cornelia Johanna Livius-Arnold. Doctoral dissertation, Amsterdam, 1978. Galenus. Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΚΡΑΣΕΩΝ “De complexionibus”. Ed. Richard J. Durling. Berlin – New York, 1976. Galenus. Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΤΩΝ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ ΤΟΠΩΝ “De interioribus”. Ed. Richard J. Durling. 2 vols. Stuttgart, 1992. Hippocrates. De natura hominis. Ed. Jacques Jouanna. Berlin, 1975. Hippocrates. Über die Natur des Kindes (De genitura und De natura pueri). Ed. Franco Giorgianni. Wiesbaden, 2006. Theophrastus. Theophrasts Metaphysisches Bruchstück und die Schrift περὶ σημείων in der lateinischen Übersetzung des Bartholomaeus von Messina. Ed. Walter Kley. W甃ࠀrzburg, 1936.

Secondary Literature Berger, Friederike. Die Textgeschichte der Historia Animalium des Aristoteles. Wiesbaden, 2005. Beullens, Pieter. “L’Histoire des animaux en pièces détachées.” In The Aristoteles Latinus: Past, Present, Future. Ed. P. De Leemans and C. Steel, 47–57. Brussel, 2009. Beullens, Pieter. “True Colours. The Medieval Latin Translations of De Coloribus.” In Translating at the Court. Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily. Ed. Pieter De Leemans, 165–201. Leuven, 2014. Beullens, Pieter. De sleutel tot Aristoteles. Willem van Moerbeke en de overlevering van antieke wijsheid. Eindhoven, 2019. Beullens, Pieter. A Methodological Approach to Anonymously Transmitted Medieval Translations of Philosophical and Scientific Texts: The Case of Bartholomew of Messina. PhD dissertation, Leuven, 2020. Beullens, Pieter. The Friar and the Philosopher. William of Moerbeke and the Rise of Aristotle’s Science in Medieval Europe. Abingdon, 2023.

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Beullens, Pieter and Pieter De Leemans. “Aristote à Paris: le système de la pecia et les traductions de Guillaume de Moerbeke.” Recherches de théologie et philosophie médiévales 75 (2008): 87–135. Billanovich, Guido. “Pietro d’Abano e il codice Antoniano XVII 370.” Italia medioevale e umanistica 28 (1985): 221–294. Bodson, Liliane. Aristote. De partibus animalium. Index Verborum. Listes de fréquence. Liège, 1990. Brams, Jozef. La riscoperta di Aristotele in Occidente. Milano, 2003. De Leemans, Pieter, ed. Translating at the Court. Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily. Leuven, 2014. Fortuna, Stefania, Anna Maria Urso and Paola Annese. “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore di Galeno: nuovi contributi e prospettive.” In Sulla tradizione indiretta dei testi medici greci. Ed. Ivan Garofalo, Alessandro Lami and Amneris Roselli, 139–175. Pisa – Roma, 2009. Franceschini, Ezio. “Le traduzioni latine aristoteliche e pseudoaristoteliche del codice antoniano XVII, 370.” Aevum 9 (1935): 3–26. Giacomelli, Ciro. “Le Patavinus Antonianus XVII 370: éléments pour une étude paléographique et textuelle.” Pecia 20 (2018): 45–80. Kelly, H.A. “Aristotle-Averroes-Alemannus on Tragedy: The Influence of the Poetics on the Latin Middle Ages.” Viator 10 (1979): 161–210. Minio-Paluello, Lorenzo. “Guglielmo di Moerbeke, traduttore della Poetica di Aristotele (1278).” Rivista di Filosofia Neo-Scolastica 39 (1947): 1–17. Minio-Paluello, Lorenzo. “Henri Aristippe, Guillaume de Moerbeke et les traductions latines médiévales des ‘Météorologiques’ et du ‘De generatione et corruptione’ d’Aristote.” Revue Philosophique de Louvain 45 (1947): 206–235. Minio-Paluello, Lorenzo. “Boezio, Giacomo Veneto, Guglielmo di Moerbeke, Jacques Lefèvre d’Etaples e gli Elenchi Sofistici.” Rivista di filosofia neo-scolastica 44 (1952): 398–411. Rossi, Pietro. “La Translatio Anonyma e la Translatio Guillelmi del De Partibus Animalium (Analisi del libro I).” In Guillaume de Moerbeke. Recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286). Ed. Jozef Brams and Willy Vanhamel, 221–245. Leuven, 1989. Rossi, Pietro B. “Les lignes de la tradition de la Translatio Guillelmi du De partibus animalium.” In The Aristoteles Latinus: Past, Present, Future. Ed. P. De Leemans and C. Steel, 67–83. Brussel, 2009. Schneider, Bernd. Die mittelalterlichen griechisch-lateinischen Übersetzungen der aristotelischen Rhetorik. Berlin – New York, 1971.

Chapter 4

The Reception of the Parva naturalia, “Completing Aristotle”: Commentaries and Associated Texts in the Twelfth to Thirteenth Centuries Michael W. Dunne

1

Introduction

When the edition of the Commentary of Peter of Ireland (Petrus de Hibernia, fl. 1240–1260) on the De longitudine et brevitate vitae was published in 1993,1 it is fair to say that comparatively little interest had been shown up to then in contemporary scholarship on that text or its medieval reception. Indeed that statement could probably be extended to the Parva naturalia as a whole (with some exceptions). After the publication of Peter of Ireland’s commentary it was soon recognized as important in shedding a light on the history of the early reception in the thirteenth century of this part of Aristotle’s natural philosophy but also of the reception and use of Averroes’ Compendium on the Parva Naturalia,2 something which reaches its height in the long quotations taken from Averroes by Walter of Burley in his commentary.3 However, still these short treatises on Aristotle’s natural philosophy might have seemed somewhat of an 1 Magistri Petri de Ybernia, Expositio et quaestiones in Aristotelis librum De longitudine et brevitate vitae, ed. Michael W. Dunne (Leuven, 1993). See, Walter Burley, Commentaries on Aristotle’s Parva Naturalia, ed. M. Gensler and M. Mansfeld (Leiden, 2025). 2 Giovanni Federici Vescovini, “La tradizione dei Parva naturalia nell’insegnamento universitario medievale (secoli XIII e XIV),” in Parva naturalia. Saperi medievali, natura e vita, eds. Chiara Crisciani, Roberto Lambertini, Romana Martorelli Vico (Pisa, 2004), pp. 125–41; p. 139 points out that the then recent edition and publication of Peter of Ireland’s commentary on the De longitudine et brevitate vitae “sheds new light on the knowledge of this treatise at the time of St Thomas and, in particular, on the greater or lesser influence of Averroes’ teaching, as well as the coming together of the two ways of teaching a commentary (exposition and question). […] una expositio et questiones in Aristotelis librum di Pietro de Ybernia, maestro di san Tommaso […] getta nuova luce sulla conoscenza di questo trattato al tempo di san Tommaso e in particolare sull’influenza maggiore o minore della doctrina di Averroè e sulla mescolanza delle due forme didattiche di commento (l’expositio e la questio).” 3 For an updated edition, translation and introduction, see Michael W. Dunne, Peter of Ireland, Texts on Natural Philosophy (Turnhout, 2023).

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_005

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embarrassment compared with the great treatises such as the De anima. In fact, they appeared to many to be to a large extent a repetition of themes dealt with elsewhere in the Aristotelian corpus in greater detail and clarity; their location in the Opera Omnia following after the De anima was perhaps the cause of some unease. In the intervening years, a reconsideration of the reception history of the Parva Naturalia, has led in part at least, as we shall see, to the reconsideration of the De anima as also being a work of natural philosophy.4 As Silvia Donati points out, the subject matter of the De anima and the Parva naturalia broadly overlap, the main difference being that the former focuses on the study of the soul and its parts whereas the latter focuses on the operations of the soul, to the physiological processes which accompany the activities of the soul in the body.5 From a broader point of view, the reception of Aristotle’s Parva naturalia in ancient, medieval and renaissance times can be read also as the development of what has been called “psycho-physiology”.6 As already mentioned, until recently, medieval commentaries on Aristotle’s Parva naturalia received little, if any, attention from scholars, and although this is something which is changing rapidly given the number of recent publications, the commentaries on Aristotle’s De longitudine et brevitate vitae (known in the translatio vetus as De morte et vita) are, despite some important studies, still an area to be explored further.7 However, to be acknowledged here is the amount of work on the Parva naturalia-commentaries which has been carried out at Copenhagen under the direction of Sten Ebbesen, predominantly 4 See Giovanni Federici Vescovini, “La tradizione dei Parva naturalia,” p. 125 where the author points out that in the mid-thirteenth century the De anima was treated as belonging to Aristotle’s natural works. Aristotle makes it clear that in the De anima and associated works such as the De animalibus and Parva naturalia we are in that part of natural philosophy which studies living things composed of matter and form where the soul is the formal principle and general cause of life. 5 Silvia Donati, “The Critical Edition of Albert the Great’s Commentaries on the De sensu et sensato and De memoria et reminiscentia,” in The Letter Before the Spirit: The Importance of Text Editions for the Study of the Reception of Aristotle, ed. Aafke M.I. van Oppenraay with the collaboration of Resianne Fontaine (Leiden, 2012), pp. 345–399; p. 346. 6 Börje Bydén, “Introduction: The Study and Reception of Aristotle’s Parva naturalia,” in The Parva naturalia in Greek, Arabic and Latin Aristotelianism: Supplementing the Science of the Soul, ch. 1, pp. 1–39 (Cham CH, 2018), p. 1. 7 See Michael W. Dunne, “Thirteenth and Fourteenth-Century Commentaries on Aristotle’s De longitudine et brevitate vitae,” Early Science and Medicine 8 (2003), 320–335; Laura Repici, “Aristotele, l’anima e l’incorruptibilità: note su De longitudine et brevitate vitae, 1–3,” Antiquorum Philosophia 1 (2007), 283–305. The Parva naturalia in Greek, Arabic and Latin Aristototelianism: Supplementing the Science of the Soul, (Cham CH: Springer, 2018) does not devote a chapter to the De longitudine and the index only contains one reference to it.

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in recent years on the De somno8 and the catalogue published in 2015 on questions on the De sensu, De memoria, and De somno et vigilia.9 As is becoming obvious, such texts are of great interest as records, not only of the reception of Aristotle’s philosophy of nature, but also of how thinkers sought to integrate this new knowledge with already accepted ideas in the fields of natural philosophy and medicine. Some general questions are beginning to become addressed. For example, what was the function and significance of the texts of the Parva naturalia in the overall context of University education in the Arts Faculty; how were the same texts treated by lecturers in the ‘higher’ faculties, especially medicine and theology; when and for what reasons did the transition begin from teaching these texts by commentary (and sometimes quaestiones as well) to quaestiones only. Although we are well aware of the extant manuscripts containing questions and commentaries on this work, until recently the topics treated there have been studied only occasionally, if at all. In many cases, the commentaries on the De longitudine reflect a tendency by some masters to deal with such ‘minor’ texts in a cursory fashion; for some the text provided the opportunity to reinforce and revise teaching that had already been done elsewhere (for example, on the Physics, De anima, De animalibus); for others again it provided the opportunity to revisit topics and perhaps to deal with some of them in a specific manner which had not been done elsewhere. Thus, scholars are beginning to recognize that commentaries on the De longitudine provide important evidence regarding the ways in which medieval thinkers were challenged in making sense of the text of Aristotle by expounding and introducing ideas from elsewhere, both from Aristotle himself but also rather interestingly from other authors, particularly in the realm of medical theory.

2

Origin and Compilation of the Texts in the Parva naturalia

As Donati points out, the Parva naturalia are a collection of nine short treatises by Aristotle devoted to the study of the affections and of the operations of the soul but, as already stated, were neglected to some extent in the ancient 8 Richard A.H. King in Aristotle on Life and Death (London, 2001), especially in ch. 3, pp. 34–40, gives a systematic treatment of how the investigation into living things in the De anima is completed in the Parva naturalia and more specifically in the De longitudine and the De iuventute et senectute. 9 Sten Ebbesen, Christina Thomsen Thörnquist and Veronique Decaix, “Questions on De sensu et sensato, De memoria and De somno et vigilia. A Catalogue,” Bulletin de philosophie médiévale edited by the Societe Internationale pour l’étude de la philosophie médiévale 57 (2015), 59–115.

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and medieval traditions.10 Albert the Great, one of the first to give a complete paraphrase of the books of the collection (including the ‘lost’ texts), in common with many medieval commentators sees the Parva naturalia as dealing with the operations of the soul that are common to it and the body. Thus, they were perhaps intended to be a supplement to the De anima, whence the notion of ‘completing Aristotle’ as referred to in the title of this chapter. As already noted, the focus of the Parva naturalia and its commentators is on the operations of the soul and the physiological processes which accompany its activities. Aristotle himself gives us a statement in De sensu et sensato (436a 6 b 1) of how he views the relationship between the De anima (which deals with the soul per se and its faculties) and this next inquiry as following on from it which has the aim of establishing which functions belong to some animals and those which are common to all living things. The kind of things he indicates are sense perception, memory, appetite as well as pleasure and pain. He then puts forward the four well-known pairs of opposites found in some living things: wakefulness and sleep, youth and old age, breathing in and breathing out, life and death, and concludes that it is these which must be examined and why it is that they happen. He comments that in addition to the pair of opposites mentioned above, one must also include an examination of the first principles of health and disease as aspects of life. This statement posed the problem for many later commentators of how to demarcate the limits between philosophy and medicine. It was perhaps also not very helpful that Aristotle suggested that most natural philosophers would end up as doctors anyhow!11 10

11

Silvia Donati, “The Critical Edition of Albert the Great’s Commentaries on De sensu et sensato and De memoria et reminiscentia,” p. 345. Donati then goes on to state that Albert the Great was the first to accord a central place to the Parva naturalia in the reconstruction of Aristotle’s teaching on the soul (p. 346). Aristotle, De Sensu et Sensato, I, 436a–6b 1, transl. George Robert Thomson Ross (Cambridge, 1906), pp. 43–45: “Now that we have given a definite account of soul in its essential nature and of each of its faculties individually, the next thing is to consider animals and all things possessed of life and to discover which activities are specific and which they have in common. Assuming as a basis our exposition about the soul, let us discuss the remaining questions, beginning with those that are primary. The most important of the characteristics of animals, both generic and specific, evidently belong to soul and body in common, e.g., sense-perception and memory, passion, desire and appetite generally, as well as pleasure and pain. These are found practically in all animals. But further, certain of the phenomena in question are common to all things which participate in life, while others are shared by particular kinds of animals. Of these the most important fall into pairs of correlative, to wit, waking and sleep, youth and age, the inhalation and expulsion of breath, life and death. These phenomena call for discussion, and we must investigate both the nature of each and the reasons for its existence. It falls within the province of the natural scientist to survey the first principles involved in the subject of health and

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Medical careers notwithstanding, the problem remained, however, of where to locate the Parva naturalia within Aristotle’s system. In the prologue to his commentary on the De sensu et sensato, Aquinas puts forward his analysis that the hierarchy of the sciences, following Aristotle, depends upon their level of abstraction from matter and that this helps us to understand what Aristotle is doing here: Concerning these he also proceeded in a similar way, dividing this consideration into three parts. First he considered soul in itself, in an abstraction, as it were; second he has a consideration of what belongs to soul according to a concretion or application to body, but in general; third he has a consideration that applies all this to individual species of animals and plants, determining what is proper to each species. Thus, the first consideration is contained in the book On the Soul; the third consideration is contained in books that he wrote on animals and plants; the intermediate consideration is contained in books that he wrote on some things that pertain in common either to all animals, or to several kinds of them, or even to all living things, and the present intention involves these books.12

12

disease, for to nothing lacking life can either health or sickness accrue. Hence pretty well the most of our investigators of nature do not stop until they have run on into medicine, and those of our medical men who employ their art in a more scientific fashion, use as the first principles of medicine truths belonging to the natural sciences.” Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s De sensu et sensato, transl. Kevin White (Washington, 2005), Prologue, 15. Aquinas also comments there (pp. 20–21) on the relation between the natural philosopher and the physician [the lemmata of the text is in italics]: “[Aristotle] says that it also pertains to the natural philosopher to discover the first and universal principles of health and sickness. Consideration of particular principles pertains to the physician, the artisan who makes health, as it pertains to any operative art to consider particulars about its own business, because operations take place in particulars. […] Most natural philosophers finish their study with what belongs to medicine, and likewise most physicians – that is, those who pursue the art of medicine more philosophically, not only applying experience, but inquiring into causes – begin their consideration of medicine with what is natural. From this it is clear that consideration of health and disease is common to both physicians and natural philosophers. […] But because the art causes health not principally, but by as it were helping nature and ministering to it, the physician necessarily gets the principles of his science from the natural philosopher as from one who is prior, as a ship’s captain gets his principles from an astronomer. This is the reason why physicians who pursue their art well start with what belongs to natural philosophy.”

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Thus, for Aquinas, the Parva naturalia occupy a middle position between psychology or philosophy of mind and zoology and botany. This ‘bridging’ function, as it were, has always left them in a kind of twilight zone and they have rarely attracted anything more than a passing interest in later scholars. Indeed, the Parva naturalia were, it seems, already neglected in the ancient world; there is only the commentary on the De sensu by Alexander of Aphrodisias. In the Neoplatonic tradition they were not taught as part of the courses on Aristotle’s philosophy of nature. The same seems to have been true regarding the zoological works but the De anima is, of course, closely studied and commented on. Only a partial translation (De sensu, De memoria, De somno, De insomniis, De divinatione, and De longitudine) was available in the Arabic world with seemingly a partial rewriting of the texts. This formed the basis in the twelfth century for Averroes’ commentaries on the Parva naturalia, “a summary exposition in which Averroes rearranged in a personal manner materials derived from the treatises known to him”, as Donati phrases it.13 Finally, there is the In parva naturalia commentaria of Michael of Ephesus which was not available to the early Latin commentators and never really rivaled the influence of Averroes.14 Shlomo Pines15 established that the text which was known and used by Arabic writers differs from the tradition of the Greek manuscripts we now have – a longer version or perhaps a paraphrase from Hellenistic times with Stoic contamination and called De sensu et sensato: Chapter 1: on sensation and the sensible object Chapter 2: this is composed of three sections: a) memory and reminiscence, b) sleep and waking, c) dreams. Chapter 3: on length and shortness of life. The above is the structure followed by Averroes in his Compendia (no long or middle commentaries on these texts are extant) which he completed in January 1170 and divided by him into three treatises which discuss De sensu, De memoria and De somno, and De longitudine. The Greek commentaries were not 13 14 15

Silvia Donati, “The Critical Edition of Albert the Great’s Commentaries on De sensu et sensato and De memoria et reminiscentia,” p. 346 and the references in the footnote six regarding the Arabic translation. Michael of Ephesus, In Parva naturalia commentaria, ed. Paul Wendland. CAG 22.1. (Berlin, 1903). Shlomo Pines, “The Arabic Recension of the Parva naturalia and the Philosophical Doctrine concerning Veridical Dreams According to al-Risāla Al-Manāmiyya and Other Sources,” Israel Oriental Studies 4 (1974), 104–153.

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translated into Arabic. The Arabic text of Averroes was translated twice into Latin: the Anonymous Parisina found in 1 MS only; and the much more successful standard translation by Michael Scotus (ca. 1230). Finally, the Hebrew text was commented on by Gersonides in the fourteenth century.16 The reception of the Parva naturalia in the Latin world is even more complex. The whole body of texts may have been translated into Latin in the twelfth century. James of Venice translated the De memoria, De longitudine, De iuventute, De respiratione, and De morte.17 Translators of the De sensu and the treatises De somno are unknown but their translations are to be dated before 1230. There are also traces of the translation of some extracts by David of Dinant.18 For some reason the translatio vetus was made up of De sensu, De memoria, De somno, and De longitudine while James’ translations of De iuventute, De respiratione, and De morte did not seem to circulate. And for good measure the De longitudine et brevitate vitae becomes known as the De morte et vita. De Leemans suggests that also because the De iuventute, De respiratione, and De morte were not dealt with by Averroes, this together with the near absense of the Graeco-Latin translations hindered and discouraged authors in the thirteenth century from making commentaries on them.19 This might certainly be part of the story but it does not explain their omission in the commentaries of Adam of Buckfield which seem to be unaware of any of Averroes – even if Averroes’ commentaries were translated between 1220–1230.20 Finally, there are William of Moerbeke’s very important retranslations or revisions of the Parva naturalia which were made around 1260.21 Moerbeke is also credited with the translation of De motu animalium and De incessu animalium as well as the commentary of Alexander of Aphrodisias on the De sensu the latter influencing Aquinas’ commentary.22 The following are the now agreed texts which make up the Parva naturalia: 1. On sense perception and sense objects (De sensu et sensibilibus, 436a1–449b3); 2. On memory and recollection (De memoria et reminiscentia, 449b3–453b11); 16

17 18 19 20 21 22

On the Arabic, Hebrew and later Latin reception of the Parva naturalia, see Börje Bydén, “Introduction,” pp. 17–23. As Bydén points out (p. 18), Averroes’ epitome, already completed by January 1170, was translated into Hebrew by Moses ibn Thibbon in 1254 and followed then by Gersonides’ commentary, completed by 1324. See Börje Bydén, “Introduction,” pp. 18–19. Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia, Commentaries on Aristotle’s,” in Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy, ed. Henrik Lagerlund (Dordrecht, 2011), II, pp. 917–923; p. 918b. Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” p. 920a. See footnote 42 below. Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” p. 922a. Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” p. 922a.

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On sleep and waking (De somno et vigilia, 453b11–458a32); On dreams (De insomniis, 458a33–462b11); On prophecy in sleep (De divinatione per somnum, 462b12–464b18); On length and shortness of life (De longitudine et brevitate vitae, 464b19–467b9); 7. On youth and old age (De iuventute et senectute) 8. On life and death (De vita et morte, 467b10–470b5); 9. On respiration (De respiratione, 470b6–480b30). There is an amount of inner referencing between the parts of the text and transitional passages which confirm this order of the texts and also the fact that 3–5 and 7–8 are introduced as a single treatise, as it were, with subsections meant that this is how they were treated by later writers, notably, in the case of the De insomniis. Michael of Ephesus considered the work to consist of three parts, namely, 2–5, 6, and 7–8. In the Greek manuscript tradition these texts are nearly always transmitted together.23 On the other hand, the De memoria seemed to circulate on its own in the older translation, and in the new translation Thomas Aquinas seemed to regard it as the second part of the De sensu. Again, in the old translation, the De longitudine et brevitate vitae was detached from 7 and called the De morte et vita. Of the surviving fifty Greek manuscripts of the Parva naturalia examined by Paweł Siwek, thirty manuscripts contain all of the texts but without a standard ordering of the texts.24 It should also be noted that the De motu animalium is often inserted between De divinatione and De longitudine and this was the tradition followed in the new translation of the Parva naturalia. This would also suggest that the Parva naturalia was also seen as a preparation for the study of the zoological and botanical texts (including the ps. Aristotelian De plantis), and this is what seems to have been envisaged by Peter of Ireland in his Commentary on the De longitudine where the text is seen as an opportunity to introduce some basic elements of natural philosophy from other relevant texts such as the fourth book of the Meteorologia as well as the De animalibus and the De plantis. As Pieter de Leemans points out, the content of what was considered to be the Parva naturalia really fluctuated up until the seventeenth century and that, of course, affects the commentary tradition and commentary content: 3. 4. 5. 6.

In a first period, most commentators focused on De sensu, De memoria, De somno, De insomniis, De divinatione per somnum, and De longitudine only, apparently because James of Venice’s translations of De iuventute, 23 24

On the transmission of the texts, see Börje Bydén, “Introduction,” pp. 3–4. Paweł Siwek, Les manuscrits grecs des Parva naturalia d’Aristote (Rome, 1961).

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De respiratione, and De vita were no longer at their disposal. In a second period, when new translations had been made by William of Moerbeke, commentaries could and did focus on all of the above texts as well as on De motu animalium. In the second half of the fourteenth as well as in the fifteenth century, the study of the Parva naturalia at the University of Paris was delimited to the same texts with which the earliest commentators had dealt. This is reflected in the composition of several fifteenth-century commentaries, most of them from Paris. In Germany and Central Europe, the Parva naturalia was mostly studied on the basis of a compendium by Joannes Kronsbein. These commentaries display a typical division of De vita into two parts; moreover, they often add De motu animalium and De mundo and sometimes the Physiognomonica to the collection.25 De Leemans also points out that the various texts of the Parva naturalia are sometimes divided into two groups: the ‘psychological’ writings (1–4) and the ‘physiological’ writings (6–9).26 Content aside, a scholarly consensus as to what unites the various texts of the Parva naturalia is hard to find since Aristotle himself seems not to be very clear on the matter. The statement which we saw above “to consider animals and all things possessed of life and to discover which activities are specific and which they have in common” seems clear enough but what of the main attributes of animals which are “common to the soul and the body?” We are given the examples of “sense-perception and memory, passion, desire and appetite generally, as well as pleasure and pain.” And we are told that “these are found practically in all animals.” These attributes which are to be found in living bodies seem to be what lie at the basic level of sense experience and observation, or underlying it if we consider memory and dreams and desires. Another feature of living things is their different life-spans and their progression from youth to age which depends on the internal makeup of the body (both plants and animals) but also upon the environment they find themselves in. The functions which living things exhibit also depend upon these factors such as male and female and reproduction and gestation. These are aspects not belonging to the soul as such but to the soul and body or the living body, both animal and plant 25 26

Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” 917a. Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” p. 918a. De Leemans also notes that Moerbeke translated the previously unavailable texts 7–9, namely De iuventute, De morte et vita and De respiratione but revised the previously available vetus texts 1–6. As I have noted elsewhere this revision in the case of the De longitudine did not necessarily lead to a better text as some words were merely transliterated (see below). Thus, some authors continued to prefer the vetus text.

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or specific to some of them such as dreaming and waking. Such in fact was the view of Alexander of Aphrodisias who wished to emphasise also that the Parva naturalia included the study of animals.27

3

Introduction to the Commentary Tradition

It seems that we can trace the beginning of the medieval commentary tradition on the Parva naturalia to the initiative of Anna Komnene (1083–1153) and her encouragement of the scholarly activity of Michael of Ephesus.28 This had not occurred earlier in the Greek-speaking world because of the lack of interest of Neoplatonism in this aspect of natural philosophy. Michael did not comment on the De sensu because, as already mentioned, there was the commentary of Alexander of Aphrodisias.29 Ironically, while being the first, the commentaries of Michael of Ephesus seem to have had no clearly discernible influence on Arabic or Latin Medieval Philosophy since it is not until the sixteenth century in the commentaries of Niccolò Leonico Tomeo on the Parva naturalia (Venice 1523) as well as some zoological works (the De motu and the De incessu animalium) that we see a clear influence of Michael. Again, the consensus is that Greek paraphrases of the Parva naturalia (thirteenth–fifteenth centuries) derive from both Alexander and Michael’s commentaries.30 In 1255 the Parva naturalia are required to be taught in Paris31 but the commentaries from England seem to be earlier (see Adam of Buckfield and Geoffrey of Aspall below). The dissemination of De iuventute, De respiratione, and De morte had been so limited that they disappeared and are not present in authors before Moerbeke. Thus, before Moerbeke, Latin authors had access to the same texts of the Parva naturalia as did the Arabs, namely, De sensu, De memoria, De somno et vigilia (= De somno, De insomniis, De divinatione), and the De longitudine (= De morte et vita).

27 28

29 30 31

See Börje Bydén, “Introduction,” p. 11. See Michele Trizio, “The Byzantine Reception of Aristotle’s Parva naturalia (and the Zoological Works) in Eleventh-  and Twelfth-Century Byzantium: An Overview,” in The Parva naturalia in Greek, Arabic and Latin Aristotelianism: Supplementing the Science of the Soul, ed. Börje Bydén and Filip Radovic, pp. 155–168; 155–156. (Cham, 2018). See Michele Trizio, “The Byzantine Reception of Aristotle’s Parva naturalia,” p. 164. See Börje Bydén, “Introduction,” p. 16. The amount of time assigned for the study of the Parva naturalia was: six weeks for De sensu, five weeks for De somno, two for De memoria, and one for De morte (= De longitudine); see Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia”, p. 921a.

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3.1 The Commentators In the time frame in which we are operating here, namely, up to around 1300, we note the following principal commentators at Oxford: Adam of Buckfield, Geoffrey of Aspall, and Simon of Faversham (also at Paris); at Paris: Roger Bacon (on the De sensu possibly in the 1240s) and with a new commentary style Aquinas and Peter of Auvergne; Simon of Faversham, Radulphus Brito, John of Jandun, Walter Burley, John Buridan,32 and Petrus de Flandria.33 Apart from Albert the Great, other continental commentators include the commentary on the De longitudine by Peter of Ireland (Petrus de Hibernia), which was written in the middle of the thirteenth century and consists of a mixture of literal explanation and quaestiones; Peter of Spain (1220–1277) wrote a Tractatus de longitudine et brevitate vitae.34 This work, however, is not a commentary on the Aristotelian text, although it is clearly inspired by it.35 Finally, as De Leemans points out, some commentaries based on the translatio vetus have been associated with Siger of Brabant, although their authorship remains a topic of discussion.36 Although not following within our scope, we should again mention the importance of the commentaries by the fifteenth-century Dominican, Joannes Kronsbein.37 The title “Parva naturalia” possibly goes back to Giles of Rome and developed from the term “parvi libri naturales” used also by Peter of Auvergne and John of Jandun. Again, it is possible that the term Parva naturalia was only used more widely after 1350.38 The appeal for university discussions is that the Parva naturalia address certain specific questions (which, of course, makes them easier to treat later per modum quaestionis): – why does the eye contain moisture? (De sensu et sensato) – how do colours mix together? (De sensu et sensato) – is vision simply a reflection on the surface of the eye? (De sensu et sensato) – where do the images that appear in dreams come from? (De somno et vigilia)

32 33 34 35 36 37 38

See Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” p. 922b for details. For an overview of their activity as well as some bibliographical sources, see See Börje Bydén, “Introduction,” pp. 19–20. Peter of Spain, Tractatus de longitudine et brevitate vitae, ed. Manuel Alonso (Madrid, 1952). Michael Dunne, “Thirteenth and Fourteenth Century Commentaries,” pp. 324–326. Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” p. 921b. See Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” pp. 923b–924a. See Pieter De Leemans, “Parva naturalia,” pp. 917a–923b; 917b. De Leemans also points out that the term Parva naturalia was used at the University of Paris by 1366.

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– what is the relationship between memory and the imaging power? (De memoria et reminiscentia) – why do animals not all live for the same length of time? (De longitudine et brevitate vitae) In general, these topics are free from controversy except for within the topic of dreams and divination (arising from the De insomniis) where Aristotle’s scepticism regarding revelations made in dreams had to be treated with caution and reinterpreted in a manner favorable to religious beliefs.39 3.2 Modes of Approach The tradition of the medieval commentaries on the Parva naturalia is still largely unexplored and clearly requires an analytic study by author, or by era: such a study would range from the notulae of Buckfield – to the sententiae of Aquinas or Peter of Auvergne – to expositio and quaestiones and then finally to quaestiones alone, such as those of Simon of Faversham, and later into the fourteenth century. That said, one can already identify three phases in the reception of Aristotle’s natural philosophy and psychology into which the commentaries on the Parva Naturalia also fall:40 1. A first phase involving a confrontation between Aristotle’s De anima and Avicenna’s Liber sextus naturalium where the earliest known attempt is

39

40

See Pavel Gregoric, “Aristotle and Michael of Ephesus on the Deceptive Character of Dreams,” in Christina Thomsen Thörnqvist and Juhana Toivanen, eds., Forms of Representation in the Aristotelian Tradition. Volume Two: Dreaming (Leiden, 2022), pp. 28–60. See also there, Sten Ebbesen, “What Does a Scholastic Philosopher Do When He Disagrees with Aristotle”, pp. 178–201. Ebbesen examines in the detail the many strategies adopted by the commentators in order to come up with a more acceptable Aristotle – the only exception being ‘The Loner’ as Ebbesen terms Boethius of Dacia who interprets Aristotle’s naturalism correctly and courageously (pp. 196–198). Ebbesen also states that he detects a lessening of interest in the Parva naturalia in the fourteenth century after the commentaries of John Buridan while other parts of Aristotle’s natural philosophy were still popular: “John Buridan’s Aristotelian commentaries often break in decisive ways with thirteenth-century traditions and become patterns for the following generations of scholars. His questions on the Parva naturalia are no exception. One notable trait is their independence of Albert the Great and their relative shortness – interest in the Parva naturalia seems to have diminished in the fourteenth century, while other parts of Aristotelian natural philosophy were still extensively treated” (pp. 198–199). For a much more detailed discussion and presentation, see Marek Gensler, Monika Mansfeld, and Monika Michałowska, eds., “The Development of Aristotelian Psychology and Physiology in Medieval Europe Between 1200 and 1420: Introduction,” in The Embodied Soul (Cham CH, 2022), pp. 1–16.

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found in the Tractatus de anima by John Blund, a philosopher active in Oxford and Paris at the beginning of the thirteenth century. A second stage is ushered in by the availability of Averroes in the Latin translation of Michael Scot, whose epitomes of De sensu et sensato, De memoria et reminiscentia, De somno et vigilia, and De longitudine et brevitate vitae (De morte et vita) were translated around 1230. The authority of the Commentator established these four treatises as the standard set for commentators on the Parva naturalia, even though other texts were added to it later. The first author known to have commented on the translatio vetus of this collection was Adam of Buckfield, who wrote expositions or literal commentaries on them between ca. 1240 and 1250.41 After Buckfield came the paraphrases of Albert the Great, and the differing approaches of authors such as Peter of Spain, Peter of Ireland and Geoffrey of Aspall. A third phase corresponds to the new and final wave of translations beginning in the 1260s but one can already identify shifts in the literary type of commentaries stemming from teaching experience in the universities. In the second half of the thirteenth century, one can see a significant growth of interest in commenting on both the De anima and the Parva naturalia, as the restrictions are lifted at the University of Paris and these texts were required as part of the Arts curriculum. Earlier in the thirteenth century, the most frequently used commentary form was the literal exposition of the text, which becomes more and more elaborate and detailed over time. However, another literary genre is added to the commentary tradition after 1250, the commentary per modum quaestionis, which became more popular than literal expositions and paraphrases, presumably as the actual texts themselves no longer posed the same difficulties for students. It seems that the question-based approach appeared first at Oxford and only later gained popularity at Paris and other centres of learning. The first known question commentaries written at Oxford were the ones by Geoffrey of Aspall on De sensu et sensato, De longitudine et brevitate vitae, and De somno et vigilia in the early 1260s but it may well No influence of Averroes is discernible, however, as I already remarked in 1993. See Michael Dunne, Magistri Petri de Ybernia, Expositio et Quaestiones in Aristotelis librum De longitudine et brevitate vitae, p. 34: “Nor is there any evidence in Buckfield’s text of a reliance on Arabic authors, nor even that he used Averroes’ commentary on the De longitudine.” The same conclusion is affirmed more recently by Tilke Nelis, “A Commentary on Aristotle’s De longitudine et brevitate vitae Attributed to Adam of Buckfield,” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 88 (2021), pp. 367–417; “A Jumble of Writings: Commentaries on Aristotle’s De longitudine et Brevitate Vitae Attributed to Adam of Buckfield,” Early Science and Medicine 27 (2022), pp. 1–56.

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be that the commentaries of Peter of Ireland are slightly earlier. Finally, at the turn of the thirteenth century, Simon of Faversham composed questions solely on nearly all of the texts of the Parva naturalia in the new translation/revisions of William of Moerbeke. My own detailed research into the reception of, and commentaries on, the De longitudine et brevitate vitae (De morte et vita) with the idea of focusing on one text across nearly a century of reception, has allowed for certain preliminary conclusions to be made which will be or are already being confirmed by research into the other texts of the Parva naturalia. Among these, we can point out the crucial importance of the literal commentaries of Adam of Buckfield and the work of Alfred of Sarashel in building an overall knowledge of Aristotle’s natural philosophy and philosophy of biology. To be mentioned here as well is the importance of the ps.-Aristotelian De plantis in addition to the De animalibus and the fourth book of the Meteorologia. Let me turn my attention here to what my own studies on the reception of the De longitudine have revealed (holding that this should also apply grosso modo to the other texts): a) types of commentaries b) traditions Oxford and Paris/north and south etc. c) prologues d) translation problems e) relating the text to other books of Aristotle f) personalities e.g. Albert g) conclusions to the commentaries a)

The historical development of the types of commentaries begins with the relatively short literal commentaries of Adam of Buckfield with a close attention to a line-by-line exposition of the text of Aristotle himself and very little by way of digression. It is probably the very simplicity and clarity of these commentaries which made them so appealing to contemporaries and successful in their circulation in perhaps as many as three versions. An interlude, as it were, is found in the more literary treatment of the topics occasioned by Aristotle’s text and an avoidance of a direct quotation of the text itself – this is what we find in both Peter of Spain and Albert the Great but their writings, of course, presuppose a deep acquaintance with the texts themselves – texts which could not be commented upon at Paris.42 The restrictions at Paris did not apply at the court of the Hohenstaufen and at their state University of Naples. Here

42

See Michael Dunne, ed., Magistri Petri de Ybernia, Expositio et Quaestiones in Aristotelis librum De longitudine et brevitate vitae, (Leuven, 1993), introduction, pp. 28–33.

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Peter of Ireland was free to give a literal expositio textus while also dealing with questions arising from the text and relating the De longitudine to other parts of Aristotle’s thought. This remains one of the most comprehensive and systematic commentary from the Middle Ages which has come down to us. Somewhat mirroring the type of commentary of Peter of Ireland is that of Geoffrey of Aspall whose commentary shows all the signs of a transition or re-editing of a text from an older literal type of commentary characteristic of his perhaps former teacher Adam of Buckfield and the new commentary per modum quaestionis. Aspall’s text is characterised by one of the longest treatments of the text through the medium of questions alone before finishing with remnants of a literal expositio textus-style commentary. At Paris, completing the work of Thomas Aquinas, Peter of Auvergne composed both literal commentaries and question-based commentaries. Finally, Simon of Faversham, perhaps influenced by Peter of Auvergne, returns to Oxford with commentaries which are only question based and result in a very much lessened engagement with the text but more a problem-focused approach.43 We can imagine that in the beginning, the problem was to provide the text itself and a clear explanation of it but as the ethos grew and developed regarding Aristotle’s natural philosophy a basic acquaintance with the text could be presumed and then finally a personal reading of the text illuminated by the master through a consideration of some problems specific to that text. The existing scholarly traditions and specialisations of a university are to be seen in the manner in which the text of Aristotle is approached. Thus, for example, Peter of Ireland registers the influence of medical texts as well as the text of Averroes as these would have been readily available in the Naples-Salerno region. Geoffrey of Aspall whose interests lay in the natural philosophy of Aristotle and especially on the Physics carries an interest in these problems over into his questions on the De longitudine, marking the text with a typical Oxfordian interest in natural philosophy. Those based at, or influenced by Paris, seem to have a more metaphysical I am currently editing Simon of Faversham’s Questions on the De longitudine from MS La Casa del Libro, San Juan, Puerto Rico (no shelfmark) and MS Oxford Merton College 292. The questions are the following: 1. Utrum de causa longitudinis et brevitatis vitae possit esse scientia. 2. Utrum vivens possit perpetuari in esse ita quod maneat unum et idem numero per totum tempus 3. Utrum ignis existens in sua sphaera corrumpatur 4. Utrum habitantes in regionibus calidis sint longioris vitae quam habitantes in regionibus frigidis. 5. Utrum eadem sit causa longitudinis et brevitatis vitae in plantis et animalibus. 6. Utrum abstinentia alimenti vitam abbreviet.

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interest – an anomaly there, if we may phrase it that way, being Peter of Ireland who also relates his text in his prologue to the Book of Causes.44 The literary model required a prologue, however, brief. Some indeed are little more than an expansion upon Aristotle’s own introduction to the text, some take their cue from the more in-depth treatment of the larger Aristotelian texts by carrying out a divisio scientiae and related the study of life and death to both medicine and natural philosophy or, in some cases, to first philosophy.45 The time allotted in the normal teaching schedule to commenting on the text no doubt encouraged brevity and to cover the requirement of a prologue in a perfunctory manner. The exception is Peter of Ireland who has a quite long prologue and has an unusual approach. Its length might suggest that it was a prologue which

See Michael W. Dunne, “Peter of Ireland and Berthold of Moosburg on First Being, First Life, and First Mind”, in The Renewal of Metaphysics. Berthold of Moosburg on Proclus’ Elements of Theology, eds. Dragos Calma and Evan King (Leiden, 2021), pp. 429–452. A good example of how this could be developed is seen with Peter of Auvergne (see Michael Dunne, “The Commentary of Peter of Auvergne on Aristotle’s On Length and Shortness of Life,” Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du Moyen Âge 69: 153–200, edition pp. 173–200). In the prologue (pp. 173–174) Peter of Auvergne states that the study of the nature of the intellect is not part of natural philosophy whereas, for him, the study of vegetative and sensitive life, on the contrary, will indeed form part of the investigations of natural philosophy insofar as these depend upon material conditions. Peter of Auvergne then goes on to detail the various works of Aristotle which deal with life as a natural phenomenon (De motu animalium, De progressu animalium) and examines the position of the De longitudine among the other libri naturales (De sensu et sensato, De somno et vigilia, De memoria et reminiscentia, De morte et vita, De respiratione et inspiratione, De iuventute et senectute). He also mentions works which he believes to be no longer extant, the De sanitate et aegritudine and De nutrimento et nutribili, which were supposed to complete Aristotle’s biological philosophy. Ultimately, death and life, and length or shortness of life, are aspects of the living body as such and are ultimately traced back to the most fundamental level of life, the vegetative. However, this determination of competency, if we may call it that, arises again in the first lectio where Peter considers the question of health: “Deinde cum dicit: De sompno quidem igitur [I, 464b 30–31], dat ordinem istius partis ad quasdam alias partes sciencie naturalis. In libro enim De sompno et uigilia et De sensu et sensato dixerat de istis passionibus. Ideo dicit quod de sompno et uigilia dictum est prius [I, 464b 30–31] in libro De sompno; de uita autem et morte dicendum est posterius [I, 464b 31], et similiter de sanitate et egritudine – et hoc quantum pertinet ad naturalem. Et dico ‘hoc’, quia considerare causas sanitatis et egritudinis in uniuersali pertinet ad naturalem, set in particulari pertinet ad medicum” (p. 177). So the general consideration of the causes of health and sickness are dealt with in Philosophy as a theoretical preparation but the specific causes are dealt with in Medicine which the student could only access after the Arts course.

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was perhaps added later but this seems not to be the case as the text itself is a reportatio.46 Commentators were not just faced with poor or inadequate copies of the Aristotelian text (as Donati points out with regard to Albert the Great47) but the translations themselves as word for word from the Greek also posed many difficulties. Then there could be interpolations over time which also raised difficulties for those who struggled to understand the text which they believed to be fully Aristotelian. The added phrase “Mox cum ponitur inest contrarium passibili materie” [465b 13 add.] in the De longitudine posed a challenge to the masters to come up with a good exposition of its meaning and it had clearly posed problems for the copyists given the variation of the phrase from author to author. Peter of Ireland interprets Aristotle as wishing to indicate that there is an impassable matter, i.e., one which cannot be acted upon, and this is the matter of the heavens.48 Later on, in Moerbeke’s partial (and seemingly incomplete) revision, full words are not translated but are left transliterated.49 Generally speaking, perhaps because aided by the vetus translatio, these transliterated words did not pose too much of a problem but they seemed to make the new translation unpopular and many still used the vetus. We have already mentioned that there was a long tradition of associating the Parva naturalia with the De motu animalium. Clearly, the other text to relate to was the De anima but we find an attempt to relate Aristotle’s De longitudine to other aspects of his philosophy of biology in the texts gathered together under the umbrella term of the De animalibus. References to the Physica are rare (except for Geoffrey of Aspall) and the fourth book of the Meteorologica was popular. Whereas the ps.-Aristotelian De plantis was also very popular, the Metaphysica was hardly ever mentioned. Averroes remained very popular down to the time of John Buridan who provides large extracts from the Commentator but the earlier Avicennian tradition does not seem to impact any longer after the mid-point of the century. The role of the hot and the cold elements in prolonging life A detailed study of the prologue is to be found in Michael W. Dunne, “Peter of Ireland and Berthold of Moosburg on First Being, First Life, and First Mind,” pp. 431–438. See Silvia Donati, “The Critical edition of Albert the Great’s Commentaries on De sensu et sensato and De memoria et reminiscentia” p. 354. See Magistri Petri de Ybernia, Expositio et Quaestiones in Aristotelis librum De longitudine et brevitate vitae, p. 118. A list of some Greek words which Moerbeke left as transliterated in his revision of the De longitudine are to be found in Michael Dunne, “The Commentary of Peter of Auvergne on Aristotle’s On Length and shortness of Life,” pp. 159–160.

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g)

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is merged with the Galenic tradition as mediated through Avicenna, Averroes and also the translations of Constantine the African. No author, however, goes down the road of Roger Bacon in suggesting practical ways of extending life span and that the apparent term of human life as fixed by nature could be pushed forward to maybe one thousand years.50 Personalities are generally speaking absent from these formal academic pieces of writing and so are the personal beliefs of the writers. As already pointed out, in Peter of Ireland, for example, there is hardly any trace of any Christian author or Christian belief. The exception here is the Tractatus of Peter of Spain which invokes something of the Christian Stoic tradition in the face of death. In nearly all cases, death is seen as something natural without any moralising aspects or comments. Sometimes something of the northern European pride is seen when in contrast to Aristotle who would hold that the people of the Mediterranean are best placed for the best life, both Albert the Great and John Buridan will extol the virtues of the more temperate northern climate. The conclusions to the commentaries are perhaps the weaker part of the tradition, not least, it must be supposed, because the text of the vetus itself is truncated and ends abruptly. In this case, Peter of Auvergne had the advantage of having the complete ending of the text (467a 26–467b 9 are missing in the vetus) in order to conclude that the next step, following Aristotle, should be to consider the life of plants and then to move on next to the De iuventute et senectute and De vita et morte. Indeed, the commentators were probably glad to get to the end of a difficult text and to have spoken about the causes of length and shortness of life “secundum nostrum posse et intellectum” as Averroes himself concluded his commentary.51

Conclusion: Legacy and Impact

As we have seen, the world of higher learning in the first decades of the thirteenth century is marked above all by the arrival and reception of translations

50

51

On Roger Bacon and extending human life, see Michael W. Dunne, “From longitudo vitae to prolungatio vitae: Peter of Ireland and Roger Bacon on Life and Death”, in The Philosophy of Roger Bacon. Studies in Honour of Jeremiah Hackett, Nicola Poloni and Yael Kadar (Abingdon, Oxon/ New York, NY, 2021), p. 183. Averrois Cordubensis compendium libri Aristotelis de causis longitudinis et brevitatis vite, ed. Aemilia L. Shields (Cambridge, Mass., 1949), pp. 129–149, at p. 149.

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into Latin of works of Aristotle on psychology and natural philosophy. At the beginning of the universities (and not without some controversy) there is an attempt to standardise the requirement in the arts faculties for the masters to read the central works of Aristotle. There are also the condemnations throughout the century and some hesitancies along the route of accepting these works into the curriculum. In some places, such as Southern Italy, the welcome offered to these translations and the commentaries accompanying them is more open than elsewhere both at the university and at the courts of princes. Within this institutional and geographical diversity, we have unfolded the story of the reception of the small treatises of psychology and natural philosophy, known as the Parva naturalia. These short texts, which became part of the university course in philosophy, but which have been largely passed over by scholars in favour of the commentaries of the masters on the larger works of Aristotle such as the De anima, Physica, De generatione, etc., reveal a unique snapshot across the decades as to the problems faced by translators and commentators as they sought to understand the mind of the Stagirite. The commentaries also offer the possibility of a closer understanding of the various stages of the reception of the translations. The reception takes place within the cultural boundaries of the period as set by important historical occurrences: the translation of Aristotelian natural philosophy treatises into Latin, the beginnings of the universities, and the establishment of Aristotle in the philosophy curriculum together with the commentators as well as the condemnations. One final issue which deserves to be highlighted is the near absence of the neo-Platonic tradition from the commentators/commentaries. This is interesting inasmuch as the earlier debates concerning the relationship between body and soul in the thirteenth century, often from natural philosophers with an Avicennian/Galenic background in medicine and physiology move on through Averroes to a more thorough-going Aristotelianism and more pronounced naturalism. At the same time, the common concerns of natural philosophy and medicine lead to debates about the nature of the intellect and its relation to other powers of the soul such as sensation, the particular senses, the sense organs, to objects of sensory perception, and to the roles of the imagination and memory. Curiously not found to the same extent here is the tension between the neo-Platonic/Augustinian and the Aristotelian traditions – the former being nearly completely absent in someone such as Peter of Ireland. This alerts us, like perhaps few other areas of philosophical innovation in the thirteenth century how new and revolutionary it is and how challenging it was. Not only is the content challenging but each of the thinkers we have mentioned has to reply to it with a variety of approaches which range from accommodation

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with the previously received tradition to a nearly complete break. No less than the challenges we ourselves face today when confronted with current scientific theories regarding consciousness and self-consciousness, Artificial Intelligence, augmentation, etc., our medieval authors had to examine new ideas and test various hypotheses, discuss and try to understand difficult and novel ideas or concepts, correct or modify or even discard as outmoded what was previously accepted in favour of better solutions. They had the excitement in which we sometimes share a new idea, a new understanding found in a newly translated text or even as “presented by a more talented, or sometimes merely more articulate colleague”52 even if that insight is passed on from a gifted colleague who lived many centuries ago.53

Bibliography Primary Sources Adam of Bockenfield. Glossae super De vegetabilibus et plantis. A critical edition with introduction by Richard James Long. Leiden – Boston, 2013. Aristotle. On the Soul; Parva naturalia; On Breath. With an English translation by Walter Stanley Hett. Cambridge, MA – London, 1935. Aristotle. De anima. With translation, introduction and notes by Robert Drew Hicks. Cambridge, 1907. Ibn Rushd. Averrois Cordubensis compendia librorum Aristotelis qui Parva naturalia vocantur. Rec. Aemilia Ledyard Shields and Henric Blumberg. Cambridge, MA, 1949. Michael of Ephesus. Michaelis Ephesii in Parva naturalia commentaria. Ed. Paul Wendland. Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca 22.1. Berlin, 1903. Peter of Ireland. Magistri Petri de Ybernia, Expositio et Quaestiones in Aristotelis librum De longitudine et brevitate vitae. Edited with an introduction by Michael Dunne. Louvain – Paris, 1993. Peter of Spain. Tractatus de longitudine et brevitate vitae. Ed. Manuel Alonso. Madrid, 1952. Themistius. Themistii (Sophoniae) in Parva naturalia commentarium. Ed. Paul Wendland. Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca 5.6. Berlin, 1903.

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Marek Gensler, Monika Mansfeld and Monika Michałowska, eds., The Development of Aristotelian Psychology and Physiology in Medieval Europe Between 1200 and 1420, p. 12. One notes, for example, a general re-evaluation of hylomorphism as an alternative to Cartesian dualism. See The Parva naturalia in Greek, Arabic and Latin Aristotelianism: Supplementing the Science of the Soul, ed. Börje Byden and Filip Rodovic, pp. 36–37.

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Secondary Literature Burnett, Charles. “The Introduction of Aristotle’s Natural Philosophy into Great Britain: A Preliminary Survey of the Manuscript Evidence,” in Aristotle in Britain during the Middle Ages. Ed. John Marenbon, 21–50. Turnhout, 1996. Börje Bydén. “Introduction: The Study and Reception of Aristotle’s Parva naturalia.” in The Parva naturalia in Greek, Arabic and Latin Aristototelianism: Supplementing the Science of the Soul. Ed. Börje Bydén and Filip Rodovic, ch. 1, pp. 1–39. Springer, 2018. De Leemans, Pieter. “Parva naturalia, Commentaries on Aristotle’s.” In Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy. Vol. 2. Ed. Henrik Lagerlund, 917–923. Dordrecht, 2011. Di Martino, Carla. “Parva naturalia: tradition arabe,” in Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques. Ed. Richard Goulet, Supplément, 375–378. Paris, 2003. Dod, Bernard G. “Aristoteles Latinus.” In The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy. Ed. Norman Kretzmann, Anthony Kenny, and Jan Pinborg, 45–79. Cambridge, 1982. Donati, Silvia. 2012. “The Critical Edition of Albert the Great’s Commentaries on De sensu et sensato and De memoria et reminiscentia: Its Significance for the Study of the Thirteenth-Century Reception of Aristotle’s Parva Naturalia and its Problems.” In The Letter before the Spirit: The Importance of Text Editions for the Study of the Reception of Aristotle. Ed. Aafke M.I. van Oppenraay with the collaboration of Resianne Fontaine, 345–399. Aristoteles Semitico-Latinus 22. Leiden – Boston, 2012. Dunne, Michael W. Peter of Ireland, Writings on Natural Philosophy. Brepols Library of Christian Sources. Vol. 9. Turnhout, 2023. Dunne, Michael W. “Death, the Intellect and the Resurrection of the Dog: Geoffrey of Aspall’s Questions on the De Longitudine et Brevitate Vitae.” In The Embodied Soul. The Development of Aristotelian Psychology and Physiology in Medieval Europe Between 1200 and 1420. Eds. Marek Gensler, Monika Mansfeld and Monika Michałowska, ch. 9, 163–190. Cham, 2022. Dunne, Michael W. “Peter of Ireland and Berthold of Moosburg on First Being, First Life, and First Mind.” in The Renewal of Metaphysics. Berthold of Moosburg on Proclus’ Elements of Theology. Eds. Dragos Calma, Evan King, 429–452. Leiden, 2022. Dunne, Michael W. “From longitudo vitae to prolungatio vitae: Peter of Ireland and Roger Bacon on Life and Death.” In The Philosophy of Roger Bacon. Studies in Honour of Jeremiah Hackett. Eds. Nicola Poloni, Yael Kadar, 175–187. Abingdon, Oxon.; New York, NY, 2021. Dunne, Michael W. “Aristotle’s Natural Philosophy in the Writings of Peter of Ireland.” In Edizioni, Traduzioni e Tradizioni Filosofiche. Vol. 1. Eds. Luca Bianchi, Onorato Grassi, Cecilia Panti, 245–256. Rome, 2018. Dunne, Michael W. “‘The causes of the length and brevity of life call for investigation’: Aristotle’s De longitudine et brevitate vitae in the 13th and 14th-Century

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Commentaries.” In Vita longa. Durata della vita e vecchiaia nella tradizione medica e aristotelica antica e medieval. Eds. Chiara Crisciani, Laura Repici, Pietro Bassiano Rossi, 121–147. Florence, 2009. Dunne, Michael W. “Thirteenth and Fourteenth-Century Commentaries on Aristotle’s De longitudine et brevitate vitae.” Early Science and Medicine 8 (2003): 320–335. Dunne, Michael W. “The Commentary of Peter of Auvergne on Aristotle’s On Length and Shortness of Life.” Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du Moyen Âge 69 (2002): 153–200. Ebbesen, Sten. “Simon of Faversham, Quaestiones super librum De somno et vigilia: An edition.” Cahiers de l’Institut du Moyen-Âge Grec et Latin 82 (2013): 90–145. Ebbesen, Sten. “Geoffrey of Aspall, Quaestiones super librum De somno et vigilia: An edition.” Cahiers de l’Institut du Moyen-Âge Grec et Latin 83 (2014): 257–341. Ebbesen, Sten. “James of Douai on Dreams.” Cahiers de l’Institut du Moyen-Âge Grec et Latin 84 (2015): 22–92. Ebbesen, Sten, Christina Thomsen Thörnqvist, Véronique Decaix. “Questions on De sensu et sensato, De memoria and De somno et vigilia: A catalogue” Bulletin de philosophie médiévale 57 (2016): 59–115. Grellard, Christophe. “La réception médiévale du De somno et vigilia. Approche anthropologique et épistémologique du rêve, d’Albert le Grand à Jean Buridan.” In Les Parva naturalia d’Aristote: fortune antique et médiévale. Eds. Christophe Grellard, Pierre-Marie Morel, 221–238. Paris, 2010. Hansberger, Rotraud. “Kitāb al-Ḥiss wa-l-maḥsūs: Aristotle’s Parva naturalia in Arabic guise.” In Les Parva naturalia d’Aristote: fortune antique et médiévale. Eds. Christophe Grellard, Pierre-Marie Morel, 143–162. Paris, 2010. Hasse, Dag Nikolaus. “The Early Albertus Magnus and his Arabic Sources on the Theory of the Soul.” Vivarium 46 (2008): 232–252. King, Richard A.H. Aristotle on Life and Death. London, 2001. King, Richard A.H. “Aristotle’s De memoria and Plotinus on Memory.” in Les Parva naturalia d’Aristote: fortune antique et médiévale. Ed. Christophe Grellard, Pierre-Marie Morel, 101–120. Paris, 2010. Kuhry, Emmanuelle. “The Compilatio de libris naturalibus Aristotelis (Compendium Philosophie). Evidence for the Early Reception of the Glossa anglicana and of Adam of Buckfield’s Commentaries.” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 86 (2019): 283–313. Kruger, Steven F. Dreaming in the Middle Ages. Cambridge, 1992. Lennox, James G. “Aristotle’s Biology.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2014 Edition). Ed. Edward N. Zalta. http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr 2014/entries/aristotle-biology/. (Accessed 2023 Oct 16.) Morel, Pierre-Marie. “Parva naturalia: tradition grecque.” in Dictionnaire des philosophes antiques. Ed. Richard Goulet, Supplément: 366–374. Paris, 2003.

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Morel, Pierre-Marie. “Common to Soul and Body in the Parva Naturalia (Aristotle, Sens. 1, 436b1–12).” In Common to Body and Soul: Philosophical Approaches to Explaining Living Behaviour in Greco-Roman Antiquity. Ed. Richard A.H. King, 121–139. Berlin – New York, 2006. Nelis, Tilke. “A Jumble of Writings: Commentaries on Aristotle’s De Longitudine et Brevitate Vitae Attributed to Adam of Buckfield.” Early Science and Medicine 27 (2022): 1–56. Morel, Pierre-Marie. “A Commentary on Aristotle’s De longitudine et brevitate vitae Attributed to Adam of Buckfield.” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 88 (2021): 367–417. Pines, Shlomo. “The Arabic Recension of the Parva Naturalia and the Philosophical Doctrine Concerning Veridical Dreams According to al-Risāla Al-Manāmiyya and Other Sources.” Israel Oriental Studies 4 (1974): 104–153. Ross, David. Aristotle, Parva Naturalia: A Revised Text with Introduction and Commentary by Sir David Ross. Oxford, 1955. Sassi, Maria Michela. “Percezione e conoscenza nei Parva Naturalia.” Studia graeco-arabica 4 (2014): 265–274. Siwek, Paul. Les manuscrits grecs des Parva naturalia d’Aristote. Rome, 1961. Thomsen Thörnqvist, Christina. “Walter Burley’s Expositio on Aristotle’s Treatises on Sleep and Dreaming: An Edition.” Cahiers de l’Institut du Moyen-Âge Grec et Latin 83 (2014): 379–515. Thörnqvist, Christina Thomsen and Juhana Toivanen, eds. Forms of Representation in the Aristotelian Tradition. Volume Two: Dreaming. Philosophia Antiqua. Vol. 162. Leiden, 2022. Vescovini, Giovanni Federici. “La tradizione dei Parva naturalia nell’insegnamento universitario medievale (secoli XIII e XIV).” In Parva naturalia. Saperi medievali, natura e vita, eds. Chiara Crisciani, Roberto Lambertini, Romana Martorelli Vico, 125–141. Pisa, 2004.

Chapter 5

The Latin Translation of the Eugenian Recension of Stephanites and Ichnelates Marc D. Lauxtermann

The text history of Stephanites and Ichnelates is rather intricate.1 The oldest version is a partial Greek translation of the Arabic source text, Kalīla wa-Dimna,2 produced by Symeon Seth during the early reign of Alexios Komnenos.3 This translation comprises books 1–7 and 9, all in shortened form. Then there are two twelfth-century versions, each adding substantial chunks of material to Symeon Seth’s original translation. The first is anonymous: the additions to Seth include a new translation of the whole of book 9 and translations of books 10 and 11. This version is preserved in a group of manuscripts labelled Bδ.4 The second augmented version of Stephanites and Ichnelates is the Eugenian recension, named after Eugenios of Palermo, a high-placed official at the Norman court of Sicily, who commissioned the text in 1190–1194. This version comprises the original Sethian books 1–7 and 9, but with substantial additions, plus translations of books 8, 10 and 12–15 and three extensive ‘Prologues’.5 The Eugenian 1 I follow Puntoni (see n. 8 below) in his division of books and paragraphs, but unlike him, I refer to these books and paragraphs with Arabic numerals. Prol. stands for Prologues (the three books before the actual collection of fables and stories). For the sigla of the manuscripts, I follow Sjöberg (see n. 3 below). 2 For the Arabic source text, see François de Blois, Burzōy’s Voyage to India and the Origin of the Book of Kalīlah wa Dimnah (London, 1990) and Bettina Krönung, “The Wisdom of the Beasts: The Arabic Book of Kalīla and Dimna and the Byzantine Book of Stephanites and Ichnelates,” in Fictional Storytelling in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean and Beyond, eds. Carolina Cupane and Bettina Krönung (Leiden, 2016), pp. 427–460. 3 Stephanites und Ichnelates: Überlieferungsgeschichte und Text, ed. Lars-Olof Sjöberg (Uppsala, 1962). 4 There is no proper edition of this version. Category Βδ is represented by three manuscripts: Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vindob. med. gr. 29; Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Ambros. C 46 sup.; and El Escorial, Biblioteca del Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, Esc. Y-III-26 (fols. 194–248). See Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, p. 68. 5 This translation, too, has not yet been edited. But see Marc D. Lauxtermann, “The Eugenian Recension of Stephanites and Ichnelates: Prologue and Paratexts,” Νέα Ῥώμη 15 (2018), 55–106. Despite the promising title, the recent edition and translation by Alison Noble, with Alexander Alexakis and Richard P.H. Greenfield, Animal Fables of the Courtly Mediterranean: The Eugenian Recension of Stephanites and Ichnelates (Washington, 2022), does not offer the

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recension is preserved in a badly mangled form in a group of manuscripts labelled Βε,6 but also in a Latin translation that is clearly superior to all existing Greek manuscripts.7 The two augmented translations of Stephanites and Ichnelates eventually merged into various heavily contaminated branches of the manuscript tradition (labelled Bζ, Bη, Bθ and Bι). Despite all the cross-copying, these branches are important because they quite often preserve genuine ‘Eugenian’ readings lost in the Bε group.8 However, apart from there being three translations of Stephanites and Ichnelates (Symeon Seth, the Anonymous Translator, and Eugenios of Palermo) and a fair amount of cross-copying in later versions, research into the text history has also been hampered by a blind spot for the actual wording of the Greek. The manuscripts (c. 40 in total) have been divided into redactions (A and B) and sub-redactions (Aα, β, γ and Bδ, ε, ζ, η, θ and ι) on the basis of their contents, not their readings.9 Take, for example, ms. J: based on the paragraphs it offers or omits, Sjöberg puts it in group Bε and Papademetriou puts it in group Bζ.10 But if these scholars had looked at the actual text (rather text of the Eugenian recension, but of a manuscript that combines readings of two different versions, P3 (for which see the next footnote). 6 Τhe most important Bε manuscripts are Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, Leid. Vulc. 93 (L1) and Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Barb. gr. 172 (B2). Paris, Bibliothèque national de France, Suppl. gr. 692 (P3), combines readings of Bε and Bθ. For the Leiden manuscript, see Alison E. Noble, Cultural Interchange in the Medieval Mediterranean: Prolegomena to a Text of the Eugenian Recension, 2 vols. (Unpublished PhD thesis, Queen’s University Belfast, 2003). 7 Ed. Alfons Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung der griechischen Version des Kalilabuchs,” in idem, Beiträge zur lateinischen Erzählungsliteratur des Mittelalters (Berlin, 1928), pp. 59–165. See also idem, “Eine bisher unbekannte lateinische Übersetzung der griechischen Version des Kalilabuchs (Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης),” Jahresbericht der Schlesischen Gesellschaft für vaterländische Cultur 95 (1917), Abt. IV.c, pp. 1–10. 8 It is on the basis of one of these contaminated branches that Puntoni produced the edition of the whole text: Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης: Quattro recensioni della versione greca del Kalīla wa-Dimna, ed. Vittorio Puntoni (Florence, 1889). For the different versions, see Johannes Niehoff-Panagiotidis, Übersetzung und Rezeption: Die byzantinisch-neugriechischen und spanischen Adaptionen von Kalīla wa-Dimna (Wiesbaden, 2003), pp. 36–45. 9 This is true not only for Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, pp. 21–86, but also for most of the secondary bibliography: see especially Vittorio Puntoni, “Sopra alcune recensioni dello Stephanites kai Ichnelates,” Atti della R. Accademia dei Lincei, anno cclxxxiii (1886), serie quarta: Classe di scienze morali, storiche e filologiche, vol. II, parte Ia, Memorie, pp. 113–182, and John Th. Papademetriou, Studies in the Manuscript Tradition of Stephanites kai Ichnelates (Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Illinois, 1960). 10 J  =  Jerusalem, Πατριαρχική Βιβλιοθήκη, Παναγίου Τάφου 208. Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, pp. 68–69, and Papademetriou, Studies in the Manuscript Tradition, pp. 43–44 (Papademetriou’s ‘recension I’ is Sjöberg’s Bζ).

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than mechanically classifying manuscripts), they would have immediately noticed striking similarities with another manuscript, V3. This is a manuscript that contains two Palaeologan collections of fables extracted from Stephanites and Ichnelates.11 The second collection of V3 offers fable Prol. 3.4b in exactly the same wording as ms. J (fol. 77v), and this wording differs from both Bε and Bζ.12 There are many more points where V3 and J offer the same or almost the same text: for example, at 4.102, 7.125 and 9.133, and in all these instances the differences from Bε and Bζ warn against the dangers of a mechanical classification system.13 The text history is complicated enough as it is; but it becomes needlessly complicated if one ignores the actual Greek. To quote myself regarding the Eugenian recension, “The point is that scholarship has been so busy reconstructing the contents of the Eugenian recension that it has neglected the study of the text itself. We know its contents, but not its linguistic nature or textual embodiment. The only way out of this conundrum is good old-fashioned philology. This means looking at all manuscripts, not just the ones that belong to the Bε branch.”14 In what follows, I shall look at the Latin translation and what it tells us about the Eugenian recension, but I shall also highlight differences and point out that the Latin translator quite often had recourse to the Arabic source text.

1

Date and Provenance of the Latin Translation

The Latin translation of the Eugenian recension of Stephanites and Ichnelates is transmitted in two fifteenth-century manuscripts: Budapest, Egyetemi 11

12 13

14

V3 = Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. gr. 949. For the first collection (attributed to a certain John Eskammatismenos, fol. 106v–121r), see the edition by Vittorio Puntoni, “Alcune favole dello Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης secondo una relazione inedita di Prete Giovanni Escammatismeno,” in Studi di filologia greca, ed. Enea Piccolomini (Turin, 1882), pp. 29–58. For the second (anonymous) collection (fol. 122v-154r), see Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, app. crit., at Prol. 3.4b and 1.18, 1.45, 2.59, 3.81, 4.96, 4.99, 4.102, 4.104, 4.106, 6.121, 6.122, 7.125, 8.131, 9.133, 12.139 and 13.141. The second collection is a sequel to the first: see Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 267, lines 26–29, where we find a cross-reference to fable 7.126 contained in the first collection. For the texts of Bε and Bζ, see Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, pp. 34–38. As Simone van Riet, “Les fables arabes d’Ibn al-Muqaffa en traductions grecques et latines,” in Orientalische Kultur und Europäisches Mittelalter, eds. Albert Zimmermann and Ingrid Craemer-Ruegenberg (Berlin – New York, 1985), pp. 151–160, at p. 160, rightly points out: “Une analyse qualitative du receuil de fables (…) devrait être entreprise (…); on ne peut pas se contenter de classer les manuscrits grecs, quantitativement, selon leur contenu.” Lauxtermann, “The Eugenian Recension,” p. 67.

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Könyvtár (University Library), cod. Lat. 99, fol. 122r–172v, and Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, cod. 13650, fol. 135r–193v. But as the editor, Alfons Hilka, already noted, the Latin text is much older: it is not humanist Latin, but medieval Latin.15 In fact, there can be little doubt that it was produced in the Hohenstaufen Kingdom of Sicily, as evidenced by the translation of στρατηγός, i.e. the governor who presides at the trial of Ichnelates, as “stratigotus” (at p. 113.32).16 The stratigotus was a judicial official in the Kingdom of Sicily, equivalent to a town governor or a bailiff: documentary evidence is abundant for the Hohenstaufens, and the Normans before them, but the title disappears during the subsequent Angevin period.17 Another piece of evidence is the translation of the term λογοθεσία as “officium logothete” (at p. 72.6–7). The logotheta was the highest official at the court of Frederick II and Manfred, equivalent to the position of chancellor in other European countries: Piero della Vigna (c.1190–1249) is probably the best-known bearer of this title.18 Other court titles include baiulus, “magistrate” (at p. 112.24, “ἐξουσιαστὴς” in the source text), and senescalus, “seneschal, steward” (at p. 149.19–20, for “πρωτομάγειρος”). Since the Eugenian recension itself dates to 1190–1194, the translation must date from after 1194 and before the last of the Hohenstaufen kings lost his life in 1266. Another indication that the translation stems from Sicily (or an adjoining region, such as Calabria or Apulia) is the fact that, as I will show below, the translator had recourse to the Arabic source text. Knowledge of Latin, Greek, and Arabic is an extremely rare combination in the Middle Ages, but there is plenty of evidence for it in the trilingual environment of twelfth- and thirteenth-century Southern Italy.19 Arguably the best-known representative of this trilingualism, and a translator in his own right, is Eugenios of Palermo who wrote in Greek, but also translated from Arabic into Latin. A contemporary source calls him “virum tam grece quam arabice linguae peritissimum, 15

16 17 18 19

Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 60. Since Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, p. 115, denies the existence of redaction B before the year 1400, he incorrectly postulates a fifteenth-century date for the Latin translation: this is a classic example of circular reasoning. See the convincing analysis by Van Riet, “Les fables arabes d’Ibn al-Muqaffa,” pp. 156–159. For further discussion, see Lauxtermann, “The Eugenian Recension,” p. 63. See Beatrice Pasciuta, “Stratigotus,” in Federico II: Enciclopedia Fridericiana, 2 vols. (Rome, 2005), vol. II, pp. 802–803. See Ernst Kantorowicz, Frederick the Second, 1194–1250 (London, 1931), pp. 298–307. For this multilingual (but not multicultural) environment, see Marc D. Lauxtermann, “Tomi, Mljet, Malta: Critical Notes on a Twelfth-Century Southern Italian Poem of Exile,” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 64 (2014), 155–176, at pp. 170–176.

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latine quoque non ignarum” (“a man as fully expert in Greek as in Arabic, with a knowledge also of Latin”).20 A third reason why the translation must have been produced in the trilingual environment of the Kingdom of Sicily, is that the translator borrowed a story from A Hundred and One Nights, a collection of short stories and fables that circulated widely in the Maghreb and Al-Andalus, but appears to have been unknown to the rest of the Arab world.21 In the light of the close connections between Sicily and the Maghreb (Ifriqiya), it stands to reason that the translator had direct access to this Maghreban source. The story of the apple that is given as a present and is then accidently passed on to someone else, which causes the husband to suspect his spouse of adultery, is found in many cultures and many languages: in Greek, it is the kernel of the urban legend found in Malalas and other Byzantine sources, according to which Theodosius II gave an apple to empress Eudocia, who then presented it to her confidante Paulinus, who, unaware where the apple came from, in his turn gave it to the emperor.22 In the Latin translation the story goes as follows: a man receives a gift of two apples, eats one of them and gives the other to his brother who, walking home, meets his little nephew to whom he gives the apple; the boy goes to sleep in the same bed as his mother and when father joins them later that evening, he sees the apple lying next to his wife and thinking that she slept with his brother, throws her out of the window into the sea; the next morning when the boy asks for his apple, the father understands that he has made a terrible mistake – but too late, she is dead.23 In A Hundred and One Nights, the story is that a merchant when he goes to bed, finds an apple and recognizes it as the apple a friend showed him earlier that day, without knowing that this friend gave it to the merchant’s son who, in his turn, gave it as a present to his mother; the jealous merchant asks his wife to make his bed in the upper storey and when they are there, he throws her out of the window into the Nile; the

20 21

22

23

See Charles H. Haskins, Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science (Cambridge, Mass., 1924), pp. 191–192 and Walter Berschin, Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: From Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa (Washington, 1988), p. 234. A Hundred and One Nights, edited and translated by Bruce Fudge (New York, 2016). For a recently discovered manuscript of this collection, see Ulrich Marzolph and Aboubakr Chraïbi, “The Hundred and One Nights: A Recently Discovered Old Manuscript,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 162 (2012), 299–316. See Tommaso Braccini, “An Apple between Folktales, Rumors, and Novellas: Malalas 14.8 and its Oriental Parallels,” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 58 (2018), 299–323, and Margaret Sironval, “Le don du fruit merveilleux dans les Mille et Une Nuits,” Journal of Arabic Literature 36 (2005), 288–310. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 143 (§127).

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next day his son tells him about the apple and he realizes his mistake.24 This is more or less the same storyline, and none of the oriental sources (including A Thousand and One Nights)25 comes as close as A Hundred and One Nights to the retelling by the Latin translator.

2

Contents of the Latin Translation and Comparison with Greek Versions

The Latin translation of the Eugenian recension comprises the three Prologues in their entirety, books 1–7 in their entirety (apart from 1.11–14 which the translator summarizes in a few lines), the whole of book 8, book 9 in the short Sethian version (i.e. without 9.133b), book 10 in the short version typical of Bε manuscripts (i.e. without 10.135 b, d, f, h, k, m, o and q), and books 12–15 in their entirety (but without 15.148–149, which is a later addition to Stephanites and Ichnelates). The Latin translation shows no points of contact with the Anonymous Translator (version Βδ): it does not have book 11, it retains the short Sethian version of book 9, and it offers book 10 in a totally different version. It is not just the content; it is also the wording that is different. Take book 9. Symeon Seth talks about a κίσσα (“jay”), the Anonymous Translator about a ψιττακός (“parrot”), and the Latin translator has pica (“jay” or “magpie”). This bird had a chick and the king had a son, and they grew up together. One day the little boy got angry at the chick and killed it. When the bird saw what had happened, it exclaimed in Symeon Seth’s version: “Οὐαὶ τοῖς συναυλιζομένοις τοῖς βασιλεῦσιν ἀβεβαίοις οὖσι καὶ ἀστηρίκτοις καὶ τὴν γνώμην ἀστάτοις.” The Anonymous Translator renders the Arabic source text as follows: “Οὐαὶ τοῖς βασιλεῦσι τοῖς μὴ συνθήκας τηροῦσι μήτε φιλίας θεσμούς.” The Latin translation reads: “Ve illis qui conversantur in aulis regis, quia eius amicicia nulla et instabilis est!” The Latin here is a free adaptation of the Greek of Symeon Seth. The same is true for most of this chapter: the Latin translation follows Seth, not the alternative text of the Anonymous Translator.26

24 25 26

Fudge, A Hundred and One Nights, pp. 175–177. For the Story of the Three Apples in A Thousand and One Nights, see Sironval, “Le don du fruit merveilleux,” pp. 291–294, and Braccini, “An Apple between Folktales, Rumors, and Novellas,” pp. 310–311. See Van Riet, “Les fables arabes d’Ibn al-Muqaffa,” pp. 152–154.

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The Latin translation offers more or less the same as the principal manuscripts of the Bε version,27 with the following exceptions: (i) it has Prol. 2.7–8 in contrast to Bε (ii) it has 3.80–82 in contrast to Bε (iii) it offers paragraphs 1.17–24, 2.58–60, and 4.93–107 in the right order (iv) it offers a better and more complete text in book 10 (v) it has the short version of Prol. 2.2a. Points (i) and (ii) are indicative of lacunas in the text tradition of Bε. As for point (iii), some clarification is required: the principal manuscripts of Bε, L1, B2 and P3,28 ultimately derive from a rather peculiar exemplar in which the Eugenian additions to Symeon Seth were copied in the margins, with marks indicating (not always entirely correctly) where they should be inserted in the main text. B2 and P3 (or their exemplars) followed these instructions to the letter;29 the scribes of L1 did the same in the first four books, but then copied the exemplar as they found it, with the additions still in the margins.30 The supposedly contaminated versions (Bζ, η, θ and ι) offer these additions in the right order, indicating that they had access to a more reliable hyparchetype than the Bε version did.31 The right order is the order in which we find these paragraphs in the Arabic source text – which must also have been the order of the Eugenian recension. The problem with the Bε version is not only that it messed up the Eugenian recension, but also that the scribe responsible for the hyparchetype was both extremely sloppy and stubbornly interventionist – a fatal combination of character traits.32 In most books of Stephanites and Ichnelates, there are enough manuscripts to show what went wrong with Bε, but for book 10 of the Eugenian recension we rely mainly on the evidence of L1 and B2. It is the Latin translation (see point iv above) that helps us understand what book 10 in the Eugenian recension may have looked like before Bε made a mess of it. Since the Latin translation is a free adaptation of the Greek source text, it cannot be 27

28 29 30 31 32

The striking similarities between the Latin translation and version Bε have not gone unnoticed: see Evelyn Jamison, Admiral Eugenius of Sicily: His Life and Work and the Authorship of the Epistola ad Petrum and the Historia Hugonis Falcandi Siculi (London, 1957), pp. 14–16, and Van Riet, “Les fables arabes d’Ibn al-Muqaffa,” pp. 154–155. For these manuscripts, see n. 6. P3, however, shows clear signs of cross-copying with Bθ: as from book 4, it offers the paragraphs in the same sequence as Bθ does. For more information and references to the earlier bibliography, see Lauxtermann, “The Eugenian Recension,” pp. 56–59. For the contents of these versions, see Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, pp. 71–76. For horrendous mistakes, see Lauxtermann, “The Eugenian Recension,” pp. 69–74 and 98.

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used to reconstruct the exact wording of the Greek; but it can help in signalling lacunas and clarifying obscure passages in the Greek. Take, for example, 10.135l: “ὁ δὲ λέων δοκῶν ἀληθῆ εἶναι τὰ λαληθέντα  ⟨lacuna⟩  ἔφη πρὸς αὐτούς (read: αὐτόν)·  ⟨lacuna⟩  δέδωκα αὐτὸ τῷ πρωτομαγείρῳ ὑποχειρίᾳ,” where the Latin translation offers: “Leo autem illos credens veritatem dicere fecit vocari pantherem et dixit ei: Quid fecisti de carne? Panther dixit: Dedi eam senescalo tuo.”33 The Greek text is nonsensical because King Lion cannot be angry that his meat is missing if he himself gave it to the steward. The truth of the matter is that King Lion is angry with his chief adviser, the jackal (“panther” in the Latin translation), for allegedly stealing his meat whereas, in fact, the latter had given it to the steward. Let this one example stand for innumerable others where the Latin is clearly superior. The last difference with the Bε version (point v above) is that the Latin translation offers the fable of The Man who Found a Treasure (Prol. 2.2a) in a short version which, in Greek, is attested only in the oldest manuscript, P1 (thirteenth century), but which is in fact a feature of all Arabic manuscripts of Kalīla wa-Dimna that have been published so far. The long version that we find in all the other Greek manuscripts is a later rhetorical elaboration; it is not original.34

3

Recourse to the Arabic Source Text

In the Latin translation the two jackals bear the names “Kililes” and “Dimnes” (Kalīla and Dimna in Arabic), not the grecized “Stephanites” and “Ichnelates”.35 The title has also been adapted: namely, “liber Kyliles et Dimnes,” though elsewhere the translator does acknowledge his Greek source: “liber iste qui dicitur Kililes et Dimnes, id est Stephanitis et Ignilatis.”36 The translator’s wish to re-Arabize Stephanites and Ichnelates is also evident in his translation of the end of Prologue 2, where the Greek source text reads: “Ἡμεῖς δὲ ἰδόντες τοὺς Πέρσας ἑρμηνεύσαντας τοῦτο ἀπὸ τῆς ἰνδικῆς, ἑλ뮻ηνιστὶ καὶ ἡμεῖς μεθερμηνεύσαμεν.” 33 34 35

36

Greek: ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 294, lines 9–11. Latin: ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 149, lines 17–20. P1  =  Paris, Bibliothèque national de France, Par. gr. 2231. For further discussion, see Lauxtermann, “The Eugenian Recension,” pp. 63–64. See, for example, Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 88, lines 8–10: “Et inter illas feras erant duo licopantheres, nomen uni Kililes et alii Dimnes, et erant ambo dolosi et fraudulenti.” The Greek reads: “Παρῆσαν δ᾽ ἐκεῖσε σὺν τοῖς ὑπ᾽ αὐτὸν θῶες δύο, ὁ μὲν Στεφανίτης, ὁ δὲ Ἰχνηλάτης καλούμενοι, ἀμφότεροι δὲ ποικίλοι καὶ ἀγχινούστατοι” (Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, p. 154, lines 2–4). Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 69, line 6 and p. 86, line 36; cf. p. 74, line 13.

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This becomes in Latin: “Et nos Persas videntes huius libri interpretaciones a lingua Indorum in linguam Persarum (…), interpretavimus ea a lingua Persarum in linguam arabicam.”37 However, vastly more important than this feeble attempt to give the text a more Arabic feel, is the fact that the translator had two manuscripts lying on his desk when he produced his translation: Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης and ‫� ا ة ك��ل����ة د �م ن����ة‬ ‫ح ك�� ةا�� � ة ل و‬. Take, for example, the beginning of the first book. In the Greek version, the emperor has a question and the philosopher answers by telling a story. But in the Arabic source text and in the Latin translation, the emperor has a question to which the philosopher provides an answer, and only then does he tell the story.38 Typical of Symeon Seth’s translation is that he left out most of the Arabic names and almost all the toponyms.39 This was not rectified by the translators working for Eugenios of Palermo. But the Latin translator fills in the gaps: in the first fable of book one, for example, the son of the merchant travels “ad civitatem Sane,” with the merchandise loaded onto a cart pulled by two oxen, one of whom is called “Simpep.”40 The first toponym is a rendering of Arabic “Sanūn,” and the second, a free adaptation of the name “Shanzaba.”41 In the fable, this ox gets stuck in the mud and as it is unable to go any further, it is left behind by the merchant’s son. The Arabic source text adds that the merchant’s son ordered a servant to stay with the ox until it was strong enough to walk on its own and that this servant, tired of waiting, rejoined his master and told him that the animal had died.42 This part is omitted in Symeon Seth’s translation and not re-inserted in the Eugenian recension;43 but it is there in the Latin

37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 64 (the Greek source text) and p. 78, lines 17–20 (the Latin translation). Greek: Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, p. 151, lines 1–4. Arabic: André Miquel, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ: Le livre de Kalila et Dimna ou Fables de Bidpai (Paris, 1957), p. 49, lines 1–9. Latin: Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 87, lines 1–6. See Hélène Condylis-Bassoukos, Stephanites kai Ichnelates, traduction grecque (XIe siècle) du livre Kalila wa-Dimna d’Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (VIIIe siècle): étude lexicologique et littéraire (Louvain, 1997), pp. 108–111. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 87, lines 28–29. See the commentary by Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 157. See Miquel, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, pp. 50–51, and Wyndham Knatchbull, Kalila and Dimna or the Fables of Bidpai (Oxford, 1819), p. 85. This paragraph (1.3b) can be found in two manuscripts belonging to version Bδ (see Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, pp. 68, 71 n. 2, and 79); but this version is very different from what the Latin translator offers. It is a later addition to the Greek tradition: see V. Puntoni, “Sopra alcune recensioni,” pp. 126–132. See also Condylis-Bassoukos, Stephanites kai Ichnelates, pp. 30–31.

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translation.44 The only solution to this conundrum is that the translator, while translating from the Greek, occasionally checked the Arabic source text to see if anything was missing. Arguably the best example of how the translator proceeded is to be found at 6.121. This is the story of the poor man who one night dreamt of great riches: if he were to sell the honey and butter that he had saved, he might buy goats with the money, and these goats would have kids and grow in number, and then he would be able to buy oxen and till the land – he would get immensely rich, buy a nice house and some slaves, find a good woman and have a son with her, whom he would properly educate, and if the boy did not listen, he would beat him, and while thinking of this corporeal punishment, he inadvertently crushed the pot with honey and butter, and it dripped down over his chin. The Greek version of Symeon Seth (and the same is true for the Eugenian recension) does not explain where the poor man gets his honey and butter from; nor it is clear how he can hit a pot while lying in bed. The Latin supplies all the missing bits: “(…) quidem pauper qui habebat cottidie de mensa domini imperatoris panem unum et parvum butiri et mellis; panem comedebat, mel et butirum in uno vase reponebat. Vas autem erat suspensum super lectum eius.”45 The Arabic source text, likewise, informs us that the man received a daily allowance of honey, butter and flour and that he kept some of the honey and butter in a jar, which he hung above his bed.46 But there are also differences with the Arabic source text. In the original, the recipient of the daily allowance is a holy man and the person giving the flour, honey, and butter is a merchant. Since the translator followed Symeon Seth in removing any allusion to asceticism in what was clearly a non-Christian environment, he faced a problem with the identity of the generous donor, it not being clear why a merchant would give a daily allowance to one of the poor. While charity to the poor is usually the domain of the secular clergy and the monastic orders, he chose the emperor as the next best – and the reason is, once again, the non-Christian fictional world of Stephanites and Ichnelates. Apart from the few lines that he added on the basis of the Arabic, the Latin translator kept close to the Greek: content-wise and on a lexical level, there can be no doubt that this is a translation of Stephanites and Ichnelates and not of Kalīla wa-Dimna. But the fact that he occasionally had recourse to the Arabic source text, makes his text one of the more curious outliers in the history of translations from Greek to Latin. 44 45 46

Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 87, lines 32–35. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 139, lines 21–25. See Miquel, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, p. 198, and Knatchbull, Kalila and Dimna, pp. 269–270.

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149

Felicities and Infelicities of the Translation

The translator is likely to have been a speaker of Greek (though with a good command of Latin) because when he adds the Aesopic fable about the farmer and the snake at the end of book 9,47 it takes the form of Perry no. 51 rather than Perry no. 573. The former is common to the Greek tradition; the latter is typical of the medieval Latin adaptations that go under the name of Romulus.48 Since schooling in the Middle Ages begins with the retelling of fables, the choice of Perry no. 51 indicates that this was probably the version the translator learnt at school. And this, in its turn, strongly suggests that he went to a Greek school rather than a Latin one. As noted by Hilka and Van Riet,49 the translator occasionally uses Greek loanwords in his translation. The word λυκοπάνθηροι (“jackals”) is rendered as “licopantheres.”50 The word ἱερακάριος appears to have simply been translitterated as “hieracarius,” a loanword that was so incomprehensible to readers of Latin that it was then garbled into “actorcoreus” (sic) in the manuscript tradition.51 The word ἱλαρότης is rendered as “hylaritas” and the rare word τῷ ἱλαροδότῃ (“bringer of joy”) as “hylari datori” – but hilaritas and hilaris are already attested in classical Latin.52 The phrase “ἐκ τῶν μεγιστάνων καὶ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν” is translated as “de magnatibus et ideotis:” idiota is a classic example of a false friend because in Latin it means “uneducated, ignorant, stupid,” “not ordinary citizen” (which is clearly what is meant here).53 The personal name “Πάγκαλος” is rendered as “Pincellus.”54 47 48

49 50 51 52 53 54

Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 148, lines 5–14. See Ben E. Perry, Aesopica, I (Urbana 1952), pp. 341 and 614–616 and Gert-Jan van Dijk, Aesopica Posteriora: Medieval and Modern Versions of Greek and Latin Fables, 2 vols. (Genoa, 2015), vol. 2, pp. 740–741 (no. 854). For the story plot in other cultures and languages, see Carl Lindahl, “Feindschaft zwischen Tieren und Mensch,” Enzyklopädie des Märchens, vol. 4 (Berlin, 1984), coll. 982–991. Hilka, “Eine bisher unbekannte lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 9; idem, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” pp. 64–65; and Van Riet, “Les fables arabes d’Ibn al-Muqaffa,” pp. 157–158. “λυκοπάνθηροι:” ed. Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, p. 153.13; “licopantheres:” ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 88.2. “ἱερακάριος:” ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 154 (§71.1); “actorcoreus:” ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 114.13. “ἱλαρότης:” ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 120 (§44.12); “hylaritas:” ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 105.10. “τῷ ἱλαροδότῃ:” ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 112 (§38.6); “hylari datori:” ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” pp. 102.40–103.1. “ἐκ τῶν μεγιστάνων καὶ τῶν ἰδιωτῶν:” ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 5 (Prol. 1, §3.2); “de magnatibus et ideotis:” ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 69.29. “καὶ καλέσω τοῦτον Πάγκαλον:” ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 241 (§121.13); “et vocabo nomen eius Pincellum:” ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 139.34.

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There are other obvious Grecisms as well: the Latin translator, for example, renders “ὑπεκρίθη τὸ θανεῖν” (“he pretended to be dead”) as “ut ypocrita finxit se mori” (“like a hypocrit, he pretended to be dead”).55 And he does not seem to realize that the periphrastic use of παῖς in “ἰατρῶν παῖδες” (i.e. doctors) does not exist in Latin: “filii medicorum” just means “sons of doctors.”56 However, the translator does understand the need to bring the text closer to the intended readers by adding lexical glosses that explain Greek words or clarify what the text is saying. Let me give an example of both. A good example of an explanatory gloss is his rendering of “διωρίσατο (…) χρήσασθαι ταύτην ἀδιάντῳ,” “he prescribed that she be given adiantum (maidenhair)” or “he prescribed that she be anointed with adiantum” (reading χρίσασθαι), where the Latin translation offers: “precepit ungi infirmam quodam unguento quod dicitur adyanto,” “he prescribed that the patient be anointed with an anointment that is called adiantum.”57 An example of a textual clarification is the translator’s rendering of “τὸ αἶμα, τὸ φλέγμα, τὸν χυμὸν καὶ τὴν χολὴν” as “sanguinem, flegmam, coleram et melancoliam,” which helps the reader understand that “τὸν χυμὸν” here stands for τὸν μελαγχολικὸν χυμόν.58 Another form of clarification is the way in which “τὸ λοιπὸν σύνθου μοι ταῦτα μεθ᾽ ὅρκου” (“well, swear you’ll do this”) is rendered: “ergo fac mihi iuratoriam caucionem” (“make then a pledge under oath for me”) – here the translator offers the precise legal term (iuratoria cautio) for this kind of pledge.59 In general, the Latin translator’s aim appears to have been to simplify the text and add information lacking in the Greek. Let us compare, for example, the Greek and the Latin in 3.79: Ἐγὼ πρῶτον ἐποιησάμην τὴν οἴκησιν παρά τινι μοναχῷ καὶ ἤσθιον λάθρα ἃ ἡτοίμαζεν ἐδέσματα καὶ κορεννύμενος ἐλάμβανον τὰ περιττὰ καὶ τοῖς λοιποῖς παρετίθουν μυσί· πολ뮻άκις δὲ ὁ μοναχὸς ἄνωθεν ἀναρτήσας τὴν οἰκείαν τροφὴν οὐκ ἠδυνήθη τὴν ἐξ ἐμοὺ βλάβην φυγεῖν. Μιᾷ δὲ τῶν ἡμερῶν ξένος τις κατέλυσε παρ᾽ αὐτῷ καὶ ἤρξαντο ἀλ뮻ήλοις προσομιλεῖν· διὰ μέσου δὲ ὁ μοναχὸς τὰς 55 56 57 58 59

“ὑπεκρίθη τὸ θανεῖν:” ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 97 (§32.14); “ut ypocrita finxit se mori:” ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 98.23. “ἰατρῶν παῖδες:” ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 234 (§116.63); “filii medicorum:” ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 137.20. Ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 149 (§65.3–4); and ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 112.26–7. Ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 44 (Prol. 3, §9.22) and ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 85.28–29. Ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 293 (§135i.7–8) and ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” pp. 148.38–149.1.

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χείρας ἐκρότει ἡμᾶς ἐκφοβίζων· ὁ δὲ ξένος ὀργισθεὶς ἔφη αὐτῷ· μυκτηρίζεις μοι ὁμιλοῦντί σοι; Ego primum feci habitacionem aput quendam heremitam et absconse comedebam pulmenta que preparaverat, et cum eram satur, dabam aliis muribus que mihi superabant. Et multociens heremita suspendebat sportam in altum, et nihil proficiebat nec poterat evadere de manibus meis. Una autem dierum quidam extraneus venit ad eum et inceperant loqui adinvicem et inter alia verba que dicebant cepit heremita plaudere manibus ut nos expavesceret. Extraneus autem indignatus dixit: Subsanas me, quia loquor tecum?60 As the Greek source text is rather minimalistic, the translator adds details to clarify the story: the hermit does not “hang his own food high up,” but “hangs his basket [with the food in it] high up;” but this “doesn’t help” (this bit is missing in Greek), because the mouse keeps coming back – and here the Latin anthropomorphizes the Greek: “he could not escape the harm caused by me” becomes “he could not escape from my hands.” In the next sentence, the translator once again attempts to make the narrative easier to understand: “meanwhile” becomes “during their conversation,” and rather than saying that the hermit “clapped his hands (constantly) scaring us off,” the Latin states that the hermit “began to clap his hands (at some point) to scare us off,” which, truth be said, makes infinitely more sense. But there are also translation mistakes: the “ξένος” is a ‘guest’ in the Greek, but a “stranger” (“extraneus”) in the Latin; the angered guest/stranger asks in Greek: “Are you making fun of me while I’m talking to you?”, but in Latin: “Are you making fun of me because I’m talking to you?”, which is quite an odd interpretation of the participle construction “ὁμιλοῦντί σοι.” The word choice of “subsanas” for “μυκτηρίζεις,” however, is felicitous indeed: it is the right word for this kind of non-verbal mockery – see, for example, Jeremiah 20:7 “πᾶσαν ἡμέραν διετέλεσα μυκτηριζόμενος” (Septuagint), “tota die omnes subsannant me” (Vulgate).

5

Writing, Rewriting, and Writing Off

Free translations are known as ‘les belles infidèles’: beautiful, but unfaithful. But can one speak of ‘fidelity’ in the case of a text that freely wanders across 60

Ed. Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 169.1–9 (§79.1–9) and ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 118.6–14.

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cultures and languages and, with protean agility, changes form and substance? Typical of Kalīla wa-Dimna and its offshoots in other languages is textual fluidity: the remarkable ease with which it underwent changes, additions, and omissions. There are various strands of textual transmission in Arabic (mostly still unedited); Symeon Seth’s Stephanites and Ichnelates is a translation, or rather a free adaptation, of one of these versions – and the Eugenian recension is yet another instantiation of this textual sprawl. None of the Greek manuscripts (apart from apographs) offer exactly the same text: some present subtle rewritings, others brutal interventions and adaptations. The Latin translation is no exception. ‘Infidelity’ does not even come close to describing its nature: ‘textual promiscuity’ would be more apt a description. As we have seen, the translator not only renders the Greek, but also adds material from the Arabic; he intervenes in the text to make it more comprehensible to the reader; and he supplements a fable from Aesop and a story from A Hundred and One Nights. In book 5 (Tale of the Monkey and the Turtle), the Latin translation differs significantly not only from Stephanites and Ichnelates, but also from Kalīla wa-Dimna: that is, as far as the latter can be reconstructed at this stage.61 It is certainly possible that one day we will discover a fuller text of this chapter in Arabic, but at this point the only conclusion can be that the translator came up with a version of his own. Take for example the moment the monkey and the turtle meet: according to Symeon Seth (and the later versions, including the Eugenian recension), while eating figs, one of them accidentally fell from the monkey’s hands into the water and was gratefully consumed there by the sea turtle.62 More or less the same can be read in the few Arabic versions at our disposal as well as in medieval translations from the Arabic into other languages.63 But in the Latin translation, the monkey peels the figs and throws the skins onto the ground, and the sea turtle gets out of the water, reposes in the shade of the monkey’s tree (behaviour more commonly associated with tortoises than sea turtles), and eats the fig skins.64 This is no longer translating

61 62 63

64

The problem with the Arabic source text is that only a few versions have been edited and translated so far: see Krönung, “The Wisdom of the Beasts,” pp. 445–448. §5.116: ed. Sjöberg, Stephanites und Ichnelates, p. 228 and Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης, p. 229. See Miquel, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, p. 187, and Knatchbull, Kalila and Dimna, p. 258. See also the medieval Spanish translation: Antonio G. Solalinde (ed.), Calila y Dimna. Fábulas: antigua versión castellana (Madrid, 1917), p. 85, and the Latin translation of the Hebrew version of Kalīla wa-Dimna: Joseph Derenbourg (ed.), Johannis de Capua Directorium vitae humanae alias parabola antiquorum sapientium (Paris, 1889), p. 204. Ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” p. 135.25–28.

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or adapting: this is fundamentally re-writing the source text. This is a form of creative writing on the part of the Latin translator. The Latin translator – whoever he may have been – not only re-Arabizes the text, but also fails to mention Eugenios of Palermo altogether. He translates the two prefaces by the Persian translator Burzōy (Prologue 1 and 3) and the preface by the Arabic translator Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (Prologue 2), but he omits the preface by Eugenios of Palermo, in which the latter explains that the Indian fables of Stephanites and Ichnelates, if allegorized properly, reveal their inner meaning and, therefore, can be savoured by Christians as well.65 As I argued in my edition of this preface, the Eugenian recension caters to the needs and interests of “highly educated Greeks living in Sicily and Calabria, proud of their culture, but at the point of extinction due to the latinization of the elite.”66 The Latin translation is the inevitable result of this process of latinization, and the omission of any reference to Eugenios of Palermo constitutes a form of obliteration, a writing off, a passing over in silence – or to put it in more positive terms, an acceptance of the fact that Greek is on its way out.67 Although the Latin translator is most probably a Greek himself, he is working in an environment that, though notionally trilingual, is basically monocultural. This monocultural environment is the Kingdom of Sicily under Frederick II Hohenstaufen and his son Manfred, open to foreign sources of wisdom and knowledge and curious to investigate new ideas, but also autocratic, medieval in the bad sense of the word, and thoroughly Latin.68 Most of the works translated into Latin in this period deal with philosophy (above all, Aristotle and Averroës) or are of a more general scientific nature (natural sciences, astronomy, medicine).69 The source language is mostly Arabic, either directly or via the intermediary of Hebrew,70 but translations from Greek are also well-represented.71 There is some interest in fiction as well. The lavishly illustrated manuscript of Heinrich von Veldeke’s Eneas Romance (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, germ. fol. 282), dates to the 1220s and is of Southern Italian provenance; Frederick II possessed a copy of the Palamedes Romance around 1240; 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

Ed. Lauxtermann, “The Eugenian Recension,” pp. 101–103. Lauxtermann, “The Eugenian Recension,” pp. 82–98; quotation on p. 97. For the disappearance of Greek culture in Southern Italy, see Annick Peters-Custot, Les grecs de l’Italie méridionale post-Byzantine: Une acculturation en douceur (Rome, 2009). See David Abulafia, Frederick II: A medieval emperor, 2nd ed. (New York, 1992). See Haskins, Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science, pp. 242–326. See the various contributions in Andreas Speer and Lydia Wegener (eds), Wissen über Grenzen: arabisches Wissen und lateinisches Mittelalter (Berlin, 2006). See the contributions in Pieter de Leemans (ed.), Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court Of Manfred, King of Sicily (Louvain, 2014).

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and Manfred most probably commissioned the astonishingly beautiful manuscript of the Historia de preliis (the tenth-century translation of the Alexander Romance), which is now kept in the public library of Leipzig (Stadtbibliothek, Repositorium, II. 4o 143).72 The Book of Sydrac is said to have been brought from Tunis for Frederick II and to have been turned into Latin by a Franciscan friar, called Roger of Palermo; but the text of this compendium in fact dates from the last quarter of the thirteenth century.73 There is every reason to believe that the Hohenstaufen court will have welcomed the translation of Kalīla and Dimna (via the Greek intermediary of Stephanites and Ichnelates) because it is a classic in Arabic and offers moral guidance to rulers, such as Frederick II and Manfred. The re-Arabization of the text fits in very well with the huge interest at the Hohenstaufen court in anything presumed to be Arabic wisdom (though not in anything to do with the Muslim population of Sicily, which was wiped out entirely).74 On the very last page, where the philosopher and the emperor (the two interlocutors of Stephanites and Ichnelates) conclude their polite conversation regarding the ethics of governance, the Latin translator adds a few lines of his own. In these lines the philosopher wishes for the emperor a long life and a prosperous reign with the help of God, and the emperor rewards the philosopher for his wise counsels with the kiss of peace and splendid gifts and then bids him farewell.75 One could argue that this expresses an implicit wish on the part of the translator that his text be well received at the Hohenstaufen court; but we will never know because the Latin translation lacks a preface of its own. What we do know is that the translation does not seem to have enjoyed a wide audience because there are only two manuscripts and no early prints. This compares quite badly to the Directorium vitae humanae, another Latin translation (this time from Hebrew), produced by John of Capua, a Jew converted to Christianity.76 This translation (dedicated to Cardinal Matthew

72 73 74 75 76

See Alessandra Perricioli Saggese, “Fra la corte e l’università: manoscritti miniati di età manfrediana,” in Translating at the Court, ed. De Leemans, pp. 91–111, at pp. 106 and 109. See Haskins, Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science, p. 254. For a recent edition of this highly interesting work of fiction, see Ernstpeter Ruhe, Sydrac le Philosophe: Le livre de la fontaine de toutes sciences (Wiesbaden, 2000). For the persecution of the Muslim community, see David Abulafia, “Ethnic Variety and its Implications: Frederick II’s Relations with Jews and Muslims,” Studies in the History of Art 44 (1994), 213–224, at pp. 215–218. Ed. Hilka, “Eine lateinische Übersetzung,” pp. 154.32–37 and 155.2–4. This addition cannot be found as such in the Arabic versions that have been published so far. Ed. Derenbourg, Directorium vitae humanae. For other translations by the same author, see Görge K. Hasselhoff, “Johannes von Capua und Armengaud Blaise als Übersetzer

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Rubens Ursinus and, therefore, dateable to 1263–1278) was hugely popular: there are many manuscripts, there is an incunable and later prints, and there are quite a number of translations into the vernaculars of Western Europe. The misfortune of the Latin translation of Stephanites and Ichnelates is due to historical circumstances: with the death of Manfred on the battle-field in 1266 and the subsequent Angevin takeover, the centre of power moved north, from Palermo to Naples, from imperial autocracy to papal dominion. It stands to reason that John of Capua must have had close connections with nearby Naples and the mere fact that he was writing for a cardinal suggests a link with the papacy as well. He had everything going for him. But the Latin translator of Stephanites and Ichnelates? He is like The Man who Found a Treasure. He found it and lost it. His bad luck was that Hohenstaufen culture did not last longer than it did.

Bibliography Primary Sources A Hundred and One Nights. Ed. and transl. Bruce Fudge. New York, 2016. Book of Cydrac. Ed. Ernstpeter Ruhe, Sydrac le Philosophe: Le livre de la fontaine de toutes sciences. Wiesbaden, 2000. Calila y Dimna. Ed. Antonio G. Solalinde, Calila y Dimna. Fábulas: antigua versión castellana. Madrid, 1917. Eugenian Recension (version P3). Ed. and transl. Alison Noble, with the help of Alexander Alexakis and Richard P.H. Greenfield, Animal Fables of the Courtly Mediterranean: The Eugenian Recension of Stephanites and Ichnelates. Washington, 2022. Eugenian Recension, Preface. Ed. Marc D. Lauxtermann. “The Eugenian Recension of Stephanites and Ichnelates: Prologue and Paratexts.” Νέα Ῥώμη 15 (2018): 100–106. Johannis de Capua, Directorium. Ed. Joseph Derenbourg, Johannis de Capua Directorium vitae humanae alias parabola antiquorum sapientium. Paris, 1889. Kalila and Dimna. Transl. Wyndham Knatchbull, Kalila and Dimna or the Fables of Bidpai. Oxford, 1819. Kalila et Dimna. Transl. André Miquel, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ: Le livre de Kalila et Dimna ou Fables de Bidpai. Paris, 1957. Latin Translation. Ed. Alfons Hilka. “Eine lateinische Übersetzung der griechischen Version des Kalilabuchs.” In idem, Beiträge zur lateinischen Erzählungsliteratur des Mittelalters, 59–165. Berlin, 1928. medizinischer Werke des Maimonides,” in Wissen über Grenzen, eds. Speer and Wegener, pp. 340–356.

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Stephanites and Ichnelates (long version). Ed. Vittorio Puntoni, Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης: Quattro rensioni della versione greca del Kalīla wa-Dimna. Florence, 1889. Stephanites and Ichnelates (short version). Stephanites und Ichnelates: Überlieferungsgeschichte und Text. Ed. Lars-Olaf Sjöberg, 151–244. Uppsala, 1962.

Secondary Literature Abulafia, David. Frederick II: A Medieval Emperor. 2nd ed. New York, 1992. Abulafia, David. “Ethnic Variety and Its Implications: Frederick II’s Relations with Jews and Muslims.” Studies in the History of Art 44 (1994): 213–224. Berschin, Walter. Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: From Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa. Washington, 1988. de Blois, François. Burzōy’s Voyage to India and the Origin of the Book of Kalīlah wa Dimnah. London, 1990. Braccini, Tommaso. “An Apple between Folktales, Rumors, and Novellas: Malalas 14.8 and its Oriental Parallels.” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 58 (2018): 299–323. Condylis-Bassoukos, Hélène. Stephanites kai Ichnelates, traduction grecque (XIe siècle) du livre Kalila wa-Dimna d’Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (VIIIe siècle): étude lexicologique et littéraire. Louvain, 1997. van Dijk, Gert-Jan. Aesopica Posteriora: Medieval and Modern Versions of Greek and Latin Fables. 2 vols. Genoa, 2015. Haskins, Charles H. Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science. Cambridge, Mass., 1924. Hasselhoff, Görge K. “Johannes von Capua und Armengaud Blaise als Übersetzer medizinischer Werke des Maimonides.” In Wissen über Grenzen: arabisches Wissen und lateinisches Mittelalter, eds. Andreas Speer and Lydia Wegener, 340–356. Berlin, 2006. Hilka, Alfons. “Eine bisher unbekannte lateinische Übersetzung der griechischen Version des Kalilabuchs (Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης).” Jahresbericht der Schlesischen Gesellschaft für vaterländische Cultur 95 Abt. IV. c (1917): 1–10. Jamison, Evelyn. Admiral Eugenius of Sicily: His Life and Work and the Authorship of the Epistola ad Petrum and the Historia Hugonis Falcandi Siculi. London, 1957. Kantorowicz, Ernst. Frederick the Second, 1194–1250. London, 1931. Krönung, Bettina. “The Wisdom of the Beasts: The Arabic Book of Kalīla and Dimna and the Byzantine Book of Stephanites and Ichnelates.” In Fictional Storytelling in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean and Beyond, ed. Carolina Cupane and Bettina Krönung, 427–460. Leiden, 2016. Lauxtermann, Marc D. “Tomi, Mljet, Malta: Critical Notes on a Twelfth-Century Southern Italian Poem of Exile.” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 64 (2014): 155–176.

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Lauxtermann, Marc D. “The Eugenian Recension of Stephanites and Ichnelates: Prologue and Paratexts.” Νέα Ῥώμη 15 (2018): 55–106. de Leemans, Pieter, ed. Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily. Louvain, 2014. Lindahl, Carl. “Feindschaft zwischen Tieren und Mensch.” Enzyklopädie des Märchens, vol. 4, coll. 982–991. Berlin, 1984. Marzolph, Ulrich, and Aboubakr Chraïbi. “The Hundred and One Nights: A Recently Discovered Old Manuscript.” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 162 (2012): 299–316. Niehoff-Panagiotidis, Johannes. Übersetzung und Rezeption: Die byzantinischneugriechischen und spanischen Adaptionen von Kalīla wa-Dimna. Wiesbaden, 2003. Noble, Alison E. Cultural Interchange in the Medieval Mediterranean: Prolegomena to a Text of the Eugenian Recension, 2 vols. Unpublished PhD thesis, Queen’s University Belfast, 2003. Papademetriou, John Th. Studies in the Manuscript Tradition of Stephanites kai Ichnelates. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Illinois, 1960. Pasciuta, Beatrice. “Stratigotus.” In Federico II: Enciclopedia Fridericiana, vol. 2, 802–803. Rome, 2005. Perricioli Saggese, Alessandra. “Fra la corte e l’università: manoscritti miniati di età manfrediana.” In Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily. Ed. Pieter de Leemans, 91–111. Louvain, 2014. Perry, Ben E., Aesopica, I. Urbana 1952. Peters-Custot, Annick. Les grecs de l’Italie méridionale post-Byzantine: Une acculturation en douceur. Rome, 2009. Puntoni, Vittorio. “Alcune favole dello Στεφανίτης καὶ Ἰχνηλάτης secondo una relazione inedita di Prete Giovanni Escammatismeno.” In Studi di filologia greca. Ed. Enea Piccolomini, 29–58. Turin, 1882. Puntoni, Vittorio. “Sopra alcune recensioni dello Stephanites kai Ichnelates.” Atti della R. Accademia dei Lincei, anno cclxxxiii (1886), serie quarta: Classe di scienze morali, storiche e filologiche, vol. II, parte Ia, Memorie, 113–182. van Riet, Simone. “Les fables arabes d’Ibn al-Muqaffa en traductions grecques et latines.” In Orientalische Kultur und Europäisches Mittelalter. Ed. Albert Zimmermann and Ingrid Craemer-Ruegenberg, 151–160. Berlin – New York, 1985. Sjöberg, Lars-Olaf. Stephanites und Ichnelates: Überlieferungsgeschichte und Text. Uppsala, 1962. Sironval, Margaret. “Le don du fruit merveilleux dans les Mille et Une Nuits.” Journal of Arabic Literature 36 (2005): 288–310. Speer, Andreas, and Lydia Wegener, eds. Wissen über Grenzen: arabisches Wissen und lateinisches Mittelalter. Berlin, 2006.

Chapter 6

Translators, Networks, Production and the Travel of Manuscripts between the East and West – the Pseudo-Dionysian Work and John Saracen’s Translations: a Case Study Paola Degni

Grasping the opportunity to investigate simultaneously the network of relations, contacts, and manuscripts between the Western Latin world and the Eastern Greek world, I focus my attention on a theme little explored by Charles Haskins’ studies,1 namely the translation from Greek into Latin of the Pseudo-Dionysian corpus by John Saracen in the twelfth century. This case study is thought-provoking for at least two reasons. Firstly, John Saracen’s work contributes to an authoritative tradition in translating the Pseudo-Dionysian corpus between the East and West. Secondly, Saracen’s work, which fits into Haskins’ interpretative scheme,2 is placed in a crucial phase between early medieval translations and the demands of a changed linguistic and cultural context during the so-called ‘twelfth-century renaissance’. The chief objectives of this paper are to investigate, on the one hand, how previous translations may have influenced Saracen’s translation experience and, on the other hand, to gain a better understanding of how this experience came about and through which manuscripts. A secondary objective involves assessing the later reception and use of Saracen’s translation within the Parisian corpus, encompassing all translations and commentaries of Pseudo-Dionysius studied in medieval universities. This paper shows that the Latin tradition of the Pseudo Dionysian corpus is a coherent set of texts which came into existence between the ninth and thirteenth centuries. Despite the ongoing lacunae in the scholarship concerning the Latin tradition of this text, available evidence suggests the construction of a comprehensive corpus comprising translated and annotated works of Pseudo-Dionysius was built between the ninth and tenth centuries.

1 Charles Haskins, The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge, Mass., 1928), p. 296. 2 See below in the first section.

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_007

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Greek into Latin Translations between the Ninth and Twelfth Centuries. Historical Trends and Their Interpretation

During the ninth century, some important changes occurred. Translating activity increasingly became associated with prominent figures, such as Hilduin and John Scotus Eriugena who were active at the Carolingian court. Anastasius, serving as the librarian and chief archivist of the Church of Rome also played a significant role. In Naples, a center of literary culture comparable to Rome, a hagiographic translation endeavor was undertaken by some known deacons.3 By contrast, anonymity, which had been a typical feature of the preceding centuries, diminished. In addition, texts with theological and philosophical content attracted greater interest. The interest in the theological and philosophical thought of the Greeks fostered insular culture, the Carolingian and Ottonian courts, the papacy, and was also reflected in external trends and rituals.4 Although before the twelfth century, and particularly in the Carolingian court, there was no dearth of interest in Greek culture and language, it was only from that century onwards that the practice of translation became a component of medieval culture. The translation phenomenon entailed significant changes in the cultural production of medieval Europe. Thus, it was called the ‘twelfth-century renaissance’ by Charles Haskins in a well-received book written in 1927.5 Haskins developed the theory of a cultural renaissance beginning in the last decades of the eleventh century and continuing into the early decades of the twelfth. Although his theory was criticised after the publication of the volume, scholars did not reject his idea. Instead, research has advanced specific topics that he had outlined, and the conference organised in 19776 celebrating the fiftieth anniversary of his book’s publication, vindicated the scholarly value of Haskins’ theory.

3 Walter Berschin, “Traduzioni dal greco in latino (secoli IV–XIV)”, in I Greci. Storia Cultura Arte Società, 3. I Greci oltre la Grecia, ed. Salvatore Settis (Torino, 2001), pp. 1023–1033: 1026–1027. 4 For further considerations see Guglielmo Cavallo, “Una storia comune della cultura: realtà o illusione?”, in Europa medievale e mondo bizantino. Contatti effettivi e possibilità di studi comparati, eds. Girolamo Arnaldi, Guglielmo Cavallo, Istituto storico italiano per il medio evo. Nuovi studi storici 40 (Roma, 1997), pp. 19–32: 30–31. 5 Haskins, The Renaissance. See also Teresa Shawcross’ paper in the volume regarding the conscious use of Byzantine elements in Roman liturgy. 6 Renaissance and Renewal of the Twelfth century, ed. by Robert L. Benson and Giles Constable, with Carol D. Lanham (Oxford, 1982).

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With regard to the theme of translations, in a pioneering work such as Haskins’, the author could not form but a synthesis, a mapping of the main protagonists and places where the most important undertakings of translation from Arabic, Hebrew, and Greek into Latin took place. However, more than in his monograph, the scholar’s awareness of the importance of translations in the process of rebirth and in the advancement of knowledge between the twelfth and thirteenth centuries in medieval Europe can be better grasped in his collection of studies already published in 19247 where the topic is extensively discussed.8 In this book, more specifically than in the later monograph, at least two strands of interpretation of the phenomenon emerge that are worth highlighting: 1) the connection between the practice of translation and political and cultural centers (courts, the papacy, monastic centres, universities etc.); 2) translation activity as a practice sometimes separate from multilingualism.9 In specific political and cultural environments marked by the cohabitation of diverse cultures, the production of translations emerged as an inevitable. This was notably evident in the Norman kingdom where Greek, Latin and Arabic cultures coexisted harmoniously. However, in regions such as northern Italy, for example, which lacked Greek-speaking communities, alternative incentives prompted the practice of translations from the twelfth century onwards (these incentives encompassed diplomatic missions, trade, etc.).10 Perspectives initially taken by Haskins have been effectively developed following the publication of his important studies through investigations that have expanded on the different aspects of the phenomenon. Two strands, in particular, have provided some helpful insights: the relationship between translators and translation centres, with the latter being understood as commissioning centres; and the texts, with reference to the methodologies employed by the translator, and highlighting the possible relationships between erudite and vernacular language.11 Strongly linked to the linguistic dimension is the attention paid in studies to manuscripts, not only as casual media of the work before printed editions, but also as witnesses over time of the vitality and relevance of the 7 8 9 10 11

Charles H. Haskins, Studies in the History of Medieval Science (Cambridge, Mass., 1924). The chapters VIII–XIV are devoted to translations from Greek into Latin. For a recent overview on multilingualism, see Multilingual and Multigraphic Manuscripts of East and West, ed. Giuseppe Mandalà, Inmaculada Pérez Martín (Piscataway, NJ, 2018). Haskins, Studies in the History, pp. 141–142, 194–195. Traduction et traducteurs au Moyen Âge. Actes du colloque international du CNRS, Paris 26–28 mai 1986, ed. Genviève Contamine (Paris, 1989); Rencontres de cultures dans la philosophie médiévale. Traductions et traducteurs de l’antiquité tardive au XIVe, Cassino 15–17 giugno 1989, eds. Jacqueline Hamesse, Marta Fattori (Louvain-la-Neuve – Cassino, 1990) TMT series published by Brepols, more specifically dedicated to methodology.

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translated text. This attitude developed in research more or less in the early 1950s, contemporaneous with the period in which palaeography increasingly assumed an autonomous role within the historical disciplines concerned with the transmission of the text.12 Inspired by the Haskin’s research, but also paying attention to manuscripts, I have chosen to focus on a specific translation experience within the rather broad theme of translations from Greek to Latin in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The Formation of the Pseudo-Dionysian Corpus and Its Transmission in the West in the Middle Ages The name Dionysian corpus, or alternatively the Works of Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagite in a long-established scholarly tradition refers to a philosophicalreligious sylloge of five works consisting of De Coelesti Hierarchia, De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia, De Mistica Theologia, De Divinis Nominibus and ten Epistulae. These texts were probably written in Constantinople between the years 518 and 525, as a pseudo-epigraphic work,13 in a complex historical-doctrinal context permeated by heated theological and philosophical controversies. The work developed in the field of Neoplatonic philosophy when it was revisited from a Christian perspective, centering on a hierarchical order of ecclesiastical and theological thought. It was composed to answer questions inherent in different areas, primarily Christological and ecclesiological, but also as a liturgical 1.1

12

13

Evidence of this sensitivity can be found in the studies of Oskar Paul Kristeller, whose monumental work Catalogus translationum et commentariorum. Medieval and Renaissance Latin Translations and Commentaries (Washington, DC, 1960–), now in its eleventh volume. Available at http://catalogustranslationum.org. Accessed 2021 Nov 30. The identity of the author has been the subject of debate since the Humanistic age. The fact that the author claims to be a disciple of Hierotheus, a follower of St. Paul (Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita, De divinis nominibus III.2, 681A; III 3, 684D) led very early to his identification with Dionysius, judge of the Areopagus, and bishop of Athens. In the fifteenth century (Lorenzo Valla in primis) this attribution was contested, but it was only in the course of the nineteenth century that the inconsistencies between the author’s self-representation and the intentional setting of the works at the time of the apostles, and the references to later philosophical thought contained in the texts, led to the conclusion, still valid today, that the collection was the work of an author close to Neoplatonic thought, who lived between the fifth and sixth centuries. In this regard, see Dionigi Areopagita, Tutte le opere, transl. Piero Scazzoso (Milano, 1981), pp. 7–17; Beate Regina Suchla, Dionysius Areopagita: Leben-Werk-Wirkung (Freiburg, Basel, Wien, 2008) with bibliographical indications. For an extensive and thorough review of the Pseudo-Dionysian work and the context of his production I refer to Ernesto Sergio Mainoldi, Dietro ‘Dionigi l’Areopagita’. La genesi e gli scopi del Corpus Dionysiacum, Institutiones. Saggi, ricerche e sintesi di pensiero tardo-antico, medievale e umanistico 6 (Roma, 2018).

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elaboration that became fundamental for the forging of the Byzantine ecclesial tradition from the sixth century onwards. Although the existence of an early core has been identified,14 the corpus did not grow step-by-step. Instead, it is more probable that it was assembled from treatises constituting individual components of a coherent whole. As a synthesis between different philosophical-religious traditions (Alexandrian, Syriac, Cappadocian), the corpus played a leading role in patristic literature and exerted a strong influence on Byzantine speculative thought (on the works of such authors as Maximus the Confessor, John Damascene, John Italos, or Gregory Palamas).15 The large number of Greek manuscripts preserved from the ninth up until the seventeenth16 century demonstrate the exceptional success of the work, which followed the arrangement that was established in the seventh century through John of Scythopolis’ editorial intervention.17 The success of the work, gauged on the basis of the amount of direct and indirect testimonies, was considerable between Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages. It is therefore highly significant that the corpus was transmitted without loss of its constituent parts and with a rather homogeneous arrangement. This shows an uninterrupted awareness of the intrinsic unity of the works, although there are no explicit internal references linking parts of the corpus.18 Codicological investigations in recent years have clarified that it was customary in medieval manuscript preparation to preserve texts of limited size 14

15

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Mihai Nasta, “Quatre états de la textualité dans l’histoire du Corpus Dionysien”, in Denys l’Aréopagite et sa posterité en Orient et en Occident. Actes du Colloque International de Paris, 21–24 Septembre 1994, ed. Isabel de Andya, Collection des Études Augustiniennes (Paris, 1997), pp. 32–65: 32–41; Mainoldi, “Dietro ‘Dionigi l’Areopagita’”, pp. 476–477. I will limit bibliographical references to Andrew Louth, “The Reception of Dionysius in the Byzantine World: Maximus to Palamas”, Modern Theology 24 (2008), 573–583. Available at https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/j.1468-0025.2008.00487.x. Accessed 2021 Oct 5; Antonio Rigo, “Il Corpus pseudodionisiano degli scritti di Gregorio Palamas (e di Barlaam)”, in Denys l’Aréopagite et sa posterité, pp. 519–34; Id., “Giovanni Italos commentatore della Gerarchia celeste dello pseudo-Dionigi l’ Areopagita”, Nea Rhomi. Rivista di ricerche bizantinistiche 3 (2006), 223–232. In the most recent edition, Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita, Corpus Dionysiacum, 4 vols, eds. G甃ࠀnter Heil, Adolf Martin Ritter, Beate Regina Suchla, Patristische Texte und Studien 33, 36, 62 (Berlin – Boston, 1990–2011) the surviving witnesses on which the recensio codicum of the work is based are 137. Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita, De divinis nominibus, ed. Beate Regina Suchla, Patristische Texte und Studien 33 (Berlin, 1990), pp. 14–35. Paul E. Rorem, John C. Lamoreaux, John of Scythopolis and the Dionysian Corpus: Annotating the Areopagite (Oxford, 1998). In only one case, in De divinis nominibus, 1, 1 [585B] reference is made to a work, the Theological Institutions, which is unknown to date.

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by reiterating the copy in more substantial codicological units. This practice aimed to keep the risk of accidental loss to the minimum, which certainly might have happened if they had been circulated separately. This practice became all the more evident in collections, whether or not established by their author, consisting of texts linked to each other by their similar contents, as in the case of the sylloge19 of Pseudo-Dionysius. The order of texts in the Dionysian collection can be considered original because of its uniform early medieval transmission dating back to the archetype, i.e. to the sixth-century codex upon which the edition of John of Scythopolis is based. The main lines of the formation of Pseudo-Dionysius’ work and its first reception, briefly outlined, highlight a certain ambiguity of the expression ‘Dionysian corpus’. The name is used widely today in the scholarly literature including both the sylloge of treatises and the epistles, as well as a set of paratexts (prologues, glosses, commentaries) that have been attached to the work since the first editorial reorganisation carried out by John of Scythopolis (Editio variorum). In his edition, John dealt with the reception of the texts since the earliest period of their circulation to facilitate their understanding. John of Scythopolis’ edition was followed in the Byzantine world by the explanatory glosses of Maximus the Confessor († 662), playing an important role in the reception of Pseudo-Dionysius’ work in the West. However, in the West, the term ‘corpus’ assumes its entire meaning. There, the sylloge, initially transmitted and translated without the accessus, was enriched by a series of explanatory glosses translated to benefit Latin readers. Throughout the medieval period, the corpus continuously developed with the progressive inclusion of further Latin translations and commentaries. Modern scholars add to the Dionysian Corpus’ original sylloge of treatises and epistles the ninth-century Corpus Anastasianum, which consists of revisions and translations by John Scottus (815–877), including his and Maximus the Confessor’s translated glosses.20 In the thirteenth century, albeit not without some difficulty, the definition of the Dionysian Corpus of Paris or Parisian Corpus is acceptable. It was a study tool that developed, in all likelihood, at the Parisian university. This

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On these questions and the technical use adopted here of the term ‘original sylloge’, see Marilena Maniaci, “Il codice greco ‘non unitario’. Tipologie e terminologia,” in Il codice miscellaneo. Tipologie e funzioni. Atti del convegno internazionale, Cassino, 14–17 maggio 2003, eds. Edoardo Crisci, Oronzo Pecere (Cassino, 2004) (= Segno e Testo 2 [2004]), 75–107, spec. 84–85, English transl. in Trends in Statistical Codicology, ed. Marilena Maniaci, Studies in Manuscript Culture 19 (Berlin, 2021), pp. 337–376. Suchla, Dionysius Areopagita, pp. 75–81.

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Corpus includes in a composite and stratified form the translations and commentary materials gradually produced during the Middle Ages.21 The Pseudo-Dionysian sylloge enjoyed extraordinary success also in the West. It is sufficient to have a look at the references to the Dionysian work in the Divine Comedy and the very structure of the last canticle, Paradise, closely modelled on Dionysian mysticism and hierarchical organisation.22 The influence of the Pseudo-Dionysian work on Western mystical, theological, and philosophical thought is also shown by the many manuscripts consistently documented during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, including translations by Hilduin (832–835)23 and Ambrogio Traversari (1386–1439). There are no up-to-date editions of the Latin translations, nor the textual reception has been studied through a rigorous analysis of the manuscripts24 21 22

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Hyacinthe F. Dondaine, Le Corpus Dionysien de l’Université de Paris au XIIIe siècle, Storia e Letteratura. Raccolta di studi e testi 44 (Roma, 1953), p. 11 n. 1 e chap. III. It is not yet clear which translation Dante may have used. On the relationship between the work of the Areopagite and the Divine Comedy, see Diego Sbacchi, La presenza di Dionisio Areopagita nel Paradiso di Dante, Biblioteca di Lettere italiane. Studi e Testi 66 (Firenze, 2006). Hilduin, arch-chaplain of emperor Louis the Pious (813–840), who was the first translator of the Pseudo-Dionysius. See Gabriel Théry, Études dionysiennes. I. Hilduin traducteur de Denys (Paris, 1932). All Latin translations made in the Western world up to modern times (Hilduin, John Scottus, John Saracen, Robert Grosseteste, Thomas Gallus, Ambrose of Camaldoli, Marsil Ficino, Joachim Périon, Pierre Lanssel, Balthasar Cordier) are collected in Dionysiaca. Recueil donnant l’ensemble des trad. latines des ouvrages attribués au Denys de l’Aréopage et synopse marquant la valeur de citations … remise enfin dans leur context au moyen d’une nomenclature rendue d’un usage très facile, ed. Dom Philippe Chevalier et al. (Bruges, 1937–50). The work, carried out by the Benedictines of Solesmes, presents synoptically fifteen Latin translations, accompanied by the two Greek ones (one made in BNF, gr. 933 and the other by Guillaume Morel in 1562). For John Scottus, John Saracen and the paraphrases of Thomas Gallus, the Solesmes team relied on the 41volume edition of 1556 (Editio Coloniensis) by Dionysius Carthusianus, the Belgian monk and theologian Dionysius van Rijkel (1402–1471), which corrects the previous edition of 1536. Concerning the problematic aspects of the Solesmes edition see Matilde Cupiccia, “Le sorti di un testo tradotto, rivisto e commentato. Il ‘corpus pseudo-dionysiacum’ nella versione latina di Giovanni Scoto (sec. IX–XII),” Filologia mediolatina 16 (2009), 57–78: 57–59. The Greek-Latin concordance work Dionysiaca is based on Thesaurus Pseudo-Dionysii Areopagitae. Textus graecus cum translationibus latinis. Enumeratio lemmatum et formatum, Index formarum et lemmatum a tergo ordinatorum, Index formarum a tergo ordinatorum, Tabulae frequentiarum, Concordantia lemmatum graecorum et formarum graecarum latinarumque, ed. Mihai Nasta et CETEDOC (Turnhout, 1993), which offers the translations (Hilduin, John Scottus, John Saracen, Robert Grosseteste and Ambros eTraversari) in the form of the lemmas accompanied by the Greek lemmas based on the Greek edition of the work Corpus Dionysiacum (see above n. 13). For the census of manuscripts, focused

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clarifying where Pseudo Dionysius’ work was produced and how it circulated. The same would be a desirable objective regarding the Greek manuscripts as well, although the corpus’ recent edition and studies on the Greek textual tradition provide us with a better documented, albeit nonsystematic, overview.25

2

John Saracen and His Translations in the Twelfth Century

The little we know about John Saracen and his translation of the PseudoDionysius Areopagite corpus, dates his activity to the mid-twelfth century. The biography of this translator and details regarding his works are poorly reconstructed and based on surviving fragments of correspondence with certain intellectuals of his time and on the prefaces to his translations and his commentary on the De Coelesti Hierarchia.26 Father Gabriel Théry27 devoted substantial work to this figure and to his translation of the Pseudo-Dionysius corpus. His works were published in the first half of the last century. Even many decades after Gabriel Théry’s studies, basic details about John Saracen remain unknown. We are not sure of his birthplace of his education, as the nickname ‘Saracenus’ is too generic and had no specific ethnic denotation in the Middle Ages. Although Gabriel Théry published his first results one hundred years

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on the translation made in the early Middle Ages see for Hilduin, Théry, Études dionysiennes. I; for John Scottus PL, 122: 1023–1194; Maïeul J. Cappuyns, Jean Scot Érigène. Sa vie, son œuvre, sa pensée (Louvain, Paris, 1933), p. 159, which lists about 100 manuscripts; the Corpus Anastasianum comprises about 50 manuscripts according to Beate Regina Suchla, “Anastasius Bibliothecarius und der Dionysius Areopagita latinus,” Archiv für Mittelaterliche Philosophie und Kultur 6 (2000), 23–31. See above nn. 13 and 14. Prior to Gabriel Théry’s publications (see the following note), these testimonies had been handed down only in old editions of the works of Pseudo-Dionysius and, sparsely, in PL. Cf. Gabriel Théry, “Documents concernant Jean Sarrazin reviseur de la traduction érigénienne du Corpus Dionysiacum,” Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du Moyen Âge 18 (1950–51), 45–87, p. 45. John Saracen’s translations are available in Dionysiaca (see above n. 21). Gabriel Théry, “Existe-t-il un commentaire de Jean Sarrazin sur la Hiérarchie celeste du Pseudo-Denis?,” Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 11 (1922), 72–81; Id., Études dionysiennes, I–II (Paris, 1932–37); Id., “Jean Sarrazin, ‘traducteur’ de Scotus Erigena,” in Studia Mediaevalia R. J. Martin O. P. (Bruges, 1948), pp. 364–381; Id., “Documents concernant Jean Sarrazin.” See also Robert Weiss, “Lo studio del greco all’abbazia di San Dionigi durante il Medioevo,” Rivista di storia della chiesa in Italia 1 (1952), 426–36: 429–430. For a brief biography of John Saracen, based on the studies of Gabriel Théry, see Peter Classen, “Johannes Sarracenus,” in Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart: Handwörterbuch für Theologie und Religonwssenschaft, ed. by Kurt Gallink, 3rd ed. (T甃ࠀbingen, 1957–1965), 3, p. 820; Berschin, Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages, p. 25.

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ago, they still retain their importance, both for their quality and methodology that inspired them and also because similar studies did not follow suit. In my opinion, the considerable lack of interest in John Saracen after Gabriel Théry’s research is due to John’s problematic biography and his position in the ‘chain’ of translations of the Pseudo-Dionysius. There can be no doubt that the better-known figures who preceded and followed him, such as John Scottus and Robert Grosseteste (1175–1253), attracted larger attention from scholars. A richer and more coherent picture can be drawn about Scottus and Grosseteste based on more variegated source material, furthermore, the context in which they worked is also better documented. Despite all these circumstances, the value of Saracen’s translation does not seem to have been fully recognised. As is usual for medieval translations, John Saracen’s activities were not motivated by a personal scientific project, instead, he seems to respond to requests or commissions, which are indicated in his prologue and in some of his letters. On the basis of Saracen’s testimony, we learn that his activity seems to have involved only two recipients: the philosopher John of Salisbury, bishop of Chartres (1110 or 1120–1180)28 and the abbot of the Abbey of Saint-Denis, Eudes III (died in 1169).29 The translation of Divinis Nominibus, De Mystica Theologia and the ten Epistles are dedicated to the latter and accompanied by a plea also addressed to a certain monk William from the abbey of Saint-Denis to correct any errors resulting from the haste with which the version of books IV and IX of De Divinis Nominibus had been produced.30 The prologue does not clarify whether the abbot commissioned the translations, or whether the dedication should be interpreted rather as a document of an all-too familiar-literary topos;31 nor does it seem clear why books IV and IX of De divinis nominibus were translated “quadam festinatione.” 28

29 30 31

At the time of his death John of Salisbury left his library to Chartres Abbey. Among his books were two copies of De Coelesti Hierarchia and De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia, which have not survived. See David Luscombe, “L’aréopagitisme et Chartres,” in Monde medieval et société chartraine. Actes du colloque international organisé par la Ville et la Diocèse de Chartres à l’occasion du 8e centenaire de la Cathédral de Chartres, 8–10 septembre 1994, ed. Jean-Robert Armogathe (Paris, 1997), pp. 113–122: 115. On the philosopher see the recent A Companion to John of Salisbury, eds. Christofer Grellard, Frédérique Lachaud (Leiden, 2015). Donatella Nebbiai Dalla Guarda, La bibliothèque de l’abbaye de Saint-Denis en France du IXe au XVIIIe (Paris, 1985), p. 31. Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, lat. 2376; Léopold-Victor Delisle, “The Western Manuscripts of Trinity College, Cambridge,” Journal des Savants (1900), 726. There is an extensive bibliography on the subject. See Gertrud Simon, “Untersuchungen zur Topik der Widmungsbriefe mittelalterlicher Geschichtsschreiber bis zum Ende des 12. Jahrhunderts,” Archiv für Diplomatik Schriftgeschichte Siegel- und Wappenkunde 4 (1958),

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John Saracen does not appear to be a member of the monastic community, but it is clear that he was familiar with the abbey, and his knowledge of Greek must have been known. The possibility cannot be excluded either that the abbot himself commissioned the translation. It is worth noting that Saracen’s translation work took place only a few years after the great restructuring of the abbey by its most famous abbot, Suger,32 and was therefore allied to the elaboration of the Passiones33 and the two previous translations by Hilduin, arch-chaplain of emperor Louis the Pious (813–840)34 and of John Scottus,35 written to celebrate the Abbey of Saint-Denys and the Dionysian myth in different times. The translations of the De Coelesti Hierarchia and, later, of the De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia seem to have been prepared at the request of John of Salisbury. It has yet to be discovered where and when the English philosopher came into contact with John Saracen. Still, the translation of the De Coelesti Hierarchia was ready before 1166.36 It seems reasonable to assume that John of Salisbury had complained in an earlier letter about John Scottus’ translation of the Pseudo-Areopagite and had asked John Saracen for another one. The philosopher received the letter37 accompanying the book of the De Coelesti Hierarchia. At the end of the letter, Saracen asks Salisbury to compare his text with that of the Irish translator before sending him the text of De

32 33

34 35

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pp. 52–119; Pratiques latines de la dédicace: permanence et mutations, de l’Antiquité à la Renaissance, ed. Jean-Claude Julhe (Paris, 2014). The Royal Abbey of Saint-Denis in the time of Abbot Suger (1122–1151) (New York, 1981). The three Passiones (BHL 2171, 2178, 2175) written between 425 and 834 for the Abbey of Saint-Denis testify the myth of the progressive identification of Saint-Denis, bishop of Paris martyred under the Emperor Hadrian, with Dionysius the Areopagite converted by Saint Paul. At least the second and the third Passiones were composed in parallel with various construction phases of the Abbey of Saint-Denis. See Édouard Jeauneau, “L’abbaye de Saint-Denis introductrice de Denys en Occident,” in Denys l’Aréopagite et sa postérité, pp. 361–378: 363–364; Pietro Podolak, “L’agiografia di Dionigi fra Oriente e Occidente: breve studio del suo sviluppo ed edizione del panerigico di Michele Sincello”, Byzantion 85 (2015), 179–258: 181–184. Hilduin was the promoter of the first medieval Latin transposition of Pseudo-Dionysios Areopagite corpus and he was himself translator of the work. See Gabriel Théry, Études dionysiennes. I. Hilduin traducteur de Denys (Paris, 1932). John Scottus was commissioned by Emperor Charles the Bald (852–855) to produce new translations of the Pseudo-Dionysian corpus. The bibliography on this Carolingian scholar is extensive. See at least the recent Joel I. Bartsad, “Eriugena as Translator and Interpreter of the Greek Fathers,” in Companion to John Scottus Eriugena, ed. Adrien Guiu, Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition 86 (Leiden, 2020), pp. 267–295. Théry, “Documents”, 52–57. PL 199: 143–144; Théry, “Documents”, 51–52; Luscombe, “L’aréopagitisme”, p. 116.

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Ecclesiastica Hierarchia, which he also translated at the request of the English philosopher: “Erit autem vestrae discretionis hanc meam translationem cum translatione Joannis Scoti comparare. Quod si forte commodius illo visus fuero transtulisse, ut librum quoque de ecclesiastica hierarchia transferam poteritis impetrare.” After that, Saracen explains in detail his solutions and the exceptions to the Greek syntactic structure adopted in order to render the Latin version more comprehensible. The only other translation the Saracen could consult was that of John Scottus. It is likely, indeed, that John of Salisbury asked Saracen for a new translation due to the obscurities of the previous one. This explains the fact that at the end of the letter, Saracen requested that his translation be compared with that of Scottus, declaring his willingness to translate the De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia as well.38 The letter is also noteworthy as it provides further insights into John Saracen’s translation experience. Saracen does not refer to the Greek manuscripts used for the translation, and his predominant concern seems to be to make the language more elegant, which is stated from the very beginning of the letter: “Fateor tamen elegantias me dictorum eruditissimi viri, oratione Latina exprimere nequivisse. Nam apud Graecos quedam compositiones inveniuntur, quibus eleganter et propriae res significantur, apud Latinos autem eadem res dubiae aut pluribus dictionibus ineleganter et improprie et quandoque insufficienter designantur.” In other passages, he adds: “Taceo de insigni contructione participorum et infinitorum articuli coniunctorum. Huiusmodi autem elegantiae apud Latinos nequeunt inveniri […] non quod unam dictionem ex his esse vellem, sed ut planior intellectus fieret et quantum elegantiae ex inopia Latinae locutionis tractatus iste perderet, apparet.”39 The evident concern to preserve the elegance of the Greek construction, expressed several times to John of Salisbury, is accompanied by a series of references to Greek constructive modes, whose diversity (and superiority) with respect to the Latin sentence is repeatedly emphasised. Saracen declares his intention to preserve as much as possible the Greek syntactic order and to change it only when he cannot find an exactly corresponding Latin sentence: “[…] ubi vero Graecis dictionibus aequipollentes Latinas non reperi, vel locutionem a Latinorum idiomate discrepare comperi; vel Graecas dictiones detorsi, vel de sensu auctoris quoad potui et ut potui, Latinis dictionibus designavi.”40 38 39 40

Théry, “Documents”, 52: “Erit autem vestrae discretionis hanc meam translationem Joannis Scoti comparare.” PL 199: 143–144. Ibidem.

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The letter clearly illustrates that Saracen, as a translator, faced difficulties that concerned lexical matters as much as syntactic ones. Compared to John Scottus’ translating practice, applying a servile way of translatinng, “de verbo ad verbum,” even hindering the understanding of the text, John Saracen shows the critical attitude that allows him to depart more freely from the structure of the Greek and from lexical fidelity. Preserving the Greek text’s meaning in a precise and comprehensible way seems to be the priority. Saracen mainly replaced John Scottus’ Latinised Greek terms with appropriate Latin terms to ease the text’s comprehension at the expense of the Greek syntactic construction when necessary. The lack of a critical edition of John Saracen’s translation, already emphasised by Gabriel Théry41 makes it exceedingly difficult to fully assess the innovative character of the work. It is hard to say whether the text was the result of a better knowledge of Greek or instead of a different sensitivity to philosophical-religious terminology that was developing in parallel as part of the speculations in the philosophical and theological spheres during the eleventh and twelfth centuries. I believe that Saracen’s translation testifies to subsequent developments from the twelfth century onwards. The existence of John Scottus’ translation and the comparison made with it led Gabriel Théry to hypothesize that Saracen had not made any new translation; it was therefore concluded, that he had limited himself to ‘retranslating’ the previous Latin version, using the Greek manuscripts only to recover the original technical terminology.42 There can be no doubt that Saracen’s version owed much to John Scottus’ translation. First, it testified, above all, to the admirable fulfilment of the Carolingian cultural and political project. Second, as Scottus’ translation was closely linked to the Abbey of Saint-Denis housing the manuscript-relic of the Corpus Areopagiticum, it also had undoubtedly assumed a very strong ideological and symbolic significance. To these already significant aspects, we must also add that over the twelfth century, there was an increased interest in Eriugenian studies. The manuscripts of John Scottus’ works circulated in greater numbers, initially the Periphyseon, and then its ‘update’ in the form of the Clavis Physicae by Honorius Augustodunensis.43 41 42 43

Ibidem, p. 53. Théry, “Jean Sarrazin, ‘traducteur’.”, pp. 368–377; Id., “Documents concernant Jean Sarrazin”, 60. Honorius Augustodunensis, Clavis Physicae, ed. Paolo Lucentini (Rome, 1974), introd.; Edouard Jeauneau, “Le renouveau érigénien du XIIe,” in Eriugena redivivus. Zur Wirkungsgeschichte seines Denlens im Mittelater und im Übergang zur Neuzeit. Vorträge des V. Internationalen Eriugena-Colloquium Werner-Reiers-Stiftung Bad Homburg, 26–30 August 1985, ed. Werner Beierwaltes, (Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse) Jahrgang 1987.1 (Heidelberg, 1987), pp. 26–46: 28–30.

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John Saracen could not disregard it, just as John Scottus could not have ignored Hilduin’s earlier translation. If we can therefore take it as a given, in accordance with certain dynamics known in the field of medieval translations,44 that John Saracen’s translation adapted Scottus’ previous translation, it is appropriate to examine the various changes introduced in the new one, which cannot be separated from the reading of the works in the original language. Even before translating De coelesti hierarchia, John Saracen had already taken a critical position towards Scotus’s translation. He had in fact written a commentary on this work by the pseudo-Dionysius, we do not know at whose behest, to improve the understanding of the Carolingian scholar’s Latin translation, as he himself explains in the Prologue.45 For the philosophers and theologians of the time, Scotus’s translation was no longer linguistically and lexically adequate; an update was needed so that the text of Pseudo-Dionysius could be aptly used in philosophical and theological speculation. The solutions adopted in that commentary were also used in the translation of the work promised to John of Salisbury, but undoubtedly the attention to syntax and theological and philosophical vocabulary were more systematic in the translation. Although Saracen himself, in his letter to John of Salisbury (referred to above), claims to be familiar with the form and structure of Greek syntax and grammar, he does not translate Pseudo-Dionysius’ work in an exhaustive and systematic way. In fact, Saracen merely transliterates several neologisms coined by Pseudo-Dionysius. These neologisms were evidently the most challenging to reconcile with the theological and philosophical thought of his time.46 Other choices made by Saracen lead to the hypothesis that he worked from one or more manuscripts,47 but it is not known on the basis of which ones he might formulated improved choices. In the dedication to Abbot Eudes III, Saracen claimed that he had been seeking manuscripts in Greece, containing

44 45 46 47

In medieval translation practice, earlier translations were often copied or partly reproduced, without this being made explicit. Théry, “Existe-t-il un commentaire.” Several university manuscripts from the 13th and 14th centuries contain this commentary in an anonymous fashion. It is also present in the Parisian Corpus. Théry, “Jean Sarrazin, ‘traducteur’,” p. 373. One example is the different translation of De Divinis Nominibus 7, 11. In Saracen’s version, the substantive “Sun” appears suitably while in Scottus’ rendering, the adjective ‘proper’ clearly misrepresents the intended meaning of the sentence. The term ΕΙΔΟΣ is indeed in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, gr. 437 (fol. 161v), which Saracen evidently did not use or did not consider, based on comparisons to other manuscripts.

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the Theologia Symbolica.48 However, John Saracen did not mention other Pseudo-Dionysian manuscripts he sought, at least in the texts and paratexts we have. Saracen’s activity took place at a time of renewed interest in Greek studies in England and France. John Saracen’s purported journey was one of the several expeditions to Constantinople from the Abbey of Saint-Denis in the quest for Greek manuscripts.49 The Annales of the Abbey of Saint-Denis informs us that Greek manuscripts arrived there in 1167, brought by William Medicus of Gap, without providing any further information regarding their content.50 However, according to the convincing hypotheses of some scholars,51 the translations sent to John of Salisbury were finished before 1167, while the translation of De Divinis Nominibus was completed before 1169 as Abbot Eudes, to whom this translation was dedicated, died this year. This chronological discrepancy and the fact I have already mentioned that Saracen apologised in the prologue for the haste with which he had completed the translation led to the assumption that he probably used the Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, gr. 933 as soon as it arrived at the abbey,52 but this is not supported by any evidence. Additionally, we possess a later copy of this manuscript, originating from the same abbey during the early decades of the thirteenth century. This manuscript is the Oxford, Bodleian Library, Canon. 97,53 used by Robert Grosseteste, and therefore commissioned by him for his translation.54 The question of which Greek manuscripts Saracen may have used remains unanswered. His use of Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, gr. 437, is as unlikely as the BNF gr. 933.55 Gabriel Théry suggested that John Saracen may 48 49 50 51 52 53

54 55

PL 186: 1841. Weiss, “Lo studio del greco,” pp. 429–430. Élie Bérger, “Annales de Saint-Denis généralement connues sous le titre de Chronicon Sancti Dionysii ad cyclos paschales,” Bibliothèque de l’École de chartes 40 (1879), 261–295: 288: “1167. Willermus medicus attulit libros graecos a Constantinopolim”. Théry, “Documents”, p. 50; Dondaine, Le Corpus Dionysien, pp. 28–30. Jean, Irigoin, “Les manuscrits grecs de Denys l’Aréopagite en Occident, les empereurs byzantins et l’abbaye royale de Saint-Denis en France,” in Denys l’Aréopagite et sa posterité, p. 23. For the bibliography and a link to the digitised copy of the manuscript see https:// pinakes.irht.cnrs.fr/recherche-manuscrit.html, diktyon number 47647. Accessed 2021 Nov 25. The fact that Robert Grosseteste had a copy of the manuscript at his disposal suggests of a certain degree of circulation amongst Greek copyists or a wider diffusion of Greek knowledge. Ruth Barbour, “A Manuscript of Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita Copied for Robert Grosseteste”, The Bodleian Library Record 6/2 (1958), 401–416. Théry, “Jean Sarrazin ‘traducteur’,” p. 370; Dondaine, Le Corpus Dionysien, pp. 38–39.

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have used Roman manuscripts having in mind not so much the manuscripts which around the middle of the eighth century Pope Paul (757–767) had sent to the Frankish king Pepin (751–768) or those related to Anastasius the Librarian’s well-known revision of John Scottus’ translation.56 We know that Anastasius sent the revised translation back to emperor Charles the Bald, alongside his highly negative judgement. In addition, he also sent the marginal glosses he had translated of Maximus the Confessor and John of Scythopolis, found in a manuscript in Constantinople. Anastasius probably carried out his revision of John Scottus’ translation on a manuscript or on copies of Pseudo-Dionysius’ work at his disposal; the returned manuscripts, already collated in Scottus’ time and also later on, would initiate the complex tradition of Pseudo-Dionysius’ Latin translation in the West.57 It is clear that this collection, which would therefore have included Scottus’ translations together with the commentaries and interlinear and marginal glosses of the ‘Roman’ tradition, was widely used by Saracen, who profited greatly from Anastasius glosses,58 inserting them into his translation, resulting in improved readability. We cannot rule out the possibility that John Saracen also used Greek manuscripts, perhaps from the East or from Southern Italy, given that his remarks in the prologue or in a letter to John of Salisbury refer to the complexity of Greek grammar.59 The fact that his translation met with some success, although less than that of Scottus, is in any case demonstrated by the position it occupies among the manuscripts of the Parisian Corpus, that is, the set of translations and commentaries of Pseudo-Dionysius’ works that took shape at the University of Paris around the thirteenth century.60 An early core of this collection, had therefore already been shaped in the tenth to eleventh centuries, evidently within the Abbey of Saint-Denis, which over time had become a pole of attraction for the study and preservation of the thought of the Pseudo-Areopagite. Increased interest, giving rise to new

56

57 58 59 60

Concerning this matter, see Dondaine, Le Corpus Dionysien, pp. 38–39; Girolamo Arnaldi, “Anastasius the Librarian, Charles the Bald and the Fortune of Dionysius the Areopagite in the Ninth Century,” in Denys l’Aréopagite et sa postérité, pp. 513–536: 519–520. Arnaldi includes in the ‘R family’ of manuscripts sent by Anastasius also some Greek manuscripts, which are not mentioned in the accompanying letter to Charles the Bald. The manuscripts sent must have been only those containing the revised translation and the scholia translated by Anastasius on the basis of manuscripts available in Rome. Cf. Dondaine, Le Corpus Dionysien, chapt. 4. Ibid., pp. 59–65 n. 79 for the comparison between some passages of Saracen’s translation and Anastasius’ glosses. See above p. 00. Dondaine, Le Corpus Dionysien.

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commentaries and translations after Saracen, stimulated the subsequent stratification of the corpus. It is not surprising that the manuscripts preserving the translated and annotated works of Pseudo-Dionysius during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries exhibit a structurally composite nature. At least thirteen manuscripts dating from this period contain part or all of the collection of versions and commentaries, which became the object of study within the University of Paris and the mendicant orders. These are indeed ‘monuments’ of manuscript heritage which certainly merit in-depth analysis. Here it is sufficient to mention the best-known witness, the Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, lat. 17341, dating from the second half of the thirteenth century. It originated from the Dominican convent of Saint-Jacques and perhaps was copied there.61 The manuscript is materially tripartite, with the parts or codicological units indicating three different ways of accessing the corpus of Pseudo-Dionysius. The note Utilitati legentium (fol. 307ra) attached to the nova translatio indicates the following: the first section contains the oldest version, the vetus, the most authoritative, consisting of the version of John Scottus and his commentaries; the second, nova translatio, Saracen’s version; and finally, the third, the extractio of the philosopher-commentator Thomas Gallus from the first half of the thirteenth century. No words are more effective in clarifying the role of Saracen’s translation in relation to Scottus’ vetus than those contained in the foreword to the nova translatio. Addressing the reader, the cautionary note advises the use of the nova: ut ex ista (scil. nova translatione) illa (scil. vetus translatio) clarius elucescat, cum ista multo minus illa esse difficilis intellectu comprobetur […]. Igitur si fortasse alicubi vetus translatio legenti sive in sententia sive in constructione verborum obscurior occurrerit, protinus ad istam transeat ut, quod ibi durum et asperum videbatur, per hanc levius aque faciliori intelligentia capiatur.62 On the basis of this note and what has emerged in the course of this investigation, it seems to me not altogether far-fetched to hypothesise that John Saracen’s translations constituted more than a syntactic-lexical updating of those of John Scottus. It is quite likely that during his undertakings, Saracen may have employed Greek manuscripts originating from Constantinople or Southern Italy, although the present status artis does not allow to construct a decisive hypothesis as the textual tradition has not yet been edited critically. 61 62

Dondaine, Le Corpus Dionysien, pp. 15–21 and chapt. 3. Dionysiaca, I, p. LXXIV, n. 3; Dondaine, Le Corpus Dionysien, p. 21 n. 12.

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Bibliography Primary Sources Chevalier, Dom Philippe et al., eds. Dionysiaca. Recueil donnant l’ensemble des trad. latines des ouvrages attribués au Denys de l’Aréopage et synopse marquant la valeur de citations … remise enfin dans leur context au moyen d’une nomenclature rendue d’un usage très facile. Bruges, 1937–50. Johannes Saresberiensis. Epistolae. Patrologia Latina 199:1–378. Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita. Corpus Dionysiacum. 4 vols. Eds. G甃ࠀnter Heil, Adolf Martin Ritter, Beate Regina Suchla. Patristische Texte und Studien 33, 36, 62. Berlin – Boston, 1990–2011. Thesaurus Pseudo-Dionysii Areopagitae. Textus graecus cum translationibus Latinis. Enumeratio lemmatum et formatum, Index formarum et lemmatum a tergo ordinatorum, Index formarum a tergo ordinatorum, Tabulae frequentiarum, Concordantia lemmatum graecorum et formarum graecarum latinarumque. Ed. Mihai Nasta et CETEDOC. Turnhout, 1993. Passiones sancti Dionysii. Bibliotheca Hagaiographica Latina 2171, 2178, 2175.

Secondary Literature Arnaldi, Girolamo. “Anastasius the Librarian, Charles the Bald and the Fortune of Dionysius the Areopagite in the Ninth Century.” In Denys l’Aréopagite et sa posterité en Orient et en Occident. Actes du Colloque International de Paris, 21–24 Septembre 1994. Ed. by Isabel de Andya, 513–536. Collection des Études Augustiniennes. Paris, 1997. Barbour, Ruth. “A Manuscript of Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita Copied for Robert Grosseteste.” The Bodleian Library Record 6/2 (1958): 401–416. Bartsad, Joel I. “Eriugena as Translator and Interpreter of the Greek Fathers.” In Companion to John Scottus Eriugena. Ed. Adrien Guiu, 267–295. Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition 86. Leiden, 2020. Benson, Robert, Giles Constable, Carol D. Lanham, eds. Renaissance and Renewal of the Twelfth century. Oxford, 1982. Bérger, Élie. “Annales de Saint-Denis généralement connues sous le titre de Chronicon Sancti Dionysii ad cyclos paschales.” Bibliothèque de l’École de chartes 40 (1879): 261–295. Berschin, Walter. Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter. Von Hieronymus zu Nikolaus von Kues. Bern, 1980, rev. Eng. ed. Washington, DC, 1988. Cappuyns, Maïeul, J. Jean Scot Érigène. Sa vie, son œuvre, sa pensée. Louvain, Paris, 1933. Cavallo, Guglielmo. “Una storia comune della cultura: realtà o illusione?” In Europa medievale e mondo bizantino. Contatti effettivi e possibilità di studi comparati. Eds. Girolamo Arnaldi, Guglielmo Cavallo, 19–32. Istituto storico italiano per il medio evo. Nuovi studi storici 40. Roma, 1997.

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Chiesa, Paolo. “Traduzioni e traduttori dal Greco nel IX secolo: sviluppi di una tecnica.” In Giovanni Scoto nel suo tempo. L’organizzazione del sapere in età carolingia. Atti XXIV Convegno internazionale (Todi, 11–14 Ottobre 1987). Eds. Claudio Leonardi, Enrico Menestò, 171–200. Spoleto, 1989. Classen, Peter. “Johannes Sarracenus.” In Die Religion in Geschichte und Gegenwart: Handwörterbuch für Theologie und Religonwssenschaft. Ed. Kurt Gallink, 3: 820. 3rd ed. T甃ࠀbingen, 1957–1965. Contamine, Giles, ed. Traduction et traducteurs au Moyen Âge. Actes du colloque international du CNRS, Paris 26–28 mai 1986. Paris, 1989. Cupiccia, Matilde. “Le sorti di un testo tradotto, rivisto e commentato. Il ‘corpus pseudo-dionysiacum’ nella versione latina di Giovanni Scoto (sec. IX–XII).” Filologia mediolatina 16 (2009): 57–78. Delisle, Léopold-Victor. “The Western Manuscripts of Trinity College, Cambridge.” Journal des Savants (1900): 722–739. Dondaine, Hyacinthe F. Le Corpus Dionysien de l’Université de Paris au XIIIe siècle. Storia e Letteratura. Raccolta di studi e testi 44. Roma, 1953. Grellard, Christofer, Frédérique Lachaud, eds. A Companion to John of Salisbury. Leiden, 2015. Hamesse, Jacqueline, Marta Fattori, eds. Rencontres de cultures dans la philosophie médiévale. Traductions et traducteurs de l’antiquité tardive au XIVe, Cassino 15–17 giugno 1989. Louvain-la-Neuve – Cassino, 1990. Haskins, Charles Homer. Studies in the History of Medieval Science. Cambridge, Mass., 1924. Haskins, Charles Homer. The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century. Cambridge, Mass., 1928. Irigoin, Jean. “Les manuscrits grecs de Denys l’Aréopagite en Occident, les empereurs byzantins et l’abbaye royale de Saint-Denis en France.” In Denys l’Aréopagite et sa posterité en Orient et en Occident. Actes du Colloque International de Paris, 21–24 Septembre 1994. Ed. Isabel de Andya, 19–29. Collection des Études Augustiniennes. Paris, 1997. Kristeller, Oskar Paul. Catalogus translationum et commentariorum. Medieval and Renaissance Latin Translations and Commentaries. Washington, DC, 1960–. Louth, Andrew. “The Reception of Dionysius in the Byzantine World: Maximus to Palamas.” Modern Theology 24 (2008): 573–583. Luscombe, David. “L’aréopagitisme et Chartres.” In Monde medieval et société chartraine. Actes du colloque international organisé par la Ville et la Diocèse de Chartres à l’occasion du 8e centenaire de la Cathédral de Chartres, 8–10 septembre 1994. Ed. Jean-Robert Armogathe, 113–122. Paris, 1997. Mainoldi, Enrico Sergio. Dietro ‘Dionigi l’Areopagita’. La genesi e gli scopi del Corpus Dionysiacum. Institutiones. Saggi, ricerche e sintesi di pensiero tardo-antico, medievale e umanistico 6. Roma, 2018.

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Mandalà, Giuseppe, Inmaculada Pérez Martín, Inmaculada, eds. Multilingual and Multigraphic Manuscripts of East and West. Piscataway, NJ, 2018. Maniaci, Marilena. “Il codice greco ‘non unitario’. Typology and terminology.” In Il codice miscellaneo. Typologies and functions. Atti del convegno internazionale, Cassino, 14–17 maggio 2003. Eds. Edoardo Crisci, Oronzo Pecere, 75–107. Cassino, 2004 (= Segno e Testo 2 [2004]). English transl. In Trends in Statistical Codicology. Ed. Marilena Maniaci, 337–376. Studies in Manuscript Culture 19. Berlin, 2021. Jeauneau, Edouard. “Le renouveau érigénien du XIIe.” In Eriugena redivivus. Zur Wirkungsgeschichte seines Denlens im Mittelater und im Übergang zur Neuzeit. Vorträge des V. Internationalen Eriugena-Colloquium Werner-Reiers-Stiftung Bad Homburg, 26–30 August 1985. Ed. Werner Beierwaltes, 26–46. Abhandlungen der Heidelberger (Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse) Jahrgang 1987. 1. Heidelberg, 1987. Jeauneau, Édouard. “L’abbaye de Saint-Denis introductrice de Denys en Occident.” In Denys l’Aréopagite et sa posterité en Orient et en Occident. Actes du Colloque International de Paris, 21–24 Septembre 1994. Ed. by Isabel de Andya, 361–378. Collection des Études Augustiniennes. Paris, 1997. Julhe, Jean-Claude, ed. Pratiques latines de la dédicace: permanence et mutations, de l’Antiquité à la Renaissance. Paris, 2014. Nasta, Miha. “Quatre états de la textualité dans l’histoire du Corpus Dionysien.” In Denys l’Aréopagite et sa posterité en Orient et en Occident. Actes du Colloque International de Paris, 21–24 Septembre 1994. Ed. by Isabel de Andya, 32–65. Collection des Études Augustiniennes. Paris, 1997. Nebbiai Dalla Guarda, Donatella. La bibliothèque de l’abbaye de Saint-Denis en France du IXe au XVIIIe. Paris, 1985. Podolak, Pietro. “L’agiografia di Dionigi fra Oriente e Occidente: breve studio del suo sviluppo ed edizione del panerigico di Michele Sincello.” Byzantion 85 (2015): 179–258. Rigo, Antonio, “Il Corpus pseudodionisiano degli scritti di Gregorio Palamas (e di Barlaam).” In Denys l’Aréopagite et sa posterité en Orient et en Occident. Actes du Colloque International de Paris, 21–24 Septembre 1994. Ed. by Isabel de Andya, 519–534. Collection des Études Augustiniennes. Paris, 1997. Rigo, Antonio, “Giovanni Italos commentatore della Gerarchia celeste dello pseudoDionigi l’ Areopagita.” Nea Romi. Rivista di ricerche bizantinistiche 3 (2006): 223–232. Rorem, Paul, R., John C. Lamoreaux. John of Scythopolis and the Dionysian Corpus: Annotating the Areopagite. Oxford, 1998. The Royal Abbey of Saint-Denis in the Time of Abbot Suger (1122–1151). New York, 1981. Sbacchi, Diego. La presenza di Dionisio Areopagita nel Paradiso di Dante. Biblioteca di Lettere italiane. Studi e Testi 66. Firenze, 2006.

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Scazzoso, Piero, ed. Dionigi Areopagita, Tutte le opere. Milano, 1981. Simon, Gertrud. “Untersuchungen zur Topik der Widmungsbriefe mittelalterlicher Geschichtsschreiber bis zum Ende des 12. Jahrhunderts.” Archiv für Diplomatik Schriftgeschichte Siegel- und Wappenkunde 4 (1958): 52–119. Suchla, Beate Regina. “Anastasius Bibliothecarius und der Dionysius Areopagita latinus.” Archiv für Mittelaterliche Philosophie und Kultur 6 (2000): 23–31. Suchla, Beate Regina. Dionysius Areopagita: Leben-Werk-Wirkung. Freiburg, Basel, Wien, 2008. Théry, Gabriel. “Existe-t-il un commentaire de Jean Sarrazin sur la Hiérarchie celeste du Pseudo-Denis?” Revue des sciences philosophiques et théologiques 11 (1922): 72–81. Théry, Gabriel. Études dionysiennes. I–II. Paris, 1932–1937. Théry, Gabriel. “Jean Sarrazin, ‘traducteur’ de Scotus Erigena.” In Studia Mediaevalia in honorem … R. J. Martin O. P., 364–381. Bruges, 1948. Théry, Gabriel “Documents concernant Jean Sarrazin reviseur de la traduction érigénienne du Corpus Dionysiacum.” Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du Moyen Âge 18 (1950–51): 45–87. Weiss, Robert. “Lo studio del greco all’abbazia di San Dionigi durante il Medioevo”. Rivista di storia della chiesa in Italia 1 (1952): 426–436.

Part 2 Translators and Methods

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Chapter 7

Translators, Translations, and Bilinguals in Thirteenth-Century Constantinople How Did Greeks Learn Latin? Elizabeth A. Fisher

1

Introduction: Concepts and Terminology

Bilingualism has been an object of interest in the social sciences and linguistics for generations in the twentieth and now in the twenty first centuries. Technical terms are embedded in the discussion of bilingualism, e.g. diglossia, assertion of identity via language choice, parallelism in translation to illustrate similarities in source and receptor languages, and linguistic change due to social contact among speakers of different languages. Within the presentation and discussion of these phenomena, ‘L1’ is used to designate the language of an individual speaker acquired in his/her initial social group, typically the family; ‘L2’ is used to designate the language of an individual acquired subsequently. ‘Bilingualism’ designates an individual’s or social group’s ability to function in two languages, orally and/or in writing. It is assumed that an individual achieves maximum ability to function in his/her L1 as manifested in reading, speaking, writing, and oral comprehension. Individuals possess fluency in these four competencies according to their natural inclinations, talents, and opportunities in their own social context. I understand issues of varying competency in L2 as parallel to an ability familiar to modern persons, that is, like the ability to sing. Everyone with standard vocal equipment can sing, but with varying success; some individuals can barely hum, while others possess perfect pitch.1

1 For a chronological discussion of the theoretical development and application of ‘bilingualism’ in the ancient and early medieval worlds as an object of study, see John N. Adams, Bilingualism and the Latin Language (Cambridge University Press, 2003). For a collection of studies discussing bilingualism from several different scholarly perspectives, see John N. Adams, Mark Janse, and Simon Swain, Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Word (Oxford University Press, 2002).

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_008

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Historical Context

My focus will center in this paper upon four individuals in Constantinople who learned Latin and used it at a native or near native level of competence during the tumultuous thirteenth century. In the thirteenth century, special historical circumstances served to motivate and foster bilingualism. Readers who desire a thorough and carefully annotated discussion of historical context of this period will find it in The Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire.2 I shall begin with the institutional opportunities in place for potentially bilingual individuals in the Latin Kingdom of Constantinople (1204–1261) and then proceed to examine the period after Michael VIII Palaeologos established the restored Byzantine Empire with the city as its capital. I shall conclude my survey at approximately 1310.3

3

Presence of the Latin Church in Constantinople and the East

A permanent Latin presence in the city existed from the eleventh century, when Italian, French, and German trading cities obtained privileges and brought traders to live in Constantinople.4 Latin rite churches and clergy provided for the spiritual needs of this community and eventually also for the Westerners attached in significant numbers to the twelfth-century imperial court. Lured by the wealth and splendor of the city, crusaders captured it in 1204, established the Latin Kingdom of Constantinople, and provided the

2 The Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire, ed. Jonathan Shepard (Cambridge UK, 2008), pp. 692–827. 3 This article has evolved from my earlier work in published articles and in oral presentations. I have adapted sections of this essay from “Monks, Monasteries, and the Latin Language in Constantinople,” in Change in the Byzantine World in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries. Proceedings, eds. Ayla Odekan, Engin Akyurek, and Nevra Necipolu (Istanbul, 2010), pp. 390–393; from “Homo Byzantinus and Homo Italicus in 13th-century Constantinople,” in Dante and the Greeks, ed. Jan M. Ziolkowski (Washington DC, 2014), pp. 63–81, esp. 68–72; from “Planoudes’ De Trinitate, the Art of Translation, and the Beholder’s Share,” in Orthodox Readings of Augustine, eds. Aristotle Papanikolaou and George E. Demacopoulos (Crestwood NY, 2008), pp. 41–61. 4 See David Jacoby, “The Byzantine Outsider in Trade (c. 900–c. 1350),” in Strangers to Themselves: The Byzantine Outsider (Papers from the Thirty-Second Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Sussex, Brighton, March 1998), ed. Dion C. Smythe (Aldershot Hampshire England, 2000), pp. 129–147, esp. 134–141; repr. in David Jacoby, Latins, Greeks and Muslims: Encounters in the Eastern Mediterranean, 10th–15th Centuries (Farnham  – Burlington, 2009).

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Papacy with an opportunity to introduce a substantial missionary presence intended to bring the Greek Orthodox community into the Roman Church. The evidence for the details of this process is rather haphazard, dependent upon literary survivals such as letters, orations, and historical accounts in Latin and in Greek. As David Jacoby observed regarding the topography of Constantinople in general,5 it is impossible to describe the situation of western churches and monasteries in the city accurately and completely because our information must depend upon fragmentary and sometimes inaccurate notices in documents and hagiographic sources. To compound the problem of the written sources, neither systematic excavations nor full archaeological survey is possible in modern Istanbul. Raymond Janin summarized the state of our knowledge in the late 1960s; we may hope that future archaeological and archival research will expand and supplement his survey.6 In October, 1205, the Latin Emperor Baldwin encouraged Pope Innocent III to establish a Latin secondary school in the city to instruct Greeks in the Latin language and to promote Greek appreciation of western culture. Innocent III directed Parisian “teachers and scholars” (“magistri et scholars”) to reform education in the medieval province of Greece (“ut in Graeciam accedant pro studio reformando”), an initiative that evidently did not result in the timely establishment of a school in Constantinople.7 However, the Pope’s representative in Constantinople, Cardinal Benedict, tasked with pursuing church union, was “a learned man and reared in sacred Scripture. But he was not without his portion of secular knowledge, even extremely adept in arguments over language.”8 Thus the papal legate Benedict was a positive example of Latin learning to the people of Constantinople, Latins and Greeks alike. Western scholars resided in Byzantine territories at the time of the Fourth Crusade, as we know from the Greek Archbishop of Athens, Michael Choniates (a.k.a. Akominates), who complained that Latin humanists were incapable of 5 David Jacoby, “The Venetian Quarter of Constantinople from 1082–1261,” in Novum Millennium. Studies on Byzantine History and Culture Dedicated to Paul Speck, eds. Claudia Sode and Sarolta Takacs (Burlington, 2001), pp. 153–170. See also: Paul Magdalino, “The Maritime Neighborhoods of Constantinople: Commercial and Residential Functions, Sixth to Twelfth Centuries,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 54 (2000), 209–226. 6 Raymond Janin, La géographie ecclestiastique de l’empire byzantin. Premièr partie: Le siege de Constantinople et le patriarchat oecuménique (Paris, 1969), pp. 569–574. 7 See Dimitrios Z. Nikitas, Eine byzantinsche Übersetzung von Boethius’ ‘De hypotheticis syllogismis’ Hypomnemata 69 (Göttingen, 1982), pp. 170–172. 8 Greek text of Nikolaos Mesarites from Nikitas, Übersetzung, p. 172: “καίτοι λόγιος ὢν καὶ τῇ θείᾳ ἐντεθραμμένος γραφῇ· ἀλ뮻᾽ οὐδὲ τῆς ἔξω παιδείας ἄμοιρος ἦν, εἰ μὴ καὶ ταῖς τῆς διαλεκτικῆς ἀποδείξεσιν ἐτοιμότατος.”

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properly understanding Greek literature; see for example, his comment “Sooner will asses understand the harmony of the lyre and dung beetles enjoy perfume than the Latins appreciate the harmony and grace of prose.”9 Choniates speaks in his own distinctive voice, but represents a segment of the Byzantine population bitterly resentful of the Latins. To Choniates, the Latins were “tyrannical haters of dialectic,” “barbaric Italians,” and “Italians of a barbaric mindset.”.10 Pope Innocent III, however, mindful of the opportunity to missionize among the schismatic Greeks, enjoined “learned men” (“literatos viros”) in Constantinople, i.e. the Latin Patriarch and the papal legate, to “consider that which benefits others and pay attention to literature.”11 It suited the agenda of the Papacy very well indeed to expand the population of learned Latins in the city and to establish a base for papal initiatives in the East by dispatching to Constantinople the mendicant orders of Cistercians, Franciscans, and Dominicans early in the thirteenth century. First to arrive were Cistercians, who had participated directly in the Fourth Crusade through the presence of Cistercians in the crusading army.12 In the early days of the Latin Kingdom of Constantinople, the Cistercians obtained at least three monasteries: the Abbey of St. Stephen in or near the city (after 1208), the Monastery of St. Angelus in Pera (after 1213/1214), and the nunnery of St. Mary of Percheio, probably a former Greek house in or near Constantinople (c.1221). Sympathetic to the Latin opponents of Venetian power in Constantinople, the Cistercians were loyal allies and useful agents of the Papacy. The Pope rewarded them in 1214/1215 with the revenues of the prosperous and venerable Greek monastery of Rufinianiai near Chalcedon in territory recently captured by the Latins. The Cistercian presence in Anatolia was brief, however. Unable to establish or to maintain a community there, the Cistercians lost Rufinianiai by 1224/1225, when Latin control of the territory lapsed and the monastery returned to the Greek Church.13 In the last three decades of the Latin Kingdom of Constantinople, 9

10 11 12 13

Michael Akominates, Epistle 146, ed. S.P. Lampros, Μιχαὴλ Ἀκομινάτου τοῦ χωνιάτου τὰ σωζόμενα (Athens, 1879–1880) 2: p. 295, 2–3. Translation from Nigel G. Wilson, Scholars of Byzantium (London, 1996), p. 205: “μᾶλ뮻ον γὰρ ὄνοι λύρας καὶ κάνθαροι μύρου αἰσθήσονται ἢ οὗτοι ἁρμονίας λόγου καὶ χάριτος· Akominates, Epistle 104, ed. Lampros, lines 25–26, “ἰταλικῶν βαρβάρων,” Akominates ed. Lampros, Epistle 22, lines 23–24, “βαρβαροφώνους Ἰταλούς,” Epistle 148, ed. Lampros, line 15. “Sed merita ponderes et literaturam attendas,” text from Nikitas, Übersetzung, p. 173, note 53. For details of Cistercian activities in the Greek East, see Elizabeth A.R. Brown, “The Cistercians in the Latin Empire of Constantinople and Greece, 1204–1276,” Traditio 24 (1958), 63–120. Brown, “Cistercians,” pp. 88–90; Janin, Géographie, pp. 580–582.

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papal policy shifted and the Popes turned to Franciscans and Dominicans to conduct negotiations over ecclesiastical union with the Byzantine Empire of Nicaea.14 Simultaneously, the importance and influence of the Cistercians of Constantinople diminished. Their monasteries in the city disappeared with the fall of the Latin Kingdom in 1261.15 3.1 Franciscans and Dominicans in Constantinople The Franciscans appeared in Constantinople in 1220, shortly after the foundation of the Minorite Order by St. Francis in 1209. They possessed a monastery described as “near the agora” and occupied churches vacated by Greek monks and clergy.16 Proselytizing among the Greeks of Constantinople involved active engagement with them in their own language. Two undated Greek versions of Latin texts useful for the instruction of Greek converts survive from the Palaeologan period and may have originated in the early missionary efforts of the mendicant orders, either Franciscans or Dominicans. The Dominican community apparently produced a Greek translation of the Ordo Romanus antiquus. This intriguing piece of information deserves thorough scholarly investigation and a fresh modern publication; Jean Darrouzès, who has inspected a manuscript containing references to the translation, tentatively dates the translation to the fourteenth century and notes that the text points to Dominican activity.17 3.2 The Franciscan Rule Translated into Greek A Greek translation of the Rule of St. Francis survives in a collection of documents related to negotiations over Church union in the Palaeologan period. The text comprises the first three sections of the Rule spread over four sides of the fifteenth-century manuscript cod. Vat. grec 1122 (fols. 104v–106) without any title announcing its presence.18 These chapters of the Franciscan rule would especially concern a new initiate into the order. The excerpted text was evidently conceived as a work with its own integrity, for it concludes 14 15 16 17 18

For particulars of the activities of Latin orders in the Greek East, see Antoine Dondaine, “Contra graecos: premiers écrits polémiques des Dominicains d’Orient,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 21 (1951), 320–447. Brown, “Cistercians,” pp. 116–118. Janin, Géographie, pp. 576–579. See Jean Darrouzès, “Conference sur la primauté du Pape à Constantinople,” Revue des études byzantines 19 (1961), 76–85, esp. p. 81 and n. 3. I am grateful to Manolis Patedakis for this intriguing reference. Sévérien Salaville, “Fragment inédit de traduction grecque de la Règle de saint François,” Echos d’orient 28 (1929), 167–172, esp. p. 167.

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with doxology not found in the Latin rule:19 “Glory to you, single Trinity, two-fold ⟨and⟩ beyond combination.” The translation is otherwise a generally careful and meticulous reproduction of the Latin rule. The placement of the doxology at the end of chapter three affirms the content of this excerpt and resembles in vocabulary and formulation a section in Planoudes’s translation of Augustine’s De Trinitate. A search of the TLG full corpus reveals no similar text.20 A native Greek speaker evidently translated the Latin original, for the translation is correct and idiomatic in its use of Greek grammar (e.g., the case of a noun object is determined by the first verb in a series) and vocabulary (e.g., φρεμενουρίων = Fratres minores, adopted from contemporary usage) and consistent with the usages of the Greek liturgy (e.g., εἰς τὴν βασιλείαν).21 The Franciscan Church in Constantinople: Frescoes Captioned in Latin The Franciscan community used images as well as words to instruct visitors to their house, whether Greek or Latin, in the Franciscan perspective on the contemporary Church. The earliest images of St. Francis so far identified survive in badly damaged fresco panels dating from ca. 1250 during the Franciscan occupation of the Orthodox church of Christos Akataleptos (the Church of the Mother of God Kyriotissa/Turkish Kalendarhane Camii).22 Labels in Latin accompany a few of the narrative panels portraying events from the life of St. Francis, where a picture gives clear context to a simple text in Latin. I assume that the members of the Franciscan community readily understood the Latin labels and their relationship to the fresco narrative. Further I assume that 3.3

19 20

21 22

Salaville, “Fragment,” p. 172: “Δόξα σοί, Τριὰς ἁπλῆ, ἡ συνθέσεως ἐπέκεινα καὶ διπλόης.” Translations are my own unless otherwise indicated. Planoudes’ text reads: “In this work the equality ⟨of the members⟩ of the Trinity is manifested, and God is not triple but a trinity, and not as if the Father and the Son are something double in addition to the Holy Spirit, where the three are something more than one of these.” The Greek text is available in Manolis Papathomopoulos, Isabella Tsavari, and Gianpaolo Rigotti, eds., Αὐγουστίνου. Περὶ Τριάδος βιβλία πεντεκαίδεκα ἅπερ ἐκ τῆς Λατίνων διαλέκτου εἰς τὴν Ἑλ뮻άδα μετήνεγκε Μάξιμος ὁ Πλανούδης. Βιβλιοθήκη Α. Μανούση 3. (Athens, 1995), Synopsis Book 15, chapter 3 section 5 lines 41–44: “ἐν τῷδε τῷ βιβλίῳ ἡ τῆς Τριάδος ἰσότης ἐφάνη, καὶ οὐ Θεὸς τριπλοῦς ἀλ뮻ὰ Τριάς· καὶ οὐδ’ οἷόν τι διπλοῦν εἶναι τὸν Πατέρα καὶ Υἱὸν πρὸς ἁπλοῦν τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον, ἔνθα μηδὲ τὰ τρία πλέον τί εἰσιν ἢ τούτων ἕν.” Sévérien Salaville, “Fragment inédit de traduction grecque de la Règle de saint François,” Echos d’orient 28 (1929), 167–72, esp. p. 168 n. 2, p. 170 n. 1 and n. 3. After being restored to the extent possible, these frescoes are now displayed in the Istanbul Archaeological Museum. Cecil Lee Striker and Dogan Kuban, Kalenderhane in Istanbul: The Buildings (Mainz, 1997), pp. 128–143 and plates 155–170.

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visitors to the church were accompanied by a bilingual Franciscan guide who could explain the narrative elements in the frescoes as well as pronounce the Latin labels and translate the Latin labels if needed. Such a scenario would promote the learning of Latin for L1 Greek speakers by helping them overcome the barrier of a new alphabet and a strange system of phonemes. The Franciscan guide could also conduct a practice session in Latin if he considered that advisable. The fresco panels are fragmentary but preserve unmistakably Latin letters in a few instances. See, for example (1) St. Francis preaching to the birds with “HIC” (“here”) faintly indicated over the heads of admiring monastic onlookers and “YS” (“-us”) next to St. Franciscus (page 134 with figure 78 and plate 159), (2) an unidentified episode including the damaged caption “SFrAncisi … VIA” in a mixture of uncial and capitalis quadrata characters not unusual in the mid-thirteenth century (page 135 with figure 79 page 138 and plate 156), (3) nearly life-size figures of two Greek church fathers clad in typical Greek vestments that flank the chapel; one is labelled “STC” (“St. Ch⟨rysostom⟩”) (page 138 with figure 84A), and (4) an inscription from a psalm on the chapel arch, “dOMINE DILEXI DOMI … eTUAE” (“O Lord, I love the habitation of thy house and the place where thy glory dwells,” Psalm 25[26]:8) (page 138 with figure 83 and plate 155). The impressive images of two Patristic Fathers display Greek liturgical vestments perfect in detail (see plate 165), and both are slightly different in technique from the main program in the chapel; these elements suggest that a Greek artist may have painted these figures. They bear silent witness to the link between the western monastic tradition of the Franciscans and the Orthodox Church by referring visually to the early heritage they shared. At some point after Constantinople returned to Byzantine control in 1261, the chapel of St. Francis was walled off from the main church and Palaeologan frescoes with Greek labels were installed in the naos.23 As long as the western decoration to the church remained visible, however, the frescoes provided a powerful statement about Latin religious culture for all who visited the building, whether Catholic or Orthodox, and expressed Unionist sentiments in visual terms that Greeks and Latins alike would readily understand. 3.4 The Dominicans in Constantinople Among the mendicant orders established in Constantinople after 1204 the Dominicans arrived last but took a leading role in interacting with the Greek population of the city. First mentioned in Constantinople in 1233, Dominicans occupied a monastery that tradition identifies as a foundation of Hyacinthus, 23

Striker and Kuban, Kalenderhane, pp. 144–49 and plates 71–75.

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legendary follower of Dominic himself.24 The Dominican community probably followed the regular pattern of the order. Authorized by the Chapter General and located in a city, a monastery consisted of no fewer than twelve brothers and included a prior and a doctor of theology; the monks preached to the local population and accepted students and novices into their community. A more modest Dominican ‘mission’ or ‘house’ consisted of fewer than twelve monks.25 Under the Latin Kingdom, the Dominicans, like the Franciscans, proselytized freely among the Greek inhabitants of the city. An anonymous tract of 1252 composed in both Latin and Greek and entitled Contra Graecos originated in the Dominican monastery and provided a template for persuading Greek Christians to accept allegiance to the Pope.26 We need to ask: Were the Franciscans and Dominicans of Constantinople effective missioners? Did their activities have lasting consequences in Byzantium? Clearly, the influence and activities of the Western Church in Constantinople shrank considerably with the recapture of the city by Michael VIII Palaeologos. Janin notes twenty churches and thirteen monasteries that Latin clergy and monks had appropriated from their Greek owners after 1204 but that returned to Greek control after 1261.27 The Latin Patriarch withdrew from Constantinople to the Venetian territory of Negroponte on the eastern coast of Greece, and the Dominican monastery formally relocated there as well.28 Once the Dominicans removed from the city their monks, their abbot and their doctor of theology, they could no longer claim a monastery in Constantinople. They did, however, maintain a presence among the Latin rite churches of the western enclave in Pera/Galata; the Church of St. Dominic and St. Paul, located on the site of the current Arap Camii, dates from the 1260s. It was among six Latin churches in Pera attested before 1300.29 A Dominican house or mission perhaps continued to exist in thirteenth-century Constantinople as well, since Guillaume Bernard de Gaillac stayed in such an establishment when he came to the city in 1299 to re-establish the Dominicans in a monastery at Pera.30 The Franciscan monks, on the other hand, were present in Constantinople after 1261. They maintained a house in the city and one at Pera; King Aitone of Armenia, a convert and member of the Franciscan order, stayed in one of these houses during a visit 24 25 26 27 28 29 30

Janin, Géographie, pp. 577 and 590. Tommaso M. Violante, La provincia domenicana di Grecia (Rome, 1999), pp. 64–68. Dondaine, “Contra graecos,” pp. 321–330. Janin, Géographie, p. 579. Violante, La provincia, p. 84. Janin, Géographie, pp. 587–591. Raymond-Joseph Loenertz, La Société des frères pérégrinants (Rome, 1937) 1, p. 42.

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to the Byzantine court in 1296. Even in reduced circumstances, the Franciscans and Dominicans were evidently successful in their proselytizing activities. The fourteenth-century Dominican chronicler William Adam (Guillelmus Adae) remarks in an undated reference that Andronikos II, who succeeded his father Michael VIII in 1282, expelled the Latin orders from the city because of their successful proselytizing activities among the Greeks.31 Golubovic and Loenertz share the opinion that the Franciscans were present in Constantinople through the thirteenth century.32 A learned Latin community enriched Greek intellectual life in the city by bringing the rhetorical writings of Boethius to Constantinople. These works were among Latin texts eventually translated at Constantinople by the Greek scholars Manuel Holobolos and Maximos Planoudes after the restoration of the city to Byzantine control. These translations will be discussed below in the context of the career of Holobolos and the career of his younger contemporary Planoudes. Nikitas suggests that these two Palaeologan translators may have used Latin manuscripts from France as their exemplars but leaves further speculation open pending the production of more comprehensive manuscript surveys of Boethius’ writings.33 3.5 Western Monks and Foreign Language Instruction During this period the Franciscans and the Dominicans demonstrated their commitment to mastering foreign languages and understanding other cultures in order to preach and proselytize effectively among the populations of the East. These two mendicant orders were crucial to maintaining communication between Western and Eastern Churches. In 1234 Pope Gregory IX dispatched a papal delegation of French and English monks, two Dominican and two Franciscan, to the Patriarch Germanos II, who resided in Nicaea with the Byzantine Emperor in exile, John III Ducas Vatatzes.34 Since no one in the delegation knew Greek at a level adequate to the task of negotiating, two monks from the mendicant houses of Constantinople were designated as translators to accompany the group sent from Rome: “⟨the papal delegation⟩ moreover wrote to our brothers, that is to Brother Benedict of Roman territories and Brother 31 32 33 34

Guillelmus Adae, Recueil des historiens des croisades, vol. 2. Documents arméniens (Paris, 1906), p. 548. Girolamo Golubovic, Biblioteca bio-bibliografica della Terra Santa dell’ Oriente franciscano (Florence, 1905) 1, pp. 332–334; 2, p. 552. Loenertz, Société, p. 47. Nikitas, Übersetzung, pp. 173–174. Dondaine, “Contra graecos,” pp. 339–341.

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James of Rossano, who were then present at Constantinople …”35 Providing such assistance was apparently a regular responsibility of the Franciscan and Dominican houses, since little comment is offered on this point in the formal report by the papal delegation.

4

Bilingualism in the First Half of the Thirteenth Century

Before the Byzantine recapture of Constantinople, Greeks in the territories controlled by the Empire in exile at Nicaea taught and learned Latin, as we see from scattered references in literary texts. A composite but fragmentary picture of a bilingual Latin-Greek community emerges by implication. The career of John Paraston (fl. mid-thirteenth century) merited sufficient notice in later Byzantine sources to provide a basic sketch of a chancery bilingual and the individuals and experiences that influenced and enabled him to become bilingual. His career will be described below. To describe the bilingual community in the first half of the thirteenth century, a scholar must imitate a curious observer at the keyhole of a closed door giving limited access to a large, crowded room beyond. A jumble of voices makes individual conversations difficult to distinguish unless the participants pause near the keyhole while speaking. The relevance of their remarks to others in the room is not always clear. For example, Gregory II of Cyprus c.1241–1290 (patriarch of Constantinople 1283–1289) remarks that he was educated in a Latin school at Nicosia, then studied in Constantinople and joined the palace clergy. His teacher in Constantinople was George Akropolites (1211–1282), who was born at Constantinople and sent to study in Nicaea under his slightly older contemporary Nikephoros Blemmydes (1197–1269). Blemmydes was born in Constantinople but moved with his family after 1204 to Bithynia, where he was educated, ordained, became a monk, and founded a monastery.36 Stepping aside from the keyhole, we can reconstruct approximately three generations of scholars whose lives were affected by the Latin occupation of Constantinople. For them, Constantinople was a multi-lingual environment that presented opportunities for study and for employment in the Church as 35 36

Dondaine, “Contra graecos,” pp. 341–42: “⟨delegatio⟩ scripsit etiam fratribus nostris scilicet fratri Benedicto ministro Romanie, et fratri Iacobo de Rossano, qui tunc aderant Constantinopoli.” For a discussion of these scholars, see Aristeides Papadakis, “Gregory II of Cyprus,” in ODB 2 (New York, 1991), col. 876b. Mark C. Bartusis, “Akropolites, George,” in ODB 1 (New York 1991) col. 49a. R. John Meyendorff, “Blemmydes, Nikephoros”, in ODB 1 (New York, 1991), col. 296a–b.

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well as the possibility of serving as a tutor to those talented in language and aspiring to a public or ecclesiastical career.37 Mutual ignorance of different languages persisted through the thirteenth century. For example, in preparation for the Council of Lyon (1274), the Dominican Humbert Romanus remarked upon the serious consequences of linguistic estrangement: “… there is a difference between languages, which results in few Latins among our ⟨delegates⟩ understanding ⟨the Greeks⟩ or being understood by them. And for this reason our ⟨delegates⟩ cannot converse with them.”38 As the thirteenth century progressed, the Dominicans eventually established an institutional reputation for valuing and promoting the study of eastern languages and culture in order to missionize effectively. Greek was among those languages. Humbert Romanus emphasized this position in his De eruditione praedicatorum (1266), reiterated it in his Opus tripartium, and reasserted it at the Dominicans’ Chapter General in 1312.39 Claudine Delacroix-Besniers summarized the role of Dominicans in the last centuries of Byzantium by noting that the Order of Preachers was the most effective institution for diffusing Greek culture among the Latins and Latin culture among the Greeks.40 There is substantial literary evidence that the Franciscans valued language study during the thirteenth century as well. The English Franciscan Roger Bacon not only composed a Greek grammar for pedagogical purposes c.1270 but also set forth cogent reasons for Latin speakers to learn Greek: first, to gain a correct understanding of the New Testament and of Greek words in the liturgy like kyrie eleison; second, to correct the theological errors of the Greeks and convert them to the true faith by preaching in the Greek language; and third to avoid being cheated in commercial transactions by translators who were seldom, in Roger’s view, reliable.41 37

38 39 40 41

Ruth Macrides, George Akropolites The History: Introduction, Translation and Commentary (Oxford, 2007), p. 8 note 26, pp. 38–39, pp. 50–51, and pp. 89–90. Macrides suggests the attitudes of Latins and Greeks towards one another and Greeks’ reasons for learning Latin professionally. Dondaine, “Contra graecos,” p. 342, note 70. ⟨Humbert stated:⟩ “… est linguarum diversitas, quae facit ut pauci Latini nostrorum intelligant eos, vel intelligantur ab eis. Et ideo non possum nostrates multum conferre cum eis (emending possum: possunt).” Claudine Delacroix-Besniers, Les Dominicains et Chrétienté grecque aux XIVe et XVe siècles (Rome, 1997), pp. 203–205. Delacroix-Besniers, Les Dominicains, p. 205. Golubovich, Biblioteca bio-bibliografica della Terra Santa dell’ Oriente franciscano (Florence, 1905), pp. 404–411. ⟨Roger states:⟩ “interpretes […] rarius inveniuntur fideles” (“translators are very rarely found ⟨to be⟩ reliable”). Roger Bacon’s career and views are discussed by Golubovich in this passage.

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Four Thirteenth-Century Bilinguals at Constantinople

Within this institutional landscape of Latin monastic foundations in thirteenth-century Constantinople, several individuals are known to have possessed virtually native competence in both Latin and Greek, as the facts of their biographies and the statements of contemporary witnesses establish. In this discussion, I shall consider four individuals to be broadly competent bilinguals able to speak, understand, read, and write both Latin and Greek at an educated level of diction: John Parastron/Barastos (fl. mid-thirteenth century, d. 1275), Simon of Constantinople (c.1235–c.1325), Manuel/Maxim(os) Holobolos (1245–c.1310), and Manuel/Maxim(os) Planoudes (c.1255–1305). Sufficient evidence of the lives of these four linguistically gifted individuals survives so that we may suggest how each one initially gained his linguistic skills and developed his career motivation. The cultural identity of each of these four bilinguals reflected not the ideas and practices of his first language (L1) community but from other factors. We shall see that the first language of bilinguals is extremely difficult if not impossible to determine. There were undoubtedly others who were also fully bilingual during this period, but we do not possess sufficient evidence about them to be able to trace the influences upon their linguistic development. George Akropolites has already been mentioned from this shadowy group. 5.1 Onomastic Considerations Families gave children their first names drawn from the repertoire of names favored in the community with which the family identified. Most names of the bilinguals considered here were used both among Latins and Greeks: John, George, Simon, and Maxim(os). The name Manuel, however, was used only among Greeks and is not attested in medieval European sources.42 5.2 John Parastron/ John Baraston The career of the Franciscan John Parastron/Baraston offers a provocative insight into the diplomatic activities of a bilingual monk living in Constantinople.43 Information on his early life is extremely scanty and inconsistent. The Greek version of his surname (“Parastron”) suggests that he came 42 43

See Uckelman, Sara L., Dictionary of Medieval Names from European Sources online 2015–present (https://dmnes.wordpress.com. Accessed 2023 Febr 21). For a full discussion of the career of Parastron/Baraston, see Gualberto Matteucci, La mission Francescana di Constantinopoli vol. 1. La sua antica orgine e primi secoli di storia (1217–1555) (Florence, 1971), pp. 111–136.

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from Parastos, a suburb of Scutari in Bithynia and that his first language (L1) was Greek. Alternatively, the version of his name “Barastron” refers to a Venetian social position (barasto or councilor) and identifies John as an L1 Latin individual from the mixed Venetian-Byzantine community of Constantinople. We may infer that his origin was truly bilingual and that his L1 is impossible to state positively. Whatever the origins of John Parastron, when he became a Franciscan monk and how he came to gain full fluency in both Latin and Greek are obscure. His scholarly reputation, however, was powerful. Even after the death of John Parastron, the historian George Pachymeres (1242–c.1310) emphasized his linguistic competence in Latin and in Greek through an anecdote that records his inclusion in a papal legation consisting of Latin speakers; Pachymeres, a rhetor possessing a native speaker’s facility in Greek, commended Parastron’s abilities in Greek: During the papacy of Gregory X (1271–1276), a delegation from him reached Byzantium. The delegates were all Franciscans, and one of them was John Parastron by name, a Byzantine in origin and sagacious in matters of the Greek language. He himself was indeed zealous for the union of the Churches, as he plainly said that he often prayed to die immediately if only the effects of peace might prevail. This eventually happened. He repeatedly said these things,  ⟨was⟩  earnest  ⟨in his desire for⟩  the truth, and very fervent for peace, so that he often approached both the Patriarch and the Synod,44 earnestly entreating both the Patriarch and the Synod. ⟨Parastron⟩ treated these matters in Byzantium with extraordinary respectful reverence, for he insisted that it was a noble thing for the Italians to humble themselves and to spurn and abominate their useless addition ⟨to the Creed⟩. However, ⟨he said⟩, if the Italians continued to argue on behalf of this addition, ⟨it would be⟩ right for you Greeks who call yourselves  ⟨Byzantine⟩  Romans and are sagacious, to yield a little for the sake of peace in the household of God.45 44

45

The Patriarchal Synod was a permanent standing convocation of bishops, whether residing or visiting in Constantinople. Their administration and judicial functions included dogmatic and liturgical matters as well as canonical discipline. The Patriarch summoned and presided over them. See Aristeides Papadakis, “Endemousa Synodos,” in ODB 1 (New York, 1991), col. 697a–b. George Pachymeres, De Michele Palaeologo, ed. Immanuel Bekker (Bonn, 1835) 1: p. 371. “… δέ, καταστάντος τοῦ Γρηγορίου, πρέσβεις ἐκεῖθεν καταλαμβάνουσι τὸ Βυζάντιον, καὶ οἱ πρέσβεις φρέριοι, ὧν εἷς ἦν Ἰωάννης Παράστρων ὠνομασμένος, πολίτης ἀρχῆθεν καὶ ξυνετὸςτὰ ἐς γλῶσσαν Ἕλ뮻ηνα, ᾧ δὴ καὶ ζῆλος ἦν ὑπὲρ τῆς τῶν ἐκκλησιῶν ἑνώσεως, ὡς ἐκεῖνος λέγων παρίστα, ὥστε καὶ πολ뮻άκις κατεύχεσθαι ἑαυτοῦ αὐτίκα θάνατον, ἢν μόνον προβαίη τὰ τῆς εἰρήνης·ὃ

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Pachymeres presents Parastron as a partisan of church Union who sought a peaceful unification process by urging the Byzantine ecclesiastical hierarchy to adopt a mature and tolerant attitude towards the “useless addition” that the Latins pressed for the creed, i.e. the filioque clause. Parastron was evidently a conciliatory and sympathetic individual who recognized that the subjects of medieval Byzantium considered themselves “Roman.” Parastron implied the legitimacy of Greek scorn for the filioque clause, a version of the Nicaean creed which was unacceptable to Greek theology. Parastron further expressed solidarity with the Greek clergy in the churches of Constantinople by reading the offices alongside them.46 This insight into Parastron’s social behavior illustrates a flexible bilingual personality type that contributes a dimension to our understanding of bilingualism in thirteenth-century Constantinople. 5.3 Simon of Constantinople The career of the Dominican monk Simon of Constantinople is an interesting complement to that of John Parastron.47 Like Parastron, Simon was born into a family living in the mixed community of Latins and Byzantine Greeks during the Latin Kingdom of Constantinople; like Parastron, he lived in the consciousness of his double ethnic heritage. During his long life, he identified himself as a ‘Constantinopolitan’ or inhabitant of the Byzantine imperial city and also as ‘frater’, a title based upon the Venetian form frare. We have no evidence of his family’s name. Philippe de Bindo Incontri (Philippe of Pera), culturally Latin although resident in the Constantinopolitan suburb of Pera, noted the death of Simon of Constantinople ca. 1325 and identified him as a culturally Greek Dominican who upheld the views of the western Church in theological debates with Byzantines: “Brother Simon of Constantinople of the Dominican order,

46 47

δὴ καὶ γίνεται ὕστερον.Ταῦτ’ ἔλεγε καὶ ταῖς ἀληθείαις σπουδαστὴς ἦν τῆς εἰρήνης θερμότατος, ὥστε πολ뮻άκις καὶ παραβάλ뮻ων πατριάρχῃ τε καὶ τῇ συνόδῳ κατελιπάρειτὸν πατριάρχην καὶ τὴν σύνοδον, καὶ τὰ μὲν καθ’ ἡμᾶς ἐκτόπως ἦν ἐκθειάζων. Ἔλεγε καλὸν μὲν ἦν ταπεινωθῆναι τοὺς Ἰταλοὺς καὶ τὴν κενὴν προσθήκην ἀποπτύσαι καὶ ἐκβαλεῖν· εἰ δέ, καὶ ἀπολογουμένους εἵνεκα τῆς προσθήκης, δίκαιον Ῥωμαίους, ὄντας ὑμᾶς καὶ συνετούς, συγκαταβῆναι μικρὸν διὰ τὸ οἰκονομικὸν τῆς εἰρήνης …” This version of the text is from the nineteenth-century Bonn Corpus (i.e. Corpus Scriptorum Historiae Byzantinae). The translation here is my own, including its errors. For a recent edition of the text by Albert Failler with a translation by Vitalien Laurent, see CFHB 24 (Paris, 1984). Deno J. Geanakoplos, “Michael VIII Palaeologus and the Union of Lyons (1274),” Harvard Theological Review 46.2 (1953), 79–89, p. 84. For a full discussion of Simon’s life and writings, see Marie-Helene Congourdeau, “Frère Simon le Constantinopolitain, O.P. (1235?–1325?),” Revue des Études byzantines 45 (1987), 165–174 and 175–181.

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who was more extensively trained in Greek knowledge than in Latin, launched many writings against the Greeks; from his writings and books I first took my inspiration for disputing against the Greeks. He died when I was a novice.”48 Both Parastron and Simon gained sufficient prominence in their respective communities to be used officially to represent respectively papal and Greek imperial concerns. Despite friction between Byzantine Greeks and Catholic Latins, both these pro-Union individuals maintained cordial relations with clergy of the Western and Eastern Orthodox Churches, evidently due to their congenial and accommodating personalities. Congourdeau reconstructs this portion of Simon’s life from a detailed examination of Simon’s letters. Since these letters are largely unpublished, her account of their contents is indispensable. I have used it extensively here.49 Simon of Constantinople visited two Greek Orthodox monasteries in Attic territory during his years as a Dominican monk in exile on Negroponte (Euboea) with his monastery, which was exiled from Constantinople on the orders of Michael VIII Palaeologos. Simon of Constantinople established such productive personal relations with the monks in these proud Euboean centers of Hellenic tradition that they allowed him to use the rare and precious books in their libraries. He consulted a letter of St. Basil the Great to St. Gregory of Nyssa at the monastery of St. Meletios in Attica and also an ancient and unique text of the Greek translation of the Dialogues of Pope Gregory the Great made by Pope Zacharias and held at a monastery on Negroponte (perhaps the monastery of the Holy Virgin of Ortukidion50). This otherwise unknown Greek version of the proceedings of the Second Council of Nicaea contained a formulation of the Procession of the Holy Spirit identical to that of the Latins, as Simon noted.51 Parastron and Simon were the bilingual sons of the Latin Kingdom of Constantinople, and both were fluent in Latin and Greek. Both died in the imperial city after the restoration of the Byzantine government to its traditional capitol. 48

49 50

51

Fr. Philippe de Pera, De processione Spiritus Sancti, cited by Congourdeau, “Frère Simon,” p. 166 n. 3: “Fr. Simon Constantinopolitanus ordinis Praedicatorum, qui satis erat imbutus scientia graeca magis etiam quam latina, quem vidi nonagenarium existentem, qui multa scripta dimisit contra Graecos, ex cujus scriptis et libris initium habui contra Graecos disputandi, qui mortuus est me existente novitio.” Marie-Hélène Congourdeau, “Note sur les Dominicaines de Constantinople du Début du 14e Siècle,” Revue des Études byzantines 45 (1987), 175–181. The Greek text of Simon’s letter refers to the monastery τῶν ορδικίων. Congourdeau (p. 173) suggests that this is a corrupted reference to the Monastery of the Holy Virgin of Ortukidion, noting that “La grande Enyclopédie grecque” cites a “Ortugia” on the island of Chalkis/Euboea. Congourdeau further notes that this monastery is known to Janin but not identified by him. Congourdeau, “Frère Simon,” pp. 173–174.

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The Western Church noted the passing of each monk without rancor directed against the ambivalent ethnicity of Parastron and of Simon. After John Parastron’s death in 1275, the Byzantine Uniate clergy pressured Rome for his canonization, attributing some three hundred miracles to his intervention. There is no evidence, however, that ‘Saint’ John Parastron gained recognition as a saint in the Western Church.52 Philip of Pera noted the passing of Simon of Constantinople at Pera some fifty years after the fact by commending his elderly Dominican pupil master as an effective voice against the schismatic Greeks (see note 40 above). Congourdeau notes that Simon is significant beyond his involvement in thirteenth-century ecclesiastical interactions. Simon’s student Philip of Pera taught Latin to Demetrios Cydones, the future translator of Thomas Aquinas. In Congourdeau’s judgment, Simon was the articulation point between Greek and Latin theology.53 5.4 Manuel/ Maxim(os) Holobolos Among the Byzantine Greeks who corresponded with Simon of Constantinople was Manuel/ Maxim(os) Holobolos (c.1245–c.1310).54 He was born into a family with a Greek surname that gave their child a Greek baptismal name as well and solidified his identification with the Greek ethnic community and provided him with opportunities open to Greeks. Holobolos was born in Nicaea, the Byzantine capital in exile, where western visitors and traders used Latin and where Holobolos could have learned Latin from a member of the imperial chancery. Although a Greek city, the atmosphere of Nicaea was multilingual and multiethnic. The Nicaean Empire’s ruler at the time of Holobolos, Theodore II Laskaris (co-emperor by 1241, emperor 1264–1258) was highly educated and eager to promote philosophical and humanistic studies.55 He also needed to supply his chancery with members able to further the courteous exchange of correspondence with the Papacy and the Latin-speaking powers of the West. It is thus likely that Theodore II Laskaris established an atmosphere in Nicaea that encouraged linguistically talented students to learn Latin to a high level of proficiency. 52 53 54

55

Matteucci, La mission, pp. 111–36. Congourdeau, “Frere Simon,” p. 174. For a full account of Holobolos’s career and activities, see Börje Bydén, “Strangle Them with These Meshes of Syllogisms!: Latin Philosophy in Greek Translations of the Thirteenth Century,” in Interaction and Isolation in Late Byzantine Culture, ed. Jan Olof Rosenqvist, Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, Transactions 13 (Stockholm, 2004), pp. 137–146, esp. pp. 137–139. See Dimiter Angelov, “Philosophy Will Depart from Us: Translation and Politics in the Empire of Nicaea” in this volume, pp. 210–233.

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Holobolos was evidently such a talented student, for he appears in the chancery of Michael VIII’s restored government in Constantinople. Not only a talented linguist, Holobolos was also an outspoken supporter of the legitimate Laskarid dynasty brutally displaced by Michael VIII. Enraged by any opposition to his imperial measures, Michael VIII mutilated Holobolos in 1261 and confined him as a monk to the Constantinopolitan monastery of St. John the Forerunner that had been occupied by a western religious order during the Latin Kingdom. Holobolos’ confinement to this monastery lasted four years, until in 1265 the Patriarch Germanos III persuaded Michael VIII to release the young scholar so he could teach logic and rhetoric in a school under patriarchal control. It is during this period that Holobolos evidently translated for the benefit of his advanced students two Boethian rhetorical works, De differentiis topicis and De hypotheticis syllogismis, as well as a contemporary Latin mnemonic composition useful to those composing any argument containing the three figures of syllogism. Holobolos evidently followed contemporary philosophical developments in the West.56 At some point in his career, Holobolos received a letter from the prolific Dominican Simon of Constantinople who addressed him under the monastic name Maximos as well as under his official Byzantine title, ‘rhetor of the rhetors.’57 Holobolos may have been a Dominican monk like Simon. At what point in his life did Holobolos learn Latin? He may have become proficient in Latin during his youth in the cosmopolitan atmosphere of imperial Nicaea. It is also possible that he found bilingual western monks still associated with the Monastery of the Forerunner who expanded his knowledge of the Latin language and culture and perhaps provided him with Latin books as well, for Holobolos’s Greek translations of two rhetorical works by Boethius, De differentiis topicis and De hypotheticis syllogismis were made before 1266, the date of the earliest second-generation manuscript that contains them.58 Holobolos was the first Byzantine scholar to translate Latin literary texts into Greek since late antiquity. Holobolos’ selection of the particular Latin works he translated is provocative.59 Boethius’ De differentiis topicis was useful to Byzantine scholars as a handy compendium of material already available to 56 57 58 59

See Bydén, “Strangle Them,” pp. 149–152. See also Dimiter Angelov’s article in this volume which singles out Byzantine views about Western syllogistic methods at p. x. Congourdeau, “Fr. Simon,” p. 168. Paul Canart, “A propos du Vaticanus graecus 207. Le recueil scientifique d’un érudit constantinopolitain du XIIIe siècle et l’emploi du papier ‘à zig-zag’ dans la capitale byzantine,” Illinois Classical Studies 7.2 (1982), 271–298 esp. p. 283. For a discussion of Holobolos’ motivations and techniques as a translator, see Elizabeth A. Fisher, “Manuel Holobolos and the Role of Bilinguals in Relations Between the West and

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them in Greek rhetorical works; his decision to translate Boethius’ De hypotheticis syllogismis introduced a new direction in Byzantine logical treatises and a new rhetorical tool to use in doctrinal debates with western scholars. In the Byzantine East, discussions of the hypothetical syllogism derived mostly from the writings of the sixth-century scholar John Philoponos and represented a compilation of both the Stoic and Peripatetic traditions, while in the West Boethius was the chief source for a tradition derived from Peripatetic logic. In his translator’s preface contemporary with his version of Boethius’ rhetorical works, Holobolos addresses his ὁμήλικας (probably his students) and describes the emblematic image of Lady Philosophy created by Boethius in his most famous work, De consolatione philosophiae, which Holobolos did not translate. In translating Boethius’ De hypotheticis syllogismis, Holobolos provided a novel western account of the syllogism to Byzantine scholars60 hostile to Uniate goals. However, the translations of Holobolos were not solely motivated by distaste for western ecclesiastical ambitions and enthusiasm for equipping his students with a bilingual education in rhetoric. He also identified himself as a guardian of the Greek literary heritage. His dual motivations are clear in his translator’s preface to pseudo-Aristotle’s De plantis,61 a work lost in Greek during antiquity but surviving in a Latin translation much vaunted by western scholars and greatly coveted by Holobolos.62 That he obtained a manuscript of the Latin De plantis demonstrates that Holobolos maintained cordial relations with Latin scholars in Constantinople. But for a long time, my longings were unfulfilled and my hope remained only hope […] ⟨until⟩ a certain Latin from someplace or another suddenly appeared to us, a man of considerable literary education and learning; he enters our room, greets us pleasantly, chats in a friendly fashion, then places in our hands the book we longed for! I was delighted at this event, like a gift from God! […] In the name of literature, of literature

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Byzantium,” in Knotenpunkt Byzanz: Wissenformen und kulturelle Wechselbeziehungen, ed. Andreas Speer and Philipp Steinkr甃ࠀger (Berlin, 2012), pp. 210–222. Katerina Ierodiakonou, “The Hypothetical Syllogisms in the Greek and Latin Traditions,” in Cahiers de l’Institut du moyen-âge grec et latin 66 (1996), pp. 106–17 and p. 114, and Bydén, “Strangle Them,” pp. 143–144. For a discussion and full translation of this preface, see Elizabeth A. Fisher, “Manuel Holobolos, Alfred of Sareshal, and the Greek Translator of ps.-Aristotle’s De plantis,” Classica et Mediaevalia 57 (2006), 189–211. Since the manuscript tradition of this preface has not been established, the date of the De plantis translation and its translator’s preface is unclear, Bydén, “Strangle Them,” pp. 143–144.

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itself and of those who love it, I thought a grave injustice was done, and I was cautious in my writing due to my own grudging spirit until I should translate this work into the Greek language and show it numbered among Aristotle’s writings when I had the opportunity to do so by God’s grace.63 Perhaps this compelling vignette is simply Holobolos’s rhetorical invention designed to enhance his persona as a translator. If, however, there is any truth in the circumstances Holobolos describes, we may speculate about the source of this text, which had come from the West only recently after a long search by Holobolos. It is disingenuous to think that Holobolos could not identify his benefactor. His discretion on this point was evidently both appropriate in the current atmosphere in Constantinople and appropriate to the conventions of Byzantine epistolography, which traditionally obscured specific details or ‘deconcretized’ situations64 in order to present letters as exemplary texts. If these details are accurate however, we may speculate about the source of the Latin book Holobolos received from the “Latin of considerable literary education and learning.” Was Holobolos’ benefactor among Latin scholars visiting in Constantinople, among the Latin translators of the imperial chancery, or among the Dominicans or Franciscans of the great city? Holobolos leaves the question unanswered and perhaps unanswerable, while giving us a tantalizing insight into his own view of western scholars. 5.5 Manuel Planoudes Holobolos left the task of translating Boethius’ lengthy Consolatio to Manuel/ Maxim(os) Planoudes (c.1255–c.1305). Like Holobolos, Planoudes was born into a family with a Greek surname that gave him the Greek name Manuel 63

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Manuel Holobolos, ⟨�ΡΟ�Ο�ΟΣ ΤΟΥ ΕΡΜΗΝΕΩΣ ΕΙΣ ΤΟ �ΕΡΙ ΦΥΤΩΝ ΑΡΙΣΤΟΤΕ�ΟΥΣ⟩  Greek text with punctuation and capitalization from Heinrich Joan Drossaart Lulofs and Evert Lubbertus Jacobus Poortman, “Part Five. The (Anonymous) Greek Translation” in Nicolaus Damascenus De Plantis: Five Translations. Aristoteles Semitico-Latinus, eds. Heinrich Joan Drossaart Lulofs and Evert Lubbertus Jacobus Poortman, (Amsterdam, 1989), pp. 562–624, esp. pp. 589–590, p. 589b 10,17–18 and p. 590, 20–23, and 27–31. “[…] ἀλ뮻ὰ μέχρι πολ뮻οῦ, τὰ τῆς ἐπιθυμίας ἀτέλεστα, ἡ ἐλπὶς καὶ μόνον ἐλπίς […] Ἰταλὸς γάρ τις ἔκποθεν ἡμῖν αἰφνιδίως ἀναφανείς, ἱκανῶς ἔχων λογικῆς παιδείας καὶ γνώσεως, πρόσεισιν ἐς ἡμᾶς, ἀσπάζεται χαριέντως, τὰ φιλικὰ προσλαλεῖ, εἶτα τὴν ποθουμένην βίβλον ἡμῖν ἐγχειρίζεται. ηὐφράνθην αὐτὸς ὡς ἐφ᾽ ἑρμαίῳ τῷ χρήματι […] ἀδικεῖν δ᾽ ᾠήθην, μὰ τοὺς λόγους, τοὺς λόγους αὐτοὺς καὶ τοὺς αύτῶν ἐραστάς, καὶ γραφῆναι βασκάνου ψυχῆς ηὐλαβήθην, ἂν μὴ ταύτην ἱκανῶς ἒχων ὑπὸ τῆς ἂνωθεν χάριτος πρὸς τὴν Ἑλ뮻άδα μεθερμηνεύσαιμι γλῶτταν καὶ ταῖς λοιπαῖς Ἀριστοτελικαῖς δέλτοις δείξαιμι συναρίθμιον.” Gustav Karlsson, Idéologie et cérémonial dans l’épistolographie byzantine (Uppsala, 1959), pp. 14–17.

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at his baptism, identifying him as a Greek and providing their son with no professional flexibility to serve as a Latin among Latin speakers. Planoudes was a member of the imperial chancery under Michael VIII. Born in the cosmopolitan seaport and Anatolian road head of Nicomedia, Planoudes was in Constantinople before the age of twenty-five, when he began copying a major anthology of hexameter poetry that he completed by 1283. Two scholia in the manuscript confirm that Planoudes was comfortable in Latin and able to deal with Latin etymology.65 It was during this early period of Planoudes’ life66 in the scholarly circles of Constantinople that he undertook an imperial commission to make his first major translation from Latin to Greek, Augustine’s De Trinitate. In the theological debates between the Eastern and Western Churches, Augustine’s De Trinitate had special merit, for the West regarded the work as basic to Trinitarian theology, but it was little known in the East. As a theological bridge to the East, Augustine’s writings were attractive because the bishop of Hippo was eager to present his theology in accord with Greek patristic texts.67 A translation of De Trinitate into Greek was particularly useful to Michael VIII as he pursued ecclesiastical union with the western Church. Planoudes evidently worked quickly at his task, because the political and ecclesiastical landscape in Byzantium was shifting rapidly. In 1281 the new Pope, Martin IV, a partisan of Charles of Anjou, abrogated the Union of Lyons. In 1282 Michael died, and his successor Andronikos II abandoned his father’s policy of ecclesiastical union. Supporters of Union were disgraced and its opponents, such as Holobolos, returned to Constantinople and to imperial favor.68 Planoudes as translator of Augustine’s De Trinitate would have belonged to the group of those disgraced after 1282. The first complete critical edition of Planoudes’ De Trinitate appeared in 1995,69 with the Greek text accompanied by Augustine’s Latin original on facing pages. Rigotti provided a very substantial introduction describing the 65 66 67 68 69

Alexander Turyn, Dated Greek Manuscripts of the 13th and 14th Centuries in the Libraries of Italy, vol. 1 (Urbana, 1975), pp. 28–39 esp. pp. 32–33. For fundamental insights on the biography and writings of Planoudes, see Carl Wendel, “Planudes, Maximos,” in Paulys Real-Encyclopädie der classischen Altertumswissenschaft 20.2 (Stuttgart, 1950), col. 2253. Lössl, Josef, “Augustine in Byzantium,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 51 (2000), 267–295, esp. 268–275. Constantine N. Constantinides, “Byzantine Scholars and the Union of Lyons (1274),” in The Making of Byzantine History, Studies Dedicated to Donald M. Nicol, eds. Roderick Beaton and Charlotte Roueché (Brookfield VT, 1993), pp. 86–93, esp. p. 92. Eds. Manolis Papathomopoulos, Isabella Tsavari, and Gianpaolo Rigotti, Αὐγουστίνου περὶ Τριάδος βιβλία πεντεκαίδεκα ἅπερ ἐκ τῆς Λατίνων διαλέκτου εἰς τὴν Ἑλ뮻άδα μετήνεγκε Μάξιμος ὁ Πλανούδης (Athens, 1995).

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career of Planoudes, his other translations from Latin, the reception of his De Trinitate translation, its style, and its manuscript tradition. His work is indispensable, and I have drawn heavily from it. Rigotti characterizes the translation as both idiomatic and stylish. To accomplish this, some omissions, expansions, syntactic adjustments, and variations in vocabulary were necessary. Rigotti insists, however, that Planoudes did not deliberately misrepresent Augustine’s text in any way. In later life Planoudes came to regret profoundly his involvement with the Unionist party and with theology in general. It is interesting to note that Planoudes’s translation style and methodology in De Trinitate are consistent with his practices in his other Greek translations of Latin literature – Ovid’s Metamorphoses and Heroides and Boethius’ De consolatione philosophiae to name only the most substantial.70 The same style and methodology characterize the accurate but not completely literal translations of both Holobolos and Planoudes. Gastgeber notes that twelfth-century chancery translations from Greek into Latin attempt to reflect a compound word in the original text with an equivalent compound in the Latin translation.71 A practice customary in chancery translation evidently influenced the style of these pioneering literary translators. Sometime around 1283 Manuel Planoudes became a monk under the name Maximos.72 He maintained a school of grammatical and literary studies at the Monastery of the Chora in Constantinople and may have become a monk there as well. Also to the reign of Andronikos II belong two essays by Planoudes – Περὶ … Λατίνων and Λόγος περὶ πίστεως – that attack the western doctrine of the Procession of the Holy Spirit. In these essays Planoudes directly contradicted the theological position of Augustine’s De Trinitate. Planoudes eventually indicated his disinclination for theological topics in a letter to his friend Alexios Philanthropenos, written sometime in the 1290s, 70

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There is only one other theological translation in Planoudes’ oeuvre, the anonymous seventh-century Irish tract On the Twelve Abuses of the Age, immensely popular in the Middle Ages. There is no evidence for the chronology nor sequence of the translations, although I have followed other scholars in assuming that Planoudes’ two theological translations were part of Michael VIII’s project for ecclesiastical union. (Rigotti, Αὐγουστίνου, pp. xxxiv–xlvi; biographical discussion p. liv and pp. lix–lxxix). For an analysis of Planoudes’s translation practices in the Metamorphoses, see Elizabeth Fisher, “Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Sailing to Byzantium,” Classical and Modern Literature 27.1 (2007), 45–67. Christian Gastgeber, “Die lateinische Übersetzungsabteilung der byzantinischen Kaiserkanzlei unter den Komnenen und Angeloi,” in Byzance et le Monde extérieur, eds. Michel Balard, Elisabeth Malamut, and Jean-Michel Speiser (Paris, 2005), pp. 105–122, esp. p. 121. Rigotti, Αὐγουστίνου, pp. xvii–xx.

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where he rehearses the annoying qualities of an unnamed mutual acquaintance who must always present himself as Planoudes’ intellectual superior: “… and now he is an authority on matters of the natural world and in some fashion also touches upon medical ⟨knowledge⟩, now he is an authority on matters of theology, which of all things I especially fear and never approach except under duress. And now he belabors a discussion of morality …”.73 An anonymous Dominican expressed a highly critical perspective on Planoudes’s translation of De Trinitate at the time of his death. With marked sarcasm the anonymous author complains bitterly. And in order to be able to defend the errors in which (how sad!) they obstinately had persisted, some of them misrepresent texts, as did the ‘venerable’ (ha!) monk named Maximus, who died recently in Constantinople. For he translated from Latin into Greek the book On the Trinity by the great doctor St. Augustine, whom the Fifth Ecumenical Council included among the Doctors of the Church, and yet the aforementioned ‘venerable’ (ha!) monk passed over in silence and suppressed the procession of the Holy Spirit from the Son as transmitted in that work, thus operating as a forger and not as a translator and telling a lie not only to mankind but even to God.74 The charge that Planoudes falsified the contents of De Trinitate in his translation is puzzling. The translation as it survives is accurate.75 Dondaine suggests that the anonymous critic may have known Planoudes’s text only from excerpts, or in a revised version produced for the anti-union emperor Andronikos II. If such a revision existed, why is there no evidence of it in the substantial manuscript tradition of the Greek text? Did third-party reports, 73

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Planoudes, Epistle 113,40–43 (ed. Leone): “καὶ νῦν μὲν φυσικός ἐστι καί που καὶ ἰατρικῆς παραψαύει· νῦν δὲ θεολογικός, ὅπερ ἐγὼ μάλιστα πάντων δέδοικα καὶ οὐκ ἔστιν ὅτε τούτῳ πρόσειμι πλὴν ⟨ὑπ᾽⟩ ἀνάγκης. καὶ νῦν μὲν ἠθικαῖς ἐνδιατρίβει προσλαλιαῖς,” quoted from Fisher, “Planoudes’ De Trinitate,” p. 54. I am grateful to Professor Frank Mantello, Catholic University of America, for advice and assistance with the translation and interpretation of this passage. Latin text from Dondaine, “Contra graecos,” pp. 421–422: “Et ut defendere possint errores in quibus pertinaciter, proch dolor (!) perseverant, quidam eorum scripturas corrumpunt, sicut fecit kalogerus nomine Maximus, qui nuper obiit in Constantinopoli. Nam de latino in grecum transtulit librum De trinitate magni doctoris sancti Augustini quem quinta ycumenica synodus connumerat doctoribus orthodoxis; processionem vero Spiritus Sancti a Filio in eodem libro traditam, dictus kalogerus subticuit et supressit, profecto falsarii et non translatoris functus officio, et non solum hominibus mentitus sed Deo.” See Dondaine, “Contra graecos,” p. 422, n. 76.

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rumor, and gossip in the Latin community promote a prejudicial and inaccurate picture of Planoudes’s translation of the Greek text? This postmortem episode in Planoudes’s scholarly career demonstrates the hostility between Latins and Greeks persisting even among scholars in the early fourteenth century.

6

The Byzantine Imperial Chancery

The scholarly careers of both Planoudes and Holobolos centered upon the Byzantine imperial chancery, a consistent institutional feature of imperial Byzantium that survived in the Empire of Nicaea and in the Palaeologan capital of the restored Empire under the general supervision of the Logothete of the Drome, who was responsible for foreign interactions both in correspondence and in person. Secretaries translated into Greek documents received from foreign entities, drafted responses in the language of the original communication (including Latin), and served as interpreters with foreign embassies sent to Byzantium and with imperial embassies sent abroad.76 After 1261 Michael VIII established a chancery in Constantinople especially focused on the West, also the major concern of his successor and son Andronikos II. Latin notarii served in the translation bureau and prepared correspondence in Latin to western governments.77 Holobolos and Planoudes, competent in both spoken and written Latin, were valuable at the imperial chancery in Constantinople and as members of imperial Byzantine embassies to the West. The prospect of a prestigious and reasonably lucrative appointment to the imperial chancery may have motivated the families of these two apt linguistic students to press their sons to develop excellent skills in literate Greek and in formal as well as in colloquial Latin. In the closing decades of the thirteenth century Andronikos II needed to counter threats to the Byzantine Empire by soliciting aid from western powers. The Emperor despatched to Venice Planoudes and the imperial minister 76

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For the imperial and patriarchal translation bureaus, see Gastgeber, “lateinische Übersetzungsabteilung,” pp. 105–112; Luca Pieralli, “La corrispondenza diplomatica tra Roma e Costantinopoli nei secoli XIII e XIV,” in Byzance et le monde extérieur, eds. Balard et al. (Paris, 2005), pp. 151–163, esp. p. 159; Luca Pieralli,“I rapporti diplomatici tra Roma e Costantinopoli negli anni 1274–1279 attraverso le varianti introdotti nel testo della professione di fede imperial,” in Documenti medievali greci e latini. Studi comparativi, eds. Guiseppe de Gregorio and Otto Kresten (Spoleto, 1998), pp. 381–400, esp. p. 386 and pp. 394–396. Nicolas Oikonomides, “La chancellarie impériale de Byzance du 13e au 15e siècle,” Revue des Études byzantines 43 (1985), 167–195, esp. 172 and 193–194.

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Leon Bardales in 1296/97 when Byzantium became entangled in a war between Venice and Genoa.78 Their conciliatory message to the Venetians was dismissed and the two unfortunate ambassadors were imprisoned for a year. There is no evidence that Planoudes accepted any further assignments to an imperial embassy.

7

Closing Observations

My thinking on Greek translators, translations, and bilinguals in the thirteenth century relies upon modern concepts as used by scholars in linguistics and in behavioral psychology. Bilingual persons can move a written or oral communication from one language into another with a functional understanding of the vocabulary, grammar, and idioms of each language in various types of interaction (e.g., ecclesiastical, diplomatic, and commercial). The degree to which nuances of tone and stylistic level are successfully conveyed defines the skill level of the translator of a written text (a translation a.k.a. version) or of the interpreter of oral communication. The abilities to read, write, speak, and understand a second language are competencies listed in ascending order of difficulty to acquire. Some individuals never move beyond reading, while some attain a level of mastery that is equivalent to a native speaker’s abilities. The latter group represents ‘true bilinguals’ in my mind. Bilingualism is a vigorously debated topic among scholars of linguistics and of behavioral psychology. Scholarship in linguistics is heavily theoretical, while behavioral psychologists base their observations and conclusions upon quantifiable results obtained in a controlled experimental setting that can be replicated by other researchers. For purposes of this study, I have found research by behavioral psychologists fruitful for expanding our understanding of the circumstances that encourage the development of bilingualism in children and the characteristics of mature bilingual adults. Ellen Bialystok has devoted much of her research to bilingualism and has also provided a useful assessment of research projects and outcomes that focus on bilingualism.79 Her work has stimulated me to ask questions of the material on thirteenth-century Byzantine translators that are different from the questions I have asked in the 78 79

See Georgii Pachymeris de Michaele et Andronico Palaeologis libri tredecim, vol. 2 (ed. Immanuel Bekker), Corpus scriptorium historiae Byzantinae (Bonn, 1835), pp. 243–244. Also, Georgius Pachymeres, Συγ뎳ραφικαὶ ἱστορίαι, ed. Failler/Laurent CFHH 24, vol. 3: ix. 21. The summary of her work that I present here is based upon Ellen Bialystok, “The Bilingual Adaptation: How Minds Accommodate Experience,” Psychological Bulletin 143.3 (217), 233–262.

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past. My hope in presenting this essay is that other scholars interested in translators and bilingual individuals will extend the scope of my research. Historical circumstances provided potentially bilingual individuals and their families with institutional encouragement and practical means for bilingualism to develop. Bialystock sketches a picture of a bilingual person through his or her lifespan from infancy through maturity that may be applied to Palaeologan scholars. Potentially bilingual children born into a bilingual environment show the development of higher executive control function in the brain that accelerates over time. Bilingually inclined infants are able to detect a change between language systems in a speaker’s language input and also discriminate word boundaries and what is correct syntax even before they can understand the meaning of what they hear. With greater maturity, they also demonstrate mental flexibility in moving from task to task and language to language in an experimental setting. Physiological effects correspond to this development; the brains of bilingual children manifest greater density of grey matter in the language processing center of the frontal lobe. With continuing practice and exposure to two languages, these effects continue and increase even in those who successfully train for the first time in adulthood to perform tasks of simultaneous oral translation. The fluid intelligence of adults does not increase, but cognitive and neural systems of bilinguals may demonstrate improvement with practice and continuing exposure to two language systems. The bilingual Greeks whose personal and career experiences have been examined in this essay (John Parastron, Simon of Constantinople, Manuel/ Maxim(os) Holobolos, and Manuel/Maxim(os) Planoudes) possessed a capacity for flexibility that enabled them to adapt successfully to a fluid and constantly changing political and social environment in thirteenth-century Constantinople. Their professional opportunities in the imperial chancery may have motivated them to continue practicing and improving their Latin and Greek language skills. The religious controversies that permeated thirteenth-century intellectual life evidently engaged these lively minds, leading them to investigate literary resources within their own circles or to seek respite in literary studies from argument and contention. Both Holobolos and Planoudes translated Latin literary texts out of personal respect for the Greek literary heritage or because of a their admiration for particular Latin literary texts.

Acknowledgments I wish to thank Paraskevi Toma and Peter Bara, the editors of this volume, for their trenchant suggestions and observations about the initial draft of this

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essay. Their thoughtful attention to my work has enabled me to improve this paper greatly.

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Secondary Sources Adams, John N. Bilingualism and the Latin Language. Cambridge, 2003. Adams, John N., Mark Janse, and Simon Swain, eds. Bilingualism in Ancient Society: Language Contact and the Written Word. Oxford, 2002. Adae, Guillelmus. Recueil des historiens des croisades. Vol. 2. Documents arméniens. Paris, 1906. Angelov, Dimiter. “Philosophy Will Depart from Us: Translation and Politics in the Empire of Nicaea” in this volume, 210–233. Bialystok, Ellen. “The Bilingual Adaptation: How Minds Accommodate Experience.” Psychological Bulletin, 143.3 (2017): 233–262. Brown, Elizabeth A.R. “The Cistercians in the Latin Empire of Constantinople and Greece, 1204–1276.” Traditio 24 (1958): 63–120. Bydén, Börje. “Strangle Them with These Meshes of Syllogisms!: Latin Philosophy in Greek Translations of the Thirteenth Century.” In Interaction and Isolation in Late Byzantine Culture. Ed. Jan Olof Rosenqvist, 137–146. Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, Transactions 13. Stockholm, 2004. Canart, Paul. “A propos du Vaticanus graecus 207. Le recueil scientifique d’un érudit constantinopolitain du XIIIe siècle et l’emploi du papier ‘à zig-zag’ dans la capitale byzantine.” Illinois Classical Studies 7.2 (1982): 271–298.

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Congourdeau, Marie-Helene. “Frère Simon le Constantinopolitain, O.P. (1235 ?–1325 ?).” Revue des Études byzantines 45 (1987): 165–174. Congourdeau, Marie-Helene. “Note sur les Dominicaines de Constantinople du Début du 14e Siècle,” Revue des Études byzantines 45 (1987): 175–181. Constantinides, Constantine N. “Byzantine Scholars and the Union of Lyons (1274).” In The Making of Byzantine History, Studies Dedicated to Donald M. Nicol. Eds. Roderick Beaton and Charlotte Roueché, 86–93. Hampshire, 1993. Darrouzès, Jean. “Conference sur la primauté du Pape à Constantinople.” Revue des Études byzantines 19 (1961): 76–85. Delacroix-Besniers, Claudine. Les Dominicains et Chrétienté grecque aux XIVe et XVe siècles. Rome, 1997. Dondaine, Antoine. “Contra graecos: premiers écrits polémiques des Dominicains d’Orient.” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 21 (1951): 320–447. Drossaart Lulofs, H.J. and E.L.J. Poortman, eds. Nicolaus Damascenus De Plantis: Five Translations. Aristoteles Semitico-Latinus. Amsterdam, 1989. Fisher, Elizabeth A. “Manuel Holobolos, Alfred of Sareshal, and the Greek Translator of ps.-Aristotle’s De plantis.” Classica et Mediaevalia 57 (2006): 189–211. Fisher, Elizabeth A. “Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Sailing to Byzantium,” Classical and Modern Literature 27.1 (2007): 45–67. Fisher, Elizabeth A. “Planoudes’ De Trinitate, the Art of Translation, and the Beholder’s Share.” In Orthodox Readings of Augustine. Eds. Aristotle Papanikolaou and George E. Demacopoulos, 41–61. Crestwood NY, 2008. Fisher, Elizabeth A. “Monks, Monasteries, and the Latin Language in Constantinople.” In Change in the Byzantine World in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries. Proceedings. Eds. Ayla Odekan, Engin Akyurek, and Nevra Necipolu, 390–393. Istanbul, 2010. Fisher, Elizabeth A. “Manuel Holobolos and the Role of Bilinguals in Relations Between the West and Byzantium.” In Knotenpunkt Byzanz: Wissenformen und kulturelle Wechselbeziehungen, eds. Andreas Speer and Philipp Steinkr甃ࠀger, 210–222. Berlin, 2012. Fisher, Elizabeth A. “Homo Byzantinus and Homo Italicus in 13th-century Constantinople.” In Dante and the Greeks, ed. Jan M. Ziolkowski, 63–81. Washington, DC, 2014. Gastgeber, Christian. “Die lateinische Übersetzungsabteilung der byzantinischen Kaiserkanzlei unter den Komnenen und Angeloi.” In Byzance et le Monde extérieur. Eds. Michel Balard, Élisabeth Malamut, Jean-Michel Speiser, 105–122. Byzantina Sorbonensia 21. Paris, 2005. Geanakoplos, Deno J. “Michael VIII Palaeologus and the Union of Lyons (1274),” Harvard Theological Review 46.2 (1953): 79–89. Golubovich, Girolamo. Biblioteca bio-bibliografica della Terra Santa dell’ Oriente franciscano. Vol. 2. Florence, 1905.

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Ierodiakonou, Katerina. “The Hypothetical Syllogisms in the Greek and Latin Traditions.” Cahiers de l’Institut du moyen-âge grec et latin 66 (1996): 96–116. Jacoby, David. “The Byzantine Outsider in Trade (c. 900–c. 1350).” In Strangers to Themselves: The Byzantine Outsider (Papers from the Thirty-Second Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Sussex, Brighton, March 1998). Ed. Dion C. Smythe, 129–147. Burlington, 2000. Repr. in David Jacoby. Latins, Greeks and Muslims: Encounters in the Eastern Mediterranean, 10th–15th Centuries. Farnham – Burlington, 2009. No. 1. Jacoby, David. “The Venetian Quarter of Constantinople from 1082–1261.” In Novum Millennium. Studies on Byzantine History and Culture Dedicated to Paul Speck. Eds. Claudia Sode and Sarolta Takacs, 153–170. Burlington, 2001. Janin, Raymond. La géographie ecclestiastique de l’empire byzantin. Premièr partie: Le siege de Constantinople et le patriarchat œcuménique. Paris, 1969. Karlsson, Gustav. Idéologie et cérémonial dans l’épistolographie byzantine. Textes du Xe siècle analysés et commentés. Uppsala, 1959. Kazhdan, Alexander, ed. The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium. New York, 1991. Loenertz, Raymond-Joseph. La Société des frères pérégrinants. Vol. 1. Rome, 1937. Lössl, Josef. “Augustine in Byzantium.” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 51 (2000): 267–295. Macrides, Ruth. George Akropolites The History: Introduction, Translation and Commentary. Oxford, 2007. Magdalino, Paul. “The Maritime Neighborhoods of Constantinople: Commercial and Residential Functions, Sixth to Twelfth Centuries,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 54 (2000): 209–226. Matteucci, Gualberto. La mission Francescana di Constantinopoli. Vol. 1. La sua antica origine e primi secoli di storia (1217–1555). Florence, 1971. Nikitas, Dimitrios Z. Eine byzantinsches Übersetzung von Boethius’ ‘De hypotheticis syllogismis’. Hypomnemata 69. Göttingen, 1982. Oikonomides, Nicolas. “La chancellarie impériale de Byzance du 13e au 15e siècle.” Revue des Études byzantines 43 (1985): 167–195. Pieralli, Luca. “La corrispondenza diplomatica tra Roma e Costantinopoli nei secoli XIII e XIV.” In Byzance et le monde extérieur. Eds. Michel Balard, Élisabeth Malamut, Jean-Michel Spieser, 151–163. Byzantina Sorbonensia 21. Paris, 2005. Pieralli, Luca. “I rapporti diplomatici tra Roma e Costantinopoli negli anni 1274–1279 attraverso le varianti introdotti nel testo della professione di fede imperial.” In Documenti medievali greci e latini. Studi comparative. Eds. Guiseppe de Gregorio, Otto Kresten, 381–400. Spoleto, 1998. Salaville, Sévérien. “Fragment inédit de traduction grecque de la Règle de saint François,” Echos d’ orient 28 (1929): 167–172.

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Shepherd, Jonathan, ed. The Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire c.500–1492. Cambridge – New York, 2008. Striker, Cecil Lee, Dogan Kuban. Kalenderhane in Istanbul: The Buildings. Mainz, 1997. Turyn, Alexander. Dated Greek Manuscripts of the 13th and 14th Centuries in the Libraries of Italy. 2 vols. Urbana, 1975. Uckelman, Sara L., ed. Dictionary of Medieval Names from European Sources online 2015–present (https://dmnes.wordpress.com. Accessed 2023 Febr 21). Violante, Tommaso M. La provincia domenicana di Grecia. Rome, 1999. Wendel, Carl. “Planudes, Maximus.” In Paulys Realencyclopedie de classischen Altertumswissenshaft 20.2, col. 2253. Stuttgart 1950. Wilson, Nigel G. Scholars of Byzantium. Rev. ed. London, 1996.

Chapter 8

A Philosophical Debate at the Nicaean Court (1253) and the Thirteenth-Century Translation Movement Dimiter Angelov

It is well known that William of Moerbeke, the great Aristotelian translator and Dominican friar, was resident in the Greek East at an early formative stage of his trailblazing career. Notes in his Latin translation of Alexander of Aphrodisias’ commentary on Aristotle’s Meteorology show that he worked on this translation while he was in the city of Nicaea on 24 April 1260.1 As Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem has argued, Moerbeke may have gained access there also to a ninth-century Greek manuscript of Aristotle (Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Codex Phil. gr. 100), which he used for his translation of the Metaphysics and the Meteorology.2 And yet, Moerbeke’s journey to Nicaea poses something of a puzzle. Several months later, in December 1260, we find him in Thebes in central Greece, where he translated Aristotle’s On the Parts of the Animals.3 In contrast to Nicaea, Thebes lay under Latin control and belonged to the Frankish duchy of Athens. A house of the Greek province of 1 Alexander of Aphrodisias, Commentaire sur les Météores d’Aristote, Traduction de Guillaume de Moerbeke, ed. Alfons J. Smet (Leuven, 1968), XI: “translata de greco in latinum, apud niceam, urbem grecie, anno Christi 1260” (incipit in three MSS); “anno Domini 1260 in uigilia Marchi euangeliste” (explicit in seven MSS). For a list of Moerbeke’s translations, see Lorenzo Minio-Paluello, “William of Moerbeke,” Dictionary of Scientific Biography, 9 (1974), pp. 434–40; Willy Vanhamel, “Biobibliographie de Guillaume de Moerbeke,” in Guillaume de Moerbeke: Recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286), ed. Jozef Brams and Willy Vanhamel (Leuven, 1989), pp. 301–383, esp. pp. 319–393. 2 Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem, “La traduction de la Métaphysique d’Aristote par Guillaume de Moerbeke et son examplaire grec: Vind. phil. gr. 100,” in Aristoteles, Werk und Wirkung: Paul Moraux gewidmet, ed. J甃ࠀrgen Wiesner, vol. 2 (Berlin, 1987), pp. 434–486, esp. pp. 479–484; eadem, Metaphysica, Lib. I–XIV. Recensio et Translatio Guillelmi de Moerbeka. Praefatio. (Leiden, 1995), pp. 253–254; Meteorologica. Translatio Guillelmi de Morbeka. Praefatio. (Turnhout, 2008), pp. 256–270. For a hypothetical reconstruction of the complex history of the manuscript, see eadem, “La liste des oeuvres d’Hippocrate dans le Vindobonensis phil. gr. 100: un autographe de Guillaume de Moerbeke,” in Guillaume de Moerbeke, ed. Brams and Vanhamel, pp. 166–171. 3 On the colophon which contains this information, see Willy Vanhamel, “Biobibliographie de Guillaume de Moerbeke,” in Guillaume de Moerbeke: Recueil d’études, ed. Brams and Vanhamel, pp. 332–333.

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_009

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the Dominican Order functioned in Thebes by 1253 at the latest, which fits well into Moerbeke’s vocation and early career.4 Why did the Aristotelian translator, then, cross into Asia Minor? It has long been suggested that Moerbeke came to Nicaea as an interpreter employed during an embassy unattested in the sources, which negotiated the release of Latin prisoners captured during the Battle of Pelagonia (autumn 1259).5 Even if this was the case, the question still remains. Why did Nicaea hold such allure for a Latin scholar interested in the Greek text of Aristotle? One answer lies, in my opinion, in the reputation that Nicaea – both the city itself and the Byzantine state in exile conventionally called ‘the empire of Nicaea’ – had acquired by 1260 as a center of learning and a bustling meeting place for Latin and Greek scholars. A valuable and hitherto neglected source on this reputation is a letter by the Nicaean emperor Theodore II Laskaris (b. 1221/2, r. 1254–1258), which gives an account – an inevitably literary account given the traditions of Byzantine epistolography – of his encounter in 1253 with a visiting Latin ambassador, the marquis Berthold of Hohenburg, and the scholars in his entourage.6 The letter addresses the metropolitan bishop of Sardis Andronikos, a high Byzantine churchman who himself was on an embassy to the papacy at the time. Here we offer the first translation and analysis of this fascinating text which was written seven years before Moerbeke came to Nicaea.7 The letter describes a disputation on ancient philosophy which is presented as a contest between ‘the Hellenes’ and the visitors educated in ‘Italian’ learning. The text sheds light on the preoccupation of Latin scholars with the search for authentic texts of Greek philosophy, the reaction of a key Nicaean eyewitness and emperor, and the combination of ambassadorial and scholarly activity which marked key moments of intellectual contact. Before we move to an analysis of the letter, it is necessary to begin with some background on the revival of education and book culture in the state of Nicaea, as well as the

4 Tommaso M. Violante, La provincia domenicana di Grecia (Rome, 1999), p. 85, n. 188. 5 See most recently Pieter Beullens, The Friar and the Philosopher: William of Moerbeke and the Rise of Aristotle’s Science in Medieval Europe (London, 2019), pp. 113–114. On the Battle of Pelagonia, see Deno John Geanakoplos, ‘Greco-Latin Relations on the Eve of the Byzantine Restoration: The Battle of Pelagonia–1259’, Dumbarton Oaks Papers 7 (1953), 99–141. 6 Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae (= Theodori Ducae Lascaris Epistulae Epistulae CCXVII), Ep. 125, ed. Nicola Festa (Florence, 1898), pp. 174–176. 7 The discussion expands on my observations in Dimiter Angelov, The Byzantine Hellene: The Life of Emperor Theodore Laskaris and Byzantium in the Thirteenth Century (Cambridge, 2019), pp. 139–146. Attention to the letter has been drawn by Franz Tinnefeld, “Das Niveau der abendl愃ࠀndischen Wissenschaft aus der Sicht gebildeter Byzantiner im 13. und 14. Jh.,” Byzantinische Forschungen 6 (1979), 241–280, esp. 254–260.

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historical figure of the author-emperor and the context of the two simultaneous embassies crossing the Mediterranean in opposite directions.

1

The Nicaean Context

The fall of Constantinople to the armies of the Fourth Crusade in 1204 caused an abrupt break in the flourishing twelfth-century system of higher education in Constantinople. Teachers were dispersed and so were manuscripts, some of which inevitably remained in the Latin-held imperial capital. The rebuilding of education in the state of Nicaea was slow and gradual.8 The process is well illustrated by the autobiography of Nikephoros Blemmydes, who was a versatile philosopher and the leading teacher in the empire in exile. After receiving secondary schooling in rhetoric and poetry in Prousa and Nicaea shortly after 1204 as well as professional training in medicine in Smyrna, Blemmydes felt compelled to cross into Latin-held territory in the Troad in c.1222–1224 in order to pursue philosophical studies with a certain Prodromos, a disciple of the twelfth-century Constantinopolitan teacher Constantine Kaloethos.9 In the later 1230s, and also later, Blemmydes offered instruction on imperial commission in monasteries near Ephesos, where he produced an important educational textbook on logic (his Epitome logica) and natural philosophy (his Epitome physica).10 Imperial patronage was key to the educational revival. The emperor John III Vatatzes (1221–1254), under whose rule the state of Nicaea expanded in the 1240s into Thrace and Macedonia, staunchly supported Blemmydes in his teaching and in his Balkan book hunt, which took him to Mount Athos, Thessaloniki, Ohrid, and Larissa.11 The same emperor funded the collection 8 9 10

11

Costas Constantinides, Higher Education in Byzantium in the Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Centuries, 1204–ca.1310 (Nicosia, 1982), pp. 5–27. Nikephoros Blemmydes, Autobiographia, I, 3–6, II, 7, ed. Joseph Munitiz (Turnhout, 1984), pp. 4–5, 49–50; translated by Joseph Munitiz, Nikephoros Blemmydes: A Partial Account (Leuven, 1988), pp. 44–46 and pp. 97–98. On his teaching activities, see Nikephoros Blemmydes, Autobiographia, I, 49, ed. Munitiz, pp. 26–27; translated by Munitiz, Nikephoros Blemmydes: A Partial Account, pp. 71–72; George Akropolites, History (= Chronike syngraphe), §32, in Opera, I, ed. August Heisenberg and Peter Wirth (Stuttgart, 1978), pp. 49–50; translated and analyzed by Ruth Macrides, George Akropolites: The History (Oxford, 2007), pp. 192–194. For the text of the Epitome logica and the Epitome physica, see Jacques Paul Migne, Patrologia graeca, vol. 142 (Paris, 1865), cols. 675–1004 and 1005–1320. Nikephoros Blemmydes, Autobiographia, I, 63–64, ed. Munitiz, pp. 32–33; translated by Munitiz, Nikephoros Blemmydes: A Partial Account, pp. 79–80.

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of manuscripts and the creation of urban educational libraries. Our sole source is a world chronicle entitled Synopsis chronike written by a close eyewitness from the late Nicaean period. The author has traditionally been identified with Theodore Skoutariotes, a book collector himself, and makes John III’s son Theodore II Laskaris (coemperor since at least 1241) both a continuator and a chief promoter of this enlightened policy.12 As the surviving manuscript evidence shows, codices copied in earlier centuries with religious as well as secular content were brought into the state of Nicaea.13 The production of manuscripts, a sign of the educational revival, reached an impressive scale by the 1250s, although this scale was understandably more modest than in the twelfth century.14 Theodore II Laskaris built on his father’s military and educational achievements. In addition to book collection, he founded a new school in Nicaea for rhetoric, grammar and poetry which he attached to the renovated church of St. Tryphon.15 A student and spiritual son of Blemmydes, Theodore was himself an accomplished philosopher. A creative spirit permeates his literary and philosophical works filled with mentions of and quotations from ancient authors. Indeed, his adoration for the ancient Greek classics was a key part of his self-representation as a Hellene.16 A curious and noteworthy aspect of his letter to Andronikos of Sardis is the combination of expressions of Hellenic and Roman communal identity: the letter speaks self-referentially of “the great glory for the Hellenes” (lines 29–30), “the victory for the Hellenes” (lines 39–40), and the glory “of the Ausonians” (line 36).17 Notes in surviving manuscripts show that Theodore was an avid bibliophile and reader. One 12

13 14 15 16 17

Synopsis chronike, ed. Konstantinos Sathas, Μεσαιωνικὴ Βιβλιοθήκη, vol. 7 (Venice, 1894), p. 507.19–20; pp. 535.26–536.6. On the authorship, see Konstantinos Zafeiris, “The Issue of the Authorship of the Synopsis Chronike and Theodore Skoutariotes,” Revue des études byzantines 69 (2011), 253–263. On Skoutariotes as a book-owner, see Constantinides, Higher Education, pp. 138–139. Christian Förstel, “Entre propagande et réalité: la culture dans l’empire de Nicée,” in 1204, la Quatrième Croisade: de Blois à Constantinople & éclats d’empires, ed. Inès Villela-Petit (= Revue française d’héraldique et de sigillographie 73–75) (Paris, 2005), pp. 129–134. Panagiotis Agapitos, “Literature and Education in Nicaea and Their Legacy: An Interpretive Synthesis,” Medioevo Greco 21 (2021), pp. 1–37, esp. p. 6–11. Synopsis chronike, ed. Sathas, p. 512.3–11. Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae, 217, ed. Festa, pp. 271–276. See further Anthony Kaldellis, Hellenism in Byzantium: The Transformations of Greek Identity and the Reception of the Classical Tradition (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 368–379; Angelov, Byzantine Hellene, pp. 202–216. On the Ausonians, see below n. 67. For Theodore’s interchangeable invocation of Hellenic and Roman self-identity, see Angelov, Byzantine Hellene, p. 204.

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such note is found in a deluxe manuscript of Aristotle’s Physics and On Heaven, with gilded decoration and letters, which may date from the early years of the existence of the empire of Nicaea (Ambrosianus M 46 sup.).18 Another one appears in a tenth-century manuscript containing the Dialectica and the Exposition of Orthodox Faith of John of Damascus (Oxford, Bodleian Library, Cromwell 13).19

2

The Letter of Theodore II Laskaris and the Embassy of Berthold of Hohenburg

Theodore II Laskaris’ letter to Andronikos of Sardis describes the reception of a Latin embassy, whose goal was not ecclesiastical (namely, related to the healing of the schism) but the recall of political refugees in Byzantine Asia Minor from the aristocratic Lancia family. Negotiations with the papacy had taken place with fits and starts during John III Vatatzes’ reign. The focus lay both on finding solutions to long-standing doctrinal differences as well as on political questions, such as the restoration of patriarchal rights over Constantinople, which was discussed during the reception of a papal embassy in Nicaea and Nymphaion in 1234.20 Another papal embassy took place in 1249–1250. Its leader was John of Parma, the highly educated Minister General of the Franciscan Order who had taught theology in Bologna, Naples, and Paris.21 The council convened in Nymphaion in early 1250 included disputations on the Procession of the Holy Spirit, in which Blemmydes represented the Nicaean side. According to his autobiography, he excelled in the skillful use of logic which allowed him to

18

19 20

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Giancarlo Prato, “Un autografo di Teodoro II Lascaris imperatore di Nicea?,” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 30 (1981), 249–58; Marwan Rashed, “Sur les deux témoins des oeuvres profanes de Théodore II Lascaris et leur commanditaire (Parisinus Suppl. Gr. 472; Parisinus Suppl. Gr. 460),” Scriptorium 54 (2000), 301. Irmgard Hutter, Corpus der byzantinischen Miniaturenhandschriften, vol. 3,1: Bodleian Library, III, Textband (Stuttgart, 1982), pp. 15–16. On the disputations in Nicaea and Nymphaion in 1234, see the analysis by John Langdon, “Byzantium in Anatolian Exile: Imperial Vicegerency Reaffirmed during Byzantino–Papal Discussions at Nicaea and Nymphaeum, 1234,” Byzantinische Forschungen 20 (1994), pp. 197–233; Nikolaos Chrissis, Crusading in Frankish Greece: A Study of Byzantine–Western Relations and Attitudes, 1204–1282 (Turnhout, 2012), pp. 93–99. Antonino Franchi, La svolta politico-ecclesiastica tra Roma e Bisanzio (1249–1254). La legazione di Giovanni da Parma. Il ruolo di Federico II (Rome, 1981).

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refute the Latin opponents.22 The co-emperor Theodore II Laskaris attended the council together with his father John III Vatatzes.23 Two Nicaean embassies were dispatched to the papacy to elaborate on the doctrinal discussions and to make political requests, foremost among which was the recognition of the rights of the emperor John III Vatatzes over Constantinople in case he recognized primacy of the See of Saint Peter. Andronikos, metropolitan bishop of Sardis, and George, metropolitan bishop of Kyzikos, were the leaders of the two embassies, which comprised some lay officials and many bishops and other ecclesiastics. The first departed in 1250 shortly after the Council of Nymphaion, but was detained in Apulia by the Western emperor Frederick II Hohenstaufen and, after his death on 13 December 1250, by his son Manfred who controlled the area, for his half-brother Conrad IV, the successor to the kingdom of Sicily, was still residing north of the Alps. After a delay of one year and a half, the Nicaean embassy finally proceeded to Perugia to meet with Pope Innocent IV and returned in 1252.24 The second embassy, led once again by Andronikos of Sardis and George of Kyzikos, departed in 1253, but was again detailed in Apulia, this time by King Conrad IV, until the autumn. It then proceeded to hold discussions with Pope Innocent IV, following him in Rome, Anagni and Assisi, and returning to Nicaea during the following year (1254).25 It was during the second Nicaean embassy to the papacy (1253–1254), in the autumn of 1253, that Theodore II Laskaris addressed his letter to Andronikos of Sardis. The letter explicitly refers to Andronikos being in Italy and alludes to the autumnal season (line 1). Notably, an undated letter of King Conrad IV to Pope Innocent IV mentions that the embassies led by Andronikos of Sardis and Berthold of Hohenburg crossed paths in opposite directions. Conrad informs the pope that he has detained the ambassadors of the “king of the Greeks Caloiohannes” (that is, John III Vatatzes) who had entered his territory, 22

23 24 25

Nikephoros Blemmydes, Autobiographia, I, 72; II, 50–60, ed. Munitiz, p. 36, pp. 67–73. See Katerina Ierodiakonou, “A Logical Joust in Nikephoros Blemmydes’ Autobiography,” in Logic and Language in the Middle Ages: A Volume in Honour of Sten Ebbesen, ed. Jacob Leth Fink, Heine Hansen, Anna María Mora-Márquez (Leiden, 2012), pp. 125–137. Theodore speaks as an eyewitness of the discussion. See In Praise of the Emperor John III Vatatzes, in Theodore Laskaris, Opuscula (= Theodori Ducae Lascaris opuscula), ed. Luigi Tartaglia (Munich, 2000), pp. 36.293–38.320, pp. 38.341–40.371. Antonino Franchi, La svolta politico-ecclesiastica, pp. 134–215. For the two embassies, with some differences in interpretation, see also Joseph Gill, Byzantium and the Papacy, 1198–1400 (New Brunswick, NJ, 1979), pp. 89–96. Antonino Franchi, La svolta politico-ecclesiastica, pp. 231–249.

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evidently in Apulia, and that he wished to wait until the return of Berthold of Hohenburg before releasing them.26 The Latin ambassador, Berthold of Hohenburg, was a seasoned agent of the Hohenstaufen rulers in Italy. Berthold’s father Dietpold of Vohburg (d. 1225), Marquis of Hohenburg by virtue of marriage, had participated in the Fifth Crusade (1217–1221) and had been a trusted supporter of the emperor Frederick II. Raised as a page in the emperor’s court, Berthold was the General Vicar of Pavia from 1244 onward and held fiefs in Sicily. On Frederick’s death in 1250, he was left as a plenipotentiary in the kingdom of Sicily and a guardian of his son Manfred, Prince of Taranto, born from Bianca Lancia who belonged to a noble Piedmontese family.27 A right-hand-man of Frederick II, Berthold faced the difficult task of repairing the broken relations with the papacy and reconciling the deceased emperor’s two sons. The elder son Conrad IV, born in 1228 from Frederick’s brief marriage to Queen Isabelle of Jerusalem, was the designated heir to the kingdom of Sicily and a titular king of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem. In 1252, almost two years after Frederick’s death, Conrad IV finally sailed to Siponto in Apulia to take control of his royal inheritance.28 The conflict between the brothers deepened when on 1 January 1253 the powerful relative of Manfred, the marquis of Busca Manfred II Lancia, was elected podestà of Milan, the chief city of the anti-Hohenstaufen Lombard league.29 In the winter of 1253 Conrad ordered the expulsion of the members of Lancia family from his realm, except for Isolda Lancia, the wife of Berthold of 26

27

28

29

Josef Riedmann, Die Innsbrucker Briefsammlung: eine neue Quelle zur Geschichte Kaiser Friedrichs II. und König Konrads IV. Monumenta Germaniae historica. Briefe des sp愃ࠀteren Mittelalters 3 (Wiesbaden, 2017), no. 50 (pp. 137–138). The document is transmitted without a date in the Innsbruck codex. It is certain that it pertains to the second Nicaean embassy to the papacy (1253–1254) and dates to the time of its detainment and Berthold’s diplomatic mission to Nicaea. A detailed account of Berthold’s life can be found in Michael Döberl, “Berthold von Vohburg-Hohenburg, der letzte Vork愃ࠀmpfer der deutschen Herrschaft im Königreiche Sicilien. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der letzten Staufer,” Deutsche Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 12 (1894–95), 201–78. See also Ingeborg Walter, “Bertoldo di Hohenburg,” Dizionario biografico degli italiani 9 (1967), pp. 582–586; Norbert Kamp, “Die deutsche Pr愃ࠀsenz im Königreich Sizilien (1194–1266),” in Die Staufer im Süden: Sizilien und das Reich, ed. Theo Kölzer (Sigmaringen, 1996), pp. 141–185, esp. pp. 177–179. For a discussion of Conrad IV’s policies in Italy and Sicily between 1250 and his death in 1254, see Josef Riedmann, “Konrad IV. als König des Regnum Sicilae,” in Konrad IV (1228–1254): Deutschlands letzter Stauferkönig, ed. Martin Kaufhold. Gesellschaft f甃ࠀr Staufische Geschichte (Göppingen, 2012), pp. 86–110. See also August Karst, Geschichte Manfreds vom Tode Friedrichs II. bis zu seiner Krönung (1250–1258) (Berlin, 1897), pp. 1–22. Johann Friedrich Böhmer, Julius Ficker and Eduard Winkelmann, Regesta Imperii, V. Die Regesten des Kaiserreichs unter Philipp, Otto IV., Friedrich II., Heinrich (VII.), Conrad IV.,

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Hohenburg, who found himself in a particularly delicate position.30 According to the chronicle attributed to Nicholas of Jamsilla, the Lancias sought asylum with “the empress of Romania” Constanza-Anna, John III Vatatzes’ wife and Manfred’s sister. When Conrad learned about their flight, he dispatched Berthold of Hohenburg to ‘Romania’ to recall them.31 An undated charter of Conrad reveals that he wished to bolster the reputation of Berthold in the eastern Mediterranean, because he appointed him to the honorary position of seneschal of the kingdom of Jerusalem.32 Berthold was destined to navigate in stormy political waters and his maneuvers would eventually lead to his downfall. After his return from the empire of Nicaea and after Conrad IV’s death in May 1254, he courted the papacy, was taken captive by Manfred and died in prison. The report in Nicholas of Jamsilla’s chronicle about Berthold’s embassy to Nicaea finds ample confirmation in the correspondence of Theodore II Laskaris. One of his letters mentions the presence of refugees from the Lancia family in an Anatolian palace other than Nicaea.33 Some of them wished to return to Conrad in Italy, but others advocated against this step. They were all barred from traveling to Nicaea as well as to Thessaloniki, which means that they were in effect detained and prevented from meeting the emperor John III Vatatzes who was on campaign in the Balkans.34 Two letters of Theodore II Laskaris explicitly mention the embassy of Berthold of Hohenburg. Addressed to Nikephoros Blemmydes and Andronikos of Sardis, both letters focus on the philosophical disputations with Berthold and his entourage. The letter to Blemmydes is briefer; it describes a gathering in an unspecified royal palace, while Blemmydes seems to have been in his monastery near Ephesos, and mentions the presence of the marquis and an assembly of people (“σύλ뮻ογος”) around him.35 The palace was a complex building structure: Theodore stayed in his own residence (“οἰκία”), while the debate took place elsewhere in the

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Heinrich Raspe, Wilhelm und Richard, 1198–1272, 3 vols. (Innsbruck, 1881–1901), 4592, 13908a, 13913a. Böhmer, Ficker, and Winkelmann, Regesta Imperii, V, 4593, 4594; Bartolommeo Capasso, Historia diplomatica regni Siciliae inde ab anno 1250 ad annum 1266 (Naples, 1874), pp. 323–324, no. 522. Nicholas of Jamsilla in Ludovico Muratori, Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, vol. 8 (Milan, 1726), col. 506B. Riedmann, Die Innsbrucker Briefsammlung, no. 132 (pp. 212–213). Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae, 180.13–20, ed. Festa, p. 231. The letter is addressed to Theodore’s childhood friend and confidant George Mouzalon. See below n. 42. Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae, 40, ed. Festa, pp. 51–52.

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palace. It is far from certain that the location of the palace was Nicaea. John III Vatatzes and Theodore II Laskaris had royal residences elsewhere (for example, Nymphaion, Magnesia, and Smyrna);36 as we have seen above, Theodore met the refugees from the Lancia family in a palace other than Nicaea. According to the letter to Blemmydes, the Italians (“Ιταλοί”) around Berthold were keen on philosophical debates. One Italian gentleman (“τις ἀνὴρ Ἰταλός”) is said to have brought to the palace a “problem” (“θεώρημα”) written on a single loose sheet (“χάρτης”) of parchment or paper. The θεώρημα could have been a mathematical theorem or any subject of philosophical investigation. It was likely the former because the letter goes on to mention a “solution” (“λύσις”) unfamiliar to the Italians to the “problem” (“θεώρημα”). Theodore writes that he knew the solution from Blemmydes and that the marquis was “thunderstruck” (“ἐμβρόντητος”) at this development. He speaks of “many praises, a feeling of delight and a victory of the Hellenes over the Italians.” The letter to Andronikos of Sardis is one of the three letters of Theodore II Laskaris to the same correspondent, which all revolve around the topic of philosophy.37 The epistle bears witness to the spirit of closeness and camaraderie between the emperor and the bishop who would remain a loyal supporter of the Laskarid dynasty after its overthrow by Michael VIII Palaiologos in 1261: he took the side of the pro-Laskaris patriarch Arsenios (1254–60 and 1261–64) during the so-called Arsenite schism and developed a reputation for intransigence.38 The letter to Andronikos is longer and more detailed than that addressed to Blemmydes. It is a carefully crafted literary piece structured around rhetorical juxtapositions: a juxtaposition of two ambassadors, a foreigner who came from Italy (Berthold) and a compatriot who was in Italy (Andronikos), and a juxtaposition of two kinds of cultural exchanges flowing in opposite directions. In the same way in which the marquis is described as absorbing Hellenic intellectual culture, so does the Byzantine bishop engage in translation in Italy. Theodore even jokes (lines 43–44) that Andronikos might come back having forgotten his native tongue and having become accustomed to speaking Italian. Among the rhetorical devices, 36 37

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Angelov, The Byzantine Hellene, 44. Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae, 123–125, ed. Festa, pp. 51–52. Ep. 123 discusses the definitions of philosophy and presents the author as its fervent devotee. Ep. 124 alludes to compositions which Theodore shared with Andronikos; for a translation of the letter, see Alice Gardner, The Lascarids of Nicaea: The Story of an Empire in Exile (London, 1912), pp. 306–307. For the prosopographical data on Andronikos of Sardis who is attested until 1284, see Erich Trapp et al., Prosopographisches Lexikon der Palaiologenzeit, 12 vols. (Vienna, 1976–1996), no. 959.

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the many wordplays are worth noting. The following are just a few examples: “εὔγλωττός τε καὶ εὔστροφος” (line 10); “φιλόλογος καὶ φιλολόγιος” (line 14); “τοῖς Αὔσοσί τε καὶ ἄξουσι” (line 36). The letter to Andronikos refers to a series of disputations on different philosophical disciplines, of which mathematics is just one (and explicitly mentioned), and thus gives a synoptic view of the intellectual exchanges at the court, while the letter to Blemmydes focuses on one single episode that took place in the Anatolian palace. The letter to Andronikos stands out not only in its broader scope, but also its long laudatory description of the marquis as an open-minded and enlightened man: the only positive portrait of a Latin individual in Theodore’s writings. This representation must have a kernel of truth. Medieval Jewish sources reveal that Berthold was interested in philosophy and in particular in the work of the Italian Jew Moses ben Solomon of Salerno, a commentator on Maimonides’ Guide to the Perplexed.39 Indeed, the Latin ambassador left a lasting impression on Theodore II Laskaris well beyond the two letters. “The embassy of the marquis Berthold of Hohenburg” (“ἡ τοῦ μαρκίωνος Βελτόρδου Δε Ὁεμβοὺργ πρεσβεία”) features prominently in manuscript headings in two of the manuscript collections of Theodore’s works: his epistolary collection and a collection titled Sacred Orations with works of religious and philosophical content.40

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The Intellectual Exchanges during the Embassy

The letter opens a window both on ambassadorial practices and on the cross-cultural exchanges which took place during diplomatic encounters between Byzantine and Latin patrons of philosophy in the 1250s. The first thing to discover pertains to the combination of written and oral methods of communication. The text of the letter begins with a humorous comment on the letter-bearer who served as a middleman and messenger between Theodore II Laskaris and Andronikos. His real name is never disclosed and he is called “the bird” (“τὸ πτηνόν,” line 2), whose species changes with the season (“a spring sparrow,” “an autumnal heron”). To be sure, the anonymity of the letter-bearer 39

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Caterina Rigo, “Per un’identificazione del ‘sapiente cristiano’ Nicola da Giovinazzo, collaboratore di rabbi Mošeh ben Šelomoh da Salerno,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 69 (1999), 71–72. See also Moritz G甃ࠀdemann, Geschichte des Erziehungswesens und der Cultur der Juden in Italien während des Mittelalters (Vienna, 1884), p. 228. Angelov, The Byzantine Hellene, pp. 324–325, with the suggestion that the discussions during the embassy stimulated Theodore II Laskaris to embark on preparing the first two of the several manuscript collections of his works.

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as well as the absence of any personal names in the letter are connected with the literary phenomenon of de-concretization in Byzantine epistolography.41 That this is a real individual emerges clearly from the sudden switch to the male grammatical gender: “the bird” is called οὗτος on line 7. The letter-bearer was expected to transmit orally to Andronikos in Italy all kinds of confidential information. Thus, he was to give more details about Berthold’s mission than the letter (lines 7–8). Theodore urges (line 38) Andronikos to make his own judgement about the arguments made during the embassy, arguments which the bishop could have learned only through the oral report, for the letter says nothing about them. The letter was just one part of the message communicated to Andronikos. The remaining, and in a way most important, information was given viva voce. The anonymous messenger had already carried a letter from Andronikos to Theodore in the spring of 1253. The need for epistolary communication throughout the year between the Nicaean co-emperor and the metropolitan bishop of Sardis lay most probably in the military campaign of the senior emperor John III Vatatzes in the Balkans. Vatatzes departed from Anatolia at the head of the army sometime in 1252 and did not return until late in 1253 after presiding in the autumn of that year over the trial of Michael Palaiologos in Philippi in eastern Macedonia.42 As one of the lead ambassadors to the papacy, Andronikos must have been in the Balkans in the spring of 1253 in order to receive instructions from the senior emperor about the agenda for his second diplomatic mission to the papacy. The long period in which Theodore II Laskaris and Andronikos of Sardis had not seen each other makes even more understandable the emotional appeal to Andronikos to return to Anatolia (lines 41–42). Remarkably, we learn from the letter that Andronikos knew Latin and was able to communicate fluently in Latin. “Sometimes,” Theodore writes, “you are speaking aloud ‘in foreign tongues’, sometimes you are translating” (lines 44–45). This piece of information is particularly valuable because our textual 41

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Gustav Karlsson, Idéologie et cérémonial dans l’épistolographie byzantine (Uppsala, 1959), pp. 14–17. The de-concretization become more prominent at the time of the “publication” of the letters in collections. See Peter Hatlie, “Life and Artistry in the ‘Publication’ of Demetrios Kydones᾿ Letter Collection,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 37 (1996), pp. 86–87. This chronology is based on the sequence of events in §§49–52 of the History of George Akropolites. See the commentary by Macrides, George Akropolites, 251. For an alternative interpretation that the campaign should be redated to 1251–1252, see Koji Murata, “The Mongols’ Approach to Anatolia and the Last Campaign of Emperor John III Vatatzes,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 55 (2015), 470–488.

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sources seldom refer to bilingualism and even more rarely mention the bilingual abilities of members of the Byzantine elite. Nothing is known about the family origin of Andronikos. We can safely assume that he was born after 1204, for he was still active in c.1284.43 It is a mystery by what means and under what circumstances he learned conversational Latin to be able to serve as an interpreter. Notably, Andronikos was not the only bilingual individual in the two Nicaean delegations sent to the papacy (1250–52 and 1253–54), which included the official imperial ‘grand interpreter’ (μέγας διερμηνευτής), whose name is known to have been Theophylaktos.44 Perhaps other Greek-speaking members of the two Nicaean embassies also had the ability to communicate in Latin, but our sources, as a rule, tend to keep silence about language knowledge. Certainly, bilingual individuals must have remained at the imperial court in Anatolia, for the oral communications with Berthold and his entourage could not have happened otherwise. Philosophical discussion implies a high level of knowledge of both Greek and Latin. One last element of diplomatic practice about which we learn from Theodore’s letter to Andronikos deserves mention. Berthold of Hohenburg is said to have arrived in Anatolia accompanied by unnamed scholars, philosophers, and doctors (lines 15, 17). The doctors may have been asked to join the delegation to assist in case of a medical emergency. But the decision to bring along scholars (λόγιοι) and philosophers (φιλόσοφοι) implies that Berthold anticipated holding learned discussions at the Anatolian court as he made arrangements to depart from Italy. This anticipation is all the more notable in a purely political embassy unrelated to ecclesiastical politics and the traditional doctrinal debates. The inclusion in the ambassadorial team of scholars and philosophers is itself an indication of the growing reputation of the empire of Nicaea as an intellectual center. The letter is a true gem when it comes to the light it sheds on the exchanges at the Anatolian Byzantine court. These exchanges took the form of competitive disputations: Theodore speaks of a racing arena, contests, and prizes (line 21). The format is that of the disputations that had taken place during John of Parma’s diplomatic mission (1249–1250) and is similar to the scholastic disputationes in universities in Western Europe in the thirteenth century.45 The competitive disputations are said to have involved eleven disciplines, including rhetoric, logic, theoretical philosophy (mathematical disciplines 43 44 45

See above n. 38. Franchi, La svolta politico-ecclesiastica, p. 138 n. 214, p. 154, p. 232. See Alex Novikoff, The Medieval Culture of Disputation: Pedagogy, Practice, and Performance (Philadelphia, 2013).

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and natural philosophy), and practical philosophy (ethics and politics). Regrettably, no specific ancient texts and authors are mentioned, although the list of disciplines is interesting in itself. It includes the Aristotelian corpus: the Organon, natural science, ethics and politics are all mentioned. There are areas of philosophy beyond Aristotle, too. The mathematical disciplines include the quadrivium of the Byzantine higher-education curriculum: arithmetic, geometry (including stereometry), music, and astronomy (including astrology). The puzzling reference to the theology of the Hellenes (line 18) is probably a reference to the Elements of Theology of the Neoplatonist Proclus. As presented in the letter, the core dispute between the scholars in Berthold’s and Theodore’s entourage was that of authenticity of philosophical knowledge. The Italian philosophers are said to have “professed” (line 17) to know various disciplines, but their claim was proven wrong. The focus on authenticity is implicit in the literary metaphor about genuineness and legitimacy which Theodore deploys. According to a Byzantine proverb, babies conceived out of wedlock perished when they were put to the test by being dropped into the Rhine River. Only the legitimate and genuine offspring survived.46 In the same manner, the “illegitimate offspring” (lines 24–25) of the Italian philosophers is said to have drowned on immersion into the Rhine. In other words, the Latins were proven to lack genuine philosophical knowledge. The scholars around Theodore (“the Hellenes”) are said to have passed the test and they emerged as the keepers of authentic philosophy. The letter hints at Berthold and his entourage requesting and acquiring Greek philosophical texts. Berthold “asks to receive and does receive gifts, which he considers above precious stones and pearls” (lines 34–35). A direct link, thus, emerges with the thirteenth-century translation movement. It is remarkable that Theodore II Laskaris was keenly aware of the process of the transmission of knowledge to the Latin world and saw (and cared to represent in his letter) the imperial court of the state of Nicaea as the venue for this transmission. We know today that the search for authentic philosophical texts – that is, the best available Greek originals – was a driving force behind the thirteenth-century production of new translations into Latin or the improvement of old translations. It is highly worthy of note, therefore, that the list of disciplines mentioned in the letter as being discussed at the Nicaean court in 1253 closely corresponds to Moerbeke’s new or improved translations: the Organon, natural philosophy, ethics, and politics, as well as Proclus’s Elements

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See below n. 64.

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of Theology.47 It is also noteworthy that the court of King Manfred of Sicily’s (1258–66) saw a flurry of new translations of Pseudo-Aristotelian texts, which were believed to be a genuine part of the Aristotelian corpus. Bartholomew of Messina, a copious translator active under Manfred, translated the Problemata, De mirabilibus ausculationibis, Physiognomica, De mundo, De signis, De coloribus, Magna Moralia and De principiis.48 Another contemporary translator from Greek was Stephen of Messina, who translated astrological texts.49 One indeed wonders whether Berthold’s entourage may have obtained some of the Greek originals in the empire of Nicaea which were then used for the translations. Whatever precious texts the Latin scholars accompanying Berthold managed to acquire, they succeeded in bolstering the reputation of the empire of Nicaea as a center of Greek learning. The connection with William of Moerbeke becomes even stronger when we consider the activities of the Dominican friars in the Greek East during the intervening years until he is attested in Nicaea in 1260. Already in 1252, an anonymous Dominican who resided in Latin Constantinople wrote the polemical work Tractatus contra Graecos, which shows that he was capable of translating Greek patristic texts.50 When Theodore II Laskaris became the sole emperor and resumed in 1256 the negotiations with the papacy, Pope Alexander IV selected the bishop of Orvieto Constantine, a distinguished Dominican and a biographer of St. Dominic, as the papal legate who led an embassy to the empire of Nicaea.51 Documents preserved in the Vatican archives bear witness to the preparation and organization of the

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Carlos Steel, “William of Moerbeke, Translator of Proclus,” In Interpreting Proclus: From Antiquity to the Renaissance, ed. Stephen Gersch (Cambridge, 2014), pp. 247–263. Lorenzo Minio-Paluello, “I due traduttori medievali del De mundo: Nicola Siculo (greco) collaboratore di Roberto Grossatesta e Bartolomeo da Messina,” Rivista di filosofia neoscolastica 42 (1950), 232–237. See also Pieter De Leemans (ed.), Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily (Leuven, 2014), especially idem “Bartholomew of Messina, Translator at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily,” Ibid, pp. xi–xxix. Charles Burnett, “Stephen of Messina and the Translation of Astrological Texts from Greek in the Time of Manfred,” in De Leemans, Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina, pp. 123–132. The text can be found in Jacques Paul Migne, Patrologia graeca, vol. 140 (Paris, 1865), cols. 487–574. The fundamental study on the Tractatus remains Antoine Dondaine, “‘Contra Graecos’, premiers écrits polémiques des Dominicains d’Orient,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 21 (1951), pp. 320–446. See the analysis by Vitalien Laurent, “Le pape Alexandre IV (1254–1261) et l’empire de Nicée,” Échos d’Orient 34 (1935), 26–55, esp. 40–44; Gill, Byzantium and the Papacy, pp. 97–100.

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embassy.52 The envoys included other Dominican friars and met in September and October 1256 the emperor Theodore II Laskaris and the patriarch Arsenios in Thessaloniki.53 The discussions during the reception of this embassy were as intellectually stimulating for Theodore II Laskaris as his encounter with Berthold of Hohenburg three years earlier. One of the two polemical discourses which he composed for this occasion voices pride in Hellenic philosophy (and Hellenism generally) in a manner similar to the letter to Andronikos.54 We will probably never know whether friars from the Dominican house in Thebes, where Moerbeke is attested in December 1260, were involved in Constantine of Orvieto’s embassy. Nor will we ever be certain about the exact year when Moerbeke first arrived in the Greek East to develop his translation skills. What is clear, however, is that by 1260 the empire of Nicaea had become an irresistible magnet for Latin scholars and translators who sought to access the best available Greek manuscripts of ancient philosophical texts.

4

The Letter to Andronikos of Sardis: Text and Translation

The edition of the letter by Nicola Festa is based on the sole surviving manuscript of the epistolary collection of Theodore II Laskaris: Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Laurentianus pl. 59.35 (fourteenth century). I have 52

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The dossier has been published by Fritz Schillmann, “Zur byzantinischen Politik Alexanders IV.,” Römische Quartalschrift 22 (1908), 108–131; Theodosius Haluščynskyj and Meletius Wojnar, Acta Alexandri PP. IV (1254–1261) (Rome, 1966), pp. 39–60. On the figure of Constantine of Orvieto, see Maria De Marco, “Costantino da Orvieto,” in Dizionario biografico degli italiani 30 (1984), pp. 332–335. According to a Latin source, Constantine of Orvieto passed away in Greece during the return journey to Rome and his body was brought for burial in Perugia. See Annales Urbevetani, ed. Giosuè Carducci and Vittorio Fiorini. Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, n.s. 15, 5 (Città di Castello, 1903), p. 128 and p. 128 n. 1; Thomas Kaeppeli, “Kurze Mitteilungen 甃ࠀber mittelalterliche Dominikanerschriftsteller,” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 10 (1940), 288–289. The encounter between the embassy and Theodore II Laskaris in Thessaloniki is mentioned by Synopsis chronike attributed to Theodore Skoutariotes. See Synopsis chronike, ed. Sathas, p. 529.14–15. By contrast, George Akropolites, History  §67, ed. Heisenberg and Wirth, pp. 139.23–140.2, mentions only the dismissal of the ambassadors at Verroia during their return journey. See Macrides, George Akropolites, pp. 321–322. For the presence of the Dominican friars (“περδεκατούριοι ἄνδρες”), see Luca Pieralli, “Una lettera del Patriarca Arsenios Autorianos a Papa Alessandro IV sull’unione delle Chiese,” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 48 (1998), 183.93. The two speeches (ὁ κατἀ Λατίνων λόγος πρῶτος and ὁ κατἀ Λατίνων λόγος δεύτερος) are edited by Christos Krikonis, Θεοδώρου Β´ Λασκάρεως περὶ χριστιανικῆς θεολογίας λόγοι (Thessaloniki, 1988), pp. 124–136, and pp. 136–148. My translation and commentary of the second speech is forthcoming.

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collated afresh Festa’s edition with the manuscript and offer below the Greek text with two minor changes affecting the translation, both indicated in the notes. I have followed, without indicating in the notes, Festa’s suggested textual emendations and his classicization of the Byzantine orthography. A reedition and translation of all the letters is a desideratum. L = Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Pl. 59.25, ff. 166v–68v F  =  Nicola Festa, Theodori Ducae Lascaris Epistulae CCXVII (Florence, 1898), pp. 174–176 (Ep. 125) Greek text

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Τὴν ἐαρινὴν χελιδόνα μετοπωρινὸν ἐρωδιόν σοι ἀντιστρέφομεν οὐχ ἧττον εὔλαλον ὄντα τῆς πρὶν χελιδόνος, ἧς εἴπομεν. Ταὐτὰ γὰρ ἄμφω βοᾷ τὸ πτηνόν, κἂν ἀπὸ τοῦ καιροῦ ταῖς κλήσεσι μεταλ뮻άττηται· φίλου γὰρ πρὸς ἡμᾶς τότε τὸ ὑγιὲς διεπόρθμευσε καὶ φίλου πάνυ καὶ λίαν γνησιωτάτου, νυνὶ δὲ ταὐτὰ διαπορθμεύει πρὸς σὲ τὸν ἐμόν, δι’ ἐμὲ ὑγείαν Χριστοῦ χάριτι, τὸ μέγα χρῆμα, (f. 167r) καὶ σὺν ταύτῃ εἴ τι καλόν. Ἔχει δὲ καὶ ᾠδὰς λόγων, πρὸς ἅσπερ εἴρηκε πρίν, οὐ παλινῳδίαν βοώσας, ἀλ뮻ὰ καὶ μᾶλ뮻ον ταύταις συνᾳδούσας. Ἃ γοῦν εἰρήσεταί σοι, ὦ φίλτατέ μοι, τὰ μάλιστα πίστευσον. Οὗτος γὰρ καὶ περὶ τοῦ τεθρυλ뮻ημένου μαρκίωνος εἴπῃ σοι, πλὴν τὰ ἐκτὸς τῆς γραφῆς. Ἐπεφθάκει γὰρ πρὸς ἡμᾶς ὁ ἀνὴρ τοὺς οἰκείους ἐπαίνους πιστούμενος· νηφάλιος γὰρ καὶ ἀγχίνους, εὔγλωττός τε καὶ εὔστροφος, εὔστοχος λέγειν καὶ ὀξὺς ἀποκρίνεσθαι, τῇ Ἰταλικῇ παιδείᾳ πεπαιδευμένος, ψαύων δὲ καὶ τῆς Ἑλ뮻ηνικῆς, ἁπλοῦς τε καὶ μὴ εὐήθης, νοήμων τε καὶ μνημονικός, προσηνὴς καὶ προσήγορος, ὁτὲ μὲν πλείονα λέγων, ὁτὲ δὲ καὶ τῶν, ὧν λέγει, νοῶν ὑπερέκεινα, ἐξεταστικός τε καὶ οὐ φιλόνεικος (εἰ δὲ καὶ τοῦτο, ἠρέμα καὶ οὐ διόλου), ἀστεῖος καὶ ἀστεΐζειν ποθῶν, πολυΐστωρ καὶ χαρίεις, φιλόλογος καὶ φιλολόγιος, εἴπω δὲ καὶ λόγου οὐκ ἄμοιρος, ἔχων μεθ’ ἑαυτοῦ λογίους καὶ ἰατρούς, καὶ τούτους ἐναβρυνομένους φιλοσοφίᾳ. Ὃν ἰδόντες καὶ χαρᾷ καταχυθέντες διὰ τὴν αὐτοῦ ἀρετήν, ὡμιλήσαμέν τε καὶ ὁμιλοῦμεν· ὑπισχνουμένων τῶν σὺν αὐτῷ φιλοσόφων δὲ γεωμετρίαν εἰδέναι καὶ ἀστρονομίαν, ἀριθμητικὴν καὶ μουσικήν, ὀργανικὴν καὶ φυσιολογικὴν καὶ τὴν ὑπερκειμένην τούτων Ἑλ뮻ήνων θεολογίαν, τά τε κατὰ μέρος ἠθικὰ καὶ πολιτικά, ῥητορικήν τε καὶ ὅσα λόγου καὶ περὶ λόγου, ἃ μάταιόν ἐστιν ὀνομάζειν ἡμᾶς, οὕσπερ οἶδας ἀκριβῶς τὴν τῶν ὅλων ἐπιστήμην ἔχοντας (πεπαρρησιασμένως τοῦτο δὴ λέγω), εἰσήλθομεν εἰς τὸ στάδιον, καὶ οἱ ἀγῶνες καὶ τὰ βραβεῖα παρέστησαν. Οἱ πολ뮻οὺς δὲ55 τῷ λόγῳ θροήσαντες τῷ Ῥήνῳ προσπελάσαντες ποταμῷ, ὅντινα δή σε τοῦτον ὑποληπτέον, κάρτα ἐξαπελέγχονται· προσπελάσαντες γὰρ αὐτῷ τὰ μὴ γνήσια ἐποντίζοντο.56 Κἀντεῦθεν γὰρ ἀριθμητικὴ δραπετεύει καὶ μουσικῆς χορδαὶ διαρρήγνυνται, ἐκ τῶν ἐπιπέδων σαθροῦται γεωμετρία καὶ στερεομετρία τέλεον λύεται, ἀστρονομία δέ γε παρυποκρύπτεται μόνην ἀστρολογίαν ἀπολιποῦσα καὶ ταύτην πλημμελῶς τε καὶ οὐχ ὡς δεῖ· τὸ μετεωρολογεῖν κάτω τίθεται καὶ φυσιολογικὴ νοσηλεύεται· τὰ ἠθικὰ κινοῦνται παρὰ κανόνας καὶ τὰ πολιτικὰ οὐδὲ μνημονεύονται· ῥητορική τε πτερὰ λαβοῦσα πόρρω που διαβαίνει καὶ 55 56

πολ뮻οὺς δὲ : πολ뮻ούς δε L, δὲ πολ뮻ὰ F. ἐποντίζοντο : ἐποντίζοντο L, ἐποτίζοντο F.

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ὀργανικὴ ἐπιστήμη τὰ μάλιστα πλημμελεῖ. Μέγα ὅραμα τοῖς ὁρῶσι καὶ δόξα πολ뮻ὴ τοῖς Ἕλ뮻ησιν. Ὁρῶν γοῦν ὁ μαρκίων ταῦτα διέκρινεν ὡς εἰκός· ἀρωγὸς δὲ καὶ ὁτὲ (f. 168r) ἐγίνετο, ὁτὲ καὶ τὸ πτῶμα ἐπηύξανεν. Ἐκεῖθεν ῥήσεις καὶ ἀντιρρήσεις, δόγματα φιλοσοφίας καὶ λύσεις, προβλήματα καὶ κατασκευαί, θεωρήματά τε καὶ ἀπορήματα, ἐπιστήμης ἀγῶνες καὶ πάντα ἐξαίρετα. Τεθαύμακεν ὁ πολὺς ὥσπερ εἷς τῶν πολ뮻ῶν· ζητεῖ λαβεῖν καὶ λαμβάνει, ὑπὲρ λίθους καὶ μαργάρους οἰόμενος τὰ δωρήματα. Εἰ μή τι συμβῇ τὸ ‘ἐκδέδοται μέν, οὐκ ἐκδέδοται δέ’, ταῦτα οὕτως πραχθέντα τε καὶ πραττόμενα δόξαν ἦξαν τοῖς Αὔσοσί τε καὶ ἄξουσι. Περὶ δὲ τῶν πραγματικῶν καὶ πρεσβευτικῶν λόγων οὐχ ἧττον ἀκούει ὧν λέγει ὁ θαυμαστός, εἰ δὲ καὶ πλείω καὶ ὅσων τῷ εὐστόχῳ ῥεπόντων, διάκρινε ὁ σοφώτατος. Ἔχεις τοίνυν οἶδα χαράν, ἐπειδὴ καλῶς ξυνίης τὸν οὕτως φιλοσοφήσαντα καὶ τὸ τῆς νίκης κῦρος τοῖς Ἕλ뮻ησι χορηγήσαντα. Σὺ δὲ πότ’ ἂν ἐκ τῆς Εὐρώπης ἀνέλθῃς ἐπὶ τὴν Ἑλ뮻άδα; Πότ’ ἂν δὲ καὶ τὴν Θρᾴκην διελθὼν τὸν Ἑλ뮻ήσποντον διαπεράσῃς καὶ τὴν ἔσω Ἀσίαν κατίδῃς; Ἐν ᾗ καὶ ἡμᾶς κατόψει, φιλούμενε, γλιχομένους προσομιλεῖν σοι τὰ συνήθη καὶ φιλικά, εἰ μή τι παρὰ τοῦ ἀέρος καὶ τῆς τοῦ κλίματος διαφορᾶς παρηλ뮻άχθης καὶ Ἰταλικῶς διαλέγῃ καὶ ἀσυνήθως, καὶ ὁτὲ μὲν γλώσσαις βοᾷς, ὁτὲ δὲ διερμηνεύεις, τούτου γὰρ αὐτόθι, δοκῶ, πεπείρασαι, (f. 168v) ὁτὲ δὲ καὶ τὰ τῶν ἀγ뎳έλων ἐξαγ뎳έλ뮻εις μυστήρια, τὰ πόρρω τῆς ἀνθρώπων ὄντα οὐσίας. Ἀλ뮻’ εἴπερ καὶ οὕτως ὡμίλεις μεθ’ ἡμῶν, στέξομέν σου τὰ βάρη· οὐ γὰρ δήπου ἀγ뎳έλων ἐπιλαμβανόμεθ’ ἀλ뮻ὰ σπέρματος Ἀβραὰμ ἐπιλαμβανόμεθ’ ὁμοιοπαθεῖς ὄντες τῆς Ἀβραὰμ ἀσθενείας ἢ τῆς ἀγ뎳ελικῆς σύνοικοι πτώσεως. Ἀλ뮻’ ἴδοιμέν σε τάχιστα πολ뮻οὺς ἡδονῆς λόγους ὁμιλήσοντες ὡς τὸ σύνηθες· οὐδὲν γὰρ εὐφραίνει ψυχὰς λόγῳ πεπαιδευμένας ὡς φίλων μυστήρια θεῖα τὲ καὶ ὑψηλὰ καὶ πόρρω τῆς ὕλης ὄντα καὶ τῆς παχύτητος. Ἃ δὲ κλαγ뎳ῇ σοι τὸ πτηνὸν μελῳδήσει, πίστευσον ἀσφαλῶς καὶ τὰς εὐχὰς συνήθως τῷ Θεῷ φέρε ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν.

Translation We are sending back to you, in return for the spring sparrow, an autumnal heron which is no less eloquent than the abovementioned sparrow. For the bird announces the same thing to both of us, even if it has changed its name due to the season. Earlier, thus, it had conveyed to us a message about the health of a friend – a most genuine friend in every respect indeed – and now it conveys a message to you, my pal, about the same thing, my own health by the grace of Christ, the great boon, and whatever good along with health there is. It sings praises of learning57 in accordance with those sung earlier, not making 57

The word λόγος seems to be used here and on several other occasions (lines 14, 19, 22, 50) with the meaning of “learning,” “education.” For similar translation of λόγος in Blemmydes’ autobiography, see Munitiz, Partial Account, p. 43. On line 37, I have preferred to translate λόγοι as “arguments.”

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recantations but rather songs which are in tune with them. So trust fully what you will be told, my dearest! For he58 will also tell you about the most renowned marquis,59 although saying things which lie outside the written piece.60 For the man61 has arrived among us and confirms the praises on his behalf. He is alert and shrewd, capable in speech and action, speaking to the point and quick in his responses, educated in Italian culture, but also in contact with the Hellenic, straightforward but not simple-minded, intelligent and with a good memory, kind and agreeable, sometimes saying quite a lot and sometimes grasping beyond what he says, skillful at examination and not fond of disputations (if he ever is, he does so in a gentle and piecemeal fashion), witty and fond of witticisms, very knowledgeable and gracious, fond of learning and scholars – I should say that he himself is not unversed in letters – with scholars and doctors in his company who, too, take pride in philosophy. After we saw him and were overwhelmed with joy on account of his virtue, we spoke and are still speaking with him. Because the philosophers with him professed to know geometry and astronomy, arithmetic and music, the Organon and natural science, and the theology of the Hellenes62 surpassing these, and the particulars of ethics as well as politics, rhetoric and many things of and about learning that are futile for us (who, as you accurately know, possess knowledge of everything) to name, we entered the racing arena. And contests and prizes were at hand. After they63 frightened the multitude with their learning and touched the Rhine River64 – you ought to understand what it is –, they were thoroughly convicted. For having touched the Rhine, the unlawfully begotten offspring drowned. And from this point on, arithmetic runs away, the strings of music are severed, geometry is flawed right from the plane surfaces and stereometry is fully destroyed, but astronomy hides herself and leaves behind only

58 59 60 61 62 63 64

He (οὗτος) refers to the letter-bearer described above as the “bird” (τὀ πτηνόν). That is, the marquis Berthold of Hohenburg. The written piece (γραφή) is the letter itself. For the use of the same Greek word in reference to letters, see Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae, 102.10, ed. Festa, p. 139; ep. 112.22 (p. 157); ep. 133.21 (p. 188); ep. 178.4 (p. 229); ep. 179.31 (p. 230); ep. 182.2 (p. 233); ep. 195.16–17 (p. 241). That is, the marquis Berthold of Hohenburg. One wonders whether this allusion here is to Proclus’ Platonic Theology. That is, the philosophers accompanying Berthold. According to a proverb circulating among medieval Greek authors, the Rhine River was used to test the legitimacy of newborns in a quasi-ordeal. Babies conceived out of wedlock drowned when they were dropped into the river, while legitimate children survived. See Ernst von Leutsch and Friedrich Schneidewin, Corpus paroemiographorum Graecorum, vol. 2 (Göttingen, 1851), p. 569.10.

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astrology – and astrology that errs and is not as it ought to be.65 Meteorology is cast away and natural science has a malaise. Ethics moves against the rules and politics is not remembered. Taking on wings, rhetoric flies somewhere far away and knowledge of the Organon is especially erroneous. A major spectacle for the spectators and a great glory for the Hellenes! After seeing these things, the marquis judged with discernment as it was right. For he sometimes was a helper and sometimes precipitated the downfall. Hence there were statements and counterstatements, teachings and interpretations of philosophy, problems and arguments, theorems and puzzles, contests of science and every exquisite thing. The great man was amazed, being one among the many. He asks to receive and does receive gifts, which he considers above precious stones and pearls. Unless it happens that “it is published, yet unpublished,”66 what was done in this way and what is still being done has brought glory both to the Ausonians67 and to its disseminators.68 As regards the practical and diplomatic arguments, which the wonderful person69 hears no less than he speaks about, although these arguments are 65 66

67

68

69

The good and bad uses of astrology is a noteworthy idea. It fits into Theodore’s positive views of the occult sciences. See Angelov, Byzantine Hellene, p. 193. The expression refers to the obscurity of Aristotle’s writings. See the spurious letter by Aristotle to his student Alexander in Rudolf Hercher, Epistolographi graeci (Paris, 1873), p. 174 (ep. 6). For the use of the phrase, see, for instance, John Zonaras, Annales, IV, 8, ed. Moritz Pinder, vol. 1 (=  Ioannis Zonarae Annales, I, ed Mauricius Pinderus) (Bonn, 1841), pp. 331.21–332.6; Michael Choniates, Epistulae (= Michaelis Choniatae Epistulae), ed. Foteini Kolovou (Berlin, 2001), 3.12–14 (ep. 1). The ancient Greek name “Ausonians,” originally a designation for inhabitants in regions of Italy, was used self-referentially for the Romans, that is, the Byzantines. This is how Theodore, too, uses the term. See Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae, 205.6 (p. 255: “Αὐσονικὴ κραταρχία”); 214.32 (p. 266: “Αὐσονικὴ προστασία”); In Praise of the Emperor John III Vatatzes, in Theodore Laskaris, Opuscula (= Theodori Ducae Lascaris opuscula), ed. Luigi Tartaglia, p. 27.84–85, p. 53.691: “Αὐσονῖτις γῆ.” See earlier examples in Jonathan Shepard, “Knowledge of the West in Byzantine Sources, c. 900–c. 1200,” in A Companion to Byzantium and the West, 900–1204, ed. Nicolas Drocourt and Sebastian Kolditz (Leiden, 2021), p. 34 n. 19. The “disseminators” (ἄξουσι) seem to be the Italian scholars who are spreading the knowledge of Greek philosophy, whether by acquiring manuscripts or preparing translations, or both. The future participle ἄξουσι (dative plural future participle) from the verb ἄγω does not necessarily have a future meaning. Laskaris used it instead of the aorist participle, a usage found also in some medieval Greek authors. See Martin Hinterberger, “From Highly Classicizing to Common Prose (XIII–XIV CE): The Metaphrasis of Niketas Choniates’ History,” in Varieties of Post-Classical and Byzantine Greek, ed. Klaas Bentein and Mark Janse (Berlin, 2020), p. 186; Theodore Laskaris, Κοσμικὴ Δήλωσις, IV, ed. Nicola Festa, Giornale della Società Asiatica Italiana 12 (1899), 39.6. Who is the unnamed “wonderful man” (ὁ θαυμαστός)? It is difficult to imagine that Berthold, called above “the great man” (ὁ πολύς), was made responsible for bestowing the victory on the Hellenes. It is unlikely, too, that the author had in mind his teacher Blemmydes who does not seem to have been in the palace because Theodore addressed

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more than those many ones which lead toward the right goal, do judge, o wisest man, with discernment for yourself! I know you are joyous, because you perceive well the person who philosophized in this way and who furnished the power of victory for the Hellenes. When might you return from Europe to Greece? When might your cross the Hellespont after passing through Thrace and behold the inside of Asia? In it, my beloved man, you will see us yearning to address you with our customary words of friendship, unless somehow you are changed by the air and the difference in climate and come to converse with us in an uncustomary manner in Italian. Sometimes you are speaking aloud in foreign tongues,70 sometimes you are translating (for I think you have had this experience there), and at other times you are proclaiming the angelic mysteries which lie far from the human essence. But even if you spoke in this way to us, we will bear your burdens.71 For we surely are not concerned with angels, but with the offspring of Abraham,72 being likewise affected by Abraham’s weakness rather than associated with the fall of angels. But may we see you as soon as possible in order to say many pleasant words as is our custom. For nothing delights souls trained in reason as do the divine and exalted mysteries of friends, which are far removed from materiality and earthliness. What the bird73 will chant to you by squawking, do certainly believe, and do convey your prayers on our behalf to God in the customary manner.

Bibliography Primary Sources Alexander of Aphrodisias. Commentaire sur les Météores d’Aristote, Traduction de Guillaume de Moerbeke. Ed. Alfons J. Smet. Leuven, 1968. Akropolites, George. History. Edited by August Heisenberg and Peter Wirth, Georgii Acropolitae opera. Vol. 1. Stuttgart, 1978. Translated by Ruth Macrides, George Akropolites: The History. Oxford, 2007.

70 71 72 73

to him a special letter about Berthold’s embassy. See Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae, 40, ed. Festa, pp. 51–52 and above pp. 217–218. Most probably the reference is to another learned individual at the court. It is perhaps significant that Theodore elsewhere designates his secretary Hagiotheodorites as θαυμαστός. See Theodore Laskaris, Epistulae, 27.19, ed. Festa, p. 37. The “foreign tongues” (γλῶσσαι) alludes in particular to the miracle of the Pentecost (Acta 2:3), when the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles and gave them the gift of speaking foreign languages. For the same meaning of γλῶσσαι, see also Acta 10:46, 19:6. Cf. Galatians 6:2: “ἀλ뮻ήλων τὰ βάρη βαστάζετε.” Hebrews 2:16. That is, the anonymous letter-bearer.

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Annales Urbevetani. Edited by Giosuè Carducci and Vittorio Fiorini. Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, n.s. 15, 5. Città di Castello, 1903. 125–208. Blemmydes, Nikephoros. Edited by Joseph Munitiz, Nicephori Blemmydae autobiographia sive curriculum vitae necnon epistula universalior. Turnhout, 1984. Translated by Joseph Munitiz, Nikephoros Blemmydes: A Partial Account. Leuven, 1988. Böhmer, Johann Friedrich, Julius Ficker, Eduart Winkelmann. Regesta Imperii, V. Die Regesten des Kaiserreichs unter Philipp, Otto IV., Friedrich II., Heinrich (VII.), Conrad IV., Heinrich Raspe, Wilhelm und Richard, 1198–1272. 3 vols. Innsbruck, 1881–1901. Capasso, Bartolommeo. Historia diplomatica regni Siciliae inde ab anno 1250 ad annum 1266. Naples, 1874. Haluščynskyj, Theodosius. Wojnar, Meletius. Acta Alexandri PP. IV (1254–1261). Rome, 1966. Nicholas of Jamsilla, Historia. Edited by Ludovico Muratori. Rerum Italicarum Scriptores, vol. 8 Milan, 1726, cols. 493–584, 585–616. Pieralli, Luca. “Una lettera del Patriarca Arsenios Autorianos a Papa Alessandro IV sull’unione delle Chiese.” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 48 (1998): 171–188. Riedmann, Josef. Die Innsbrucker Briefsammlung: eine neue Quelle zur Geschichte Kaiser Friedrichs II. und König Konrads IV. Monumenta Germaniae historica. Briefe des späteren Mittelalters 3. Wiesbaden, 2017. Synopsis chronike. Edited by Konstantinos Sathas, Μεσαιωνικὴ Βιβλιοθήκη. Vol. 7. Venice, 1894. 1–556. Theodore Laskaris. Epistulae. Edited by Nicola Festa. Theodori Ducae Lascaris Epistulae CCXVII. Florence, 1898. Theodore Laskaris. Opuscula. Edited by Luigi Tartaglia. Theodori Ducae Lascaris opuscula. Munich, 2000. Theodore Laskaris. Χριστιανικὴ θεολογία. Edited by Christos Krikonis, Θεοδώρου Β´ Λασκάρεως περὶ χριστιανικῆς θεολογίας λόγοι. Thessaloniki, 1988.

Secondary Literature Agapitos, Panagiotis. “Literature and Education in Nicaea and Their Legacy: An Interpretive Synthesis.” Medioevo Greco 21 (2021): 1–37. Angelov, Dimiter. The Byzantine Hellene: The Life of Emperor Theodore Laskaris and Byzantium in the Thirteenth Century. Cambridge, 2019. Beullens, Pieter. The Friar and the Philosopher: William of Moerbeke and the Rise of Aristotle’s Science in Medieval Europe. London, 2019. Brams, Jozef. Willy Vanhamel, eds. Guillaume de Moerbeke: Recueil d’études à l’occasion du 700e anniversaire de sa mort (1286). Leuven, 1989. Burnett, Charles. “Stephen of Messina and the Translation of Astrological Texts from Greek in the Time of Manfred.” In De Leemans, Translating at the Court, pp. 123–132.

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Chrissis, Nikolaos. Crusading in Frankish Greece: A Study of Byzantine–Western Relations and Attitudes, 1204–1282. Turnhout, 2012. Constantinides, Costas. Higher Education in Byzantium in the Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Centuries, 1204–ca.1310. Nicosia, 1982. De Leemans, Pieter, ed. Translating at the Court: Bartholomew of Messina and Cultural Life at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily. Leuven, 2014. De Leemans, Pieter. “Bartholomew of Messina, Translator at the Court of Manfred, King of Sicily.” In De Leemans, Translating at the Court, pp. xi–xxix. De Marco, Maria. “Costantino da Orvieto.” In Dizionario biografico degli italiani 30 (1984): 332–335. Döberl, Michael. “Berthold von Vohburg-Hohenburg, der letzte Vork愃ࠀmpfer der deutschen Herrschaft im Königreiche Sicilien. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der letzten Staufer.” Deutsche Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft 12 (1894–95): 201–278. Dondaine, Antoine. “‘Contra Graecos’, premiers écrits polémiques des Dominicains d’Orient.” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 21 (1951): 320–446. Förstel, Christian. “Entre propagande et réalité: la culture dans l’empire de Nicée.” In 1204, la Quatrième Croisade: de Blois à Constantinople & éclats d’empires (= Revue française d’héraldique et de sigillographie 73–75). Ed. Inès Villela-Petit, 129–134. Paris, 2005. Franchi, Antonino. La svolta politico-ecclesiastica tra Roma e Bisanzio (1249–1254). La legazione di Giovanni da Parma. Il ruolo di Federico II. Rome, 1981. Gardner, Alice. The Lascarids of Nicaea: The Story of an Empire in Exile. London, 1912. Geanakoplos, Deno John. “Greco-Latin Relations on the Eve of the Byzantine Restoration: The Battle of Pelagonia–1259.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 7 (1953): 99–141. Gill, Joseph. Byzantium and the Papacy, 1198–1400. New Brunswick, NJ, 1979. G甃ࠀdemann, Moritz. Geschichte des Erziehungswesens und der Cultur der Juden in Italien während des Mittelalters. Vienna, 1884. Hatlie, Peter. “Life and Artistry in the ‘Publication’ of Demetrios Kydones᾿ Letter Collection.” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 37 (1996): 75–102. Hutter, Irmgard. Corpus der byzantinischen Miniaturenhandschriften. Vol. 3,1: Bodleian Library, III, Textband. Stuttgart, 1982. Ierodiakonou, Katerina. “A Logical Joust in Nikephoros Blemmydes’ Autobiography.” In Logic and Language in the Middle Ages: A Volume in Honour of Sten Ebbesen. Ed. Jacob Leth Fink, Heine Hansen, Anna María Mora-Márquez, 125–137. Leiden, 2012. Kaeppeli, Thomas. “Kurze Mitteilungen 甃ࠀber mittelalterliche Dominikanerschriftsteller.” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 10 (1940): 282–296. Kaldellis, Anthony. Hellenism in Byzantium: The Transformations of Greek Identity and the Reception of the Classical Tradition. Cambridge, 2007. Kamp, Norbert. “Die deutsche Pr愃ࠀsenz im Königreich Sizilien (1194–1266).” In Die Staufer im Süden: Sizilien und das Reich. Ed. Theo Kölzer, 141–185. Sigmaringen, 1996.

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Karlsson, Gustav. Idéologie et cérémonial dans l’épistolographie byzantine. Uppsala, 1959. Karst, August. Geschichte Manfreds vom Tode Friedrichs II. bis zu seiner Krönung (1250–1258). Berlin, 1897. Langdon, John. “Byzantium in Anatolian Exile: Imperial Vicegerency Reaffirmed during Byzantino–Papal Discussions at Nicaea and Nymphaeum, 1234.” Byzantinische Forschungen 20 (1994): 197–233. Laurent, Vitalien. “Le pape Alexandre IV (1254–1261) et l’empire de Nicée.” Échos d’Orient 34 (1935): 26–55. Minio-Paluello, Lorenzo. “I due traduttori medievali del De mundo: Nicola Siculo (greco) collaboratore di Roberto Grossatesta e Bartolomeo da Messina.” Rivista di filosofia neoscolastica 42 (1950): 232–237. Minio-Paluello, Lorenzo. “William of Moerbeke.” In Dictionary of Scientific Biography, 9 (1974): 434–440. Murata, Koji. “The Mongols’ Approach to Anatolia and the Last Campaign of Emperor John III Vatatzes.” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 55 (2015): 470–488. Novikoff, Alex. The Medieval Culture of Disputation: Pedagogy, Practice, and Performance. Philadelphia, 2013. Prato, Giancarlo. “Un autografo di Teodoro II Lascaris imperatore di Nicea?” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 30 (1981): 249–258. Rashed, Marwan. “Sur les deux témoins des oeuvres profanes de Théodore II Lascaris et leur commanditaire (Parisinus Suppl. Gr. 472; Parisinus Suppl. Gr. 460).” Scriptorium 54 (2000): 297–302. Riedmann, Josef. “Konrad IV. als König des Regnum Sicilae.” In Konrad IV (1228–1254): Deutschlands letzter Stauferkönig. Ed. Martin Kaufhold, 86–110. Gesellschaft f甃ࠀr Staufische Geschichte. Göppingen, 2012. Rigo, Caterina. “Per un’identificazione del ‘sapiente cristiano’ Nicola da Giovinazzo, collaboratore di rabbi Mošeh ben Šelomoh da Salerno.” Archivum Fratrum Praedicatorum 69 (1999): 71–72. Schillmann, Fritz. “Zur byzantinischen Politik Alexanders IV.” Römische Quartalschrift 22 (1908): 108–31. Steel, Carlos. “William of Moerbeke, Translator of Proclus.” In Interpreting Proclus: From Antiquity to the Renaissance. Ed. Stephen Gersch, 247–263. Cambridge, 2014. Tinnefeld, Franz. “Das Niveau der abendl愃ࠀndischen Wissenschaft aus der Sicht gebildeter Byzantiner im 13. und 14. Jh.” Byzantinische Forschungen 6 (1979): 241–280. Trapp, Erich., et al., Prosopographisches Lexikon der Palaiologenzeit. 12 vols. Vienna, 1976–1996. Walter, Ingeborg. “Bertoldo di Hohenburg.” In Dizionario biografico degli italiani 9 (1967): 582–588.

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Vanhamel, Willy. “Biobibliographie de Guillaume de Moerbeke.” In Guillaume de Moerbeke. Ed. Brams and Vanhamel, 301–383. Violante, Tommaso M. La provincia domenicana di Grecia. Rome, 1999. Vuillemin-Diem, Gudrun. “La traduction de la Métaphysique d’Aristote par Guillaume de Moerbeke et son examplaire grec: Vind. phil. gr. 100.” In Aristoteles, Werk und Wirkung: Paul Moraux gewidmet. Vol. 2. Ed. J甃ࠀrgen Wiesner, 434–486. Berlin, 1987. Vuillemin-Diem, Gudrun. “La liste des oeuvres d’Hippocrate dans le Vindobonensis phil. gr. 100: un autographe de Guillaume de Moerbeke.” In Guillaume de Moerbeke. Ed. Brams and Vanhamel, 135–183. Vuillemin-Diem, Gudrun. Metaphysica, Lib. I–XIV. Recensio et Translatio Guillelmi de Moerbeka. Praefatio. Leiden, 1995. Vuillemin-Diem, Gudrun. Meteorologica. Translatio Guillelmi de Morbeka. Praefatio. Turnhout, 2008. Zafeiris, Konstantinos. “The Issue of the Authorship of the Synopsis Chronike and Theodore Skoutariotes.” Revue des études byzantines 69 (2011): 253–263.

Chapter 9

In Search of Perfect Equivalence: the uerbum de uerbo Method in Burgundio of Pisa’s Translations of Galenic Works Anna Maria Urso

1

Preliminary Remarks

If we exclude a few works that attest to the circulation of Galen’s thought in sixth-century Ravenna, the late ancient and early medieval West has left no evidence of interest in his teaching.1 Rather, pseudo-epigraphic works have been preserved, which, in their highly practical approach, are comparable to most medical texts before the Schola Medica Salernitana, mainly concerned with remedies and treatments.2 Without a cultural renewal, Galen’s doctrine in both its practical and theoretical aspects could not take hold in the West and “constitute the basis of formal medicine […] at least until the seventeenth-century Scientific Revolution.”3 This cultural renewal brought with it the awareness of shortcomings in the scientific education of the time and the need for new texts to fill the gap. Indeed, the Galenic doctrine finally arrived in the West in the context of the vast translation movement bringing works of philosophy, mathematics, and astrology from the East.4

1 An annotated bibliography on early Galenism is to be found in Nicoletta Palmieri, “La médecine alexandrine et son rayonnement occidental (VIe–VIIe s. ap. J.-Ch.),” Lettre d’informations. Médecine antique et médiévale n. s. 1 (2002), pp. 5–23. 2 On the Latin translations of Galenic and pseudo-Galenic works during the early Middle Ages, see the overview by Karl-Dietrich Fischer, “Die vorsalernitanischen lateinischen Galen甃ࠀbersetzungen,” Medicina nei secoli 25 (2013), pp. 673–714. A summary of the medical production in its entirety before Salerno is to be found in Danielle Jacquart, “Principales étapes dans la transmission des textes de médecine (XIe–XIVe siècle),” in Rencontres de cultures dans la philosophie médiévale. Traductions et traducteurs de l’Antiquité tardive au XIVe siècle. Actes du Colloque international de Cassino (15–17 juin 1989), eds. Jacqueline Hamesse and Marta Fattori (Louvain-la-Neuve – Cassino, 1990), pp. 251–271, esp. pp. 251–255. 3 Vivian Nutton, “The Fortunes of Galen,” in The Cambridge Companion to Galen, ed. Robert J. Hankinson (Cambridge – New York, 2008), pp. 355–390, esp. p. 355. 4 A concise but complete picture of this translation movement in its whole is to be found in Paolo Chiesa, “Le traduzioni,” in Lo spazio letterario del Medioevo, I. Il Medioevo latino, 3: La ricezione del testo, eds. Guglielmo Cavallo, Claudio Leonardi, Enrico Menestò (Rome, 1995), pp. 165–196. © Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_010

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Already in the eleventh century, we find two persons that were linked in different ways to the abbey of Montecassino: Alfano (1015/1020–1085), a monk there and later Archbishop of Salerno, as well as Constantine the African (†1087), a Carthaginian monk who had settled in the abbey and whose life became a legend. Alfano translated directly from the Greek Nemesios of Emesa’s On Human Nature, a patristic work that combines philosophical doctrine and elements of Galenic physiology. Constantine provided the West with the first corpus of medical texts, translating works originally written in Arabic (the most important being the Kitāb al-Malakī (Book of King) by ʿAlī ibn al-ʿAbbās al-Majūsī [930–994], translated as Pantegni) as well as Arabic translations of Greek originals including Galen. These are the first samples of a flourishing linguistic and cultural mediation that began in the twelfth century and continued uninterruptedly until the Renaissance. This cultural mediation sometimes took place in bilingual circles, even resulting, as in Toledo, in a ‘school’ of translators, sometimes on the initiative of individual figures but always within a specific cultural context.5 The result was a series of translations that, on some occasions, drew directly on Galen, on others, according to the new approach initiated by Constantine, through Arabic, translating texts already translated in Baghdad in the ninth century at the school of Ḥunain ibn isḥāq.6 With a few exceptions, it were the translations from Arabic that left their mark on Western university curricula. In the beginning, this happened because of the prestige of Toledo, which fifty years after its recapture by the Christians had become a translation centre without equal in the Middle Ages; subsequently, because professionals in the meanwhile acquired familiarity with the constructions and terminology those translations adopted.7 Furthermore, 5 See D. Jacquart, “Principales étapes,” pp. 269–270, against the tendency to overly stress the role of chance and individual initiative. 6 For an exhaustive bibliography on the medieval Galenic translations, particularly the Greek-Latin ones, I refer to Alessandra Scimone, “Galeno nel Medioevo: le traduzioni greco-latine dalla tarda antichità al XIV secolo,” Lettre d’informations. Médecine antique et médiévale n. s. 13 (2017), pp. 5–44, to be integrated with the papers published in Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen, eds. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos and Barbara Zipser (Leiden, 2019) by Monica H. Green, “Gloriosissimus Galienus: Galen and Galenic Writings in the Eleventh-  and Twelfth-Century Latin West,” pp. 319–342, and Anna Maria Urso, “Translating Galen in the Medieval West: the Greek-Latin Translations,” pp. 359–380. For the Arabic-Latin translations see, ibidem, Brian Long, “Arabic-Latin Translations: Transmission and Transformation,” pp. 343–358. 7 See Charles Burnett, “Translation and Transmission of Greek and Islamic Science to Latin Christendom,” in The Cambridge History of Science, II, Medieval Science, eds. David C. Lindberg and Michael H. Shank (Cambridge, 2011), pp. 341–364, esp. p. 362; Brian Long, “Arabic-Latin Translations,”, pp. 351, 355, and Michael Mc Vaugh, “Galen in the Medieval Universities,

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translations from Arabic, even if produced uerbum de uerbo, were more straightforward than those directly performed on Greek models due to the intermediary language.8 Beyond their presence in university curricula, however, the consequences of Latin translations, both from Greek and Arabic, are crucial to the very development of Western medicine. In addition to introducing a more extensive and more precise technical vocabulary, the Latin Galen stimulated the production of new, original texts, pushing scholars to rethink their principles of diagnosis and therapy.9

2

Burgundio of Pisa: Translator of Galen

Burgundio of Pisa, a diplomat, lawyer, and judge who lived between 1110 and 1193, was a leading figure in the early period of this translation movement. Further, Nicholas of Reggio, who worked in Naples during the reign of Robert of Anjou almost two centuries later, became one of the most renowned translators from Greek.10 To these two figures, we owe almost the entire Galenic corpus translated in the Middle Ages from Greek into Latin. Nicholas translated fifty-seven treatises by (or attributed to) Galen;11 Burgundio, according to the most recent studies, certainly twenty. All of Burgundio’s translations relate

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1200–1400,” in Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen, pp. 381–392, esp. 389–390, to which I refer as a whole for an up-to-date overview of the presence of Galen in university syllables. See Charles Burnett, “Translating from Arabic into Latin in the Middle Ages: Theory, Practice, and Criticism,” in Éditer, traduire, interpréter: essais de méthodologie philosophique, eds. Steve G. Lofts, Philipp W. Rosemann (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1997), pp. 55–78, esp. pp. 60, 69. The intermediary texts, moreover, the Greek–Arabic versions by Ḥunain and his school, were executed ad sensum: for this ‘reader-oriented’ method see Glen M. Cooper, “Ḥunain ibn isḥāq and the Creation of an Arabic Galen,” in Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen, eds. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos and Barbara Zipser (Leiden, 2019), pp. 179–195. Vivian Nutton, “The Fortunes of Galen,” in The Cambridge Companion to Galen, ed. Robert J. Hankinson (Cambridge – New York, 2008), pp. 355–390, esp. p. 366, with examples. On Burgundio’s biography see Peter Classen, Burgundio von Pisa. Richter, Gesandter, Übersetzer, Heidelberg, 1974; see also A.M. Urso, “Translating Galen” for an overview of his work as a translator. On Nicholas of Reggio, see Vivian Nutton, “Niccolò in Context,” Medicina nei secoli 25 (2013), pp. 941–956, and the update of Stefania Fortuna, “Il corpus delle traduzioni di Niccolò da Reggio ( fl. 1308–1345),” in La medicina nel basso medioevo. Tradizioni e conflitti. Atti del LV Convegno storico internazionale (Todi, 14–16 ottobre 2018) (Spoleto, 2019), pp. 285–312. This is the total number of translations according to the revision of Lynn Thorndike’s catalogue carried out by Stefania Fortuna; see Lynn Thorndike, “Translations of Works of Galen from the Greek by Niccolò da Reggio (c. 1308–1345),” Byzantina Metabyzantina 1

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to works of the highest doctrinal value, largely coinciding with those read by the iatrosophists in the schools of Alexandria between the fifth and sixth centuries and mainly intended, as now seems established, for the Salernitan magistri:12 On Mixtures,13 On the Natural Capacities, On the Preservation of Health, On the Different Kinds of Fevers, On Affected Parts,14 Synopsis on the Pulse, On the Different Kinds of the Pulse, On Crises, Therapeutic Method (VII–XIV), On Hippocrates’ Aphorisms (I–IV.59),15 Art of Medicine (final catalogue), On the Elements According to Hippocrates,16 On the Pulse for Beginners, On the Causes of the Pulses,17 On Sects for Beginners, On Hippocrates’ Regimen in Acute Diseases IV, On Distinctions in Symptoms, with the other treatises on

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13 14 15 16 17

(1946), pp. 213–235, and S. Fortuna, “Il corpus delle traduzioni,” pp. 303–312 for the catalogue of works. The convergence of the entirety of Burgundian translations with the so-called Alexandrian canon was highlighted by Fortuna in Stefania Fortuna and Anna Maria Urso, “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore di Galeno: nuovi contributi e prospettive. Con un’appendice di P. Annese,” in Sulla tradizione indiretta dei testi medici greci. Atti del Seminario Internazionale (Siena, 19–20 settembre 2008), eds. Ivan Garofalo, Alessandro Lami, Amneris Roselli (Roma – Pisa, 2009), pp. 139–175, esp. pp. 147–149; on the Galenic syllabus as it existed in sixth-century Alexandria see Ivan Garofalo, “Galen’s Legacy in Alexandrian Texts Written in Greek, Latin, and Arabic,” in Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen, pp. 62–85. On the relations between Burgundio and Salerno, I refer to Danielle Jacquart, “Aristotelian Thought in Salerno,” in A History of Twelfth-Century Western Philosophy, ed. Peter Dronke (Cambridge, 1988), pp. 407–428, esp. pp. 417–424, and Nicoletta Palmieri, “Prolixité galénique et concision salernitaine: le cas de Barthélemy,” in Contre Galien. Critiques d’une autorité médicale de l’Antiquité à l’âge moderne, ed. Antoine Pietrobelli (Paris, 2020), pp. 173–197, esp. pp. 185–189, where the presence of some Burgundian translations in Bartholomew’s comments is demonstrated. I would like to mention here that Burgundio explicitly cites some of the texts of the so-called Articella that were commented on in Salerno (see below) and that on the commission of Bartholomew he translated the final catalogue of the Art of Medicine by Galen (Tegni), one of the texts of the canon, available in incomplete form until then (see Richard J. Durling, “Lectiones Galenicae: Τέχνη ἰατρική (K甃ࠀhn I, 305–412),” Classical Philology 63 (1968), pp. 56–57). Richard J. Durling, Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΚΡΑΣΕΩΝ, “De complexionibus”, ed. with Introduction and Indices (Berlin – New York, 1976). Richard J. Durling, Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ, “De interioribus”, ed. with Introduction and Indices (Stuttgart, 1992). These translations of Burgundio had already been listed in Charles H. Haskins, Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science (Cambridge, MA, 1924), pp. 207–208, along with other non-galenic translations of which he is the author. Domenico Pellegrino, La traduzione greco-latina di Burgundio del trattato galenico “De elementis ex Hippocratis sententia”. Introduzione e testo critico, PhD thesis (Messina, 2018). Alessandra Scimone, Galenus Latinus: la traduzione di Burgundio da Pisa del De causis pulsuum. Introduzione, testo critico e indici, PhD thesis (Salerno – Reims, 2021).

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diseases and symptoms (On the Different Kinds of Disease, On the Causes of Diseases, On the Causes of Symptoms). Nicholas was a Greek from Calabria, a doctor and professional translator, whereas Burgundio had learned Greek while staying in Constantinople, perhaps in the Pisan quarter of the capital. Unlike Nicholas, Burgundio could only devote time to translations when he was not busy with official commitments. It is not surprising, therefore, that the translations of Nicholas are superior to those of Burgundio. This superiority also includes philological aspects. Being based on now lost manuscripts that had preserved good-quality texts, Nicholas’ translations contribute to the constitution of the model text and even testify to works that the Greek tradition has lost.18 However, Burgundio had a particular merit compared to Nicholas because he had flourished earlier. Being the first to have systematically translated Galen’s writings from Greek, Burgundio created from scratch a network of Greek-Latin correspondences and a series of new terms that Nicholas could use two centuries later. Furthermore, when Burgundio began working as a translator, verbalism, which characterized medieval translation practice and whose suitability for rendering scientific texts had already been supported by Boethius in the sixth century CE, had not yet been definitively established.19 In fact, it coexisted with the other translation method that the Middle Ages inherited from late antiquity, the method ad sensum that Jerome, in his famous Epistle to Pammachius, recommended for texts unrelated to the Holy Scriptures. In these cases, Jerome proposed “exprimere sensum de sensu” (“render sense for sense”), translating the source text – according to the Ciceronian distinction – not “ut interpres sed ut orator” (not “as a mere translator but as an orator”), without worrying about omitting, adding and changing words in order to render the content with expressions typical of the target language.20 18 19

20

The list of translations of which the original of Galen is lost is to be found in S. Fortuna, “Il corpus delle traduzioni,” p. 303. On the debate about translation between late antiquity and the Middle Ages see Paolo Chiesa, “Ad verbum o ad sensum. Modelli e coscienza metodologica della traduzione tra tarda antichità e alto medioevo,” Medioevo e Rinascimento 1 (1987), pp. 1–51, and Paolo Chiesa, “Girolamo e oltre. Teorici della traduzione nel medioevo latino,” in Testo medievale e traduzione, eds. Maria G. Cammarota and Maria V. Molinari (Bergamo 2001), pp. 173–192. Hier. Epist. 57,5,5 (transl. by Paul Carroll in Douglas Robinson, Western Translation Theory from Herodotus to Nietzsche (London  – New York, 2002), p. 25, with amendments): “For I not only admit but freely announce that in translating from the Greek (except in the case of Holy scripture where even the order of the words is a mystery) I render not word for word but sense for sense. For this practise I have behind me the authority of Cicero himself who has so translated the Protagoras of Plato, the Oeconomicus of Xenophon, and the two beautiful orations which Aeschines and Demosthenes delivered against each

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The coexistence of these two methods (ad uerbum and ad sensum) implied a particular consequence. At the beginning of the fourteenth century, for Nicholas of Reggio, translating a scientific text uerbum de uerbo seemed a foregone conclusion. He could, therefore, limit himself to repeating in an almost formulaic way, in the preface to his versions of Galen, that he had translated the Greek text “nihil addens, minuens uel permutans,” that is, abstaining from those interventions that according to Jerome characterized translation ad sensum.21 By contrast, Burgundio’s verbalism was the result of a methodological choice leading him to a ceaseless search for the most exact reproduction of the model. Just think of the double translations that dot the manuscripts of his works, which are perhaps the most striking feature of this research,22 as well

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other. How many things he omitted, how many things he added, how many things he changed in order to clarify the characteristics of another language through the characteristics of his own language this is not the time to say. I am satisfied to quote the authority of the translator who has spoken as follows in the prologue to the above orations. […] ‘I have rendered them not as a mere translator but as an orator, keeping the same ideas and their formal features and rhetorical figures with terms suited to our custom. Not thinking it necessary to render word for word, I have reproduced the general style and force of the language […]’ [Cic. De optimo genere oratorum 14]. Similar advice is given by Horace, an acute and learned man, in The Art of Poetry [133–134], when he tells the educated translator: ‘Try not to render words literally / Like some faithful translator.’ Menander has been translated by Terence, the ancient comic poets by Plautus and Caecilius. But do they ever stick to the literal words? or instead, do they attempt to preserve in their translations the beauty and elegance of their originals?” See the texts published in Francesco Lo Parco, Niccolò da Reggio antesignano del Risorgimento dell’antichità ellenica nel secolo XIV da codici delle biblioteche italiane e straniere e da documenti e stampe rare. Memoria letta alla Reale Accademia di Archeologia, Lettere e Belle Arti di Napoli (Napoli, 1913), pp. 291–292 (the dedication of De passionibus uniuscuiusque particule); 295 (the prologue to De utilitate particularum). On double translations see Fernand Bossier, “L’élaboration du vocabulaire philosophique chez Burgundio de Pise,” in Aux origines du lexique philosophique européen. L’influence de la “latinitas”. Actes du Colloque International (Rome, 23–25 mai 1996), ed. Jacqueline Hamesse (Louvain-La-Neuve, 1997), pp. 81–116, esp. pp. 84–89, 113–114; Beate Gundert, “The Graeco-Latin Translation of Galen, De symptomatum differentiis,” Medicina nei secoli 25 (2013), pp. 889–926, esp. pp. 899–903; D. Pellegrino, La traduzione greco-latina, pp. clxxviii–cxciii. This feature of Burgundio had already been noted by the editors of the Aristotelian versions of Ethica vetus and De generatione et corruptione, René A. Gauthier, Ethica Nicomachea. Translatio antiquissima lib. II–III sive Ethica vetus, Translationis antiquioris quae supersunt sive Ethica nova, Hoferiana, Borghesiana (Aristoteles Latinus) XXVI 1 (Leiden – Bruxelles, 1972–73) and Joanna Judycka, Aristoteles, De generatione et corruptione. Translatio vetus (Aristoteles Latinus) IX 1 (Leiden, 1986), before they were attributed to Burgundio thanks to the research of Richard Durling and Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem and Marwan Rashed (see Richard J. Durling, “Burgundio of Pisa and Medical Humanists of the Twelfth Century,” Studi classici e orientali 43 (1993), pp. 95–99 and “The Anonymous Translation of Aristotle’s De generatione et corruptione (Translatio vetus),” Traditio 49

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as the double Greek-Latin designations in his later translations, transliterating the Greek term itself followed by its Latin rendering and preceded by “idest,” almost as if the Latin could not completely correspond to the Greek term.23 In the last fifty years, starting with Richard Durling’s research, Burgundio’s so-called ‘translation style’ has been fruitfully studied well beyond the two features mentioned above. This type of investigation established Burgundio’s authorship with certainty in the case of translations that were handed down anonymously in manuscripts or were of dubious attribution. It also became possible to better establish the corpus of his works.24 Burgundio’s specific rendering of parts of speech has been identified, such as particles, conjunctions, pronouns, and some adverbs. These are particularly useful for identifying the translator, since, as linguistic units that do not carry meaning, they are treated more consistently.25 Furthermore, the characteristic shift in their use by Burgundio over time (for example, that of the particle γε, which he chose to render systematically only from a certain point of time) provides a criterion for ordering his translations into a relative chronology.26 Conspicuously, – to use the words of Fernand Bossier – the translator had some “mots favoris,” and

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(1994), pp. 320–330; Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem and Marwan Rashed, “Burgundio de Pise et ses manuscrits grecs d’Aristote: Laur. 87. 7 et Laur. 81. 18,” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 64 (1997), pp. 136–198). See A.M. Urso, in S. Fortuna, A.M. Urso, “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore,” pp. 167–168. The Burgundian authorship of Galenic translations has recently been demonstrated by R.J. Durling, “Burgundio of Pisa,” and R.J. Durling in Phillip De Lacy, Galen, On elements according to Hippocrates, ed., transl. and comm. (CMG) V.1.2 (Berlin, 1996), pp. 27–28; see also Domenico Pellegrino, “La versione greco-latina del De elementis ex Hippocratis sententia di Galeno: indagine sulla paternità e sul modello greco”, Commentaria classica 8 (2021), pp. 49–88, esp. pp. 49–58 (On the Elements According to Hippocrates); A.M. Urso, in S. Fortuna, A.M. Urso, “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore,” pp. 149–171 (On Hippocrates’ Regimen in Acute Diseases IV); B. Gundert, “The Graeco-Latin Translation,” (On Distinctions in Symptoms with the other treatises on diseases and symptoms). For confirmation of the attribution to Burgundio of On Hippocrates’ Aphorisms I–IV.59, attested in the Vindobonensis lat. 2328 against other manuscripts, see Anna Maria Urso, “Burgundio, Niccolò e il Vind. lat. 2328: un confronto stilistico sulla traduzione del commento di Galeno ad Aphorismi”, AION( filol) 33 (2011), pp. 145–162. More on this method, which was first applied to Galen by R.J. Durling, can be found in S. Fortuna, A.M. Urso, “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore,” pp. 149–153. Durling followed in the footsteps of Lorenzo Minio Paluello, who had already applied the method to medieval Latin translations of Aristotle. The first to arrange Burgundio’s translations into a relative chronology was F. Bossier, “L’élaboration du vocabulaire,” pp. 94–102; see also, on the same lines, A.M. Urso, in S. Fortuna, A.M. Urso, “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore,” p. 168 for the conclusions, and “La traduzione di Burgundio del commento di Galeno ad Aphorismi: vocabolario e cronologia,” Medicina nei secoli 25 (2013), pp. 859–902, esp. pp. 885–887; B. Gundert, “The Graeco-Latin

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some of his renderings were “plutôt insolites ou complètement inattendues;” in the footsteps of Bossier, who first drew attention to them, scholars also investigated these features.27 Furthermore, researchers indicated some neologisms or rare words28 and highlighted the translator’s search for fixed patterns of equivalence, even to the detriment of coherence with the context of the chosen term.29 Finally, scholars drew up indices of Greco-Latin correspondences as part of their editions, which are indispensable tools for further research.30 However, lesser attention has been paid to the processes behind the individual choices and the difficulties the translator faced in creating a coherent terminology to render the richness and nuances of Greek medical vocabulary.31 In particular, the prologue of the translation of John Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Gospel of John has not been studied in depth either, despite being available for some time in the edition of Peter Classen and cited several times by students of the translator’s working methods.32 By contrast, this work, on which I now want to dwell, is essential for fully understanding Burgundio’s ideas on

27 28 29 30

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Translation,” pp. 894–895; D. Pellegrino, “La versione greco-latina,” pp. 58–70; A. Scimone, Galenus latinus, pp. LXXX–CI. F. Bossier, “L’élaboration du vocabulaire,” esp. pp. 89–94; A.M. Urso, in S. Fortuna, A.M. Urso, “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore,” pp. 164–165, and “Burgundio, Niccolò,” pp. 154–155. R.J. Durling, Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ, pp. 41–48; A. Scimone, Galenus latinus, pp. LX–LXI. See e.g. Ivan Garofalo, “La traduzione latina di Burgundio da Pisa dei libri VII–XIV della Methodus medendi,” Galenos 8 (2014), pp. 35–52, esp. pp. 38–39; B. Gundert, “The Graeco-Latin Translation,” pp. 897–898. See the works cited above, nn. 13, 14, 17, 22. The indexes of Gérard Verbeke and Josep R. Moncho, Némésius d’Émèse, De natura hominis, Traduction de Burgundio de Pise (Leiden, 1975), as already noted by F. Bossier, “L’élaboration du vocabulaire,” p. 88, are selective and not always precise. Studies of this type have been carried out only on some ethical or philosophical terms: see F. Bossier, “L’élaboration du vocabulaire,” pp. 102–116, and “Les ennuis d’un traducteur. Quatre annotations sur la première traduction latine de l’Éthique à Nicomaque par Burgundio de Pise,” Bijdragen 59 (1998), pp. 406–427; Riccardo Saccenti, Un nuovo lessico morale medievale. Il contributo di Burgundio da Pisa (Canterano, 2016); Nicoletta Palmieri, “Il bilinguismo dei traduttori di Nemesio: osservazioni sul vocabolario medico-filosofico di Alfano di Salerno e di Burgundio da Pisa,” in Il bilinguismo medico fra Tardoantico e Medio Evo. Atti del Convegno internazionale (Messina, 14 e 15 ottobre 2010), ed. Anna Maria Urso (Messina, 2012), pp. 121–147. Burgundio, Prologus Burgundionis iudicis in commentatione Iohannis Cristostomi super evangelium Sancti Iohannis evangeliste, in P. Classen, Burgundio von Pisa, pp. 79–102. Lastly, the importance of this prologue has been emphasised by Michael Angold, Charles Burnett, “Latin Translators from Greek in the Twelfth Century on Why and How They Translate”, in Why Translate Science? Documents from Antiquity to the 16th Century in the Historical West (Bactria to the Atlantic), ed. Dimitri Gutas with the assistance of Charles Burnett, Uwe Vagelpohl (Leiden, 2022), pp. 488–524, esp. pp. 488–489.

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translation and explaining, in the light of his reflections, the reasons behind his choices as a translator. In fact, Burgundio’s preface to his translation of John Chrysostom’s Homilies on the Gospel of John is not the only text where he explains his translation method. In 1151, Pope Eugene III commissioned Burgundio to translate the Homilies of John Chrysostom on the Gospel of Matthew into Latin, which had already two incomplete translations. Burgundio prefaced the text with a “statement of policy”, which specified that he had translated “word for word and preserved not only the sense but also the order of the words as far as he could without any change.” Burgundio’s intention was not to leave room for doubts about the authorship of the translated text and to provide, with his full translation, “the tradition of Orthodox faith in more complete form.”33 In the prologue to the translation of the Homilies on the Gospel of John, however, Burgundio discusses the method from a historical perspective and in great detail, so much so that Charles Burnett was justified in calling it “virtually a blueprint for literal translation and an account of the history of its practice.”34 Furthermore, the fact that it was written in 1174 when Burgundio had more than twenty years of activity as a translator behind him makes it of particular interest, not only as a statement of intent but as a reflection on his past work. So, identifying the prologue’s methodological content also helps to examine the translator’s strategies. In the following paragraph, I aim to analyse the programmatic lines of this prologue, in order to understand what Burgundio’s idea of translation is like and by what methods he proposes to realize it.

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Burgundio, Prologus super opus beati Johannis Chrysostomi archiepiscopi CP. Super Matthaeum, eds. Edmond Martène and Ursinus Durand in Veterum scriptorum … collectio, I (Paris, 1724), coll. 817–819 (I take the translation from Walter Berschin, Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: from Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa, transl. by Jerold C. Frakes, rev. and expanded ed., Washington, 1988, p. 228): “uerbum de uerbo reddidi, non sensum solum, sed et ordinem uerborum, in quantum potui, sine alteritate conseruans: ut non minus ex sententiarum lepore, quam et caracteris proprietate, sancti huius Iohannis hoc esse opus incunctanter credatur, et ex orthodoxae fidei traditione luculentiori indagatione hic explanare: haec tertia reliquis duabus editionibus sollertis lectoris iudicio praeponatur” (“I translated word for word and preserved not only the sense, but also the order of the words as far as I could without any change, so that it might be believed without question, because of the gracefulness of his thoughts no less than because of the peculiarity of his wording of the text, that this is a work of the blessed John, and so that this third edition might be preferred to the other two in the judgment of the studious reader, since it presents the tradition of the orthodox faith in more complete form”). Ch. Burnett, “Translation and Transmission,” p. 361.

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“A Blueprint for Literal Translation”

At the beginning of the prologue to the Homilies on the Gospel of John, as in the preface of 1151, Burgundio justifies the choice of the uerbum de uerbo method with the desire not to betray the thought of the evangelist and his commentator, “for these are words of faith;” he therefore decides to re-propose “not only words with the same meaning as in the original Greek but also the same style and order of words.”35 This literal approach, therefore, would seem to align with the position of Jerome, who considered it necessary in the case of the Holy Scriptures. Even at the end, maintaining a perfect ring structure, Burgundio returns to emphasize the same concept, writing that he decided to render “word for word” because “this translation of mine is sacred scripture.”36 The development of the preface, however, shows that the medieval translator’s position does not coincide with Jerome’s, since to demonstrate the antiquity and validity of the ad uerbum method Burgundio traces its history from the Septuagint to the Latin version of Theophilus’ De urinis. In this review, Burgundio includes works taken from all areas of his activity: not only patristic and medical (such as Theophilus’ De urinis and the translation of Hippocrates’ Aphorisms and Galen’s Art of Medicine (Tegni), all contained in the Salerno canon of the Articella), but also legal and philosophical, 35

36

Burgundio, Prologus, p. 87,71–77 Classen: “Verens igitur ego Burgundio, ne si sentenciam huius sancti patris commentationis assumens meo eam more dictarem, in aliquo alterutrorum horum duorum sapientissimorum uirorum sentenciis profundam mentem mutarem et in tam magna re, cum sint uerba fidei, periculum lapsus alicuius alteritatis incurrerem, difficilius iter arripiens et uerba significatione eadem et stilum et ordinem eundem qui apud Grecos est in hac mea translatione seruare disposui.” (“Therefore, I, Burgundio, in fear that, if I wrote in my own manner when translating the thought of this holy father’s commentary, I would be changing into something the deep meaning of the thought of one or the other of these two very wise men, and would be incurring the risk of altering so great an original (for these are words of faith) through my own error, I resolved to take a more difficult path and preserve in my translation not only words with the same meaning as in the original Greek but also the same style and order of words”). The translation of the text, from here onwards, is that of Edward Kapp III, published in D. Robinson, Western Translation Theory, pp. 40–43, from which I, however, depart in some crucial points, where Kapp seems to have misunderstood the Latin text. Preferable is the recent Portuguese translation by Mauri Furlan, Prologus in commentatione Iohannis Crisostomi supra evangelium Sancti Iohannis Evangeliste (1174) / Prólogo ao Comentário de João Crisóstomo sobre o Evangelho de São João Evangelista, 2021 (https://www.research gate.net/publication/348936090). Accessed 2023 Oct 3. A translation of this text can now be found in Angold, Burnett, “Latin Translators,” pp. 493–497. Burgundio, Prologus, p. 95,178–81 C.: “Cum igitur hec mea translatio scriptura sancta sit […] uerbum ex uerbo statui transferendum” (“Since, therefore, this translation of mine is sacred scripture […] I decided to translate word for word”).

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from the XII Tables and Justinian to Calcidius, Boethius, and John Scotus Eriugena. In this way, he expands the boundaries within which the ad uerbum method can be usefully employed far beyond sacred texts. Moreover, Burgundio does not consider the ad uerbum translation to be simply a legitimate alternative of equal dignity to the ad sensum approach. Surprisingly, he immediately defines his choice as “a more difficult path” (“difficilius iter arripiens”) contrary to what we still think of this practice today.37 After, in the rest of the text, Burgundio goes with his apology even further, claiming that a literal rendering is the only one that can be properly defined as a translation. He expresses this thought in a passage where he consciously joined the debate on the best way of translating, which the Middle Ages inherited from Latin antiquity and whose benchmark was the aforementioned Epistle 57 of Jerome, also known as On the Best Method of Translating. Supporting the reasons for literalism, Burgundio declares: Therefore, if the corresponding words are found, the specificities of one or the other language do not become an impediment, and one does not wish to establish one’s own glory and pretend that another’s words are his own, a word-for-word translation should by no means be rejected by the diligent and faithful translator. For if you wish another’s material to be regarded as yours, ‘you will’, as Horace says, ‘take pains not to render word for word like a faithful translator’, but rather, taking up the meaning of that matter you will cast it into the structure of your own diction; thus you will appear not to have translated but to have composed the text out of your own head, which both Cicero and Terence admit that they did. For imbued as they were with the highest wisdom and disdaining to be slaves to the cases and figures of the Greeks, they did not adhere to the Greek words but rather, by their own eloquence, preserved the beauty and elegance of the original sentences in their translations. On the contrary, if they had rendered word for word, due to the non-Latin style, they would easily have been discovered stealing others’ thoughts. St Jerome himself, who ferociously attacks word-for-word translation,

37

See P. Chiesa, “Girolamo e oltre,” p. 180: “La traduzione verbum de verbo poteva essere facilmente eseguita anche in periodi di scarsa preparazione culturale; era quella che automaticamente veniva generata da una delle prassi consuete di traduzione, quella in cui un interprete forniva una versione interlineare, parola per parola, del testo da tradurre, e il responsabile latino della traduzione mettava in forma continua il testo così prodotto, magari anche soltanto con semplici aggiustamenti sintattici.”

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says that when translating from Greek apart from the sacred scriptures, where even the order of the words is a mystery, he renders not word for word but sense for sense.38 This is obviously a statement of poetics, as the precise network of textual references to Jerome suggests. Burgundio, moreover, explicitly mentions Jerome after taking up from him the examples of Cicero and Terence together with the citation of Horace’s admonition in Ars poetica 133–134.39 Clearly reversing the position of Jerome, who had expressed himself in strongly critical terms against literal translation (“nimium … inuehitur”), preferring the ad sensum practice with the sole exception of the Holy Scriptures, Burgundio shows his re-evaluation of the figure of the fidus interpres of Horace’s Ars poetica. Boethius already turned to Horace’s opinion in the sixth century when he chose the ad uerbum method to keep the “ueritas” (“truth”) of his philosophical translations “incorrupta” (“unspoiled”). The position of Burgundio, however, differs from that of Boethius, who felt the need to justify his approach to the detractors of literalism with the need not to betray the philosophical content of the texts he translated:

38

39

Burgundio, Prologus, pp. 94,161–95,176 C.: “Non igitur de uerbo ad uerbum translatio, si et dictiones inueniantur et ydioma alterutrius lingue minime impediat et non quis suam uelit statuere gloriam et ea que aliorum sua esse simulare, a diligenti et fideli omnino est interprete respuenda. Si enim alienam materiam tuam tuique iuris uis esse putari, ‘non uerbo uerbum’, ut ait Oracius, ‘curabis reddere ut fidus interpres’, immo eius materiei sentenciam sumens tui eam dictaminis compagine explicabis, et ita non interpres eris sed ex te tua propria composuisse uideberis, quod et Tullius et Terencius se fecisse testantur. Summa enim sapiencia imbuti casibus et figuris seruire Grecorum in sua oracione dedignantes non uerbis Grecorum adherebant, sed sua eloquencia sentencie decorem atque eleganciam in suis translationibus conseruabant. Alioquin si uerbum uerbo reddidissent, ex stilo non nostrate eam alii surripuisse facile deprehenderentur. Sed et sanctus Ieronimus, qui nimium in hanc uerbi ad uerbum translationem inuehitur, ait se ‘interpretacione Grecorum absque scripturis sanctis, ubi et uerborum ordo misterium est, non uerbum e uerbo, sed sensum exprimere de sensu’.” The meaning of “much” for “nimium” is attested in Novum Glossarium Mediae Latinitatis (L–Pe), p. 1267, s.v. “nimie,” together with that of “excessively”. As P. Chiesa, “Girolamo e oltre,” pp. 177 and 182, emphasizes, it would be the important exception that Jerome made for the Holy Scriptures that would pave the way for a dual methodological track, allowing both approaches to survive, imposing themselves in different areas in the central Middle Ages: verbalism would predominate in the field of scientific texts, while ad sensum translation would be the preferred strategy of translators of hagiographic texts. Cf. Epist. 57,5,5 cit. supra, n. 20.

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I fear that I shall commit the fault of the faithful interpreter when I render each word by a word corresponding to it. The reason for this approach is that, in the writings in which knowledge of the subject matter is sought, it is not the charm of limpid speech but the unsullied truth that has to be expressed. Therefore I feel I have been most useful if, in composing books of philosophy in the Latin language, not a single letter of the Greek is to be found missing.40 Burgundio’s standpoint also differs from that of John Scotus, who translates uerbum de uerbo in the late Carolingian period. John Scotus shares Boethius’ fear of criticism and expresses himself in the same terms as Boethius; in the introductory letter to his translation of pseudo-Dionysius’ On the Celestial Hierarchy, he declares: “I fear that I have incurred the blame of the faithful translator.”41 On the contrary, unlike his predecessors, Burgundio seems to consider the “diligens et fidelis interpres” (rewriting the Horatian formula with this binomial) solely to be qualified as a “translator.” At the same time, he condemns the translation ad sensum, which he does not hesitate to present as an attempt at plagiarism rather than as a translation.42 Indeed, Burgundio considers it an option only for those who wish to achieve glory by appropriating the work of others.43 He ends up accusing those who practice it of having rejected literalism because the non-Latin style of the translation would have revealed theft.44 The accusation includes Cicero and Terence, but indirectly even Jerome, who availed himself of the ad uerbum approach only for the Holy Scriptures. This position is consistent with what Burgundio already stated in

40

41 42 43 44

Boethius, In Isagogen Porphyrii, p. 135 Brandt (translated by Charles S.F. Burnett in D. Robinson, Western Translation Theory, p. 35): “uereor ne subierim fidi interpretis culpam cum uerbum uerbo expressum comparatumque reddiderim. Cuius incoepti ratio est, quod in his scriptis in quibus rerum cognitio quaeritur, non luculentae orationis lepos sed incorrupta ueritas exprimenda est. Quocirca multum profecisse uideor, si philosophiae libris Latina oratione compositis per integerrimae translationis sinceritatem nihil in Graecorum litteris amplius desideretur.” On the notion of fidus interpres in the Middle Ages, see Werner Schwarz, “The Meaning of fidus interpres in Medieval Translation,” The Journal of Theological Studies 45 (1944), pp. 73–78. MGH, Epistolae, VI, p. 159,28–29 D甃ࠀmmler: “Vbi ualde pertimesco, ne forte culpam fidi [but fidi C] interpretis incurram.” On the presence of this topic in the texts of contemporary Arabic translators see Ch. Burnett, “Translating from Arabic,” pp. 61–62. Burgundio, Prologus, p. 94,163 C.: “et non quis suam uelit statuere gloriam et ea que aliorum sua esse simulare.” Burgundio, Prologus, p. 95,172–173 C.: “si uerbum uerbo reddidissent, ex stilo non nostrate eam alii surripuisse facile deprehenderentur.”

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the Prologue to the Homilies of John Chrysostom on the Gospel of Matthew, where he states that he chose the translation ad uerbum “so that it might be believed without question, because of the gracefulness of his thoughts no less than because of the peculiarity of his wording of the text, that this is a work of the blessed John.”45 The idea that the translator should not seek glory but disappear completely behind the translated work, placing himself at the author’s service, is expressed in the conclusion of the prologue, where Burgundio declares that he sought, through his translation, “not glory but the Lord’s forgiveness of my sins and those of my son.”46 It also returns, although not so explicitly expressed, in another passage of the prologue itself: Indeed, it is desirable that the author of a book may shine as much from the ornament of his style and the grace of his words as from his ideas. After all, a building will impress the viewer with the architect’s talent as much by its stones as by the excellence of its structure. However, a painter will be praised by competent critics as readily for an ugly shape as for a beautiful one, provided he has reproduced in every way the figure, that is, the effigy of the model. Likewise, all admire the high and sublime style of Paul’s epistles by comparison with that of Aristotle and other humble and rough instructional writings.47 Here, according to Paolo Chiesa, Burgundio’s awareness of the limits of the literal method is shown, as if the translator renounced the stylistic value of his work in the name of fidelity to meaning. Chiesa, in fact, identifies the “auctor libri” cited by Burgundio with the translator, whose translation, unfortunately,

45 46

47

See supra, n. 33. Burgundio, Prologus, p. 95,178–181 C.: “Cum […] in hoc meo labore non gloriam sed peccatorum meorum et filii mei ueniam Domini expetam, merito huic sancto patri nostro Iohanni Crisostomo sui operis gloriam et apud Latinos conseruans, uerbum ex uerbo statui transferendum.” Burgundio, Prologus, p. 94,153–161 C.: “Congruum enim est auctorem libri non minus quam ex sentenciis ex ornatu etiam stili uerborumque pariter pollere lepore. Nam et paries sicut ex lapidibus, ita et ex optima compaginis constructione architectoris ingenii stuporem artem examinantibus infert. Sed et pictor non ex pulcra solum sed ex turpi ymaginis figuratione a prudentibus laudum preconiis eleuatur, dum modo prototypi, idest exemplaris, figurationem uel effigiem omnifariam fuerit prosecutus. Sic quoque altus et sublimis epistolarum Pauli stilus Aristotilis et aliorum humilium et hyspidorum dictaminum comparatione ab omnibus in admirationem deducitur.”

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cannot always shine by beauty of style as well as fidelity to meaning.48 On the contrary, I believe that the interpretation of the passage is different and that Burgundio is once again distinguishing author from translator. He explains the idea that the beauty of the style and of the words should solely concern the author, while the translator is only responsible for reproducing the style of the translated author. The author’s style can be high and sublime, like that of Paul of Tarsus (whose credit, as Burgundio seems to argue, belongs solely to Paul), or humble and rough like that of Aristotle. The translator will be praised not on the basis of the elegance of his personal style but on the basis of faithfulness to the source text in all its details including its style. This interpretation is consistent with the passage we examined earlier, where Cicero and Terence are accused of having expressed the beauty and elegance of the original works through their own eloquence.49 Moreover, it is also consistent with the very first lines of Burgundio’s programmatic statements, where he mentions style alongside meaning and the order of the words as an element he intended to reproduce in the translation of Chrysostom, regardless of how much this reproduction was successful in the practice of translation. On the basis of what has been said so far, there is a set of characteristics through which the “diligens et fidelis interpres” must mirror, almost in a perfect calque, “the figure, that is, the effigy” of the Greek text. These are i) the meaning of the text, ii) the order of the words, iii) style, but also iv) cases and v) figures, that Cicero and Terence, the prototypes of ad sensum translators, are accused of not wishing to retain.50 At the same time, these general rules admit some exceptions and Burgundio himself is aware of their necessity when he declares that “if the corresponding words are found and to the extent that the peculiarities of one or the other language do not become an impediment […] a word-for-word translation should by no means be rejected.”51 In other words, Burgundio recognizes the limits of which Lucretius already complained as the “patrii sermonis egestas” and the need to avoid excessive forcing of the language. Indeed, the idea of translation as mimesis which Burgundio has in mind 48 49 50

51

See P. Chiesa, “Girolamo e oltre,” p. 184, who thus translates the passage: “Sarebbe infatti opportuno che la traduzione brillasse per bellezza di stile, non meno che per fedeltà al significato.” Burgundio, Prologus, p. 95,170–172 C: “non uerbis Grecorum adherebant, sed sua eloquencia sentencie decorem atque eleganciam in suis translationibus conseruabant.” Burgundio, Prologus, p. 87,75–77 C.: “uerba significatione eadem et stilum et ordinem eundem qui apud Grecos est in hac mea translatione seruare disposui;” p. 95,169–170 C.: “casibus et figuris seruire Grecorum in sua oracione dedignantes non uerbis Grecorum adherebant.” Burgundio, Prologus, p. 94,161–164 C. cit. n. 38

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was inherently conditioned and was bound to be a compromise. This comes out clearly at the end of the prologue, where Burgundio declares: I decided to translate word for word, only filling in occasional deficiencies of diction by adding two or three words and reshaping a linguistic peculiarity originating from barbarism or metaplasm or schema or trope into a right and proper discourse.52 With this statement, Burgundio gives his personal answer to the difficulties just mentioned. He legitimizes the use of periphrastic translations as an exception to the rule that would have the exact correspondence of a Greek word with a Latin one53 and sacrifices the rendering of some figures to the correctness and propriety of the Latin language.54 Scholars should consider all the ideas which Burgundio expresses in this prologue and which we have examined so far when they study his translations. His statements, on the one hand, show that the translator’s fidelity to the Greek text was the fruit of articulated theoretical reflection, and on the other, they allow us to better understand Burgundio’s difficulties, his hesitations, the limits of his literalism, the orientation that prevails when different needs come into conflict with each other. In the last paragraph of my paper, I will connect Burgundio’s theoretical reflections to his translation practice, showing with a few examples to what extent and in what way this idea of mimetic translation guided Burgundio in the rendering of some words. The examples will be taken mainly from the translation of On Affected Parts (De interioribus), since, among the translations

52

53

54

Burgundio, Prologus, p. 95,181–184 C.: “uerbum ex uerbo statui transferendum, deficienciam quidem dictionum interuenientem duabus uel etiam tribus dictionibus adiectis replens, ydioma vero quod barbarismo uel metaplasmo vel scemate uel tropo fit, recta et propria sermocinatione retorquens.” These periphrastic translations are also called ‘analytic translations’; see Pierre Thillet, Alexandre d’Aphrodise, De fato ad imperatores. Version de Guillaume de Moerbeke. Édition critique avec introduction et index (Paris, 1963), pp. 52–55. I distance myself from R. Saccenti, Un nuovo lessico morale medievale, p. 59, who believes that in this passage Burgundio is not referring to analytic translations but to double translations. The (entirely legitimate) criticism of making the original text obscure, despite claims of reproducing it faithfully, was moreover one of those most frequently levelled at ad uerbum translators. As we are reminded by P. Chiesa in “Girolamo e oltre,” p. 178, the image of the weed suffocating the crops, evoked by Evagrius of Antioch in the preface to his translation of Vita Antonii, became topical in the condemnation of this practice among Medieval translators.

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available in critical editions, this is closest in time to the programmatic preface of 1174.55

4

Translation as Mimesis: Some Examples

I will begin with an example relating to the treatment of metaphors, which allows us to compare the On Affected Parts with an early translation, namely Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics. The text in question is the so-called Ethica vetus, which was attributed to Burgundio only in 1993 by Richard Durling.56 Nicomachean Ethics 1117a 7–9 deals with courage and impulsiveness. Aristotle describes men ready to fight under the impulse of passion and distinguishes them from the brave who instead do so for honour and as reason requires. Aristotle concludes that “οἱ δὲ διὰ ταῦτα μαχόμενοι μάχιμοι μέν, οὐκ άνδρεῖοι δὲ” (“those who fight for these motives, though valiant fighters, are not courageous”).57 Burgundio renders the Aristotelian expression as “qui autem propter hec bellicosi quidem, non fortes autem;” however, the two oldest manuscripts of his translation, the Abringensis and the Oxoniensis, both from the late twelfth century, also display the variant “litigiosi” in place of the more literal “bellicosi.”58 This double translation of μάχιμοι reveals that Burgundio was uncertain whether the Greek text presents a metaphor, and that in the uncertainty he chose to remain faithful to his model: and rightly so, because “litigiosi” would have impoverished the meaning of Aristotle’s text. As a second instance, let us observe how Burgundio translates in De interioribus two words sharing the same root, such as μάχη and μάχεσθαι, used by Galen with evident metaphorical value to indicate contradiction and contrast. In the first two occurrences of the verb, Burgundio maintains the Greek metaphor using the two verbs “impugnare” and “repugnare,” whose metaphorical use, at least in classical and late Latin, is widespread.59 In the other six cases, the translator deals with the metaphor by resorting to “aduersari” five times,

55 56 57 58 59

Galen’s treatise On Affected Parts is published in C.G. K甃ࠀhn, Claudii Galeni Opera Omnia, VIII (Leipzig, 1824). See R.J. Durling, “Burgundio of Pisa and Medical Humanists”. The edition is that of R.A. Gauthier, Ethica Nicomachea. The Nicomachean Ethics, transl. by H. Rackham (Loeb Classical Library) 73, (New York, 1926), p. 169. See p. 42, 15–16 Gauthier. See pp. 65,29–30 Durling (hereafter D.) = 59 K甃ࠀhn (hereafter K.): “repugnare hiis que dicta sunt;” 70,25 D. = 74 K.: “ad quod apparet manifeste […] sermo eius inpugnat.”

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and once, where μάχεσθαι means more strictly “oppose,” to “opponi.”60 The metaphor is also simplified in the two cases in which the noun appears: μάχη is translated “aduersatio” in a place where it indicates the controversy over the seat of the hegemonikón and is rendered with “contrarietas” when it expresses a contradiction in Erasistratus’ thought.61 A third example is related to the choice of rendering the noun πρόσφυσις alternatively with “applicatio” and “amplantatio” and, similarly, the verb προσφύεσθαι with “applicari” and “amplantari.”62 Burgundio chooses “applicatio” and “amplantatio” to designate the ramifications of the aorta, which, according to Erasistratus, connected it to the lung above the fifth dorsal vertebra and “applicari” and “amplantari” to indicate the action of attaching or being connected.63 In another context, where προσφύεσθαι indicates the adherence of a leech to a part of the body, the verb is translated as “adherere.”64 The two pairs of Latin equivalents “applicatio,” “applicari” and “amplantatio,” “amplantari” seem almost interchangeable from the viewpoint of form and meaning. So, it is unclear why Burgundio resorted to “amplantari” and to the noun “amplantatio,” which Durling recorded among his neologisms.65 Moreover, both terms introduce a metaphor, something that Burgundio usually wishes to avoid, as we read in his preface to Chrysostom and saw above in the translation of μάχη and μάχεσθαι. It is probable that the translator felt these two terms closer to the corresponding Greek words due to the value of the radical. Also elsewhere, in similar anatomical contexts, he translates φύεσθαι with “plantari” and “explantari”, and the preverbated forms of φύεσθαι, ἐμφύεσθαι and καταφύεσθαι, with “implantari” and “plantari.” Similarly, the substantives 60

61 62

63 64 65

For “adversari” see pp. 72,16 D. = 80 K.: “quibus non aduersantur que nunc dicta sunt;” 80,21–22 D.  =  109 K.: “Hoc autem aduersatur et ei […] dictum est;” 94,16 D.  =  158 K.: “alia ad inuicem aduersantur;” 94,20 D.  =  159 K.: “neque aduersari huic neque sequi;” 139,22–23  =  316 K: “Aduersatur autem rursus hoc ipsum sermoni qui nunc instat;” for “opponi,” p. 81,24 D. (p. 113 K.): “Dolor ateiros (idest uehementer) iniacens opponitur torposo.” See p. 94,25 D. = 159 K.: “aduersatio ad hegemonicum anime;” 139,28 D. = 317 K.: “contrarietatem non intellexit.” For “applicatio” and “applicari” see p. 138,8–9;16–17 D. = 311 K (= Eras. fr. 229 Garofalo): “applicationes, quibus pulmo applicatur arterie secundum dorsum;” for “amplantatio” and “amplantari,” p. 138,35–37 = 313–14 K.: “amplantationes, quibus pulmo amplantatur arterie secundum dorsum […] neque enim quas dicit amplantationes ostendit [scil. Erasistratus].” For these adherences, in which Galen did not believe, see Ivan Garofalo (ed.), Erasistrati fragmenta (Pisa, 1988), p. 144. See p. 125,5 D. = 265 K.: “sanguisuga in regione hac adherente.” R.J. Durling, Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ, p. 42.

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corradical, ἔμφυσις and κατάφυσις, are rendered by Burgundio with “emplantatio” and “reimplantatio.”66 The translations indicate the assimilation of φύειν and φυτεύειν, which is understandable if one thinks that φυτεύειν also includes the meanings of “beget” and “engender” of φύειν and that this verb is used in the proper sense, to indicate the birth or germination of a plant.67 The same assimilation can already be recognised in a passage from the Latin Oribasius, where the word “implantati,” used for membranes, translates ἐμφυόμενοι.68 The use of “amplantatio” and “amplantari,” therefore, shows that the translator’s will to reproduce the formal aspect of the Greek word has prevailed over his hesitation to introduce a new metaphor. This metaphor, however, was not foreign to the Latin language given that a metaphorical use of the basic Latin form “plantare” is attested and that the uses of “implantare” recorded in the Thesaurus linguae Latinae with the meaning of “inserere” are all metaphorical.69 Coining new expressions is far from being limited to the case of “amplantatio” examined above. On the contrary, Burgundio frequently uses it, as Durling has shown for the De interioribus. This does not take Burgundio’s readers by surprise, given the technical nature of the translated works and the fact that they were unknown before the Middle Ages: this could mean that in many cases, Burgundio was to express concepts that still had to find a Latin name. Likewise, unsurprisingly, neologisms are often morphological calques, given that in the case of translations from Greek, the calque is one of the most common creation methods. More peculiar to Burdundio, however, – and it is the consequence of his idea of translation – that he uses calques even when the Latin already has a term to designate the concept expressed by the neologism. Burgundio resorted quite often to this method. An exemplary case is that of “urinatio,” created by Burgundio on the model of Greek οὔρησις, even though Latin already possessed two terms to indicate the act of urinating: “mi(n)ctio”

66

67 68

69

This is the summary of the occurrences: φύεσθαι: explantari 1 (p. 115,3 D. = 229 K.), plantari 3 (pp. 119,35 D. = 246 K.; 139,17 D. = 316 K.; 149,20 = 351 K.), al.; ἐμφύεσθαι: implantari 4 (pp. 78,35 D. = 103 K.; 112,24 D. = 221 K.; 117,13 D. = 237 K.; 176,41 D. = 448 K.), plantari 1 (p. 126,1 D. = 268 K.); al.; ἔμφυσις: effisis (idest implantatio) 1 (p. 53,24 D. = 16 K.); implantatio 1 (p. 112,21 D. = 220 K.), καταφύεσθαι: implantari 1 (p. 116,6 D. = 233 K.); innasci 1; κατάφυσις (-εις) reinplantationes 1/1 (p. 78,36 D. = 103 K.). See Liddle, Henry George, Robert Scott, Stuart Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon (Oxford, 1996) pp. 1965, s.v. “φυτεύω” I.2; 1996, s.v. “φύω” A and B. Oribas., Syn., 6,29, p. 115 Molinier  =  6,29,7 Raeder (Corpus Medicorum Graecorum VI.3); see also in Thesaurus linguae Latinae (TLL hereafter: (https://thesaurus.badw .de/tll-digital/tll-open-access.html. Accessed 2023 Oct 4) X.1, s.v. “planto,” col. 2330.34–35, Sirach 39,17: “rosa plantata,” where “plantata” translates φυόμενον. See s.v. “planto” TLL X.1. 2331–32; s.v. “implanto” TLL VII.627.

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and “mi(n)ctus.”70 Burgundio uses “urinatio” in three cases out of thirteen, the first, third and fifth time, in which he has to translate the Greek term. In other cases, he uses the late-ancient word “mi(n)ctio” which is the preferred option.71 In all contexts, the Greek term designates the physiological function of urination; moreover, “urinatio” and “minctio” are not distinguished from a morphological point of view, as they are both abstract nouns ending in -tio. It is highly likely that the calque derives from the translator’s will to reproduce not only the morphology and the sense but also the root of οὔρησις and even the phonetic aspect of the Greek word. If the pre-existing Latin word ended up prevailing over the new calque, this is probably because “minctio” was more recognizable, also having the advantage of deriving directly from the corresponding verb “mingere,” which in the De interioribus consistently stands for οὐρεῖν (23 out of 23 cases). Sample searches I conducted on other unpublished versions show that neologisms do not prevail even in the remaining later works of Burgundio. The verb “mingere” occurs twice in the translation of On Hippocrates’ Regimen in Acute Diseases, alongside one of “urina et minctio,” while in the translation of On Hippocrates’ Aphorisms we find only “minctio” (1/1).72 The mimetic criterion can also explain the choice of “permansibilis” (nine times) and “mansibilis” (once) among the Latin equivalents of the adjective μόνιμος, together with the participles “permanens” and “manens,” which occur altogether four times.73 The participle “permanens,” occurring only three times, is normally used in Latin with an adjectival value and the meaning of “permanent” of the Greek attribute. Translators used it as the exact semantic correspondent of μόνιμος: before Burgundio this equivalence occurs in the Vetus Latina and in Boethius.74 Burgundio himself codified it in the translation of On Hippocrates’

70

71 72 73

74

For “mi(n)ctio” see Chiron, 228, 451, 457, Veget. Mulomed., 2,79,9; 10; 19; Hippocr. aer, 7,11, p. 118 Grensemann; for “mi(n)ctus,” see Ps.Sor. Quaest. Med. 322 Lincoln, p. 320 Fischer; Cael. Aur. Diaet. Pass. 35; 136; 151; 153; 156; Chron. 2,1,12; 5,4,60; 61; 62; 63; 64; 72; Cass. Fel. 45,4 Fraisse. For “urinatio” see pp. 50,44–45 D. = 7 K.; 53,8 D. = 15 K.; 163,45 D. = 401 K.; for “mi(n)ctio” pp. 52,34–35 = 14 K.; 161,31 D. = 393K.; 164,17; 26; 42 D. = 403 (bis); 405 K.; 165,3; 33 D. = 405; 408 K.; 166,5 D. = 409 K.; 174,14; 17 = 438 (bis) K. See A.M. Urso, “La traduzione di Burgundio,” p. 868. This is the summary of the occurrences: permansibilis 9 (pp. 55,6;9;14;40 D. = 22 (bis); 23;25 K.; 57,18; 27–28; 41–42 D. = 30; 31; 32 K.; 58,7 D. = 33 K.; 67,32 D. = 66 K.), permanens 3 (pp. 86,3 D. = 129 K.; 87,12 D. = 134 K; 88,6 D. = 136 K.), manens 1 (p. 96,30 D. = 166 K.), mansibilis 1 (p. 174,26 D. = 439 K.). See in TLL 10.1, s.v. “permanens,” col. 1532,34–37; 45–46, Boeth. categ. 8b28: “differt […] habitus affectione, quod permanentior […] est” (Gr. μονιμώτερον); see also 8b30; 9b30; Vet. Lat. gen. 49.26:” montium permanentium” (Gr. μονίμων, cod. 100: al. manentium).

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Regimen in Acute Diseases, chronologically close to De interioribus, through the double Greek-Latin denomination “monimos idest permanens.”75 This, however, did not prevent the translator from also resorting to the apparently rare form of “permansibilis,” already attested in the eighth century in Bede’s Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, or even from coining the neologism “mansibilis,” recorded as such by Durling.76 These translations, despite the presence of other available alternatives, probably point to the intention to render the Greek adjective with a corresponding Latin adjective, in order to retain its grammatical function. Even in these renderings, mimetic intent conflicts with the authority of the traditional form. A final example is the rendering of the Greek word πτύσις, meaning the act of spitting. It is translated once with “sputum,” which is also used in the same text as the canonical correspondent of the concrete πτύσμα (“spit”, four out of four cases).77 In other passages, it is translated with four different derivatives in  -tio, apparently demonstrating that Burgundio reflected on the abstract value that the suffix -σις gives to the Greek root. These are: “sputatio,” a rare word attested in Aesculapius and Aurelius;78 “expuitatio,” according to Durling a neologism;79 “expuitio,” already in Pliny and then in the anonymous Latin version of Origen;80 and, finally, in the last two occurrences, “spuitio,” the existence of which is recorded in British sources together with the variant “sputio” not before 1308.81 This choice seems to become definitive in the translation of 75 76

77 78

79 80

81

See A.M. Urso, “La traduzione di Burgundio,” p. 868. See also R.J. Durling, Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ, p. 43, for “mansibilis,” and Bede, in Lucae Evang. Expositio 6,21 for “permansibilis,” which is also recorded in Albert Blaise, Lexicon Latinitatis Medii Aevi (Turnholti, 1975), p. 676, but without the indication of the sources. Burgundio would go back to translating μόνιμος with “permansibilis,” in the two cases in which it appears, in the later translation of On Hippocrates’ Aphorisms (see A.M. Urso, “La traduzione di Burgundio,” p. 868). See p. 131,18 D.  =  287 K. for sputum  =  πτύσις, and pp. 84,5 D.  =  122 K.; 137,24  =  309 K.; 142,8;18 = 326;327 K., for sputum = πτύσμα. See p. 102,5 D. = 186 K., and R.J. Durling, Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ, p. 46. Later, however, between the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries, the term is used by Thomas Aquinas, Henry Bate of Mechelen, and Bernard of Siena (see the Library of Latin Texts – online). See p. 131,45 D. = 289 K., and R.J. Durling, Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ, p. 42. See p. 137,45 D. = 310 K.; Plin., NH, 23.20: ad expuitionem [Barbarus, expiationem codd.] sanguinis; Orig. In Matth. ser. 113, p. 234,10 Klostermann/Benz/2Treu. Burgundio himself would use it in the translation of On Hippocrates’ Regimen in Acute Diseases (1/1) (see A.M. Urso, “La traduzione di Burgundio,” p. 868). See p. 138,1 D. = 311 K.; 147,9 D. = 344 K., and s.v. “spuitio, sputio,” Richard K. Ashdowne, David R. Howlett, Ronald E. Latham (eds.), Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British

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On Hippocrates’ Aphorisms, where “spuitio” corresponds to πτύσις in six out of six cases.82

5

Conclusions

In conclusion, I believe that even this meager sampling can demonstrate the scrupulousness with which Burgundio sought to render the vocabulary of the model, consistent with the idea of verbalism illustrated in the preface to his translation of the Homilies of John Chrysostom on the Gospel of John. This research in some cases (as is the case with “spuitio”) does not yet seem to arrive at a definitive solution, at most laying the foundations for future decisions. The limitations of the results, however, do not detract from the value of the seriousness with which Burgundio interpreted his role as a translator either from the theoretical effort he devoted to his work, as the analysis of his most important programmatic text and of his renderings has shown.

Bibliography Primary Sources Aristotle. The Nicomachean Ethics. Transl. H. Rackham. Loeb Classical Library. New York, 1926. Boethius. In Isagogen Porphyrii commenta. Ed. S. Brandt. Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 48. Wien – Leipzig, 1906. Burgundio. Prologus super opus beati Johannis Chrysostomi archiepiscopi CP. Super Matthaeum. In Veterum scriptorum … collectio, I. Eds. Edmond Martène and Ursinus Durand. Paris, 1724. De Lacy, Philip, ed. Galen. On Elements According to Hippocrates. Corpus Medicorum Graecorum V.1.2. Berlin, 1996. Durling, Richard J., ed. Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΚΡΑΣΕΩΝ, “De complexionibus”. Galenus Latinus 1. Berlin – New York, 1976. Durling, Richard J., ed. Burgundio of Pisa’s Translation of Galen’s ΠΕΡΙ ΠΕΠΟΝΘΟΤΩΝ, “De interioribus”. Galenus Latinus 2. Stuttgart, 1992. Furlan, Mauri. Prologus in commentatione Iohannis Crisostomi supra evangelium Sancti Iohannis Evangeliste (1174) / Prólogo ao Comentário de João Crisóstomo

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Sources (Oxford, 2018), IV; Ronald E. Latham, Revised Medieval Latin Word-List from British and Irish Sources (London – Oxford, 1965), p. 449b. A.M. Urso, “La traduzione di Burgundio,” p. 868.

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sobre o Evangelho de São João Evangelista (https://www.researchgate.net/publica tion/348936090). Accessed 2023 Oct 2. Garofalo, Ivan, ed. Erasistrati fragmenta. Pisa, 1988. Gauthier, René A., ed. Ethica Nicomachea. Translatio antiquissima lib. II–III sive Ethica vetus, Translationis antiquioris quae supersunt sive Ethica nova, Hoferiana, Borghesiana. Aristoteles Latinus XXVI 1. Leiden – Bruxelles, 1972–1973. Judycka, Joanna. Aristoteles. De generatione et corruptione. Translatio vetus. Aristoteles Latinus IX 1. Leiden, 1986. K甃ࠀhn, Karl G., ed. Claudii Galeni Opera Omnia. 8 vols. Leipzig, 1824. Pellegrino, Domenico. La traduzione greco-latina di Burgundio del trattato galenico “De elementis ex Hippocratis sententia”. Introduzione e testo critico. PhD thesis. Messina, 2018. Scimone, Alessandra. Galenus Latinus: la traduzione di Burgundio da Pisa del De causis pulsuum, introduzione, testo critico e indici. PhD thesis. Salerno – Reims, 2021. Verbeke, Gerard, and Joseph R. Moncho, eds. Némésius d’Émèse, De natura hominis. Traduction de Burgundio de Pise. Leiden, 1975.

Secondary Sources Angold, Michael, Charles Burnett. “Latin Translators from Greek in the Twelfth Century on Why and How They Translate.” In Why Translate Science? Documents from Antiquity to the 16th Century in the Historical West (Bactria to the Atlantic). Ed. Dimitri Gutas with the assistance of Charles Burnett, Uwe Vagelpohl, 488–524. Leiden, 2022. Ashdowne, Richard, David Howlett, Ronald Latham, eds. Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources. Oxford, 2018. Berschin, Walter. Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: from Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa, transl. by Jerold C. Frakes, rev. and expanded ed. Washington, 1988. Blaise, Abert. Lexicon Latinitatis Medii Aevi. Turnholt, 1975. Bossier, Fernand. “L’élaboration du vocabulaire philosophique chez Burgundio de Pise.” In Aux origines du lexique philosophique européen. L’influence de la “latinitas”. Actes du Colloque International (Rome, 23–25 mai 1996). Ed. Jacqueline Hamesse, 81–116. Louvain-La-Neuve, 1997. Bossier, Fernand. “Les ennuis d’un traducteur. Quatre annotations sur la première traduction latine de l’Éthique à Nicomaque par Burgundio de Pise.” Bijdragen 59 (1998): 406–427. Burnett, Charles. “Translating from Arabic into Latin in the Middle Ages: Theory, Practice, and Criticism.” In Éditer, traduire, interpréter: essais de méthodologie philosophique. Eds. Steve G. Lofts and Philipp W. Rosemann, 55–78. Louvain-la-Neuve, 1997.

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Burnett, Charles. “Translation and Transmission of Greek and Islamic Science to Latin Christendom.” In The Cambridge History of Science, II, Medieval Science. Eds. David C. Lindberg and Michael H. Shank, 341–364. Cambridge, 2011. Chiesa, Paolo. “Ad verbum o ad sensum. Modelli e coscienza metodologica della traduzione tra tarda antichità e alto medioevo.” Medioevo e Rinascimento 1 (1987):1–51. Chiesa, Paolo. “Le traduzioni.” In Lo spazio letterario del Medioevo, I. Il Medioevo latino, 3: La ricezione del testo, eds. Guglielmo Cavallo, Claudio Leonardi, Enrico Menestò, 165–196. Rome, 1995. Chiesa, Paolo. “Girolamo e oltre. Teorici della traduzione nel medioevo latino.” In Testo medievale e traduzione. Eds. Maria G. Cammarota and Maria V. Molinari, 173–192. Bergamo, 2001. Classen, Peter. Burgundio von Pisa. Richter, Gesandter, Übersetzer. Heidelberg, 1974. Cooper, Glen M. “Ḥunain ibn isḥāq and the Creation of an Arabic Galen.” In Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen. Eds. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos and Barbara Zipser, 179–195. Leiden, 2019. Durling, Richard J. “Lectiones Galenicae: Τέχνη ἰατρική (K甃ࠀhn I, 305–412).” Classical Philology 63 (1968): 56–57. Durling, Richard J. “Burgundio of Pisa and Medical Humanists of the Twelfth Century.” Studi classici e orientali 43 (1993): 95–99. Durling, Richard J. “The Anonymous Translation of Aristotle’s De generatione et corruptione (Translatio vetus).” Traditio 49 (1994): 320–330. Fischer, Klaus-Dietrich. “Die vorsalernitanischen lateinischen Galen甃ࠀbersetzungen.” Medicina nei secoli 25 (2013): 673–714. Fortuna, Stefania. “Il corpus delle traduzioni di Niccolò da Reggio ( fl. 1308–1345).” In La medicina nel basso medioevo. Tradizioni e conflitti. Atti del LV Convegno storico internazionale (Todi, 14–16 ottobre 2018). 285–312. Spoleto, 2019. Fortuna, Stefania, Anna Maria Urso. “Burgundio da Pisa traduttore di Galeno: nuovi contributi e prospettive. Con un’appendice di P. Annese.” In Sulla tradizione indiretta dei testi medici greci. Atti del Seminario Internazionale (Siena, 19–20 settembre 2008). Eds. Ivan Garofalo, Alessandro Lami and Amneris Roselli, 139–169. Roma – Pisa, 2009. Garofalo, Ivan. “La traduzione latina di Burgundio da Pisa dei libri VII–XIV della Methodus medendi.” Galenos 8 (2014): 35–52. Garofalo, Ivan. “Galen’s Legacy in Alexandrian Texts Written in Greek, Latin, and Arabic.” In Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen. Eds. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos and Barbara Zipser, 62–86. Leiden, 2019. Green, Monica H. “Gloriosissimus Galienus: Galen and Galenic Writings in the Eleventh-  and Twelfth-Century Latin West.” In Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen. Eds. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos and Barbara Zipser, 319–342. Leiden, 2019.

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Gundert, Beate. “The Graeco-Latin Translation of Galen, De symptomatum differentiis.” Medicina nei secoli 25 (2013): 889–926. Haskins, Charles H. Studies in the History of Mediaeval Science. Cambridge, MA, 1924. Jacquart, Danielle. “Aristotelian Thought in Salerno.” In A History of Twelfth-Century Western Philosophy. Ed. Peter Dronke, 407–429. Cambridge, 1988. Jacquart, Danielle. “Principales étapes dans la transmission des textes de médecine (XIe–XIVe siècle).” In Rencontres de cultures dans la philosophie médiévale. Traductions et traducteurs de l’Antiquité tardive au XIVe siècle. Actes du Colloque international de Cassino (15–17 juin 1989). Eds. Jacqueline Hamesse and Marta Fattori, 251–271. Louvain-la-Neuve – Cassino, 1990. Latham, Ronald E. Revised Medieval Latin Word-List from British and Irish Sources. London – Oxford, 1965. Liddle, Henry George, Robert Scott, Stuart Jones. A Greek-English Lexicon. Oxford, 1996. Long, Brian. “Arabic-Latin Translations: Transmission and Transformation.” In Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen. Eds. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos and Barbara Zipser, 343–359. Leiden, 2019. Lo Parco, Francesco. Niccolò da Reggio antesignano del Risorgimento dell’antichità ellenica nel secolo XIV da codici delle biblioteche italiane e straniere e da documenti e stampe rare. Memoria letta alla Reale Accademia di Archeologia, Lettere e Belle Arti di Napoli. Napoli, 1913. McVaugh, Michael. “Galen in the Medieval Universities, 1200–1400.” In Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen. Eds. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos and Barbara Zipser, 381–393. Leiden, 2019. Nutton, Vivian. “The Fortunes of Galen.” In The Cambridge Companion to Galen. Ed. Robert J. Hankinson, 355–390. Cambridge – New York, 2008. Nutton, Vivian. “Niccolò in Context.” Medicina nei secoli 25 (2013): 941–956. Palmieri, Nicoletta. “La médecine alexandrine et son rayonnement occidental (VIe–VIIe s. ap. J.-Ch.).” Lettre d’informations. Médecine antique et médiévale n. s. 1 (2002): 5–23. Palmieri, Nicoletta. “Il bilinguismo dei traduttori di Nemesio: osservazioni sul vocabolario medico-filosofico di Alfano di Salerno e di Burgundio da Pisa.” In Il bilinguismo medico fra Tardoantico e Medio Evo. Atti del Convegno internazionale (Messina, 14 e 15 ottobre 2010). Ed. Anna Maria Urso, 121–148. Messina, 2012. Palmieri, Nicoletta. “Prolixité galénique et concision salernitaine: le cas de Barthélemy.” In Contre Galien. Critiques d’une autorité médicale de l’Antiquité à l’âge moderne. Ed. Antoine Pietrobelli, 173–199. Paris, 2020. Pellegrino, Domenico. “La versione greco-latina del De elementis ex Hippocratis sententia di Galeno: indagine sulla paternità e sul modello greco.” Commentaria classica 8 (2021): 49–88. Robinson, Douglas. Western Translation Theory from Herodotus to Nietzsche. London – New York, 2002.

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Saccenti, Riccardo. Un nuovo lessico morale medievale. Il contributo di Burgundio da Pisa. Canterano, 2016. Schwarz, Werner. “The Meaning of fidus interpres in Medieval Translation.” The Journal of Theological Studies 45 (1944): 73–78. Scimone, Alessandra. “Galeno nel Medioevo: le traduzioni greco-latine dalla tarda antichità al XIV secolo.” Lettre d’informations. Médecine antique et médiévale n. s. 13 (2017): 5–44. Thesaurus linguae Latinae (https://thesaurus.badw.de/tll-digital/tll-open-access.html. Accessed 2023 Oct 4). Thillet, Pierre. Alexandre d’Aphrodise, De fato ad imperatores. Version de Guillaume de Moerbeke. Édition critique avec introduction et index. Paris, 1963. Thorndike, Lynn. “Translations of Works of Galen from the Greek by Niccolò da Reggio (c. 1308–1345).” Byzantina Metabyzantina 1 (1946): 213–235. Urso, Anna M. “Burgundio, Niccolò e il Vind. lat. 2328: un confronto stilistico sulla traduzione del commento di Galeno ad Aphorism.” AION( filol) 33 (2011): 145–162. Urso, Anna Maria. “La traduzione di Burgundio del commento di Galeno ad Aphorismi: vocabolario e cronologia”, Medicina nei secoli 25,3 (2013): 855–888. Urso, Anna Maria. “Translating Galen in the Medieval West: the Greek-Latin Translations.” In Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Galen. Eds. Petros Bouras-Vallianatos and Barbara Zipser, 359–381. Leiden, 2019. Vuillemin-Diem, Gudrun, Marwan Rashed. “Burgundio de Pise et ses manuscrits grecs d’Aristote: Laur. 87. 7 et Laur. 81. 18.” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 64 (1997): 136–197.

Part 3 Greek-Latin Polemic

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Chapter 10

The Filioque Lost in Translation during the Twelfth Century Alessandra Bucossi In his 1940 book, Le schisme byzantin, aperçu historique et doctrinal, Martin Jugie dedicated a paragraph of the chapter on the causes of the schism to “La diversité des langues et l’ignorance réciproque”; there he quoted a Louis Duchesne’s sentence, “pour se tenir d’accord ou s’y remettre, il faut se comprendre, et comment se comprendre si l’on ne peut se parler?”.1 These words from Jugie’s monograph perfectly condense the contents of this contribution and of the entire volume: the impossibility of understanding each other, once two different theological or cultural beliefs are expressed through a technical set of words, which encapsulate thorough and complex argumentations that cannot be properly translated into another language. This chapter discusses four main points. The first point briefly recalls the well-known Greek feeling of superiority and entitlement when comparing the richness of Latin and Greek languages and the intellectual competencies in discussing theological issues. Through a series of examples, the second point shows how the Greek theologians developed a technical vocabulary, a set of words that could and should be used to define and explain the procession of the Holy Spirit. The writings περὶ τοῦ ἁγίου Πνεύματος, in fact, do not contain only biblical and patristic references, as it has superficially been repeated many times. Still, they argue against the filioque using a logical-philosophical approach (mainly based on syllogisms) and/or explaining how and why a noun or a preposition can be used and another cannot or how a grammatical rule impedes a certain interpretation of a text. Therefore, it can be argued that Greek pneumatology became increasingly accurate, precise, and hardened in terms of language throughout the centuries. The Greek authors often preferred, together with philosophy, a linguistic approach, which sometimes entails even grammatical and/or lexicological analyses.2 Starting from these two main premises, it is possible to add two considerations that allow us to 1 Martin Jugie, Le schisme byzantine: Aperçu historique et doctrinal (Paris, 1941), p. 39; Louis Duchesne, Autonomies ecclésiastiques: Églises séparées (Paris, 1896), p. 186. 2 See in this volume the chapter by Luigi D’Amelia, at pp. 292–321.

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better grasp the intricate and often poorly understood discussion on the filioque. The first consideration is that this meticulous usage of words boosted the Byzantine feeling of superiority, thanks to the richness and complexity of their language compared to the Latin linguistic resources, and in some cases succeeded in intimidating the Western opponents, who showed real difficulty in engaging with this complex ‘logomachy’. My final consideration is that while discussing the exchanges between East and West, the permeability of the intellectual frontiers, especially during the twelfth century, must be pondered together with the fact that also in Constantinople, the ‘esprit du temps’ was felt and shared, despite the old refrain that has always foisted the image of a fixed and self-referential culture on Byzantium. This contribution indicates for each text, dedicated to the controversy on the filioque, the unique reference number of the Repertorium auctorum polemicorum de pace et discordia inter ecclesiam Graecam et Latinam. The Repertorium (from now on RAP) is a research project in progress whose aim is to complete a full survey of the entire polemical literature dedicated to the relationship between the Latin and the Greek Church.3

1

The Poverty of Latin Language

From the beginning, the filioque question seems to start with a deep problem of reciprocal understanding; indeed, the famous letter by Maximos the Confessor to the priest Marinos of Cyprus (CPG 7697.10, RAP G186), written in the seventh century,4 clearly brings to light the fact that it was extremely difficult to express a theological reasoning into another language.5 3 Repertorium auctorum polemicorum de pace et discordia inter ecclesiam Graecam et Latinam (www.unive.it/rap. Accessed 13 January 2023). The principal investigators of the project are Alessandra Bucossi and Marie-Hélène Blanchet. The richest, although not completely exhaustive, existing survey of texts written about the points of disagreement between the Greek and the Latin churches is Andronikos K. Demetrakopoulos, Ὀρθόδοξος Ἑλ뮻άς: ἤτοι, περὶ τῶν Ἑλ뮻ήνων τῶν γραψάντων κατὰ Λατίνων καὶ περὶ τῶν συγ뎳ραμμάτων αὐτῶν (Leipzig 1872). 4 Maximos the Confessor, Epistula ad Marinum Cypri presbyterum, PG 91: 133–137; see also Alexander Alexakis, “The Epistula ad Marinum Cypri Presbyterum,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 94, no. 2 (2001), 545–554; Anthony Edward Siecienski, “The Authenticity of Maximus the Confessor’s ‘Letter to Marinus’: The Argument from Theological Consistency,” Vigiliae Christianae 61, no. 2 (2007), 189–227. 5 PG 91: 136, 30–38. The text printed in PG clearly needs to be emended; since a proper critical edition has not appeared yet (although in the Clavis Clavium online by Brepols publisher, https://clavis.brepols.net/clacla/, we can read, “Noua editio parata est a B. Markesinis; opuscula (4)–(9) sub prelo sunt.” Accessed 28 September 2022), I propose a provisional text on the

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Μεθερμηνεύειν δὲ τὰ οἰκεῖα, τοῦ τὰς ὑποκλοπὰς χάριν διαφυγεῖν τῶν ὑποπιπτόντων κατὰ τὴν ὑμετέραν κέλευσιν, παρεκάλεσα τοὺς Ῥωμαίους. Πλὴν ἔθους κεκρατηκότος6 οὕτω ποιεῖν καὶ στέλ뮻ειν, οὐκ οἶδα τυχὸν7 εἰ πεισθεῖεν.8 Ἄλ뮻ως τε καὶ τὸ9 μὴ οὕτως δύνασθαι διακριβοῦν ἐν ἄλ뮻ῃ λέξει τε10 καὶ φωνῇ11 τὸν ἑαυτῶν νοῦν ὥσπερ ἐν τῇ ἰδίᾳ καὶ θρεψαμένῃ, καθάπερ οὖν καὶ ἡμᾶς12 ἐν τῇ καθ’ ἡμᾶς τὸν ἡμέτερον. I have invited the Romans, as per your request, to translate their own positions, in order to avoid the misunderstandings that occur. Were it not for the current practice of doing so13 and send, I do not know whether perhaps they would be convinced. On the other hand, it is not possible for them to precisely discuss their own thinking in another idiom and another language as ⟨they can⟩ in their own mother tongue, as well as we, indeed, ⟨can only argue precisely⟩ our ⟨thinking⟩ in our language.14 Apart from the conciseness of the passage, which leaves the reader wondering about the exact meaning of some words and expressions, and the poor version printed in the Patrologia Graeca, which – as it is evident from the emendations proposed – needs to be corrected in few points, it is clear that Maximos is concerned with the impossibility of accurately expressing a thought into another language (“τὸ μὴ οὕτως δύνασθαι διακριβοῦν ἐν ἄλ뮻ῃ λέξει τε καὶ φωνῇ τὸν ἑαυτῶν νοῦν”). In the ninth-century De Spiritus sancti mystagogia (RAP G4010), Photios did not miss the occasion to insist on the “meagreness” of Latin (“διὰ τὸ τῆς φωνῆς ἐνδεές”) that could not match “the breadth of Greek” (“τῷ πλάνει τῆς Ἑλ뮻ηνίδος”).

6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

basis of an extremely partial collation with two of the oldest manuscripts: Roma, Biblioteca Angelica, gr. 43 and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, grec 1115 both dated to the thirteenth century. κεκρακηκότος sic PG. λοιπὸν Ang. gr. 43, fol. 2v; τυχὼν Par. gr. 1115, fol. 186. πιστεῖεν sic PG. τῷ Ang. gr. 43, fol. 2v. σὲ PG. τε καὶ φωνῇ om. Ang. gr. 43, fol. 2v. ἡμεῖς PG et Ang. gr. 43, fol. 2v. Given the context, “doing so” (“οὕτω ποιεῖν”) could, most probably, mean “to translate synodal letters.” Unless otherwise indicated, all the translations are mine. Translations by other authors are transcribed as they appear in the published version, in some cases emendations or suggestions for a better interpretation are given in the corresponding footnotes.

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ἐπείπερ τὸ ἱερὸν τῶν Πατέρων ἡμῶν μάθημα πολ뮻άκις ἡ Λατινὶς φθεγ뎳ομένη διὰ τὸ τῆς φωνῆς ἐνδεές τε καὶ τῷ πλάνει τῆς Ἑλ뮻ηνίδος μὴ συνεπεκτείνεσθαι οὐ καθαρῶς οὐδ’ εἰλικρινῶς οὐδὲ περὶ πόδα τοὺς λόγους ἥρμοζε τῷ νοήματι καὶ πολ뮻οῖς παρεῖχε περὶ τὴν πίστιν ἑτεροθρησκείας ὑπόληψιν τῶν ὀνομάτων ἡ στενοχωρία μὴ ἐξαρκοῦσα διερμηνεύειν τῆς διανοίας τὴν ἀκρίβειαν· διὰ δὴ τοῦτο ὁ θεόσοφος ἐκεῖνος ἀνὴρ εἰς ἐνθύμιον κατέστη (καὶ τό γε τῆς πρὸς τὸ ἐνθύμιον ῥοπῆς αἴτιον ὑπῆρχε μετὰ τῆς προειρημένης αἰτίας ἡ νῦν ἀνέδην αἵρεσις παρρησιαζομένη ὑπὸ τοῖς ὀδοῦσι τηνικαῦτα κατὰ τὴν Ῥωμαίων πόλιν λαλουμένη)· τὸ δὲ ἐνθύμιον, Ἑλ뮻άδι γλώσσῃ πρόσταγμα δοῦναι τὸ τῆς πίστεως ἱερὸν μάθημα καὶ τοὺς Ῥωμαίους λέγειν· καὶ γὰρ διὰ ταύτης τῆς θεοπνεύστου ἐπινοίας τό γε τῆς φωνῆς ἐνδεὲς εἰς ἀναπλήρωσιν ἀποκαθίσταται καὶ εὐρυθμίαν· καὶ τῶν εὐσεβούντων ἀπελαύνεσθαι τὴν ἐξ ὑπολήψεως ἑτεροδοξίαν.15 for when expressing the sacred doctrine of our Fathers, Latin words often did not precisely, clearly, or aptly fit the sense. The meagreness of that language could not match the breadth of Greek. Consequently, owing to the poverty of a vocabulary that inadequately and imprecisely expounds the meaning of the Greek, many suspected a diversity of faith. It is for this reason that the divinely wise man [Pope Leo the Great] conceived an idea. (The idea was conceived not only because of what we have just said, but also because of that heresy [the filioque] now openly and unrestrainedly proclaimed, but then only being whispered of in the city of Rome.) He commanded that the Romans too recite the sacred Symbol of the Faith in Greek. By this divinely inspired plan, he supplemented and readdressed the inadequacy of Latin and removed from the pious the suspicion of a difference in faith.16 The documents related to the 1054 crisis witness the same deep-rooted prejudice; the letter by Peter III of Antioch to Patriarch Michael Keroularios (RAP G12084) is one of the brightest examples:17

15 16 17

PG 102: 376, 6–377, 1. Photios, On the Mystagogy of the Holy Spirit by Saint Photios Patriarch of Constantinople, trans. Holy Transfiguration Monastery (New York, 1983), pp. 110–111. Cornelius Will, Acta et scripta quae de controversiis ecclesiae Graecae et Latinae saeculo undecimo composita extant: ex probatissimis libris emendatiora edidit diversitatem lectionis enotavit annotationibus (Leipzig – Marburg, 1861), p. 198, 23–35. The text printed in Will, again, would need a proper edition; therefore, I propose here an emendation on the basis of an extremely partial collation of two manuscripts dated to the twelfth century: Firenze, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 57. 40, fol. 175v and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, grec 1268, fol. 24v.

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Ἀδελφοὶ γὰρ καὶ ἡμῶν οὗτοι, κἂν ἐξ ἀγροικίας ἢ ἀμαθίας συμβαίνῃ τούτους18 πολ뮻άκις ἐκπίπτειν τοῦ εἰκότος, τῷ ἑαυτῶν στοιχοῦντας θελήματι· καὶ μὴ τοσαύτην ἀκρίβειαν ἐπιζητεῖν ἐν βαρβάροις ἔθνεσιν, ἣν αὐτοὶ περὶ λόγους ἀναστρεφόμενοι ἀπαιτούμεθα. Indeed, they also are our brothers, although out of rusticity or ignorance often it happens that they depart from what is right, following their own desire, and we should not require to seek after such a precision amongst barbarian populations, [a precision] which we, who deal with words, demand from ourselves. When we reach the end of the eleventh and the beginning of the twelfth century, the reciprocal ignorance of the two languages has been, for centuries, a fait accompli, and it is time to reverse the trend and start a deep and fruitful exchange of knowledge, ideas, and translations.19 It is well known that generally during the twelfth century translations were from Greek into Latin and not the reverse; however, it seems that exchanges of ideas and discussions of the period make a real effort to take into consideration the other’s point of view. In this respect, the Komnenian dialogues are the best witnesses – real or made up, it does not make any difference regarding the general purpose they had: the dialogues wanted to testify a real effort to exchange points of view.20 Therefore, from the period of the Crusades, we start seeing how the translation process becomes gradually central and how the development of an increasingly technical lexicon progressively reveals itself to be an obstacle to the exchanges between East and West. A clear example of these attempts at mutual understanding and, at the same time, of the elaboration of a technical vocabulary is certainly Theophylaktos of Ohrid, archbishop of Bulgaria at the end of the eleventh century. His Προσλαλιά τινι τῶν αὐτοῦ ὁμιλητῶν περὶ ὧν ἐγκαλοῦνται Λατῖνοι (RAP G355, Allocutio ad quemdam ex suis familiaribus de iis quorum Latini incusantur) is often cited as the most splendid example of an irenic attitude towards the Roman Church; indeed, either around 1090 or 1112, Theophylaktos wrote that the only serious mistake of the Latin Church was the addition of the filioque to the Creed, the rest were only minor differences or local usages.21 He certainly was a man who 18 19 20 21

τούτοις Will. A classical reading on the period is the well-known Charles Homer Haskins, The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge, MA, 1957). See Averil Cameron, Arguing it Out: Discussion in Twelfth-century Byzantium (Budapest, 2016). See Theophylaktos of Ohrid, Théophylacte d’Achrida : discours, traités, poésies, ed. Paul Gautier, vol. 1, CFHB 16 (Thessalonique, 1980), pp. 249–253.

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knew how to govern a bishopric that, being crossed by the Via Egnatia, had different languages and different traditions as a lively part of everyday life.22 Upon closer reading, Theophylaktos’ relevance mainly lies in the fact that he is one of the first theologians to highlight a major problem, i.e. the lexicon. The subtleties of theology cannot be expressed with a very generic, confusing language because, for example, there is a fundamental difference between ‘procession’ (ἐκπορεύεσθαι) and ‘communication or bestowal’ (χορηγεῖσθαι). Indeed, he says, the first verb expresses how the Spirit has his existence from the Father, while the second indicates the effusion, the communication of the Spirit by the Son; therefore, one refers to the inter-Trinitarian relationship, the other to the economy of Salvation. As the following examples clearly show, Theophylaktos painstakingly distinguishes every single term in various passages of his treatise: τὸ γὰρ ἐκπορεύεσθαι νομίζοντες ἶσον εἶναι τῷ χορηγεῖσθαι καὶ μεταδίδοσθαι, ἐπειδὴ τὸ Πνεῦμα εὑρίσκεται παρὰ τοῦ Υἱοῦ πεμπόμενον καὶ χορηγούμενον καὶ μεταδιδόμενον, οὐδὲν οἴεσθε προσκόπτειν, εἰ καὶ ἐκπορεύεσθαι τοῦτο ἐκ τοῦ Υἱοῦ φαίητε.23 […] Ἅ γε ὅλῳ καὶ παντί, φασί, διαφέρει. Τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἐκπορεύεσθαι τοῦ πῶς ἔστι τὸ Πνεῦμα δηλωτικόν.24 believing that to proceed is the same as ‘be bestowed’ and ‘be imparted’ because it is observed that the Spirit is sent from the Son and bestowed and imparted, you do not think you are making a mistake, even if you say that this [the Spirit] also proceeds from the Son. […] These things differ entirely and totally, as they say. Indeed, to proceed indicates how the Spirit has his25 existence. And again: Οὕτω καὶ ἐμφυσᾶν λέγεται τὸ Πνεῦμα τοῖς μαθηταῖς ὁ Κύριος μετὰ τὴν ἀνάστασιν, οὐχ ὡς προβολεύς.26 22 23 24 25

26

Margaret E. Mullett, Theophylact of Ochrid: Reading the Letters of a Byzantine Archbishop, vol. 2, Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Monographs (Aldershot, 1997), pp. 53–69. Theophylaktos of Ohrid, Allocutio, p. 253, 25–255, 3. Theophylaktos of Ohrid, Allocutio, p. 255, 4–5. Although in Greek πνεῦμα is a neuter word, the English translations usually use the masculine forms to refer to the Holy Spirit. Since in this contribution are quoted also translations by other authors, for the sake of consistency pronouns referring to the Holy Spirit are in masculine form. Theophylaktos of Ohrid, Allocutio, p. 255, 18–19.

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Thus, the Lord is said to have infused the Spirit to the Apostles after the Resurrection but not as ‘originator/producer’. And again: Παυσώμεθα τοίνυν εἰς ταὐτὸν ἄγοντες τὰ ἀσύμβατα, μετάδοσιν καὶ ἐκπόρευσιν, καὶ συγκλώθοντες τὰ ἀσύγκλωστα.27 Let’s stop then reducing to the same thing what is incongruous – ‘imparting’ and ‘procession’ – and combining things that are incompatible. Finally, he expresses his clear idea about the superiority of Greek language, “the lack of expression and narrowness of the Latin language”, its poverty “in terms of richness of the language” and, with a wonderful expression, about the fact that the Latins “are lacking the garments of the thought and of the words.” Εἰ δέ μοι τοῦτο μὲν καὶ αὐτὸς φήσεις εἰδέναι καὶ ὡς αἴτιος τοῦ εἶναι τῷ Πνεύματι ὁ Πατὴρ κατὰ τὸν τρόπον τῆς ἐκπορεύσεως, ὥσπερ κατὰ τὸν τῆς γεννήσεως τῷ Υἱῷ, ἐκπορεύεσθαι δὲ λέγεις τὸ Πνεῦμα ἐκ τοῦ Υἱοῦ οὐ κατὰ τοῦτο τὸ σημαινόμενον, ἀλ뮻ὰ κατὰ τὸ χεῖσθαι καὶ διαδίδοσθαι καὶ ὑγιαίνων τὸν νοῦν βιάζῃ πρὸς τοῦτο πενίᾳ λέξεων καὶ Λατίνου γλώττης στενότητι […]. Εἰ γὰρ ἀληθῶς πτωχὸς εἶ τὸν πλοῦτον τῆς γλώττης καί σοι ἀπορία τῶν ἱματίων τοῦ νοῦ καὶ τῶν λέξεων καὶ διὰ τοῦτο διελεῖν οὐκ ἔχεις τὴν παρὰ τοῦ Υἱοῦ γινομένην χύσιν τοῦ Πνεύματος ἢ μετάδοσιν ἢ ὡς ἄν τις λέγειν ἑτέρως βούλοιτο, ἐκ τῆς ἐκπορεύσεως καθ’ ἣν ἐκ τοῦ Πατρὸς μόνου τὸ εἶναι τῷ Πνεύματι, ἐν μὲν τοῖς ἄλ뮻οις συγχωρήσω χρῆσθαί σε τούτοις ὡς ἡ γλῶττά σοι δίδωσιν, ἐν κοινοῖς λέγω λόγοις καὶ ὁμιλίαις, εἰ βουλήσῃ, ἐκκλησιαστικαῖς καὶ τοῦτο μετὰ τοῦ προσδιορισμοῦ τοῦ προσήκοντος, ὥστε μὴ ἀγνοεῖν τοὺς ἀκούοντας τὴν ἐν μιᾷ λέξει διπλόην τῶν νοημάτων· ἐν δὲ τῷ συμβόλῳ τὴν ἐκπόρευσιν ἀνακηρύττειν ἐκ μόνου τοῦ Πατρός, ἐνταῦθα γὰρ ἡμῖν ἡ ὁμολογία τῆς πίστεως.28 If you also will say to me this and that ⟨you⟩ acknowledge that as the Father is principle of being according to the mode of the procession, in the same way he is for the Son according to the mode of the generation, and if you say that the Spirit proceeds from the Son, not according to the meaning given to this term, but according to the mode of effusion and distribution and that, although you are sound of mind, you are 27 28

Theophylaktos of Ohrid, Allocutio, p. 255, 25–27. Theophylaktos of Ohrid, Allocutio, p. 257, 1–23.

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forced to express yourself in this way because of the lack of expression and narrowness of the Latin language […]. If, indeed, you are really poor in terms of richness of the language and you are lacking the garments of the thought and of the words, and for this reason, you cannot distinguish the ‘effusion’ of the Spirit through the Son or his ‘communication’, or whatever other word one wants to use, from the ‘procession’, according to which the Spirit has his being from the Father only, I will allow you to use these words as your language allows you to do in every circumstance, I mean in your ordinary words and, if you wish so, in your ecclesiastical homilies and this, with the necessary restrictions, so that your auditors do not ignore that the same word has a double meaning, but in the Symbol I want you to proclaim that the Spirit proceeds from the Father only, because the Symbol contains our profession of Faith. Moving forward, into the twelfth century, there is a meaningful, and almost ignored, example of reciprocal misunderstanding in the exchange between John Phournes and Pietro Grossolano. The Latin full copy of the treatise, the Sermo Grisolani ad imperatorem de processione Spiritus sancti contra Graecos by Grossolano (RAP G4002), was published in 1933 by Ambrogio Amelli, O.S.B.,29 while the Greek partial version is printed in the Patrologia Graeca.30 It is extremely noteworthy to compare it with the reply by John Phournes, which survives in many witnesses of the manuscript tradition together with the Greek partial translation of Grossolano’s text.31 One of the most important concerns of Grossolano is to safeguard the glory of the three persons of the Trinity. Indeed, he believes that the procession also from the Son is not detrimental to the glory of the Father and the Spirit, he writes: “[…] vereor ne gloria Patris et Spiritus Sancti minuatur, si Spiritus Paraclitus ita a Filio sicut a Patre procedere dicatur. Absit.”32 and then he

29 30 31

32

Peter Grossolano, Due sermoni inediti di Pietro Grosolano, Arcivescovo di Milano, ed. Ambrogio Amelli, Fontes Ambrosiani (Firenze, 1933), pp. 14–36. PG 127: 911–919. See also Alexey Barmin, “The Refutation of Petrus Grossolanus, the Λόγοι Ἀντιρρητικοί by Eustratios of Nicaea,” in Contra Latinos et Adversus Graecos: The Separation between Rome and Constantinople from the Ninth to the Fifteenth Century, ed. Alessandra Bucossi and Anna Calia, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 286 (Leuven – Paris – Bristol, Ct., 2020), pp. 199–215; Niketas of Thessalonica, Nicetae Thessalonicensis dialogi sex de processione Spiritus sancti, ed. Alessandra Bucossi and Luigi D’Amelia, CCSG 92 (Leuven, 2021), pp. LVII–LVII. Grossolano, Due sermoni di Pietro Grosolano, 3, p. 15, 1–3.

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explains what he means by “gloria” in the following Latin passage, which also exists in Greek although, unfortunately, without the most meaningful part. Demonstratum est quippe superius, quod Pater duas habet ut dicam singulares glorias, unam ad Filium et unam ad Spiritum Sanctum. Spiritus quoque duas habet, unam ad Patrem et unam ad Filium. Singulares autem glorias appello singularitates et proprietates trium personarum. Quia quidquid in Trinitate est, gloria est. In quibus proprietates si essent inaequales, in gloria quoque nequaquam essent aequales. Qui ergo dicit Spiritus procedit a Patre, sed non procedit a Filio, duas quidem glorias secundum quod dictum est Patri relinquit, sed unam tollit a Filio, unam a Spiritu Sancto.33

Ἀπεδείχθη οὖν ἄνωθεν, ὅτι ὁ Πατὴρ δύο ἔχει, ὡς εἰπεῖν, δόξας ἐνικάς, μίαν ὡς πρὸς τὸν Υἱόν, καὶ μίαν πρὸς τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον, καὶ ὁ Υἱὸς δύο, μίαν εἰς τὸν Πατέρα, καὶ μίαν εἰς τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον. Καὶ τὸ Πνεῦμα ὁμοίως δύο ἔχει, μίαν πρὸς τὸν Πατέρα, καὶ μίαν πρὸς τὸν Υἱόν.

Ὅστις ἄρα εἴπῃ· Τὸ Πνεῦμα ἐκπορεύεται ἀπὸ τοῦ Πατρός, καὶ οὐκ ἐκπορεύεται καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ Υἱοῦ, δύο μὲν δόξας καταλιμπάνει τῷ Πατρί, ἀλ뮻ὰ μίαν ἀφαιρεῖ ἀπὸ τοῦ Υἱοῦ, καὶ μίαν ἀπὸ τοῦ ἁγίου Πνεύματος.34

Although, indeed, Grossolano seems to be aware of a possible misunderstanding when, in the Latin version, he specifies “singulares autem glorias appello singularitates et proprietates trium personarum,” at the present stage of research on Grossolano’s text, it is not possible to state if the Latin Archbishop wrote this passage, in the Latin version, in order to reply to Phournes’ objections, or if he had written it in advance feeling that the term “gloria” could have caused a misinterpretation. However, at first glance I would be more inclined to say that the Latin sentence sounds like an addition inserted after Phournes’ reply, because the Byzantine theologian, in fact, in his Oratio antirrhetica de processione Spiritus sancti (RAP G19802) not only offers a summary

33 34

Grossolano, Due sermoni di Pietro Grosolano, 3, p. 15, 27–16, 11. PG 127: 913CD.

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of Grossolano’s passage35 but vehemently refutes it on the basis of a clear distinction between the meaning of the two words: Phournes clearly states that the δόξα is not an ἰδιότης. The Greek terminology cannot be confused: what is common is the glory and the glory cannot be divided, it is an ‘uncountable’ noun, while a characteristic (ἰδιότης) is a distinctive property of only one person and, therefore, each person must have only one personal feature. This is, generally speaking, the very basis of the Greek doctrine of the Trinity, which is also the very foundation of the refutation of the filioque. Ἃς γὰρ λέγεις εἶναι δόξας, ἰδιότητές εἰσιν ὑποστάσεων. Δύο δὲ δόξας ἀπονέμων ἑκάστῃ, δύο ταύτῃ περιάπτεις ἰδιότητας, ὅπερ ἄτοπον. Ὥστε διττὸς ὁ λόγος σοι διαμαρτάνει τῆς ἀληθείας, ὅτι τὰς ἰδιότητας δόξας ὠνόμασας, καὶ ὅτι τὴν μίαν εἰς δύο διεῖλες καὶ τὸ ἑνιαῖον ἐδιχοτόμησας. Δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι τριῶν οὐσῶν ὑποστάσεων τρεῖς εἰσιν αἱ τούτων, ἀλ뮻’ οὐχ ἓξ ἰδιότητες, ἑκάστου προσώπου μίαν ἔχοντος ἰδιότητα.36 What you call ‘glories’ are distinctive properties of the hypostases. By assigning two ‘glories’ to each one, you attribute two specific distinctive properties to the same ⟨hypostasis⟩, and this is absurd. Therefore, a double reasoning fails to achieve the truth, because you have called the distinctive properties ‘glories’ and because you have divided the one ⟨property⟩ into two and what is single you have cut into two pieces. Indeed, it is clear that because the hypostases are three, three are also their characteristics yet not six, because every person has one distinctive property.

35

36

John Phournes, Oratio antirrhetica de processione Spiritus sancti, in Ἐκκλησιαστικὴ Βιβλιοθήκη. Bibliotheca Ecclesiastica Continens Graecorum Theologorum Opera, ed. Andronikos Demetrakopoulos, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1866), p. 41, 25–42, 6: “Ναί φησιν, ἀλ뮻ὰ καὶ δύο δόξας ἑκάστῃ τῶν τριῶν ὑποστάσεων προσούσας εὑρίσκομεν· οἷον τῷ Πατρὶ μίαν μέν, ὅτι γεννᾶται ὁ Υἱὸς ἐξ αὐτοῦ· δόξα γὰρ Πατρὸς ὁ Υἱός· δευτέραν δὲ πάλιν, ὅτι προέρχεται τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον ἐξ αὐτοῦ· αὗται δὲ δύο δόξαι τοῦ Πατρὸς ἑνικαί τε καὶ ἰδιότροποι. Καὶ ὁ Υἱὸς δὲ διττὰς ὁμοίως ἔχει δόξας ὡς ὁ Πατήρ· μίαν μὲν ὡς ἐκ τοῦ Πατρὸς γεννηθείς, ἑτέραν δὲ πάλιν ὡς καὶ ἐξ αὐτοῦ τοῦ Υἱοῦ προερχομένου τοῦ Πνεύματος· ὥσπερ δὴ καὶ αὐτὸ πάλιν τὸ Πνεῦμα τῇ αὐτῇ τῶν δοξῶν δυάδι δοξάζεται, τῇ μὲν ὡς ἐκ τοῦ Πατρός, τῇ δὲ πάλιν ὡς καὶ ἐκ τοῦ Υἱοῦ ὁμοίως ἐκπορευόμενον.” Phournes, Oratio antirrhetica, p. 44, 3–11.

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Some Examples of Specific Usages and Bad Translations

As it has been briefly mentioned before, the twelfth century is a century of dialogues and exchanges. Amongst those, the best-known testimonies indeed are Anselm of Havelberg’s Dialogues, or with the Greek title Ἀντικείμενον, a text that is extremely interesting for research on translations because it shows the complexity of conducting a discussion in two languages. This text is a literary reconstruction of the discussions that took place in Constantinople in 1135/6, between Anselm and Niketas of Nicomedia and is particularly difficult to be analysed from the viewpoint of the content because no writings by Niketas are preserved and, therefore, his argumentations can be reconstructed only through Latin sources: Anselm’s Dialogues themselves and another Latin testimony: Hugo Eterianus’ De sancto et immortali Deo (RAP L3).37 Although being widely quoted,38 Anselm’s dialogue has not been critically edited in full,39 and the lack of a proper edition is clearly an enormous impediment to a thorough understanding of the text, as nobody has worked on the complete apparatus fontium yet.40

37 38

39 40

A very complex case well presented in Pietro Podolak, “Nicetas Archbishop of Nicomedia: A Forgotten Figure in the Twelfth-Century Controversy Surrounding the Filioque,” Rivista di Studi Bizantini e Neoellenici 53 (2016), 151–172. I have already discussed this interesting text in Alessandra Bucossi, “The Six Dialogues by Niketas ‘Of Maroneia’: A Contextualising Introduction,” in Dialogue and Debate from Late Antiquity to Late Byzantium, ed. Averil Cameron and Niels Gaul (London – New York, 2017), pp. 137–152. Other relevant studies in Gillian Rosemary Evans, “Anselm of Canterbury and Anselm of Havelberg: The Controversy with the Greeks,” Analecta Praemonstratensia LIII, no. 3–4 (1977), pp. 158–175; Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon: über die eine Kirche von Abel bis zum letzten Erwählten und von Ost bis West, trans. Hermann Joseph Sieben (M甃ࠀnster, 2010); Constant Mews, “Peter Abelard, Anselm of Havelberg and Nicholas of Cusa: Sources of an Ecumenical Tradition,” in Inventing Modernity in Medieval European Thought, c.1100–c. 1450, ed. Bettina Koch and Cary J. Nederman (Kalamazoo, Michigan USA, 2018), pp. 155–170; Georgi Kapriev, Lateinische Rivalen in Konstantinopel: Anselm von Havelberg und Hugo Eterianus (Leuven – Paris – Bristol, Ct., 2018); Riccardo Saccenti, “Sapientes Nostri, I Dialogi (o Antikeimenon) di Anselmo di Havelberg e la circolazione dei testi di Gregorio di Nazianzo nell’Europa latina del XII Secolo,” Revue d’histoire Ecclésiastique 113 (2018), pp. 39–65; Riccardo Saccenti, La varietà della Santa Chiesa: unità di fede e pluralità di forme di vita cristiana in Anselmo di Havelberg (Firenze, 2020). Anselm of Havelberg, Anselme de Havelberg: Dialogues : livre 1 : Renouveau dans l’Eglise (Paris, 1966). Brian Dunkle, “Anselm of Havelberg’s Use of Authorities in His Account of the Filioque,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 105, no. 2 (2012), 695–722.

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The Ἀντικείμενον is an extremely important testimony of how a public discussion was arranged: “Arbiters were appointed, and notaries seated to take down faithfully in writing everything said on either side”;41 it even mentions the names of the translators who were present: the famous and well-studied James of Venice,42 Moses of Bergamo,43 and Burgundio of Pisa.44 According to Anselm, the two representatives, Anselm himself and Niketas of Nikomedia, disagreed since the beginning of the exchange, starting from a discussion on the best translation method. Niketas, said: Videtur mihi quod ea quae dicturi sumus, electus interpres de verbo ad verbum fideliter exponat, quia hoc modo melius nos invicem intelligere possumus, et ipse hoc facilius facere potest.45 It seems to me that the appointed interpreter should  ⟨faithfully⟩46 translate what we were about to say word for word, because in this way we can better understand each other, and he can easily do this.47 While Anselm replied that the ‘word-for-word’ translation was not a satisfying solution for him: 41 42

43

44

45 46 47

Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon. On the Unity of the Faith and the Controversies with the Greeks, trans. Ambrose Criste and Carol Neel, Premonstratensian Texts and Studies 1 (Collegeville, Minnesota, 2010), pp. 85–86. Lorenzo Minio-Paluello, “Iacobus Veneticus Grecus: Canonist and Translator of Aristotle,” Traditio 8 (1952), 265–304; Sten Ebbesen, “Jacobus Veneticus on the Posterior Analytics and Some Early Thirteenth-Century Oxford Masters on the Elenchi,” Cahiers de l’Institut Du Moyen Âge Grec et Latin 2 (1977), 1–9. Filippomaria Pontani, “Mosè del Brolo e la sua lettera da Costantinopoli,” Aevum 72 (1998), 143–175; Filippomaria Pontani, “Mosè del Brolo fra Bergamo e Costantinopoli,” in Maestri e traduttori Bergamaschi fra Medioevo e Rinascimento, ed. Claudia Villa and Francesco Lo Monaco (Bergamo, 1998), pp. 13–26; Filippo Ronconi, “Il Paris Suppl. Gr. 388 e Mosè del Brolo da Bergamo,” Italia Medioevale e Umanistica 47 (2006), 1–24. Nigel Guy Wilson, “New Light on Burgundio of Pisa,” Studi italiani di filologia classica 4 (1986), 113–118; Nigel Guy Wilson, “Ioannikios and Burgundio: A Survey of the Problem,” in Scritture, libri e testi nelle aree provinciali di Bisanzio. Atti del seminario di Erice (18–25 settembre 1988), ed. Guglielmo Cavallo (Spoleto, 1991), pp. 447–455; Gudrun Vuillemin-Diem and Marwan Rashed, “Burgundio de Pise et ses manuscripts grecs d’Aristote: Laur. 87.7 et Laur. 81.18,” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 64, no. 1 (1997), 136–198; Fernand Bossier, “L’élaboration du vocabulaire philosophique chez Burgundio de Pise,” in Aux origines du lexique philosophique européen: L’influence de la ‘latinitas’, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse, Textes et Études du Moyen Âge 8 (Turnhout, 1997), pp. 81–116. Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1164A. Missing in the English translation by Criste and Neel. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, p. 87.

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Ego hujusmodi usum loquendi non habeo, et praeterea suspecta est mihi talis interpretatio, quia capi possum in verbo, si dispariliter fuerit interpretatum, nec decet nos contendere verbis. Verum talis interpretatio in medio currat, quae sermonem utrinque continuatum pleno et collecto verborum sensu excipiat et exponat: hoc enim modo locutionis seu interpretationis non videbimur verborum observatores, sed sententiarum investigatores.48 But I do not speak in this way and  ⟨moreover⟩49 such translation is suspect, in my view, because I can be misunderstood word by word if the translation is inexact, and we should not quibble over words. Rather the translation between us should gather and then set forth our respective speech as it develops, in its full meaning. In this way of speaking and translating we shall examine thoughts rather than be fixed on their expression.50 Although interpreters were present and Anselm himself asked not to concentrate on the single word, his text unexpectedly presents various untranslated Greek terms, which he examines at length. A noteworthy example comes from the third chapter, where Anselm states: Et fortasse miraris, quia non dicantur σύναρχα, id est simul principia vel comprincipia, quae sunt simul coaeterna. Sed notandum quod id quod sine principio est, etiam aeternum est; sed quod aeternum est, non ob hoc sine principio est. Quippe Pater et Filius et Spiritus sanctus totae tres personae coaeternae sibi sunt et coaequales, sed non totae simul sunt sine principio: nam Pater quidam ἄναρχος, id est ‘sine principio’ est, et ipse est principium coaequalis et coaeterni et consubstantialis sibi Filii.51 Perhaps you wonder that coeternal beings are not called synarcha, together principles52 or co-beginnings. There we must note that whatever 48 49 50 51 52

Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1164B. Missing in the English translation by Criste and Neel. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, p. 87. Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1168B. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, p. 93. Criste and Neel translated “simul principia” with “mutual”; however, this does not seem to be the most appropriate translation since Anselm is discussing the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, who clearly cannot be “mutual” principles, although it seems that Anselm is implying a joint activity of the Trinity in being principle of the creation.

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has no principle is eternal, but what is eternal is not on that account without principle. To be sure, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are three persons entirely and mutually coeternal and coequal, but they are not at the same time entirely without principle, for the Father is indeed anarchos, without principle, yet he is the principle of his coequal, coeternal and consubstantial Son.53 It is extremely remarkable that Anselm uses the adjective synarchos (σύναρχος, -ον), which is seldom used in the theological/philosophical texts we preserve, and never appears in the works devoted to the filioque, which have been published up until now and dating from the ninth to the twelfth century.54 In Lampe’s lexicon, the adjective means “of one and the same source/principle” and is used to describe the relationship between the Son and the Spirit in relation to the Father: they have the same principle, they are σύν-αρχα, while clearly, it cannot be employed for all the three persons of the Trinity, as the Father is ἄναρχος by definition, He does not have a source, He is the source. Some passages from other authors can better clarify the meaning of the adjective; the best examples are from John of Damascus, Sacra parallela, and from Euthymius Zigabenus, Commmentaria in quattuor evangelia, where only the Father is ἄναρχος, but the Son is συνάρχος in relation to the Spirit. τὸ Πνεῦμα τοῦ Θεοῦ, τὸ ἐρευνῶν τὰ βάθη τοῦ Θεοῦ, ᾧ πρέπει πᾶσα δόξα, τιμή, καὶ προσκύνησις, σὺν τῷ ἀνάρχῳ Πατρί, καὶ τῷ μονογενεῖ καὶ συνάρχῳ Υἱῷ, νῦν τε καὶ εἰς τοὺς ἀτελευτήτους καὶ ἀπεράντους αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων. Ἀμήν.55 χάριτι τοῦ παντελείου Βασιλέως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ καὶ Θεοῦ ἡμῶν, ᾧ πρέπει δόξα καὶ προσκύνησις, ἅμα τῷ ἀνάρχῳ καὶ ἀϊδίῳ Πατρί, καὶ τῷ συνάρχῳ καὶ συναϊδίῳ Πνεύματι, νῦν καὶ ἀεὶ καὶ εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων. Ἀμήν.56 More demanding is the passage from Prokopios of Gaza / Nicholas of Methone, who are tightly connected by a conundrum that has been widely discussed by

53 54 55 56

Criste and Neel translated “is the coequal principle of his coeternal and consubstantial Son.” Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, p. 93. The printed texts are now listed in the database RAP, see above n. 3. John of Damascus, Sacra parallela (recensiones secundum alphabeti litteras dispositae, quae tres libros conflant) ( fragmenta e cod. Vat. gr. 1236), PG 95: 1069, 20–24. Euthymios Zigabenos, Commentaria in quattuor evangelia: Evangelium secundum Matthaeum, PG 129: 764, 47–765, 4.

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generations of scholars.57 In this case the term σύναρχος is used for the Son in relation to his role in the ‘emanation’ (πρόοδος) of the Holy Spirit, while commenting the widely quoted passage by Gregory of Nazianzos: “the monad, from the beginning moved toward a dyad and at the Trinity came to a halt.”58 This role is clearly expressed in the parenthetical addition (“δι’ αὐτοῦ γάρ”); therefore, the Son becomes σύναρχος, not because he is ‘of one and the same source/principle’ with the Father, but because the πρόοδος is from the Father (who indeed is the only one ἄναρχος) through him. Αὕτη δὲ καὶ μόνη φύσει θεία πρόοδος, εἴπερ δεῖ φύσει λέγειν ἐπὶ τῶν ὑπερφυῶν καὶ θείων· καὶ ταύτης ἀρχὴ μὲν ἄναρχος ὁ Πατὴρ (ἐξ αὐτοῦ γάρ), μεσότης δὲ σύναρχος ὁ Υἱὸς (δι’ αὐτοῦ γάρ), τέλος δὲ ὑπερτελέστατον καὶ ἀτελεύτητον τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ ἅγιον (εἰς αὐτὸ γάρ).59 This emanation is also the only one to be divine by nature, if one must say by nature about the supernatural and divine entities; and of this ⟨emanation⟩ the Father is eternal principle (indeed from him), the Son, who is co-principle, is the mediation (indeed through him), full realisation is the supremely perfect and everlasting Holy Spirit (indeed in him).60

57

58 59

60

See for example Joseph Stiglmayr, “Die ‘Streitschrift des Prokopios von Gaza’ gegen den Neuplatoniker Proklos,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 8 (1899), 263–301; Prokopios of Gaza, Procope de Gaza. Discours et fragments, ed. Eugenio Amato et al., Collection des universités de France. Série grecque, 503 (Paris, 2014), pp. XI–LXXXV; Michele Trizio, “Eleventh- to Twelfth-Century Byzantium,” in Interpreting Proclus: From Antiquity to the Renaissance, ed. Stephen Gersh (Cambridge, 2014), pp. 182–226; Anna Gioffreda and Michele Trizio, “Nicholas of Methone, Procopius of Gaza and Proclus of Lycia,” in Reading Proclus and the “Book of Causes,” ed. Dragos Calma, vol. 2, Studies in Platonism, Neoplatonism, and the Platonic Tradition 26 (Leiden, 2021), pp. 94–135. Gregory of Nazianzos, Grégoire de Nazianze : Discours 27–31 (Discours Théologiques), ed. Paul Gautier, Sources Chrétiennes 250 (Paris, 1978), Orat. 29, 2, p. 180, 13–14, “διὰ τοῦτο μονὰς ἀπ’ἀρχῆς εἰς δυάδα κινηθεῖσα, μέχρι τριάδος ἔστη.” Prokopios of Gaza, Procope de Gaza. Discours et fragments, fragmenta 7, 2, p. 502, 8–13  =  Nicholas of Methone, Νικολάου Μεθῶνης Ἀνάπτυξις τῆς Θεολογικῆς Στοιχειώσεως Πρόκλου Πλατωνικοῦ Φιλοσόφου, ed. Athanasios D. Angelou, Corpus Philosophorum Medii Aevi. Philosophi Byzantini 1 (Athens, 1984), 146, p. 133, 22–26. The French translation by P. Maréchaux, in Prokopios of Gaza, Procope de Gaza. Discours et fragments, p. 502, is “Or cette procession est aussi la seul à être divine par nature, s’il faut dire par nature à propose d’entités surnaturelles et divines ; car c’est le Père, qui n’a point de commencement, qui est le commencement (car c’est de Lui qu’il vient), la médiation, c’est le Fils, qui partage le commencement avec Lui (car elle se fait grâce à Lui) et son achèvement, c’est l’Esprit Saint, accomplissement au-delà de toute complétude et sans fin (car c’est en Lui qu’il arrive).”

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It must be noted that Nicholas’ version does not have the variant σύναρχος but συνάναρχος,61 an adjective that means “likewise unoriginated” and can be used in the relation to the Son “κατὰ χρόνον”, “according to time,” but not in absolute terms, as the Son is “γεννηθέντα κατὰ φύσιν ἐξ αὐτοῦ πρὸ παντὸς αἰῶνος καὶ χρόνου”, “begotten from him according to nature before time.”62 In another passage from Nicholas of Methone’s Refutatio institutionis theologicae Procli, it is necessary to read very carefully and to divide sensibly the sentence: “from which it follows that these are of one and the same source/principle and co-eternal and con-substantial with the Begetter and Emanator” (“ὅθεν καὶ σύναρχα ταῦτα καὶ συναΐδια καὶ ὁμοούσια τῷ γεννῶντι καὶ προβάλ뮻οντι”). Here, indeed, σύναρχα ταῦτα indicates the fact that the Son and the Spirit are σύναρχα, which means that both are “of one and the same source/principle”, i.e., the Father, while “καὶ συναΐδια καὶ ὁμοούσια τῷ γεννῶντι καὶ προβάλ뮻οντι” that they are “coeternal and consubstantial with the generator and projector,” i.e., the Father. Αὐτῷ δὲ τῷ εἶναι μὴ θέλων δηλαδὴ παράγει τῶν ὄντων οὐδέν, ὡς καὶ σύνδρομον ἔχειν τῷ ἑαυτοῦ εἶναι τὸ ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ παραγόμενον, ἀλ뮻ὰ πάντα τῆς αὐτοῦ ἀνάρχου ὑπάρξεως ὕστερα, μόνον δὲ αὐτῷ τῷ εἶναι γεννᾷ τὸν υἱὸν καὶ μόνον προβάλ뮻ει τὸ πνεῦμα, ὅθεν καὶ σύναρχα ταῦτα καὶ συναΐδια καὶ ὁμοούσια τῷ γεννῶντι καὶ προβάλ뮻οντι, οὐδ’ ἐκεῖ τοῦ ἀκουσίου χώραν λαμβάνοντος, ἀλ뮻’ ἑνὶ θελήματι καὶ κοινῷ τῶν τριῶν, καθὸ καὶ ἡ ἀγαθότης μία καὶ κοινὴ τοῦ μὲν γεννῶντός τε καὶ προβάλ뮻οντος, τοῦ δὲ γεννωμένου, τοῦ δὲ προβαλ뮻ομένου.63 And clearly he produces no being by his very existence, without willing, so as also to have concurrently with his own being the [being] produced from him, but all things are posterior to his unoriginate existence, and by his mere existence he begets only the Son and he emanates only the Spirit, from which it follows that these are of one and the same source/principle and co-eternal and con-substantial with the Begetter and Emanator, and ‘involuntary’ has no place there, but [God produces beings] by one 61 62

63

Nicholas of Methone, Refutatio Procli, 146, p. 133, 25. The apparatus criticus does not report any other variant. See for example “Πιστεύομεν τοίνυν εἰς ἕνα θεὸν πατέρα παντοκράτορα, πάντων ὁρατῶν τε καὶ ἀοράτων ποιητὴν καὶ εἰς ἕνα κύριον Ἰησοῦν Χριστὸν τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ, γεννηθέντα κατὰ φύσιν ἐξ αὐτοῦ πρὸ παντὸς αἰῶνος καὶ χρόνου· καὶ γάρ ἐστι συνάναρχος κατὰ χρόνον καὶ συναίδιος τῶι ἰδίωι γεννήτορι σύνεδρός τε καὶ ἰσοκλεὴς αὐτῶι καὶ ἰσότητι κατεστεμμένος τῆι πρὸς πᾶν ὁτιοῦν,” Concilium universale Ephesenum anno 431, ed. E. Schwartz, ACO 1.1.5 (Berlin, 1927), p. 63, 9–1. Nicholas of Methone, Refutatio Procli, 76, p. 79, 12–20.

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common will of the Three, insofar as the goodness of the Begetter and Emanator, of the Begotten, and of the emanated, is one and common.64 To come back to Anselm of Havelberg’s passage, he seems to cope quite well with the interpretation of the adjective σύναρχος and its complex interpretation. However, it is interesting to note how in a later passage, he specifies that the right terms to describe the three persons of the Trinity are the adjectives and not the nouns: the Father, the Son, and the Spirit are “consubstantiales” but not three “consubstantiae,” they are “comprincipiales” but not three “comprincipia.” In this respect it can be detected a clear effort to safeguard the unicity of the Trinity (a Greek theologian would have said the ‘monarchy’ of the Trinity), describing it with adjectives that can be applied to the three persons but not introducing three different principles and substances. Therefore, again, in this instance, it is a matter of translation and availability of a particular term in the other language; in this specific case, the Greeks have only the adjective σύναρχος and the substantivized adjectives τὰ σύναρχα, not the couple noun-adjective that Anselm proposes in his Latin reply, and a Latin translation cannot distinguish, not having the possibility to use the article, the neuter plural of the adjective from the neuter plural of an substantivized adjectives. Et sicut tres personae recte dicuntur consubstantiales, nec tamen recte dicuntur tres consubstantiae; ita fortasse tres personae recte dicuntur comprincipiales, sed tamen non recte dicuntur tria comprincipia, quod Graeci dicunt σύναρχα, Latini vero in nullo Latinitatis usu habent.65 But although we rightly call the three persons consubstantial, yet we do not properly say that they are ⟨three⟩66 consubstances, so perhaps we rightly say that the three persons are principles together, yet we do not

64

65 66

The English translation is by Joshua Robinson, but I have slightly changed some expressions, choosing the verb and the noun “emanator/emanating” instead of “projector/ projecting” and the translation “of one and the same source/principle” instead of “co-unoriginate” (which, indeed, would be better a translation of συνάναρχα rather than σύναρχα). Joshua M. Robinson, Nicholas of Methone’s Refutation of Proclus: Theology and Neoplatonism in 12th-Century Byzantium (Doctoral Dissertation, Notre Dame, Indiana, University of Notre Dame, 2014), p. 300. Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1169B. Missing in the English translation by Criste and Neel.

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rightly call them three co-principles67 – as the Greek say that they are synarcha, for which notion ⟨in fact⟩68 the Latins have no term.69 Much easier cases are the haphazard transliterations and bad translations into Latin of a Greek word, in this respect the simple case of “pantoscopum,” or “παντόσκοπος, id est omnium episcopus” is an exemplar. Capitulum XXIII. Quod fides sanctae Trinitatis ad plenum condita est in conciliis, quibus praesedit Spiritus sanctus παντόσκοπος, id est omnium episcopus, qui et auctor prius et conditor fuit Evangelii. ‘Verumtamen jam amplius non ita restringas fidem Evangelii, ut symbolum Nicaeni concilii tibi videatur esse superfluum, vel etiam alia orthodoxorum Patrum concilia, quibus praesedit auctor Spiritus sanctus, quem tu paulo ante vocasti Pantoscopum, id est omnium episcopum; […]’.70 Chapter 23. That faith in the Holy Trinity was fully founded in councils presided over by the Holy Spirit as παντόσκοπος, that is, the bishop over all, first author and founder of the Gospel. ‘Nevertheless, you would not further so restrict the faith of the Gospel that the creed of the Nicene Council – even the other councils of the orthodox fathers at which that Holy Spirit whom you only a little while ago called παντόσκοπος, bishop of all, presided as author – might seem superfluous’.71 While the term παντόσκοπος does not seem to exist in Greek, the term πανεπίσκοπος or παντεπίσκοπος is attested as a biblical term (Wisdom of Solomon 7: 23) referred to the Spirit or to the eyes of God ‘all-surveying’; with this same meaning is used by Niketas in chapter 13 (paulo ante of our passage),72 probably quoting a passage from Gregory of Nazianzos.73 It is clear that the “bishop

67 68 69 70 71 72 73

As above I have slightly changed the translation using “together principles” instead of “mutual principles.” Missing in the English translation by Criste and Neel. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, p. 95. Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1200D. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, p. 141. Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1183A. Gregory of Nazianzos, Grégoire de Nazianze : Discours 27–31 (Discours Théologiques), Orat. 31, 29, p. 336, 39–40.

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of all” is only a bad translation of a badly transliterated term that, in the end, becomes a ‘false friend’. The problem of interpreting a single technical word in Greek is well presented by Anselm in a passage from chapter 11: Nechites archiepiscopus Nicomediae dixit: ‘Satis placet quod dixisti; sed quaeso, concedis quod Pater Spiritus Sancti qui est processibilis, sit emissor, quod Graeci nostri vocant προβολεύς?’74 Nicetas, archbishop of Nicomedia, then replied: ‘What you have said is fair enough, but I ask now whether you concede that the Father sends forth the Holy Spirit as it proceeds, and is then προβολεύς, as the Greeks say?’75 Anselm Havelbergensis episcopus dixit: ‘Quid sit προβολεύς, ignoro, quippe non Graecus, sed sum Latinus. Bene autem concedo Patrem emissorem Spiritus Sancti, Spiritum sanctum vero emissum; tamen ita quod etiam Filium dicam similiter eiusdem emissorem’.76 Anselm, bishop of Havelberg, answered: ‘I do not know what προβολεύς may mean, since I am not Greek, but rather a Latin. But I gladly concede that the Father sends forth the Holy Spirit and that the Holy Spirit is then truly sent. I also say, however, that the Son likewise sends forth the Spirit’.77 In a later passage, he writes: Utrum autem duo emissores, seu duo datores recte dici queant, tua interest dicere, qui induxisti hoc nomen Graecum προβολεύς, quod apud nos, sicut tu dicis, sonat emissor. Quia vero hujus Graeci nominis propria significatio incerta est, nihil certum super interim diffinire volo. Sed jam nunc velim ut patienter audias me.78 Your concern is whether we can rightly say that two send the Spirit forth or two give him – that there might be two of him whom the Greeks name 74 75 76 77 78

Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1180A. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, pp. 110–111. Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1180BC. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, p. 111. Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi, PL 188: 1180C.

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προβολεύς – and whom we call, as you say, him who sends forth (emissor). But since the exact meaning of this Greek term is unclear to me, I do not for now wish to define it precisely. Rather I wish that you listen to me patiently.79 In this case, Anselm is compelled to enter the extremely complex realm of the technical lexicon used to distinguish the relationship between the Son and the Spirit and that between the Spirit and the Father in Byzantine theology.80 In fact, in Greek there are at least two terms for the Latin emissor: προβολεύς that can be used for the Father and χορηγός that can be used for the Son. A passage from Andronikos Kamateros expresses the different usages in a clear passage: Ἐπιστασία Νουνεχῶς ἄκουε, πῶς ἐκ τῆς οὐσίας τοῦ Υἱοῦ εἰπὼν τὸ Πνεῦμα διὰ τὴν ὁμοουσιότητα, ὡς ἄνωθεν εἴπομεν, ἵνα μὴ τὴν ἐκπόρευσιν τούτου καὶ ἐκ τοῦ Υἱοῦ νομίσῃ τις, χορηγὸν αὐτοῦ καὶ οὐχὶ προβολέα τοῦτον ὠνόμασε, τὴν δὲ ὁμοτιμίαν διδάσκων, καὶ τὸν Υἱὸν ἡμῖν ἐνοικίζεσθαι διὰ Πνεύματος εἴρηκεν.81 Commentary With understanding listen how [this holy father], saying that the Spirit is from the substance of the Son through the consubstantiality – as we said above – so that nobody would consider his procession to be also from the Son, he called this [i.e. the Son] bestower (χορηγόν) and not emanator (προβολέα), teaching the equality of honour, and said that the Son dwells in us through the Spirit.

3

Hugo Eterianus

Some final cases are taken from the treatise, De sancto et immortali Deo, written by Hugo Eterianus by order of Emperor Manuel Komnenos, recently published 79 80

81

Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, p. 111. Anselm also uses other Greek (or pseudo-Greek) terms. Some are very simple or extremely famous words, e.g., πολύαρχον, ἄναρχον, μοναρχίαν, ὁμοούσιον, but in other cases, for example (col. 1181A) when he uses for the Holy Spirit the words σύμπνοια (concordia) and σύννευσις (respectio), it seems that he made a real effort to translate into Greek a Latin, ‘Augustinian’ idea that he wanted to maintain both languages; see on this Dunkle, “Anselm of Havelberg’s Use of Authorities in his Account of the Filioque.” Andronikos Kamateros, Andronici Camateri Sacrum Armamentarium: Pars Prima, ed. Alessandra Bucossi, CCSG 75 (Turnhout, 2014), 84, p. 150, 13–18.

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by Pietro Podolak and Anna Zago, a text that certainly deserves, and will attract, more attention from Byzantinists than it has received in the past. For the purpose of this article, the case of Hugo Eterianus is fundamental, as he translates and refutes contemporary Byzantine theologians. The Pisan theologian is an extremely precise translator and shows a deep knowledge of patristic and Byzantine theological lexica, however also in his case, it is possible to highlight some difficulties. When Hugo translates a passage from Nicholas of Methone’s Refutationes theologicae doctrinae Latinorum (RAP G19831), “Εἰ πάντα ὅσα πρόσεστι τῷ Υἱῷ παρὰ τοῦ Πατρὸς λαβὼν ὁ Υἱὸς ἔχει, ἐκεῖθεν ἂν ἔχοι πάντως λαβὼν καὶ τὴν τοῦ Πνεύματος προβολήν,”82 he properly translates, “Si omnia quaecumque habet Filius a Patre accipiens habet, procul dubio et ex Patre habet Spiritus emissionem.”83 However, when he comments on the same passage, he uses “missionem”, “mittit”, “mittat”, “mittatur”, while generally in Greek the word for ‘emanation’ is προβολή, as it is in Nicholas, and the term for ‘mission’ is ἀποστολή. The confusion of “emissio” and “missio” could certainly be a case of wrong transmission of the text, although it must be noted that the critical apparatus does not register any variant. In general, Hugo does not seem to have any problem with προβολεύς/emissor while translating Niketas Byzantios: εἰ δὲ τοῦτο, ἔσται ἄρα ὁ υἱὸς ὡς μὲν υἱὸς αἰτιατός, ὡς δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς προβολεὺς τοῦ πνεύματος, αἴτιος· διὸ ἐντεῦθεν σκόπει τὰ ἄτοπα· ἤτοι γὰρ ἀναιτίως ἔσχε τὸ εἶναι προβολεὺς ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ πνεύματος ἢ οὐκ ἀναιτίως, ἀλ뮻’ἐκ τοῦ πατρός· […].84 quod ita est, erit Filius, ut Filius ex causa, ut autem et ipse Spiritus emissor causa; propter quod hinc inde inconuenientia oboriuntur: aut enim non ex causa existens habuit Filius emissor Spiritus esse, aut causa existens, Patre scilicet; […].85 and again, when he translates προβολή/emissio,

82 83 84 85

Nicholas of Methone, Refutationes theologicae doctrinae Latinorum, in Ἐκκλησιαστικὴ Βιβλιοθήκη, ed. Andronikos K. Demetrakopoulos, vol. 1 (Leipzig, 1866), p. 368, 3–5. Hugo Eterianus, Hugonis Eteriani Epistolae, De sancto et immortali Deo, Compendiosa expositio, fragmenta Graeca quae extant, ed. Pietro Podolak and Anna Zago, CCCM 298 (Leuven, 2020), liber II, 11, p. 116, 1–3. Niketas Byzantios, Capita syllogistica XXIV de processione Sancti Spiritus, in Monumenta graeca ad Photium ejusque historiam pertinentia, quae ex variis codicibus manuscriptis, ed. Joseph Hergenroether (Ratisbonae, 1869), 6, p. 103, 30–33. Hugo Eterianus, De sancto et immortali Deo, p. 60, 36–42, and also at lines 45, 50, 51, 52, 55 and at p. 98, lines 5, 9, 14, 18.

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καὶ γὰρ ὧν ἡ κατὰ φύσιν προβολὴ κρείττων, πάντως αὐτὰ κρείττω· εἰ δὲ χείρων, ἔσται οὐ μόνον τὸ πνεῦμα ἑαυτοῦ χεῖρον καὶ κρεῖττον, ἐπεὶ κατὰ διάφορον ἐκπόρευσιν τὴν ὕπαρξιν ἔχει.86 nam quorum secundum naturam emissio potior, omnino et ipsa meliora sunt; quod si peior, erit Spiritus seipso deterior et potior eo quod ex differenti processione habeat existentiam.87 He, indeed, is extremely precise also in translating the word πρόοδος, for which he correctly uses “progressio” (and not “processio”),88 while in other cases, he decides to use both the Latin translation and the loanword adaptation, as it is for θεαρχικὴ ὑπόστασις,89 which he renders “persona divinae maiestatis” into Latin90 and, also, adapts using the loanword “zoarchicarum personarum.”91 One last example deserves to be mentioned because it is intertwined with one of the main concerns of the author whom Hugo quotes, i.e. Nicholas of Methone, but the Latin theologian clearly did not read Nicholas’ Contra Proclum. In three passages, Hugo needs to translate προαγωγή, and the verb προάγω, “bringing forth,” which clearly have a completely different meaning from the noun and verb παραγωγή and παράγω, which in turn mean “production.” The first time he translates προαγωγή (“bringing forth”) with “productio,”92 a second time with “progrediens;”93 a third time again προαγωγή “productio.”94 In this context, it is extremely interesting to recall that the distinction between the two very similar words, which differ only for the prepositions, is a real matter of concern for Nicholas of Methone who in his Contra Proclum writes: Καὶ τὸ τριακοστὸν τοῦτο κεφάλαιον ὡσαύτως σφάλ뮻ει τῷ πρὸ αὐτοῦ, ὡς ταὐτόν τι πρόοδον ἤτοι προαγωγὴν καὶ τὴν παραγωγὴν λαμβάνον. Ἀντὶ γὰρ τοῦ εἰπεῖν τὸ ἀπό τινος προαγόμενον, ‘τὸ ἀπό τινός’, φησι, ‘παραγόμενον’ καὶ ἀντὶ τοῦ ἐν τῷ προάγοντι, ‘ἐν τῷ παράγοντι’. […] Ὁ μὲν υἱὸς καὶ τὸ πνεῦμα προΐασιν ἀπὸ

86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94

Niketas Byzantios, Capita syllogistica, 8, p. 108, 4–6. Hugo Eterianus, De sancto et immortali Deo, liber II, 2, p. 79, 4–7, but also lines 9, 13, 14. See the translation of Niketas Byzantios in Hugo Eterianus, liber I, p. 51, 4 and 9. Niketas Byzantios, Capita syllogistica, 17, p. 121, 13; 18, p. 122, 7. Hugo Eterianus, liber II, p. 98, 2–3. Hugo Eterianus, liber II, p. 103, 10. Hugo Eterianus, De sancto et immortali Deo, liber I, p. 35, 54. Nicholas of Methone, Refutationes theologicae, p. 363, 23 and Hugo Eterianus, De sancto et immortali Deo, liber I, p. 65, 69. Hugo Eterianus, De sancto et immortali Deo, liber III, p. 204, 79.

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τοῦ πατρὸς φυσικῶς καὶ ἀμέσως, οὐ μὴν καὶ παράγονται· συναΐδια γὰρ αὐτῷ καὶ συνάναρχα καὶ ὁμοούσια.95 And this 30th chapter causes a fall in like manner with the previous one, since it takes ‘emanation’ (πρόοδον), that is, ‘bringing forth’ (προαγωγήν), to be the same thing as ‘production’ (παραγωγήν). For instead of saying ‘that which has been brought forth from something’ (τὸ ἀπό τινος προαγόμενον), he says ‘that which has been produced from something’ (τὸ ἀπό τινος παραγόμενον), and instead of ‘in the bringer forth’ (ἐν τῷ προάγοντι) he says, ‘in the producer’ (ἐν τῷ παράγοντι). […] The Son and the Spirit ‘advance/go forward/ spring from’ (προΐασιν) from the Father naturally and ‘directly’ (ἀμέσως), and they are not ‘produced’ (παράγονται), for they are co-eternal and co-unoriginate and consubstantial with Him.96

4

Conclusion

This contribution is an introductory survey written in the hope of being useful for promoting an advancement in this field of research, but the most important desideratum is a bilingual theological lexicon of the controversy on the filioque, which will be feasible only once most of the sources, in both Greek and Latin, will be properly edited and studied. Only then it will be conceivable to discuss the relationship between Latin and Greek interpretations of the procession of the Holy Spirit and to thoroughly understand the deep reasons why they could not reach an agreed set of terms and, consequently, a reciprocal understanding. Moreover, only the diachronic study of the evolution of both languages and the theological interpretations throughout the six centuries of the discussion (starting from Photios and reaching up to the Council of Florence) and a precise examination of all authors and historical contexts in which they lived and wrote will assure a proper reconstruction of the evolution of the Greek and Latin positions. As for the Byzantine theologians up to the twelfth century, it is patent that they, following the path traced by the Greek Fathers of the Church, openly endeavoured to establish a well-defined terminology. One of the clearest examples is the commented anthology of the Sacred Arsenal by Andronikos Kamateros, quoted above, where passages 95 96

Nicholas of Methone, Refutatio Procli, 30, p. 39, 27–40, 6. Again, I have slightly changed Robinson’s English translation in order to avoid the translation “procession” and “to proceed” for πρόοδον, Robinson, Nicholas of Methone’s Refutation of Proclus: Theology and Neoplatonism in 12th-Century Byzantium, p. 234.

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concerned with the clear definition of different usages of the different terms are numerous. Still, we have seen various examples of this increased painstaking meticulousness in choosing the exact word. There is a final remark that must be added to indicate new paths of research. It is impossible to conduct any study on a topic so intrinsically open to exchanges, such as a discussion on dogmatic differences between Greek and Latin churches, without considering not only both Greek and Latin theologians but also Greek and Latin philosophers. We have seen some examples from Nicholas of Methone and Hugo Eterianus, but there is a wide production of texts to be explored and compared. It seems there is room to develop a comparative study on the Eastern concerns about a proper technical vocabulary and the Western development of linguistic theories. It is not by chance that this contribution ends with some quotations from a Greek theologian who, in his Six dialogues on the Procession of the Holy Spirit, proves to be imbued with philosophical knowledge and other two from the Latin philosophers Abelard and Peter Lombard. ὅτι οὐ πάνυ κατὰ διάνοιαν Γραικοὶ καὶ Λατῖνοι ἐν τῇ περὶ τοῦ ἁγίου Πνεύματος δόξῃ διαφερόμεθα, ἀλ뮻ὰ τὰ αὐτὰ πρεσβεύοντες εὑρισκόμεθα, περὶ λέξιν, ὡς ἔοικεν, ἀλ뮻ήλοις προσκόπτοντες.97 we, Greeks and Latins, do not differ so much in our understanding of the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, but we find ourselves declaring the same things by clashing against each other, as it seems, over words. Et hoc fortasse modo, si a solo Patre procedere Spiritum Graeci intelligant, eo videlicet quod sic ab ipso sit quasi a summo et non existente ab alio, nulla est sententiae controversia, sed verborum diversitas.98 And perhaps in this way, if the Greeks mean that the Spirit proceeds only from the Father, namely as ⟨the Spirit⟩ is from him as from ⟨the one who is⟩ utmost and not existing from another, there is not any controversy in the meaning, but a difference in the words.

97 98

Niketas of Thessalonica, Nicetae Thessalonicensis Dialogi, Epilogus, p. 234, 19–235, 23. Petrus Abaelardus, Theologia Christiana, in Opera Theologica II: Theologia Christiana, Theologia Scholarium (Recensiones Breviores), Capitula Haeresum Petri Abaelardi, ed. Eligius M. Buytaert, CCCM 12 (Turnhout, 1969), 4, 136, p. 334, 2178–2181.

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Peter Lombard: Sed cum non sit aliud Spiritum Sanctum esse Patris vel Filii, quam esse a Patre et Filio, etiam in hoc in eandem nobis cum fidei sententiam convenire videntur, licet verbis dissentiant.99 But because to say that the Spirit is ‘of the Father and the Son’ is not different from saying ‘from the Father and the Son’, they [the Greeks] seem to agree with us on the same meaning of the faith, although they disagree over the words. These quotations want to be a way to invite those who are able to conduct a thorough research on the philosophical exchanges between East and West during the twelfth century to take up the challenge of enlarging the boundaries of their research and to contemplate the possibility to explore if and how the discussion about the filioque had a role in the development of the “vocabulaire théologique” of this permeable long twelfth century.100

Bibliography Primary Sources (Texts and Translations) Andronikos Kamateros. Andronici Camateri sacrum armamentarium: Pars prima. Ed. Alessandra Bucossi. CCSG 75. Turnhout, 2014. Anselm of Havelberg. Anselme de Havelberg: Dialogues : livre 1 : Renouveau dans l’Eglise. Paris, 1966. Anselm of Havelberg. Anticimenon, On the Unity of the Faith and the Controversies with the Greeks. Tr. Ambrose Criste and Carol Neel. Premonstratensian Texts and Studies 1. Collegeville, Minnesota, 2010. Anselm of Havelberg. Anticimenon: über die eine Kirche von Abel bis zum letzten Erwählten und von Ost bis West. Tr. Hermann Joseph Sieben. M甃ࠀnster, 2010. Anselm of Havelberg. Dialogi. Patrologia Latina 188: 1139–1248. Concilium universale Ephesenum anno 431. Ed. E. Schwartz. Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum 1.1.5. Berlin, 1927. Euthymios Zigabenos. Commentaria in quattuor evangelia: Evangelium secundum Matthaeum. Patrologia Graeca 129: 107–1501.

99 100

Petrus Lombardus, Sententiae in IV libris distinctae, Tomus I, Pars II, Specilegium Bonaventurianum 5 (Grottaferrata, 1971), 1, 11, 2, p. 116, 1. Marie-Dominique Chenu, La teologia del XII secolo, trans. Inos Biffi, (First ed. Paris, 1976, It. ed. Milano, 2016), chap. 17, pp. 411–432; Evans, “Anselm of Canterbury and Anselm of Havelberg: The Controversy with the Greeks,” p. 162.

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Gregory of Nazianzos. Grégoire de Nazianze : Discours 27–31 (Discours Théologiques). Ed. Paul Gautier. Sources Chrétiennes 250. Paris, 1978. Hugo Eterianus. Hugonis Eteriani epistolae, De sancto et immortali Deo, Compendiosa expositio, Fragmenta Graeca quae extant. Ed. Pietro Podolak and Anna Zago. Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis 298. Turnhout, 2020. John of Damascus. Sacra parallela (recensiones secundum alphabeti litteras dispositae, quae tres libros conflant) ( fragmenta e cod. Vat. gr. 1236). Patrologia Graeca 95: 1040–1588. John Phournes. Oratio antirrhetica de processione Spiritus sancti. In Ἐκκλησιαστικὴ Βιβλιοθήκη. Bibliotheca ecclesiastica continens Graecorum theologorum opera. Ed. Andronikos Demetrakopoulos, vol. 1, 36–47. Leipzig, 1866. Maximos the Confessor. Epistula ad Marinum Cypri presbyterum. Patrologia Graeca 91: 133–137. Nicholas of Methone. Refutationes theologicae doctrinae Latinorum. In Ἐκκλησιαστικὴ Βιβλιοθήκη, ed. Andronikos K. Demetrakopoulos, vol. 1, 359–380. Leipzig, 1866. Nicholas of Methone. Νικολάου Μεθῶνης Ἀνάπτυξις τῆς Θεολογικῆς Στοιχειώσεως Πρόκλου Πλατωνικοῦ Φιλοσόφου. Ed. Athanasios D. Angelou. Corpus philosophorum Medii Aevi, Philosophi Byzantini 1. Athens, 1984. Niketas Byzantios. Capita syllogistica XXIV de processione Sancti Spiritus. In Monumenta Graeca ad Photium ejusque historiam pertinentia, quae ex variis codicibus manuscriptis … Ed. Joseph Hergenroether. Ratisbonae, 1869. Niketas of Thessalonica. Nicetae Thessalonicensis dialogi sex de processione Spiritus Sancti. Ed. Alessandra Bucossi and Luigi D’Amelia. Corpus Christianorum Series Graeca 92. Turnhout, 2021. Petrus Abaelardus. Theologia Christiana. In Opera theologica II: Theologia Christiana, Theologia scholarium (Recensiones breviores), Capitula haeresum Petri Abaelardi. Ed. Eligius M Buytaert. Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis 12. Turnhout, 1969. Petrus Grossolanus. Due sermoni inediti di Pietro Grosolano, Arcivescovo di Milano. Ed. Ambrogio Amelli. Fontes Ambrosiani. Firenze, 1933; Greek version in Patrologia Graeca 127: 911–919. Petrus Lombardus. Sententiae in IV Libris Distinctae. Tomus I, Pars II. Specilegium Bonaventurianum 5. Grottaferrata, 1971. Photios. On the mystagogy of the Holy Spirit by Saint Photios Patriarch of Constantinople. Tr. Holy Transfiguration Monastery. S. l., 1983. Photios. De Spiritus Sancti Mystagogia. Patrologia Graeca 102: 280–392. Prokopios of Gaza. Procope de Gaza, Discours et fragments. Ed. Eugenio Amato, Aldo Corcella, Gianluca Ventrella, and Pierre Maréchaux. Collection des universities de France, Série grecque, 503. Paris, 2014.

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Robinson, Joshua M. Nicholas of Methone’s Refutation of Proclus: Theology and Neoplatonism in 12th-Century Byzantium. Doctoral Dissertation, University of Notre Dame, 2014 (English translation of the Refutatio Procli). Theophylaktos of Ohrid. Théophylacte d’Achrida : discours, traités, poésies. Ed. Paul Gautier, Vol. 1. Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae 16. Thessalonique, 1980. Will, Cornelius, ed. Acta et scripta quae de controversiis ecclesiae Graecae et Latinae saeculo undecimo composita extant: ex probatissimis libris emendatiora edidit diversitatem lectionis enotavit annotationibus. Leipzig – Marburg, 1861.

Secondary Sources Alexakis, Alexander. “The Epistula ad Marinum Cypri Presbyterum,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 94, no. 2 (2001): 545–554. Barmin, Alexey. “The Refutation of Petrus Grossolanus, the Λόγοι Ἀντιρρητικοί by Eustratios of Nicaea.” In Contra Latinos et Adversus Graecos: The Separation between Rome and Constantinople From the Ninth to the Fifteenth Century. Ed. Alessandra Bucossi and Anna Calia, 199–215. Orientalia Christiana Analecta 286. Leuven  – Paris – Bristol, Ct., 2020. Bossier, Fernand. “L’élaboration du vocabulaire philosophique chez Burgundio de Pise.” In Aux origines du lexique philosophique européen: L’influence de la ‘latinitas’. Ed. Jacqueline Hamesse, 81–116. Textes et Études du Moyen Âge 8. Turnhout, 1997. Bucossi, Alessandra. “The Six Dialogues by Niketas ‘Of Maroneia’: A Contextualising Introduction.” In Dialogue and Debate from Late Antiquity to Late Byzantium. Ed. Averil Cameron and Niels Gaul, 137–152. London – New York, 2017. Cameron, Averil. Arguing It Out: Discussion in Twelfth-Century Byzantium. Budapest, 2016. Chenu, Marie-Dominique. La teologia del XII secolo. Tr. Inos Biffi. First ed. Paris, 1976; It. ed. Milano, 2016. Demetrakopoulos, Andronikos K. Ὀρθόδοξος Ἑλλάς: ἤτοι, περὶ τῶν Ἑλλήνων τῶν γραψάντων κατὰ Λατίνων καὶ περὶ τῶν συγγραμμάτων αὐτῶν. Leipzig 1872. Duchesne, Louis. Autonomies ecclésiastiques: Églises séparées. Paris, 1896. Dunkle, Brian. “Anselm of Havelberg’s Use of Authorities in his Account of the Filioque.” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 105, no. 2 (2012): 695–722. Ebbesen, Sten. “Jacobus Veneticus on the Posterior Analytics and Some Early Thirteenth-Century Oxford Masters on the Elenchi.” Cahiers de l’Institut Du Moyen Âge Grec et Latin 2 (1977): 1–9. Evans, Gillian Rosemary. “Anselm of Canterbury and Anselm of Havelberg: The Controversy with the Greeks.” Analecta Praemonstratensia LIII, no. 3–4 (1977): 158–175. Gioffreda, Anna, and Michele Trizio. “Nicholas of Methone, Procopius of Gaza and Proclus of Lycia.” In Reading Proclus and the “Book of Causes.” Ed. Dragos Calma,

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2: 94–135. Studies in Platonism, Neoplatonism, and the Platonic Tradition 26. Leiden, 2021. Haskins, Charles Homer. The Renaissance of the Twelfth Century. Cambridge, MA, 1957. Jugie, Martin. Le schisme byzantine: Aperçu historique et doctrinal. Paris, 1941. Kapriev, Georgi. Lateinische Rivalen in Konstantinopel: Anselm von Havelberg und Hugo Eterianus. Leuven – Paris – Bristol, Ct., 2018. Mews, Constant. “Peter Abelard, Anselm of Havelberg and Nicholas of Cusa: Sources of an Ecumenical Tradition.” In Inventing Modernity in Medieval European Thought, c.1100–c.1450. Ed. Bettina Koch and Cary J. Nederman, 155–170. Kalamazoo, Michigan USA, 2018. Minio-Paluello, Lorenzo. “Iacobus Veneticus Grecus: Canonist and Translator of Aristotle.” Traditio 8 (1952): 265–304. Mullett, Margaret. Theophylact of Ochrid: Reading the Letters of a Byzantine Archbishop. Vol. 2. Birmingham Byzantine and Ottoman Monographs. Aldershot, 1997. Podolak, Pietro. “Nicetas Archbishop of Nicomedia: A Forgotten Figure in the Twelfth-Century Controversy Surrounding the Filioque.” Rivista Di Studi Bizantini e Neoellenici 53 (2016): 151–172. Pontani, Filippomaria. “Mosè del Brolo e la sua lettera da Costantinopoli.” Aevum 72 (1998): 143–175. Pontani, Filippomaria. “Mosè del Brolo fra Bergamo e Costantinopoli.” in Maestri e traduttori bergamaschi fra Medioevo e Rinascimento. Ed. Claudia Villa and Francesco Lo Monaco, 13–26. Bergamo, 1998. Ronconi, Filippo. “Il Paris Suppl. gr. 388 e Mosè del Brolo da Bergamo.” Italia Medioevale e Umanistica 47 (2006): 1–24. Saccenti, Riccardo. La varietà della Santa Chiesa: unità di fede e pluralità di forme di vita cristiana in Anselmo di Havelberg. Firenze, 2020. Saccenti, Riccardo. “Sapientes nostril, I Dialogi (o Antikeimenon) di Anselmo di Havelberg e la circolazione dei testi di Gregorio Di Nazianzo nell’Europa latina del XII Secolo.” Revue d’histoire Ecclésiastique 113 (2018): 39–65. Siecienski, Anthony Edward. “The Authenticity of Maximus the Confessor’s ‘Letter to Marinus’: The Argument from Theological Consistency.” Vigiliae Christianae 61, no. 2 (2007): 189–227. Stiglmayr, Joseph. “Die ‘Streitschrift Des Prokopios von Gaza’ Gegen Den Neuplatoniker Proklos.” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 8 (1899): 263–301. Trizio, Michele. “Eleventh-  to Twelfth-Century Byzantium.” In Interpreting Proclus: From Antiquity to the Renaissance. Ed. Stephen Gersh, 182–226. Cambridge, 2014. Vuillemin-Diem, Gudrun, and Marwan Rashed. “Burgundio de Pise et ses manuscripts grecs d’Aristote: Laur. 87.7 et Laur. 81.18.” Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie Médiévales 64, no. 1 (1997): 136–198.

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Wilson, Nigel Guy. “Ioannikios and Burgundio: A Survey of the Problem.” In Scritture, libri e testi nelle aree provinciali di Bisanzio, Atti del seminario di Erice (18–25 settembre 1988). Ed. Guglielmo Cavallo, 447–455. Spoleto, 1991. Wilson, Nigel Guy. “New Light on Burgundio of Pisa.” Studi italiani di filologia classica 4 (1986): 113–118.

Chapter 11

“Translating Bread:” Notions of Etymology and Theory of Meaning in the Latin-Greek Controversy on the Azymes Luigi D’Amelia Γινωσκέτω οὖν πᾶς ὁ τὸ ὀρθόδοξον εὐλαβούμενος, ὅτι “μικρὰ ζύμη,” κατὰ τὸν ἀπόστολον, “ὅλον τὸ φύραμα ζυμοῖ” (2 Cor. 5:6, Gal. 5:9) καὶ ψιλή τις ὀνομασία αἱρετιζόντων ὅλον τὸ τῆς ὀρθοδοξίας πλήρωμα ἀχρειοῖ Vat. gr. 2224, first half of the fourteenth c., fol. 210r

∵ In the course of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the theological debates that divided the Latins and Greeks placed a special emphasis on the difficulty of overcoming linguistic barriers and finding an exact correspondence between words and concepts in the respective languages.1 This topic often entails, so to speak, more marginal or, at least, secondary issues to strictly theological and dogmatic arguments. In modern studies on Byzantine polemical works, this aspect is generally only hinted at and not developed in depth. This is also because Byzantine polemical works – often long and complicated – have rarely been the object of critical editions and, even less, of translations. And yet, many of these works deploy a kaleidoscopic arsenal of arguments that draw on different branches of medieval knowledge and culture. Some of these arguments widely depart from what are now considered heuristic tools of theological speculation. More or less directly, they come from ancient grammatical scholarship and the ‘philosophy of language’, which leads to reflection, for example, on the ambiguous meaning of some words and the relationship between a name and what it signifies.

1 On this matter, see the contribution of Alessandra Bucossi in this volume.

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_012

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Generally, in their rhetorical strategy, Byzantine polemicists extensively used the tools of Aristotelian logic.2 However, when those tools proved insufficient or inadequate in demonstrating the truths of the faith, constant appeals were made to the authority of the Bible and the Church Fathers. In establishing the true meaning of a given word and its most correct field of employment, Byzantine theologians mainly had two possibilities. The first was examining and interpreting the word’s occurrences in Sacred Scripture: e.g., this is what Nicetas ‘of Maroneia’, Metropolitan of Thessaloniki (first half of the twelfth c.) does when he clarifies the functional relationships of the prepositions ἐκ and διά in the fifth and sixth of his Dialogi sex de processione Spiritus Sancti (RAP G10079).3 The second possibility consisted instead in the recourse to external notions, drawn, for example, from etymology. This relied on an ancient philosophical-grammatical assumption, which was, however, matter of discussion among philosophers. According to this idea, the etymology of a word would be a solid criterion to establish the correctness of its usage and to understand its most intimate and genuine meaning.4 2 See e.g. Byron MacDougall, “Aristotle at the Festival: The Orations of Theodore the Stoudite and Byzantine Logical Culture,” Jahrbuch der österreichischen Byzantinistik 68 (2019), 251–260; Christophe Erismann, “The Depicted Man. On a Fortunate Ninth Century Byzantine Afterlife of the Aristotelian Logical Doctrine of Homonyms,” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 59 (2019), 311–339 (both on polemics against Iconoclasm); idem, “Common Notions and Rational Arguments. Nicetas of Byzantium’s Logical Arsenal and Ninth-Century Byzantine Polemic against Islam,” Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 72/3–4 (2020), 273–290. For a general overview, see idem, “Logic in Byzantium,” in The Cambridge Intellectual History of Byzantium, eds. Anthony Kaldellis and Niketas Siniossoglou (Cambridge, 2017), pp. 362–380. 3 See Nicetae Thessalonicensis Dialogi sex de processione Spiritus Sancti, eds. Alessandra Bucossi and Luigi D’Amelia, Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca 92 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 160–166. A summary of the contents of this dialogue is found on pages liv–lv of the introduction. In this article, Byzantine polemical works are accompanied by a RAP identifying number. A presentation of the Repertorium Auctorum Polemicorum can be found on the official webpage of the project, hosted by Ca’ Foscari University of Venice: https://pric.unive.it/projects /rap/home. Accessed 2022 Nov 24. 4 Such a belief is found as early as Plato’s Cratylus, and especially in the philosophy of language developed by Stoicism; see, for example, David Sedley, “The Etymologies in Plato’s Cratylus,” Journal of Hellenic Studies 118 (1998), 140–154; idem, Plato’s Cratylus, Cambridge Studies in the Dialogues of Plato (Cambridge, 2003); idem, “Etymology as a Techne in Plato’s Cratylus,” in Etymologia. Studies in Ancient Etymology. Proceedings of the Cambridge Conference on Ancient Etymology, 25–27 September 2000, ed. Christos Nifadopoulos, Henry Sweet Society Studies in the History of Linguistics 9 (M甃ࠀnster, 2003), pp. 21–32; Francesco Aronadio, I fondamenti della riflessione di Platone sul linguaggio: il Cratilo, Pleiadi 14 (Roma, 2011); James Allen, “The Stoics on the Origin of Language and the Foundations of Etymology,” in Language and Learning. Philosophy of Language in the Hellenistic Age. Proceedings of the Ninth Symposium Hellenisticum, eds. Dorothea Frede and Brad Inwood (Cambridge, New York, 2005), pp. 14–35.

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This paper aims at highlighting the presence of such etymological approach in the anti-Latin controversy on the azymes between the eleventh and twelfth centuries. This approach appears to be quite widespread among the Greeks and, to some extent, shows a deeply different sensitivity toward language, which may have also influenced communication and translational practices.5 To this purpose, I have selected four Byzantine authors from this period (Leo of Ohrid, John Oxeites, Nicholas of Methone and Leo of Russia), who clearly employed the etymological argument, along with a contemporary Latin theologian (Anselm of Havelberg), who perhaps shows an echo of the same topic through the literary figure of the Byzantine Bishop Nicetas of Nicomedia.6

On the important contribution of the Stoics on this topic, see, e.g., Sten Ebbesen, “Imposition of Words in Stoicism and Late Ancient Grammar and Philosophy,” Methodos 19 (2019), 1–17. More generally, see Jean Lallot, “Ἐτυμολογία: l’étimologie en Grèce ancienne d’Homère aux Alexandrins,” in Discours étymologiques. Actes du colloque international organisé à l’occasion du centenaire de la naissance de W. von Wartburg, eds. Jean-Pierre Chambon and George L甃ࠀdi (T甃ࠀbingen, 1991), pp. 135–148; Francesco Aronadio, “The Use of Etymology as an Exegetical Tool in Alexandria and Pergamum. Some Examples from the Homeric Scholia,” in Etymologia. Studies in Ancient Etymology, ed. Nifadopoulos, pp. 65–70. Finally, on the various approaches to the study of etymology in the ancient world, see the recent work Ancient and Medieval Greek Etymology. Theory and Practice, 1, eds. A. Zucker and Claire Le Feuvre, Trends in Classics – Supplementary Volumes 111 (Berlin, 2021). On Proclos’ position on this ancient debate, see, e.g., R.M. van den Berg, “Smoothing over the Differences: Proclus and Ammonius on Plato’s Cratylus and Aristotle’s De interpretatione,” Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies. Supplement 83 (2004), 191–201, repr. in Aristotle Re-Interpreted. New Findings on Seven Hundred Years of the Ancient Commentators, ed. Richard Sorabji (London, New York, 2016), no. 13. 5 However, in the context of the debate with Islam, we also find some sceptisism from the Greek part over the use of etymology in trying to unveil the true nature of things; from the eighth-ninth century, see e.g. Theodore Abū Qurrah’s opuscule on the name of God: “Καὶ μὴ πλανηθῇς ἀκολουθῶν ἐτυμολογίαις καὶ νόμοις γραμματικοῖς, παρορῶν τὸν τῆς ἀληθείας κανόνα, ᾧ πολ뮻οὶ μὲν ἐπαγ뎳έλ뮻ονται χρῆσθαι, ὀλίγοι δέ εἰσιν οἱ χρώμενοι …,” PG 97, col. 1568B (Op. XXVII). 6 On the Greek-Latin debate over the azymes, see these classic, though dated, works: John H. Erickson, “Leavened and Unleavened: Some Historical Implications of the Schism of 1054,” St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 14 (1970), 155–170, esp. p. 159 (with a brief consideration of the etymological arguments) and Mahlon H. Smith, And Taking Bread … Cerularius and the Azyme Controversy of 1054, Théologie historique 47 (Paris, 1978). Among the more recent works, see, selectively, Johannes Pahlitzsch, “Die Bedeutung der Azymenfrage f甃ࠀr die Beziehungen zwischen griechisch-orthodoxer und lateinischer Kirche in der Kreuzfahrerstaaten,” in Die Folgen der Kreuzzüge für die orientalischen Religionsgemeinschaft, ed. Walter Beltz, Hallesche Beitr愃ࠀge zur Orientwissenschaft 22 (Halle, 1996), pp. 75–92; Georgij Avvakumov, Die Entstehung des Unionsgedankens: Die lateinische Theologie des Hochmittelalters in der Auseinandersetzung mit dem Ritus der Ostkirche, Veröffentlichungen

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Indeed, even at the time of the controversy, both Greeks and Latins explicitly mentioned the difficulty in effectively communicating and understanding each other because of the different languages. In the case of the azymes, the bone of contention arose from the opposite interpretations of the word ἄρτος (“bread”). In short, the question was whether ἄρτος – which was most frequently used in the Bible without the attribute ἄζυμος – really had the sole meaning of “leavened bread” or it could also mean, in some cases, “unleavened” or azym bread. Naturally, the question sprang from the fact that ἄρτος (without further qualification or attribute) was mentioned for the bread that, according to the synoptic Gospels, Jesus blessed and broke at the Last Supper.7

1

Leo of Ohrid

Among the Byzantines, one of the first to employ the etymological argument in the debate on unleavened bread was also one of the key players in the events leading to the so-called schism of 1054. Leo, Archbishop of Ohrid (1037–1056) was the spokesman to the Latins of Michael Cerularius, Patriarch of Constantinople, and particularly critical of their differing liturgical and

des Grabmann-Institutes (…) 47 (Berlin, 2002), pp. 29–159, esp. pp. 108–109 (with a brief mention of ‘Das physische/etymologische Argument’); Luciano Bossina, “L’eresia dopo la Crociata. Niceta Coniata, i Latini e gli azzimi (Panoplia dogmatica XXII)”, in Padri greci e latini a confronto (secoli XIII–XV). Atti del Convegno di studi della Società Internazionale per lo Studio del Medioevo Latino (SISMEL), Certosa del Galluzzo, Firenze, 19–20 ottobre 2001, ed. Mariarosa Cortesi (Firenze, 2004), pp. 153–205, esp. pp. 165–180; Tia M. Kolbaba, “Byzantines, Armenians, and Latins: Unleavened Bread and Heresy in the Tenth Century,” in Orthodox Constructions of the West, eds. George E. Demacopoulos and Aristotle Papanikolaou (New York, 2013), pp. 45–57; Axel Bayer, Spaltung der Christenheit. Das sogenannte Morgenländische Schisma von 1054, Beihefte zum Archiv f甃ࠀr Kulturgeschichte 53, 2nd ed. (Wien, 2004), pp. 214–221 and passim; Brett Whalen, “Rethinking the Schism of 1054: Authority, Heresy, and the Latin Rite,” Traditio 62 (2007), 1–24; A. Edward Siecienski, “The Azyme Debate: The Fourth Crusade to the Modern Era”, in idem, Beards, Azymes, and Purgatory. The Other Issues that Divided East and West, Oxford Studies in Historical Theology (New York, 2022), pp. 77–186. Unfortunately, I could not take into account the recent publication by Robert Nelson, A Visceral History of Bread from First-Nations Australia to Byzantium (Mildura, 2023), which was released long after I had submitted the drafts of this paper. 7 Cf. Mt. 26:26, Mc. 14:22 and Lc. 22:19. On the uses and meanings of ἄρτος in the New Testament, see, for example, Grande Lessico del Nuovo Testamento, eds. Felice Montagnini et al., 1 (Brescia, 1965), coll. 1267–1272.

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disciplinary habits.8 The first of his Epistulae tres de azymis (RAP G6136),9 which is generally considered the first writing known to us on the Greek-Latin controversy concerning unleavened bread, was written in 1053 and probably addressed to John, Bishop of Trani.10 In the letter, commenting on Mt. 26:26–28, Leo relates an etymology of the word ἄρτος that would explain why Jesus defined his body as “bread” and would hence confirm that ἄρτος, without a modifier like ἄζυμος, always refers to leavened bread: Do you see how He [Jesus] called his own body ‘bread’ (ἄρτον) in the New Testament, and, therefore, as something living, which incorporates air and is a source of heat? Bread is so called, in fact, from the verb ‘I raise’ (αἴρω) in the sense of ‘I lift’ (ἐπαίρω) and ‘I bring upwards’ (φέρω ἐπὶ τὰ ἄνω) since it generates heat and rises thanks to yeast (ζύμης) and salt (ἅλατος). On the contrary, unleavened bread is no different from inanimate stone or from a brick of clay or pottery, things that remain stuck on the ground and, by their nature, resemble dry clay.11 For the noun ἄρτος Leo proposes here an etymology from αἴρω. This must have been the most widespread and commonly accepted derivation in the Byzantine

8

9 10

11

On Leo of Ohrid’s life and work see, e.g., G甃ࠀnter Prinzing, “Leon von Achrida,” in Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, 3rd ed., 6 (Freiburg et alibi, 1997), coll. 814–815; Elmar B甃ࠀttner, Erzbischof Leon von Ohrid (1037–1056): Leben und Werk (mit den Texten seiner bisher unedierten asketischen Schrift und seiner drei Briefe an den Papst), Historisches Seminar, Johannes-Gutenberg-Universit愃ࠀt Mainz (Bamberg, 2007); Eleonora Naxidou, “The Archbishop of Ohrid Leo and the Ecclesiastical Dispute between Constantinople and Rome in the mid-11th Century,” Cyrillomethodianum 21 (2016), 7–19; Bayer, Spaltung, pp. 64–68 and p. 70. See also the prosopographical entry “Leon of Ohrid, archbishop of Bulgaria” (ID: Leon 108) in the online Prosopography of the Byzantine World (http:// pbw2016.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/person/Leon/108/). Accessed 2022 Dec 1. See also Smith, And Taking Bread, pp. 106–108, pp. 114–117, and passim; Avvakumov, Die Entstehung, p. 97 nr. 20(a). On John of Trani see, e.g., Jean-Marie Martin, “Jean, archevêque de Trani et de Siponto, syncelle imperial,” in Byzance et ses périphéries (mondes grec, balkanique et musulman): hommage à Alain Ducellier, eds. Christophe Picard and Bernard Doumerc (Toulouse, 2004), pp. 123–130 [repr. in Jean-Marie Martin, Byzance et l’Italie méridionale, Bilans de recherche 9 (Paris, 2014), pp. 139–145]. Leo of Ohrid, Epistula I de azymis, ed. B甃ࠀttner, Erzbischof Leon, p. 182 l. 28–33. Where not differently specified, the translation is mine. On this passage, see also Erickson, “Leavened,” p. 159; B甃ࠀttner, Erzbischof Leon, p. 198, comm. ad loc.; Bayer, Spaltung, p. 218. Note that the use of the English term “yeast” to translate the Greek word ζύμη might sound anachronistic. In this chapter, “yeast” should be understood in its generic sense as a “leavening agent.”

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world. This is testified to by a long grammatical tradition,12 by Photius’s Bibliotheca,13 by the major Byzantine lexicographical compilations,14 by some scholia to ancient authors,15 and even by some philosophico-medical works.16 The relationship that Leo establishes between the verb αἴρω and ἄρτος, however, is of a different kind from the one inferred from the sources just mentioned. In fact, while for the Bishop of Ohrid the verb αἴρω expresses the act of the bread of “rising” during leavening, for the etymological sources αἴρω is instead synonymous with προσφέρω (in the sense of “to offer in nourishment”), or better, as we will see also later on, of προσφέρομαι, understood in the sense of “to take” a certain food, “to feed” on something. In any case, Leo’s argument was promptly countered by Humbert of Silva Candida (c.1000–1061), who had translated Leo’s epistle into Latin almost ad litteram, thus bringing it to the attention of Pope Leo IX (1049–1054).17 At the latter’s request, Humbert composed the treatise Adversus Graecorum calumnias 12 13 14

15 16

17

See, for example, Orion of Thebes, Etymologicum, alpha: “Ἄρτος, παρὰ τὸ αἴρειν, τὸ προσφέρειν καὶ μάττειν· καὶ Ἱπποκράτης προσάρματα τὰ σιτία φησί …,” ed. Friederich W. Sturz, Orionis Thebani Etymologicon (Leipzig, 1820; repr. Hildesheim, 1973), p. 21. See Photius, Bibliotheca 279 (Bekker 533a), ed. René Henry, Photius, Bibliothèque, Tom. VIII (“Codices” 257–280) (Paris, 1977), p. 180 l. 35–36: “Ὅτι ἄρτος ἐκ τοῦ αἴρειν εἴρηταί, φησιν [scil. ὁ Εὐφορίων], ὃ δηλοῖ τὸ προσφέρεσθαι· καὶ γὰρ καθ’ ἑκάστην τοῦτον προσφερόμεθα.” See, for example, Etymologicum Gudianum α: Ἄρτος  ⟨Ps. 13:4⟩· “παρὰ τὸ αἴρω, τὸ προσφέρω· ὁ καθ’ ἑκάστην τῷ σώματι ἡμῶν προσφερόμενος,” with its Additamenta: “Ἄρτος· ἐκ τοῦ αἴρω, τοῦ σημαίνοντος τὸ φέρω, [ἄρατος] ⟨ἀρῶ ἦρα⟩ ἦρκα ἦρμαι ⟨ἦρται⟩ ἄρτος. Σημαίνει δὲ καὶ τὸν ἐσθιόμενον ἄρτον καὶ τὴν σάρκα, ἐξ οὗ καὶ τὸ (Jer. 11:19) ‘δεῦτε καὶ ἐμβάλωμεν ξύλον ⟦εἰς τὸν ἄρτον αὐτοῦ⟧’.” Ἄρτος· ζύμη, σταῖς, ed. Luigi De Stefani, Etymologicum Gudianum, fasc. 1 (Leipzig, 1909; repr. Amsterdam, 1965), p. 209 l. 2–3 and 22–26 (this parallel was partly already pointed out by Erickson, “Leavened”, p. 159 n. 21); Etymologicum Magnum, s.v. αἴρω: “αἴρω τὸ κουφίζω· ἐξ οὗ, Αἴρεται ἀπὸ τῆς γῆς τὸ μνημόσυνον αὐτοῦ. Καὶ ἐπαίρω. Καὶ αἴρω τὸ προσφέρω· ἐξ οὗ καὶ ἄρτος,” ed. Thomas Gaisford, Etymologicum magnum seu verius Lexicon (…) (Oxford, 1848; repr. Amsterdam, 1967), col. 103 l. 9–12. See, for example, one of the Scholia in Plutum 71b, ed. Marcel Chantry, Scholia in Thesmophoriazusas, Ranas, Ecclesiazusas et Plutum, Scholia in Aristophanem, Pars 3, fasc. 4b (Groningen, 1996), p. 27: “αἴρω” τὸ ἐπαίρω. “αἴρω” καὶ τὸ προσφέρω. ἀφ’ οὗ καὶ “ἄρτος.” See, for example, Meletius, De natura hominis 18, ed. John A. Cramer, Anecdota Graeca e codd. manuscriptis bibliothecarum Oxoniensium, 3 (Oxford, 1836; repr. Amsterdam, 1963), p. 101 l. 6–7.: “προσάρματα λέγων τὰ σιτία, ὡς προσφερόμενα τῷ σώματι· ἐξ οὗ καὶ ἄρτος παρὰ τὸ αἴρειν, ὅ ἐστι προσφέρειν καθ’ ἑκάστην.” See Epistula Leonis Achridani ad Ioannem Tranensem ab Humberto in Latinum sermonem translata, ed. Will, Acta, p. 62, i col. l. 22–31: “Aspicite, quomodo panem corpus suum sub novo testamento vocavit, sicut vivificum et plenum spiritu et sicut caloris demonstrativum. Vos quidem panem, nos ἄρτον dicimus. Ἄρτος autem interpretatur elevatus et sursum portatus a fermento et sale calorem et elevationem habens. Azyma autem nihil distant a lapide sine anima et luto lateris deorsum conjuncta terrae et sicco luto comparata.”

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(also known as his Dialogus) shortly before he arrived in Constantinople in 1054 as head of the papal delegation. The work took the form of a long debate between a Romanus and a Constantinopolitanus, with the purpose of refuting the Archbishop of Ohrid’s criticism.18 The author targets Leo’s demonstration, calling it a “frivolous etymology” (“etymologia frivola”).19 Humbert employs strictly theological argument but he also derides and brands as childish the attempt of his Greek counterpart to use etymology to support his thesis in the debate. This was also because, according to Humbert, even language experts (“linguarum periti”) provide different etymologies for the same word, which are frequently theorized upon what indulges human beliefs rather than the true nature of things.20 Indeed, a little further on, Humbert declares that

18

19

20

Humbert of Silva Candida, Dialogus, ed. Will, Acta, pp. 93–126. On the authorship, dating, and historical context of the Dialogus, see, e.g., Anton Michel, “Schisma und Kaiserhof im Jahre 1054,” in 1054–1954. L’église et les églises. Neuf siècles de douloureuse séparation entre l’Orient et l’Occident, 1 (Chevetogne, 1954), pp. 351–440, esp. pp. 392–396; Hans-Georg Krause, “Über den Verfasser der Vita Leonis IX papae,” Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters 32 (1976), pp. 49–85, esp. pp. 54–55 n. 22; Smith, And Taking Bread, pp. 82–83, pp. 147–151, and passim; Margit Dischner, Humbert von Silva Candida: Werk und Wirkung des lothringischen Reformmönches, Politik im Mittelalter 2 (Neuried, 1996), pp. 55–58; Michele G. D’Agostino, Il Primato della Sede di Roma in Leone IX (1049–1054). Studio di testi latini nella controversia greco-romana nel periodo pregregoriano (Milano, 2008), pp. 207–215. On the importance of the Dialogus, which is still quite understudied, see, e.g., Bayer, Spaltung, p. 88; Nicolas D. Kamas, “Humbert of Silva Candida as a Liturgical Source for the Eleventh-Century Byzantine Rite,” Ecclesia orans 36 (2019), 305–330, esp. pp. 305–320; Barbara Crostini, “Resolving Humbert’s Crux: Anti-Greek Polemics and the Question of Crucified Saints,” in Contra Latinos et adversus Graecos. The Separation between Rome and Constantinople from the Ninth to the Fifteenth Century, eds. Alessandra Bucossi and Anna Calia, Bibliothèque de Byzantion 22 (Leuven et alibi, 2020), pp. 153–182, esp. pp. 153–154. Humbert of Silva Candida, Dialogus 36, ed. Will, Acta, p. 110, ii col. l. 16. On this passage, see, for example, Augustin Fliche, La réforme grégorienne, 1: La formation des idées grégoriennes, Spicilegium Sacrum Lovaniense. Études et documents, fascicule 6 (Louvain, Paris, 1924), p. 272; D’Agostino, Il Primato, p. 212. Humbert of Silva Candida, Dialogus 12: “Illud quoque quod, azymum negantes panem esse, per etymologiam eius nominis, quod est ἄρτος, conamini nos vincere: sciatis omnino vanum et puerile. Quia et a linguarum peritis diversae etymologiae dantur ex uno nomine, secundum humanum placitum magis quam secundum naturam rerum. Et in omnibus Scripturis invenimus panem indifferenter dici, sive fuerit azymus, sive fuerit fermentatus,” ed. Will, Acta, p. 99, i col. l. 35–ii col. l. 1; see also Dialogus 14: “Tam copiosis ergo trium principalium linguarum exemplis enervatam etymologiam vestram ex nomine, quod est ἄρτος, sapienter considerate, et azymo nostro fermentatum vestrum praeferre cavete,” ed. ibid., p. 100, ii col. l. 3–7.

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every statement, which proceeds from opinion, is uncertain, while that which derives from knowledge is certain and valid in every way.21 In the same chapter of the Dialogus, Humbert goes through some biblical passages to prove that the term ἄρτος can also indicate unleavened bread. Humbert also appeals to the authority of a distinguished Byzantine, John of Damascus, by proposing a hymnographic troparium on the Mother of God, which has already attracted scholarly attention. Cornelius Will, the last editor of the Dialogus (1861), stated that he had been unable to identify this troparium and limited himself to re-proposing the Greek text that he had read in Cesare Baronio’s edition of the Dialogus in 1605.22 Will declared the passage “plane depravatus”23 and tried to repair the text with conjectures placed between square brackets. Hereafter, I present the text as it appears in Will’s edition, including his emendations: “Ῥύπτεται τῶν βροτῶν οὐσία διά σοι [οὐσία διὰ σοῦ] ὁμοιαισασα [ὁμιλήσασα] τείω [θείῳ] πυρὶ ὡς ἔγκυφα [ἄζυμα] τάναγνε [παναγία] παρτενε [παρθένε] ἐξ οὗ εζοπτκσ θίσατο καὶ σε ἀλοβητον διαφυλξααντα.”24 1.1 A Philological Digression As it will be seen shortly, at least a couple of scholars have correctly identified the troparium quoted by Humbert with the first troparium of the third ode of a canon for the Theotokos traditionally attributed to John the Damascene 21 22 23 24

Humbert of Silva Candida, Dialogus 13, ed. Will, Acta, p. 100, i col. l. 22–15: “Omnis enim sententia ex opinione procedens, est dubia. Quae autem ex scientia procedit, certa omnimode et rata.” Annales ecclesiastici auctore Caesare Baronio Sorano (…), Tomus undecimus, Romae, Typographia Vaticana 1605, p. 738. In reality, Baronio’s text is slightly better than that given by Will: “Ῥύπτεται τῶν βροτῶν οὐσία διά σοι ὁμοιαίσασα (sic) θείῳ πυρὶ ὡς ἔγκυφα (sic) πάναγνε παρθένε ἐξ οὗ εξοπτησθίσατο (sic) καὶ σε ἀλόβητον διαφυλάξαντα.” Humbert of Silva Candida, Dialogus 13, ed. Will, Acta, p. 100, i col. l. 2–7 with n. 4. In a footnote, Will also gives the Greek text of the same troparium that is found in the 1604 edition of the Dialogus by Heinrich Canisius: “Ἐπεὶ αὖτε [sic] τῶν βροτῶν οὐσία διὰ σοῦ ὁμιλίσασα [sic] θείῳ πυρὶ ὡς ἔγκυμα [sic] πάναγνε παρθένε ἐξ οὗ ὤπτης [sic] θεοτόκον ἀληθινὸν διαφυλάξαντα,” see Antiquae Lectiones, seu antiqua monumenta (…), VI, Ingolstadt 1604 (unavailable to me), taking it, however, from the reprinting by Jean Basnage in Thesaurus monumentorum ecclesiasticorum et historicorum, sive Henrici Canisii Lectiones antiquae (…), III, Antverpiae 1725, p. 287. The same Greek text is found in the edition of André Galland, Bibliotheca veterum Patrum (…), 14, Venetiis 1781, p. 197, who substantially reproduces Canisius’s edition, which is given also in Migne’s Patrologia Latina (PL 143, col. 940B). It is from the Galland edition, and thus from Migne, that Cornelius Will repeats, without noting it, the (completely unjustified) conjecture ἄζυμα for the vox nihili ἔγκυμα. On these editions from the early modern period, see, for example, Smith, And Taking Bread, pp. 48–54.

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(acr. Τέταρτος ὕμνος τῇ πανευκλεεῖ Κόρῃ) for Sunday in the fourth authentic mode of the Paracletica. The textual tradition of this canon is rather uneven. In the following, I will limit myself to reviewing the editions of the liturgical books in which our troparium is published, located thanks to Enrica Follieri’s hymnographic incipitarium.25 In the Horologion printed in Rome in 1677, the troparium is presented as a doxastikon to be sung in the office of Mikron Apodeipnon: “Ῥύπτεται βροτῶν ἡ ουσία διὰ σοῦ ὁμιλήσασα ἀστέκτῳ θείῳ πυρί, ὡς ἐγκρυφίας, πάναγνε παρθένε, ἐν σοὶ ἄρτος ἐξοπτηθεῖσα τῷ καὶ σὲ ἀλώβητον διαφυλάξαντι” (“The nature of mortals is purified by joining in the sacred unbearable fire through You, since it was baked in You, oh Virgin most pure, like bread in the ashes of He who also left You unscorched”).26 With some minor changes in punctuation and with the omission of ἀστέκτῳ (as can be intuited in Humbert’s corrupted text), the same troparium can also be found in the 1871 Venetian edition of the Paracletica. However, it appears there as a troparium of the third ode of the above-mentioned canon for the Virgin for the fourth Sunday of the Octoechos.27 The same applies to the 1885 Roman edition of the Paracletica. There, the text has undergone a different change from that printed in the Horologion, namely the omission of “ἐν σοὶ ἄρτος” (words that are also apparently absent in Humbert’s text).28 Even when verifying the compatibility of the troparium’s metrical structure with the metrical structure prescribed by the hirmos – that is, the accentual-syllabic pattern on which the entire ode is modelled (inc. “Ἀφ’ ὕψους κατῆλθες βουλήσει”) –, it is not easy to establish which of these versions is to be preferred over the others, since they all turn out to be hypermetrical in the first three colas.29 In any case, “ἐν σοὶ ἄρτος” can certainly be considered genuine, 25 26

27 28 29

See Enrica Follieri, Initia hymnorum Ecclesiae Graecae, 3, Studi e testi 213 (Città del Vaticano, 1962), p. 433. Ὡρολόγιον (…) κατὰ τὴν ἔκπαλαι τάξιν οὐ μὴν ἀλ뮻ὰ καὶ τυπικὸν τοῦ τῆς Κρυπτοφέρρης μοναστηρίου … Ἐν Ῥώμῃ 1677, p. 186. I have silently standardized the punctuation of the Greek text. A very close lexical parallel for the same image of God as a fire that does not damage the Virgin is found in Nikolaos of Otranto, Disputatio contra Iudaeos, ed. Michael Chronz, Νεκταρίου, ἡγουμένου μονῆς Κασούλων. Νικολάου Ὑδρουντινοῦ Διάλεξις κατὰ Ἰουδαίων (Athens, 2009), p. 194 l. 14–18: “Ὁ Χριστιανός· Καὶ πῶς ἀδυνατήσει πᾶν ῥῆμα παρὰ Θεῷ; Μὴ οὐ δύναται ὁ τὴν βάτον, καυστικῆς οὖσαν φύσεως, καίτοι φλεγομένην τῷ ἀστέκτῳ ἐκείνῳ πυρὶ διαφυλάξας ἀλώβητον (καὶ τὸ δὴ μέγιστον, ὅτι οὐ μόνον οὐκ ἐτεφροῦτο, ἀλ뮻ὰ καὶ ἀνθηφόρος καὶ θάλ뮻ουσα καθορᾶτο) καὶ παρθένον διαφυλάξαι τὴν ἀειπάρθενον.” Παρακλητικὴ ἤτοι Ὀκτώηχος ἡ μεγάλη (…) ἐξακριβωθεῖσα ὑπὸ (…) Ἰωάννου καὶ Σπυρίδωνος Βελούδων. Ἑνετίῃσιν, Ἅγιος Γεώργιος, 1871, p. 138. Παρακλητική, ἤτοι Ὀκτώηχος ἡ Μεγάλη (…), ἐν Ῥώμῃ 1885, p. 281. See Sophronios Eustratiades, Εἱρμολόγιον, Ἁγιορειτικὴ Βιβλιοθήκη 9 (Chennevières-surMarne, 1932), p. 95 nr. 138.

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not only in light of the syllable count, but also of the “ἐγκρυφίας ἄρτος” locution (“bread baked in the ashes”).30 The strongest argument in favour of this reading is John of Damascus’ use of the same image in a passage of his first sermon on the Dormition of the Virgin (CPG 8061; BHG 1114). Here, the Damascene clarifies its meaning: The tent of Abraham most clearly manifests you beforehand, since to the divine Word, who had settled in your womb (ἐν τῇ γαστρί σου σκηνώσαντι) like in a tent,31 human nature offered bread baked in the ashes (τὸν ἐγκρυφίαν ἄρτον), its own early fruits from your spotless blood, which were baked somehow and turned into bread by the divine fire (ὀπτωμένην πως καὶ ἀρτοποιουμένην ὑπὸ τοῦ θείου πυρός) and which nourished Him in His divine substance and came into the true essence of His body brought to life by a spiritual and immaterial soul.32 Further support to the textual reconstruction and the identification of the Greek troparium noted by Humbert comes from its Latin translations. In 2017, Nicolas D. Kamas stressed on the importance of the Damascene citation in Humbert’s speech, which would demonstrate “a detailed familiarity with at 30 31 32

See, for example, LSJ, 474, s.v. “ἐγκρυφίας.” Cf. Gen. 18:6: “καὶ ἔσπευσεν Ἀβραὰμ ἐπὶ τὴν σκηνὴν πρὸς Σάρραν καὶ εἶπεν αὐτῇ· Σπεῦσον καὶ φύρασον τρία μέτρα σεμιδάλεως καὶ ποίησον ἐγκρυφίας.” John of Damascus, Or. I in Dormitionem s. Dei Genitricis Mariae 8, ed. Boniface Kotter, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, 5: Opera homiletica et hagiographica, Patristische Texte und Studien 29 (Berlin, New York, 1988), p. 493 l. 35–40. The allegory given in the passage is emblematic of John’s Mariology and reflects a Chalcedonian Christological doctrine, see Eugenios Iverites, “Christological and Ecclesiological Narratives in Early Eighth-Century Greek Homilies on the Theotokos,” in The Reception of the Virgin in Byzantium. Marian Narratives in Texts and Images, eds. Thomas Arentzen and Mary B. Cunningham (Cambridge, 2019), pp. 257–280, esp. pp. 262–263. On the patristic interpretation of Gen. 18:6, see Michel van Esbroeck, “The Virgin as the True Ark of the Covenant,” in Images of the Mother of God. Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium, ed. Maria Vassilaki (Aldershot, 2005), pp. 63–68, esp. p. 64. In general, on the adoption, in Byzantine hymnody, of typological allegories developed in the homiletic and theological literature, with particular attention to the work of John of Damascus, see, e.g., Christian Hannick, “The Theotokos in Byzantine Hymnography: Typology and Allegory,” in Vassilaki, Images, pp. 69–76. Finally, for an interesting parallel in Byzantine literature of the image of the Virgin’s womb and the bread baked in the ashes, see the supplication to Emperor Michael Komnenos by Theodore Prodromos, De Manganis Carmina 11, ed. Silvio Bernardinello, Theodori Prodromi De Manganis, Studi bizantini e neogreci 4 (Padova, 1972), p. 74 l. 71–75: “δός μοι Χριστὲ τῷ δούλῳ σου καὶ ταύτην σου τὴν χάριν ǀ ἵνα μὴ μάτην ὡς ἀργὸς ἐσθίω σου τὸν ἄρτον, ǀ τὸν ἄρτον ὅν μοι δέδωκας, τὸν μεμαγ뎳ανευμένον, ǀ δι’ ὃν ἐν μάχαις ἀρωγὸν παρθένον εὐτυχήσαις ǀ τὴν ἔνδον σχοῦσαν ἐν γαστρὶ τὸν ἐγκρυφίαν ἄρτον.”

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least portions of the Byzantine Divine Office.”33 Kamas proposed identifying the troparium in light of the interlinear glosses that its Latin version provides. The Latin translation is present in some witnesses belonging to different families of the Dialogus’s manuscript tradition. Kamas assumed that this Latin translation should be attributed to Humbert himself.34 At the same time, he published an interlinear gloss from the MS Burgerbibliothek Bern 292, fol. 30v (eleventh c.), which I include here telle quelle as it appeared in his article: “Purgatur mortalium natura per te coniuncta divino igni · tanquam subcinericius [post correctionem] tota pura virgo ex quo panis exaffatus35 qui et te inviolatam conservavit.”36 Actually, the troparium cited by Humbert had already been correctly identified in 1950 by Georg Hofmann in a brief contribution.37 Hofmann already used a Latin interlinear gloss inserted into the Greek text of the troparium that he found in another witness of the Dialogus, the MS Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. lat. 3843 (early sixteenth c.), fol. 11v. Likely, having not examined any other manuscripts of the work, Hofmann speculated that the Latin translation was due to the copyist of the Vatican codex.38 That gloss reads: “Purgatur mortalium natura per te coniunctam divino igni tanquam subcinericius tota pura virgo ex quo exassatus qui et te inviolatam conservavit.”39 33 34 35

36 37

38 39

Kamas, “Humbert,” p. 312. See ibid., p. 311 and n. 24. This is perhaps an erroneous reading by Kamas for “exassatus”, induced by the calligraphic features of the letter -s- in the late Carolingian script of the codex. The Greek text of the troparion given in the Bern manuscript reads: “Ριπταιτε των βροτων ουσια δια σου ομιλισασα θηο πυρι · ως εγκυφια · παναγνε παρθενε · εξου αρτος εξοπτησθισα · τοκαισε αλωβιτον διαφυλαξαντα.” See Kamas, “Humbert,” p. 312. Georg Hofmann, “Johannes Damaskenos, Rom und Byzanz (1054–1500),” Orientalia Christiana Periodica 16 (1950), 177–90, esp. p. 178 n. 1; it includes a reference to the section of the fourth authentic mode of a presumed Roman edition of the Octoechos from 1886, p. 62. This is probably a typo for the well-known Roman edition of the Paracletica sponsored by the Congregation de Propaganda Fide, cited supra, n. 28. This error is repeated, following Hofmann, also by Michel, “Schisma und Kaiserhof,” p. 393 n. 2. However, that this is the correct troparium is confirmed by Hofmann’s mention of Kilian Kirchoff’s German translation of it, see Kilian Kirchhoff, Über dich freut sich der Erdkreis. Marienhymnen der byzantinischen Kirche (M甃ࠀnster, 1940), p. 69: “Es wird gel愃ࠀutert die Natur der Sterblichen, die durch dich begegnet ist dem schreckbaren göttlichen Feuer wie ein unter heisser Asche gebackenes Brot, geröstet von dem, der auch dich unversehrt hat bewahrt.” Hofmann, “Johannes Damaskenos,” p. 178 n. 3. Hofmann, “Johannes Damaskenos,” ibid., also proposed some emendations to the Latin version of Vat. lat. 3843, mostly suggested by the original Greek: “coniuncta” instead of “coniunctam”; “incurvata” instead of “subcinericius”; “exassavit” instead of “exassatus.”

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Hofmann also wondered about the meaning of the troparium in Humbert’s speech. He believed that the Cardinal wanted to explain that the use of unleavened bread in the Latin Eucharist had a profound symbolic value, serving to represent the mystery of Mary’s virginal motherhood.40 However, in the specific context, Humbert seemed rather willing to suggest that the ‘ἄρτος ἐγκρυφίας’ cited by the Damascene could only mean unleavened bread. In my view, Humbert must have grasped the troparium’s allusion to Gen. 18:6. This seems to be confirmed by the fact that, in the Dialogus, the mention of the Damascene troparium is inserted within a series of quotations mostly drawn from the Old Testament. In particular, a little earlier Humbert had recalled the bread offered respectively by Abraham and Lot to the angels who came to visit them, as well as the bread offered by the angel to Elijah in the desert.41 Humbert notes them as “subcinericios panes” alongside a particular Greek translation: “ἄρτους ὑποτέφρους.”42 Indeed, the expression “ἄρτοι ὑπότεφροι” is not used in the Septuagint and is not even recorded as a variant in the apparatuses of the editiones maiores for the scriptural passages mentioned.43 Moreover, the same adjective ὑπότεφρος (“almost of the color of ashes”) is a very rare word. There are only five occurrences in the online Thesaurus Linguae Graecae (TLG,

40

41

42

43

Hofmann, “Johannes Damaskenos,” p. 178 n. 3. To confirm this, Hofmann also recalls a passage contained in another famous polemical work by Humbert of Silva Candida, composed in 1054 in response to the text against the Latins by Nicetas Stethatos (Dialexis contra Latinos cum Antidialogo; RAP G19629), which was itself a replica of the Dialogus of Humbert, cf. Humbert of Silva Candida, Contradictio adversus Nicetam 19: “Oblatio vero, quae in sacrificium altaris offertur, nullam commistionem aut corruptionem fermenti debet habere, sicut beata virgo Maria absque omni corruptione Christum concepit et peperit,” ed. Will, Acta, p. 142, ii col. l. 26–31. On the Contradictio see, e.g., Dischner, Humbert, pp. 59–61; D’Agostino, Il Primato, pp. 218–225. Gen. 18:5–6: “καὶ λήμψομαι ἄρτον, καὶ φάγεσθε, καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο παρελεύσεσθε εἰς τὴν ὁδὸν ὑμῶν, οὗ εἵνεκεν ἐξεκλίνατε πρὸς τὸν παῖδα ὑμῶν. καὶ εἶπαν· Οὕτως ποίησον, καθὼς εἴρηκας. καὶ ἔσπευσεν Ἀβραὰμ ἐπὶ τὴν σκηνὴν πρὸς Σάρραν,” Gen. 19:3: “καὶ κατεβιάζετο αὐτούς, καὶ ἐξέκλιναν πρὸς αὐτὸν καὶ εἰσῆλθον εἰς τὴν οἰκίαν αὐτοῦ. Καὶ ἐποίησεν αὐτοῖς πότον, καὶ ἀζύμους ἔπεψεν αὐτοῖς, καὶ ἔφαγον,” and 1Reg. 19:6: “καὶ ἐπέβλεψεν Ἠλιού, καὶ ἰδοὺ πρὸς κεφαλῆς αὐτοῦ ἐγκρυφίας ὀλυρίτης καὶ καψάκης ὕδατος· καὶ ἀνέστη καὶ ἔφαγεν καὶ ἔπιεν. καὶ ἐπιστρέψας ἐκοιμήθη.” Humbert of Silva Candida, Dialogus 13, ed. Will, Acta, p. 99, ii col. l. 20–25: “qui utique natura, forma et sapore omnimodis panis est et dicitur, praesertim cum angeli apud Abraham et Lot subcinericios panes, ἄρτους ὑποτέφρους dicantur comedisse, angelusque Heliae legatur in desertum attulisse.” As for Gen. 18:5–6 and 19:3, see, e.g., Genesis, ed. John W. Wevers, Septuaginta, Vetus Testamentum Graecum 1 (Göttingen, 1964), pp. 183–84 and p. 192. As for 1Reg. 19:6, see El texto antioqueno de la Biblia griega, 2 (1–2 Reyes), eds. Natalio Fernández Marcos and José R. Busto Saiz (Madrid, 1992), p. 64.

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accessed July 2023), none of which is an attribute for ἄρτος.44 Since ὑπότεφρος in Humbert, referring to bread, would mean “(baked) under ashes,” it is likely that, in this specific case, this adjective is a mere lexical inflection derived by the author from the Latin “subcinericius”.

2

John Oxeites

Near Leo of Ohrid, another, more elaborate attempt to establish the meaning of ἄρτος in light of its etymology is found in the treatise De azymis (RAP G2112) by John Oxeites, Patriarch of Antioch (ca. 1089–1100).45 This source exhibits a series of ancient philosophical and grammatical notions, which had been revised by the Neoplatonism of the first centuries of the Christian era. In fact, artos is and is said of that which is taken (προσφερόμενος) daily by each person for nourishment, and this is easily understood by the very etymology of the word. Clearly, the names fitting with things reveal their nature (Τὰ γάρ τοι ὀνόματα ἁρμόδια τοῖς πράγμασι κείμενα τῆς αὐτῶν ἐστι φύσεως δηλωτικά).46 For example, when things are referred to by their correct name, they can even fulfil the function of the definition, so much so that some have even called the name a ‘condensed definition’ and, on the other hand, called the definition an ‘explanation of the name’ (ἀμέλει καὶ ὅρον συνεσταλμένον τὸ ὄνομά τινες προσωνόμασαν, ὡς τοὐναντίον τὸν ὅρον ὄνομα ἐξηπλωμένον).47 44 45

46

47

See LSJ, 1898, s.v. “ὑπότεφρος”, and Demetrios Demetrakos, Μέγα Λεξικὸν τῆς Ἑλ뮻ηνικῆς Γλώσσης, 9 (Athens, 1964), 7513, s.v. “ὑπότεφρος”. On John Oxeites, see the entry “Ioannes IV/V, Patriarch of Antioch” (ID: Ioannes 4003) in the online Prosopography of the Byzantine World (http://pbw2016.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/person /Ioannes/4003/). Accessed 2022 Dec 2; more recently, see also Jack Roskilly, De très savants pasteurs. Conceptions et pratiques de l’autorité des évêques dans la société byzantine des XIe–XIIe siècles, Éditions de la Sorbonne (Paris, 2022), pp. 311–12 with further literature; Judith R. Ryder, “The Role of the Speeches of John the Oxite in Komnenian Court Politics,” in Reading in the Byzantine Empire and Beyond, eds. Teresa Shawcross and Ida Toth (Cambridge, 2018), pp. 93–115. See, for example, David Invictus, Prolegomena philosophiae 8, ed. Adolf Busse, Davidis Prolegomena et in Porphyrii Isagogen commentarium, Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca 18/2 (Berlin, 1904), p. 23 l. 26–29: “καὶ γὰρ οὐχ ὡς ἔτυχεν ἐπετίθεσαν οἱ ἀρχαῖοι τὸ ὄνομα, ἀλ뮻’ ἁρμοζόντως τῷ ὑποκειμένῳ πράγματι, οἷον ἄνθρωπος λέγεται παρὰ τὸ ἀναθρεῖν καὶ ἀναλογίζεσθαι ἃ ὄπωπε, καὶ πάλιν ἵππος λέγεται παρὰ τὸ ἵπτασθαι τοῖς ποσίν.” One of the closest parallels is given by Elias, In Porphyrii Isagogen 2, ed. Adolf Busse, Eliae in Porphyrii Isagogen et Aristotelis Categorias Commentaria, Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca 18/1 (Berlin, 1900), p. 4 l. 5–12: “Ὁρισμὸς τοίνυν ἐστὶ λόγος σύντομος τῆς ἑκάστου

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It also seemed to some that names fell to things by nature: therefore, as the name assigned to (the verb) ‘to be’ (εἶναι) is ‘being’ (οὐσία), as clear from the word itself, and ‘living being’ (ζῶον) derives from ‘living’ (ζῆν) and ‘sensitive’ (αἰσθητικόν) from partaking of such a sensory capacity, so also artos derives from airesthai, and hence ‘to take’ (προσφέρεσθαι) for one’s own nourishment. Precisely for this reason, in fact, it is customary to say ‘to take’ (προσφέρεσθαι) in referring to a meal48 and ‘to raise up’ (αἴρειν) in the sense of ‘to take’ (προσφέρεσθαι),49 and a large number of derivatives and special meanings (ἡ παρωνυμία καὶ χρῆσις) are traceable to it even among the most select pagan writers. Homer, in fact, calls food harmalia (ἁρμαλιά) and the admirable Hippocrates defines the supplies as prosarmata (προσάρματα), undoubtedly from airesthai and the sense of ‘taking food’ (προσφέρεσθαι) and among these derivatives is also the name for bread, since it – which is the most necessary of all nourishment – has received this appellation in a special way. And let them ask, then, all peoples, at least as many as know and take grain-based food, of what kind is the bread that they eat, is it perhaps bread made with yeast? And what would they [that is, the Latins] eat? Do they not also eat bread of this kind? Therefore, if artos is what all men consume, and they undoubtedly consume that which is prepared with yeast, then artos can only be that which is leavened.

48 49

φύσεως δηλωτικός. ‘Λόγος’ δὲ εἴρηται διὰ τὸ ὄνομα, ἐπειδὴ καὶ αὐτὸ δηλοῖ φύσιν (ἐὰν γὰρ εἴπω ἄνθρωπον, τῶν λοιπῶν ζῴων χωρίζω), ἀλ뮻ὰ μία λέξις τὸ ὄνομα, ὁ δὲ ὁρισμὸς σωρεία καὶ συναγωγή ἐστι πλειόνων λέξεων (…) συντομωτάτη γὰρ ἡ διὰ τῶν ὀνομάτων δήλωσις, σύντομος δὲ καὶ ἡ διὰ τῶν ὁρισμῶν. Διὸ καὶ τὸν ὁρισμόν τινές φασιν ὄνομα ἐξηπλωμένον, τὸ δὲ ὄνομα ὁρισμὸν συνεσταλμένον.” See also Porphyrius, In Aristotelis Categorias, Prooem., ed. Adolf Busse, Porphyrii Isagoge et in Aristotelis Categorias commentarium, Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca 4/1 (Berlin, 1887), p. 60 l. 15–17: “Ἀ. Φημὶ τοίνυν ὅτι παντὸς πράγματος ὄνομα καὶ ὁρισμὸν ἢ ὑπογραφὴν ἔχοντος, οἷον τοῦδε μὲν τοῦ πράγματος ὄνομα ἔχοντος ἄνθρωπος καὶ δηλουμένου δι’ αὐτοῦ, ἔστιν αὐτοῦ καὶ ὁ ὁρισμός.” For an example of the same notion in Christian theology, see, for example, the explanation of the difference between substance and hypostasis in a work once attributed to Basil of Caesarea, now acknowledged to be by Gregory of Nyssa, published as Basil of Caesarea, Epistula 38, 3, ed. Yves Courtonne, Saint Basile, Lettres, 1 (Paris, 1957), p. 82 l. 1–8: “Τοῦτο τοίνυν φαμέν· τὸ ἰδίως λεγόμενον τῷ τῆς ὑποστάσεως δηλοῦσθαι ῥήματι. Ὁ γὰρ ἄνθρωπον εἰπὼν ἐσκεδασμένην τινὰ διάνοιαν τῷ ἀορίστῳ τῆς σημασίας τῇ ἀκοῇ ἐνεποίησεν, ὥστε τὴν μὲν φύσιν ἐκ τοῦ ὀνόματος δηλωθῆναι, τὸ δὲ ὑφεστὸς καὶ δηλούμενον ἰδίως ὑπὸ τοῦ ὀνόματος πρᾶγμα μὴ σημανθῆναι. Ὁ δὲ Παῦλον εἰπὼν ἔδειξεν ἐν τῷ δηλουμένῳ ὑπὸ τοῦ ὀνόματος πράγματι ὑφεστῶσαν τὴν φύσιν.” LSJ, 1530, s.v. “προσφέρω [C.1].” A clear example is in Xenophon, Cynegeticus 6,2: “τὰ προσφερόμενα” (“feed”, “meal,” for hounds). See the definitions in Etymologika given above, n. 14.

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And if one were to derive (ἐτυμολογοίη) artos from arsis, that is to say, from ‘lifting’ and ‘raising up’, not even, for this reason, will it be agreed that the name is less suitable for leavened bread alone. Instead, it will suit this even more while, on the contrary, unleavened bread will not, either in general or in accepting this derivation.50 For this passage I have proposed three textual parallels in footnotes 46–47. They suggest an influence from Neoplatonic commentators, such as Porphyry, David the Invincible, and Elias. Indeed, whether or not names are capable of revealing the essence of a thing, it was a widely debated question in Greek philosophical and grammatical thought. It started with the concept of δήλωσις of the nouns, which was expressed by Socrates in the Cratylus.51 Regarding the passage in question, some further points deserve a mention. John Oxeites makes a reference to the opinion of some learned people that names are assigned to things ‘by nature’. This is a clear echo of the ancient and long-standing debate whether words are related to things by nature (φύσει) or by convention/imposition (κατὰ συνθήκην or θέσει).52 Interestingly for our topic, medieval Neoplatonist commentators tried to find an agreement between Plato, who famously argued that names are assigned by nature (see, for example, Cratylus 390d–e: “Κρατύλος ἀληθῆ λέγει λέγων φύσει τὰ ὀνόματα εἶναι τοῖς πράγμασιν”, “Cratylus is right in saying that names belong to things by nature”), and Aristotle, who maintained that names are assigned as a matter of convention, “κατὰ συνθήκην” (see, for example, De interpretatione 16a: 50 51

52

John Oxeites, De azymis 8–9, ed. Bern Leib, “Deux inédits byzantins sur les azymes au début du XIIe siècle,” Orientalia Christiana II/3 (1924), pp. 247–248 l. 109–132. Cf. e.g. Plato, Cratyl. 393d: “οὐδ’ εἰ πρόσκειταί τι γράμμα ἢ ἀφῄρηται, οὐδὲν οὐδὲ τοῦτο, ἕως ἂν ἐγκρατὴς ᾖ ἡ οὐσία τοῦ πράγματος δηλουμένη ἐν τῷ ὀνόματι,” and 433d: “Πότερον τοῦτο οὐκ ἀρέσκει σε, τὸ εἶναι τὸ ὄνομα δήλωμα τοῦ πράγματος;” On this topic, see, e.g., Aronadio, I fondamenti, ch. 2; idem, Procedure e verità in Platone (Menone, Cratilo, Repubblica), Elenchos 38 (Napoli, 2002), ch. 3. For a couple of authoritative Byzantine parallels, see, e.g., John of Damascus, Expositio fidei [CPG 8043] 12b: “Ἀγνοοῦντες οὖν τὴν οὐσίαν αὐτοῦ τῆς οὐσίας αὐτοῦ μὴ ἐκζητήσωμεν ὄνομα· δηλωτικὰ γὰρ τῶν πραγμάτων ἐστὶ τὰ ὀνόματα,” ed. Boniface Kotter, Die Schriften des Johannes von Damaskos, 2: Expositio fidei, Patristische Texte und Studien 12 (Berlin, New York, 1973), p. 35 l. 1–3, or Michael Psellos, Opusculum 44: “Ἔστι δὲ καὶ τὸ ὄνομα τοῦ πράγματος δηλωτικόν,” ed. John M. Duffy, Michaelis Pselli Philosophica minora, 1 (Leipzig, 1992), p. 160 l. 81. See, e.g., Eugenio Coseriu and Bimal K. Matilal, “Der φύσει-θέσει-Streit: Are Words and Things Connected by Nature or by Convention?”, in Sprachphilosophie / Philosophy of language / La philosophie du langage, eds. Marcelo Dascal et al., 2 (Berlin, New York, 1996), pp. 880–900; Anneli Luhtala, “Imposition of Names in Ancient Grammar and Philosophy”, in Ancient Scholarship and Grammar: Archetypes, Concepts and Contexts, eds. Stephanos Matthaios et al. (Berlin, New York, 2011), pp. 479–498.

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“Ὄνομα μὲν οὖν ἐστὶ φωνὴ σημαντικὴ κατὰ συνθήκην ἄνευ χρόνου, ἧς μηδὲν μέρος ἐστὶ σημαντικὸν κεχωρισμένον”, “A noun is a sound having meaning established by convention alone but no reference whatever to time, while no part of it has any meaning, considered apart from the whole”). The eleventh-century use of the topic shows some contemporary interest also in Michael Psellos.53 Also, in the context of the quoted passage, the very concept of παρωνυμία, which John Oxeites notes in referencing ancient writers, seems to correspond to the Aristotelian notion of ‘etymological derivation’. In fact, it may refer to those kinds of paronyms that derive, to some extent, from another word, sharing a lexical root as well as, in part, the meaning.54 Finally, let us complete the brief analysis of the diverse sources employed by John the Oxeite in his discussion on the true meaning of the word ἄρτος. The references to Homer’s alleged use of the word ἁρμαλιά and Hippocrates’s actual usage of πρόσαρμα55 show John’s definite familiarity with the more classical examples provided by lexicographic compilations. As the editor of his De azymis already noted,56 the oldest author in whom the word ἁρμαλιά appears is not Homer but Hesiod (Opera et dies, vv. 560 and 767). If we trust Leib’s edition, the error should be attributed to John Oxeites since, as far as I could verify,

53

54

55

56

See Katerina Ierodiakonou, “Psellos’ Paraphrasis of Aristotle’s De interpretatione,” in Byzantine Philosophy and its Ancient Sources, ed. Katerina Ierodiakonou (Oxford, 2002), pp. 157–81, esp. pp. 173–174; eadem, “The Byzantine Reception of Aristotle’s Theory of Meaning,” Methodos 19 (2019) [= Dire et vouloir dire dans les arts du langage anciens et tardo-antiques], 1–18, esp. pp. 8–9. Cf. Aristotle, Categoriae, 1. See, e.g., Ana Kotarcic, Aristotle on Language and Style (Cambridge, 2020), pp. 53–54. See also Elias, In Aristotelis Categorias 8, ed. Adolf Busse, Eliae in Porphyrii Isagogen et Aristotelis Categorias Commentaria, Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca 18/1 (Berlin, 1900), p. 226 l. 2–7: “ἡ παρώνυμος κατηγορία δύο εἴδη περιέχει, ἴσως καὶ τρία· λέγεται γὰρ εὔσχημος καὶ εὔμορφος ἀπὸ σχήματος καὶ μορφῆς καὶ τὸ ἀνάπαλιν. Λέγεται καὶ ἀπὸ ἕξεως καὶ διαθέσεως ἡ παρωνυμία, καὶ τὰ παραδείγματα δῆλα, γραμματικός, ἰατρικός. ἀλ뮻ὰ καὶ ἀπὸ παθητικῆς ποιότητος· αὕτη γὰρ παρώνυμον ἑαυτῇ ποιεῖ πάθος ἐν ἡμῖν, καὶ τὰ παραδείγματα εἴρηται.” The citation of Hippocrates and of πρόσαρμα refers particularly to Hippocrates, Aphor. 1,15 (“ἐν ταύτῃσιν οὖν τῇσιν ὥρῃσι, καὶ τὰ προσάρματα πλείω δοτέον”) and recurs in the lexicographical explanations of the lemma ἄρτος, see, e.g., Philoxenus, Fragmentum 237, ed. Christos Theodoridis, Die Fragmente des Grammatikers Philoxenos, Sammlung griechischer und lateinischer Grammatiker (SGLG) 2 (Berlin, New York, 1976), p. 198 l. 9–10 and 16–17; or the mention of Orion of Thebes as well Meletius, De natura hominis, above nn. 12 and 16, where it also follows the mention of Hippocrates and the same quotation taken from his aphorisms. See Leib, “Deux inédits,” p. 248 n. 18.

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there are no other attestations to this wrong attribution of the term to Homer, while several Byzantine lexicons correctly attribute it to the poet of Ascra.57

3

Nicholas of Methone

We now come to a third piece of literary evidence for the use of etymological arguments as well as of broader conceptual assumptions from the ‘philosophy of language’ in the context of the Byzantine defense of leavened bread in the Eucharist. In his Adversus Latinos de azymis (RAP G364), Nicholas of Methone (d. 1165)58 tackles the issue of the right meaning of the word ἄρτος not only by resorting to the etymological criterion but also by introducing a more complex line of reasoning through the concept of ‘κοινὴ ἔννοια’ (“common/universal notions”).59 He writes: If indeed ⟨it is⟩ bread, clearly ⟨it is⟩ also leavened and has all the other complementary characteristics of that concept, as represented in the common idea that one has of it, and as it is clear from the obvious etymological explanation of the word (καθὰ ἥ τε κοινὴ περὶ αὐτοῦ παρίστησιν 57

58

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See, for example, Etymologicum genuinum, alpha, s.v. “Ἁρμαλιά” (no. 1196), eds. François Lasserre and Nikolaos Livadaras, Etymologicum magnum genuinum (…), 2 (Athens, 1992); Etymologicum Gudianum, Additamenta, alpha, s.v. “Ἁρμαλιά,” ed. Luigi De Stefani, Etymologicum Gudianum, fasc. 1 (Leipzig, 1909; repr. Amsterdam, 1965), p. 199 l. 20–21. In general, it is not surprising that a bidirectional confusion might occur between Homer and Hesiod in assigning a certain lemma due to mistakes in memory, especially among the Byzantine erudites of the twelfth century, the ‘Homeric century’, see, e.g., Marta Cardin and Filippomaria Pontani, “Hesiod’s Fragments in Byzantium,” in Poetry in Fragments. Studies on the Hesiodic Corpus and its Afterlife, ed. Christos Tsagalis (Berlin, Boston, 2017), pp. 245–288, esp. p. 246 and pp. 263–267 (the case of Eustathios of Thessalonike’s punitive attitude towards Hesiod in favor of Homer). On Nicholas of Methone, see, for example, Jozef Matula, “Nicholas of Methone,” in Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy, ed. Henrik Lagerlund, 2 (Dordrecht et alibi, 2011), pp. 881–883 (with bibliography). More recently, see, e.g., Anna Gioffreda and Michele Trizio, “Nicholas of Methone, Procopius of Gaza and Proclus of Lycia,” in Reading Proclus and the Book of Causes, ed. Dragos Calma, 2, Studies in Platonism, Neoplatonism, and the Platonic Tradition 26 (Leiden, Boston, 2021), pp. 94–135, esp. 94–118. The conceptual substrate here is the Aristotelian “semiotic triangle” from his De interpretatione, however, the terminology is Stoic. On this topic see, e.g., John F. Phillips, “Stoic ‘Common Notions’ in Plotinus,” Dionysus 11 (1987), 33–52; more recently, see, e.g., Riccardo Chiaradonna, “Platonismo e teoria della conoscenza stoica tra II e III secolo d. C.,” in Platonic Stoicism – Stoic Platonism: The Dialogue Between Platonism and Stoicism in Antiquity, eds. Mauro Bonazzi and Christoph Helmig (Leuven, 2007), pp. 209–242; Henry Dyson, Prolepsis and Ennoia in the Early Stoa, Sozomena 5 (Berlin, New York, 2009).

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ἔννοια, κἀκ τῆς προχείρου τοῦ ὀνόματος ἀναπτύξεως διάδηλον γίνεται).60 The word artos, in fact, is derived from having risen (ᾖρθαι, from αἴρω), because it has been made to grow to greater size by the accretive (ἀρτικῆς) or active (σκευαστικῆς) force ( forsan ὀγκωτικῆς, ‘raising’, ‘leavening’)61 that is in the yeast; or it derives from the fact that ⟨the bread⟩ has been seasoned (ἠρτύσθαι, from ἀρτύω) or from its being artios (‘perfect’), that is, complete (ὅ ἐστι τέλειος) because it lacks none of the qualities that constitute its essence. Conversely, none of these qualities can be postulated for unleavened bread, which has not been seasoned, has not been made to grow in volume, and has not been brought to perfect completion.62 But perhaps you will reject the etymological argument on account of the lexical differences concerning the words assigned to things, since different names are imposed upon the same thing by one or more peoples, and denominations differ as languages differ. Then, how do you intend to dispute the common concept (τὴν δὲ κοινὴν ἔννοιαν πῶς παραγράψῃ)? ⟨The common concept is what one has⟩ of a thing, for which the words may indeed vary as the languages vary. In fact, about the thing we are discussing, I mean bread, even if we ask a Scythian, a Persian, an Indian, a Galatian, or anyone else which is the concept that each of them associates with the word used by his people, they will all give the same answer, that bread is the dough made of flour, yeast, and water, seasoned with salt and cooked on the fire. If we ask them about unleavened bread, 60

61 62

The device of ὀνόματος ἀνάπτυξις (“name explanation”) was also used in the debate on the Filioque even into the fifteenth century. The comparison with Isidore of Kiev is particularly significant in light of the reference to the technical concept of ‘definition’ (ὁρισμός), already found in the passage of John Oxeites previously discussed, cf. Isidore of Kiev, Sermo 2 (= Sermo prior contra additionem ad Symbolum), eds. Manuel Candal and Georg Hofmann, Sermones inter Concilium Florentinum conscripti. Isidorus arch. Kioviensis et totius Russie (…), Concilium Florentinum documenta et scriptores, Series A, X/1 (Rome, 1971), p. 10 l. 25–34: “Ἐπειδὴ τὰ νοούμενα ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ διὰ τοῦ προφορικοῦ δεικνύονται λόγου, ὃς δ’ ἐστὶν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ ἐξ ὀνόματος καὶ ῥήματος συγκείμενος, ἔστι δὲ ἡ ἀνάπτυξις ὄνομα ἢ τὸ ἀναπτύσσω ῥῆμα, φέρε ἴδωμεν τί ὁ τοῦ ὀνόματος ὅρος τούτου σημαίνει. Ὄνομα γάρ ἐστι, κατὰ τοὺς σοφούς, ὁρισμὸς συνεπτυγμένος, ὁρισμὸς δὲ ὄνομα ἐξηπλωμένον. Ἀνάπτυξις τοίνυν ἐστὶ δήλωσις, ἢ σαφήνεια, ἢ ἐξήγησίς τινος ἀδήλου ἢ βαθυτέρου νοήματος ἢ ἀσαφοῦς κατὰ τὸ φαινόμενον.” See also some of the Byzantine definitions of etymology collected by Davide Baldi, “Sub voce ἐτυμολογία,” Revue d’histoire des textes, n.s. 9 (2014), 359–74, esp. pp. 365, 367, 371, and p. 372 (ἐτυμολογία as ἀνάπτυξις λέξεων, “explanation of lemmas”). On the use of the concept of ‘common notions’ in Byzantine religious discourse, see Erismann, “Common Notions,” pp. 278–83. Cf. infra, p. 311. For the post-classical verb ἀρτιόω, see LBG, s.v., which is given the meaning of “vollenden,” “vervollkommnen”.

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they will probably answer that they do not even know if unleavened bread exists.63 As we can see in this passage, Nicholas of Methone proposes at least two further etymological origins of the word ἄρτος. Along with the usual derivation from αἴρω, we find the adjective ἄρτιος (“perfect, complete”) and the verb ἀρτύω/ἀρτύνω (“to prepare,” in a culinary sense “to season”). Unlike the first hypothesis – which, as we have seen, is found in several other sources – the other two (ἄρτιος and ἀρτύω/ἀρτύνω) introduce a novelty. The presumed origin of ἄρτος from ἄρτιος could, perhaps, derive from forcing into an etymological interpretation the assertion that is in a text of the Pseudo-Damascene on the azymes written against the Armenians (RAP G2120), which is found quoted or paraphrased in several other polemical writings.64 Additionally, the passage quoted above presents some textual problems related to the adjectives ἀρτικός and σκευαστικός, which are worth mentioning. The post-classical adjective ἀρτικός is rarely used and does not have a clear meaning. According to Lampe’s Patristic Greek Lexicon, the term would mean “prepared” or “ordered”65 and seems to be used only by Meletius.66 The lemma is also noted in the Lexikon zur byzantinischen Gräzität, with the 63 64

65 66

Nicholas of Methone, Adversus Latinos de azymis, ed. Anton I. Ivaščenko [archbishop Arsenij], Dva neizdannija proizvedenija Nikolaja, episkopa Mefonskago, pisatelja XII veka (Novgorod, 1897), pp. 82–83. Cf. (ps.-)John of Damascus, De azymis 1: “Τὰ ἄζυμα οὐκ ἄρτος, ὡς ἄν τις εἴποι, τέλειος καὶ ὁλόκληρος, οὐδ’ αὐτοτελῆ, ἀλ뮻’ ἐλ뮻ιπῆ καὶ ἡμιτελῆ τινα, δεόμενα τοῦ πληρώματος τῆς ζύμης. Ἄρτος, δὲ ἄρτιος, αὐτοτελής, τέλειος, πληρέστατος [δεῖ γὰρ τοῦ πληρώματος], ὡς τὸ ὅλον ἔχων ἐν ἑαυτῷ· τὸ δὲ ἄζυμον, καλεῖται καὶ ἐγκρυφίας.” PG 95, col. 389B; see also Peter III of Antioch, Epistula ad Dominicum Gradensem (RAP G5525) 9: “τὸ γὰρ ἄζυμον οὐκ ἄρτος, οὐ γὰρ ἄρτιον οὐδὲ αὐτοτελές, ἀλ뮻’ ἐλ뮻ιπὲς καὶ ἡμιτελὲς καὶ δεόμενον τοῦ πληρώματος τῆς προζύμης. Ὁ ἄρτος δὲ ἄρτιος, αὐτοτελής, τέλειος καὶ πληρέστατος,” ed. Will, Acta, p. 216 l. 12–16; Nicetas Stethatos, Dialexis et antidialogus de azymis (RAP G19629) 2: “τὸ δέ γε ἄζυμον οὐκ ἄρτος· οὐ γὰρ ἄρτιον οὐδὲ αὐτοτελές ἐστιν, ἀλ뮻’ ἐλ뮻ιπές, ἡμιτελὲς δεομένου τοῦ πληρώματος τῆς προζύμης. Ὁ δὲ ἄρτος ἄρτιος, αὐτοτελής, τέλειος καὶ πληρέστατος, ὡς τὸ ὅλον ἔχων ἐν ἑαυτῷ πληρώματος,” ed. Anton Michel, Humbert und Kerullarios. Quellen und Studien zum Schisma des XI Jahrhunderts, 2, Quellen und Forschungen aus dem Gebiete der Geschichte 23 (Paderborn, 1930), p. 324; Nicetas Stethatos, Contra Armenios et Latinos de azymis (RAP G307) 3: “Τὸ δὲ ἄζυμον οὐκ ἄρτος· οὐ γὰρ ἄρτιον οὐδὲ αὐτοτελές ἐστιν, ἀλ뮻’ ἐλ뮻ιπές, ἡμιτελές, δεόμενον τοῦ πληροῦντος, τῆς ζύμης. Ἄρτος δὲ ἄρτιος, αὐτοτελής, τέλειος καὶ πληρέστατος, ὡς τὸ ὅλον ἔχων ἐν ἑαυτῷ, δηλαδὴ τοῦ πληρώματος. Εἰ δέ τις τὸ ἄζυμον καὶ ἐγκρυφίαν καλέσειεν, ὃν Ἠλίας …,” ed. Joseph Hergenroether, Monumenta graeca ad Photium ejusque historiam pertinentia, quae ex variis codicibus manuscriptis (Regensburg, 1869), p. 142. Lampe, 231, s.v. Meletius, De natura hominis 10: “Διαφέρουσι γοῦν τῶν ἄλ뮻ων ὀστῶν οἱ ὀδόντες ἐν τῷ αἰσθάνεσθαι· ἔχουσι γὰρ ἀρτικὴν διάθεσιν (var. l.: αἴσθησιν) αἰσθητικῶν νεύρων φερομένων ἐν τοῖς

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meaning of “erhebend” or “aufgehen lassend” and the sole occurrence given is the passage by Nicholas of Methone being examined here.67 The adjective σκευαστικός is recorded again in the Lexikon zur byzantinischen Gräzität with the meanings of “[vor]bereitend”, “verschaffend,” or “wirksam.” The latter meaning is attributed to it in several occurrences, among which is also this specific passage by Nicholas of Methone, albeit with the clarification “sic male.”68 Nevertheless, we should carefully consider the text published by Anton Ivaščenko (where we find the word σκευστικῆς [sic] as a result of a typographical error). In the brief foreword to his edition, Ivaščenko does not explain from which manuscript(s) he is drawing the text. Hypothetically, he may have used the Moscow codex in the State Historical Museum (Gosudarstvennyj Istoričeskij Musej, GIM, Sinod. gr. 366 – Vlad. 239, from the fourteenth century, fol. 9r–19v), which he certainly used previously for the edition of another work by Nicholas of Methone, the Memoriae contra Latinos (RAP G19835), published in the same 1897 volume.69 However, in fol. 11r of the Moscow manuscript (l. 8 ab imo), the passage in question reads “ὀγκωτικός” and not σκευαστικός.70 The same reading “ὀγκωτικός” is also found in the codices Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. gr. 680 (thirteenth c.), fol. 423v (l. 7 ab imo) and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, gr. 1335 (fourteenthh c.), fol. 290v (l. 5 ab imo). The adjective ὀγκωτικός is a post-classical word that occurs rarely, although its meaning can be more easily understood than the enigmatic σκευαστικός in the context of the passage considered here as it derives from ὀγκόω (“to raise up,” “to rear,” “to swell physically,” etc.).71

4

Leo of Russia

Let us now make a comparison with a passage from the Contra Latinos de azymis (RAP G2108, eleventh–twelfth century) by Leo, Metropolitan of Pereyaslav

67 68 69 70

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φατνώμασιν.” ed. John A. Cramer, Anecdota Graeca e codd. manuscriptis bibliothecarum Oxoniensium, 3 (Oxford, 1836; repr. Amsterdam, 1963), p. 82 l. 6–8. LBG, s.v. “ἀρτικός.” Ibidem. See Ivaščenko [archbishop Arsenij], Dva neizdannija proizvedenija, pp. 5–49. As for the manuscript used by Ivaščenko, the question remains open. In his edition several brief scholia are published, whose presence I have not been able to verify in cod. Sinod. gr. 366. This is because, in the digital reproduction (of mediocre quality) available to me – kindly shared by Carmelo Benvenuto, whom I thank – the inks that differ from the one used in the main text are not visible. Cf. Demetrakos, 6 (1964), p. 5028 (“ὁ παρέχων ὄγκωσιν, ὁ ἐνισχύων τὸν ὄγκον, ὁ ἐνισχυτικός”).

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(“τῆς ἐν Ῥωσίᾳ Πρεσθλάβας”), which was located in today’s battered Ukraine. This dialog shows a clear relationship with Humbert’s Dialogus and the anti-Latin work by Leo of Ohrid.72 In several respects, the following passage represents a significant parallel to the text by Nicholas of Methone. [Response] … in the same way, those who hear ‘bread’ said without the specification of ‘unleavened’ understand it (νενόηκε) as complete in every aspect (ἄρτιον ἐν πᾶσι) and prepared with yeast (ἠρτυμένον ζύμῃ) … [Objection] Bread is that which is ‘complete’ in the sense of ‘whole’, says [Scripture], certainly not in the sense of completeness in every aspect as you assert. [Solution] If the Evangelist had not also called the part artos, perhaps what you say would make some sense: but even the piece that the Traitor took into his hands, which is called artos in the text, suggests that we should consider (νοεῖν)  ⟨bread⟩  that which is complete in everything (ἄρτιος ἐν πᾶσι), not that which is whole (ὅλον). Indeed, how could a part be the whole? Or, alternatively, how can the part be called artos if it is unleavened and possesses neither the characteristic of being whole, nor of being leavened, nor of having been seasoned throughout to perfection (ἄζυμον ὂν καὶ μήτε τὴν ὁλότητα ἔχον, μήτε τὸ ᾐρμένον, μήτε τὸ πᾶσιν ἄρτιον ἠρτυμένον)? So, even following this reasoning it becomes clear that artos is and is considered (καὶ νοεῖται καὶ ἔστιν) to be leavened by virtue of the fact that it is leavened and seasoned and perfect in every respect and not because it is a whole ⟨bread⟩. Indeed, the parts that each of the Apostles received from the Lord are not whole but are also called artoi because they are leavened and seasoned and perfect in everything that befits the ⟨concept of⟩ bread.73 First of all, we note that Leo’s speech involves the terms ἄρτιος and ἀρτύω/ἀρτύνω, which were already proposed by Nicholas of Methone as possible explanations for the origin of the word ἄρτος. The use of the verb νοέω, which is repeated several times, seems to be an echo of the same doctrine underlying the concept of ‘κοινὴ ἔννοια’, which Nicholas himself recalls. The idea expressed by the latter, according to which there is a concept shared by all peoples regardless of their different languages, obviously recalls a specific debate that is well 72 73

See André Poppe, “Le traité des Azymes Λέοντος μητροπολίτου τῆς ἐν Ῥωσίαι Πρεσθλάβας: quand, où, et par qui il a été écrit?,” Byzantion 35 (1965), 506–514. Leo of Russia, Contra Latinos de azymis, ed. Aleksej Pavlov, Kritičeskie opyty po istorii drevnejšej greko-russkoj polemiki protiv Latinjan (St Petersburg, 1878), pp. 120–121.

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represented in the ancient and Byzantine commentaries to Aristotle’s De interpretatione that intends to answer the question: “Are the same thoughts shared by all people?” Katerina Ierodiakonou has recently addressed and summarized this issue with special attention to Michael Psellos’s (eleventh c.)74 short paraphrase of Aristotle and the commentaries on Aristotle by Michael Magentenos (late twelfth–early thirteenth c.)75 and George-Gennadios Scholarios (fifteenth c.).76 All three commentators answer the question in the affirmative, thus agreeing with Aristotle. Michael Psellos, paraphrasing De interpretatione 1,9–24 argues that things (“πράγματα”) and thoughts (“νοήματα”) exist by nature (“φύσει”).77 To prove this point, Psellos takes up an argument found in Ammonius that things and thoughts are common to all peoples while the sounds spoken (“φωναί”) and letters (“γράμματα”) may vary. Let us focus on the following passage: Now, since things and thoughts are the same among all people (for everywhere the species of man or horse or lion are the same, and similarly the thought concerned with man or stone or any other thing is the same), while vocal sounds and letters are not the same among all peoples (for Greeks use different vocal sounds from Phoenicians, as do Egyptians: ‘different is the tongue of different peoples’ says the poet [i.e. Homer, Iliad 2,804]; and, moreover, each people writes its own vocal sounds with different letters), then it is for this reason that  ⟨Aristotle⟩  insists that things and thoughts are by nature, but that vocal sounds and letters are by imposition, not by nature.78

74

75 76 77 78

See Katerina Ierodiakonou, “Psellos’ Paraphrasis of Aristotle’s De interpretation”, in Byzantine Philosophy and its Ancient Sources, ed. Katerina Ierodiakonou, pp. 161–63; “The Byzantine Reception,” p. 2. After the 1503 edition of the Paraphrasis by Aldus Manutius (Ammonii Hermei Commentaria in librum peri Hermenias. Margentini [!] archiepiscopi Mitylinensis in eundem enarratio, Venetiis, apud Aldum, mense Iunio 1503), a new edition of the work is being prepared by Katerina Ierodiakonou and John Duffy. Ierodiakonou, “The Byzantine Reception,” p. 3. On Leo Magentenos’ life and works, see Börje Bydén, “Leo Magentenos,” in Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy, ed. Henrik Lagerlund, 1 (Dordrecht et alibi, 2011), pp. 684–685. Ierodiakonou, “The Byzantine Reception,” p. 4; John. A. Demetracopoulos, “George Scholarios (Gennadios II),” in Encyclopedia of Medieval Philosophy, ed. Henrik Lagerlund, 1 (Dordrecht et alibi, 2011), pp. 397–399. Psellos’ Greek text is published in Ierodiakonou, “The Byzantine Reception,” p. 14 n. 25. Ammonius, Comm. in De interpr. 1, ed. Adolf Busse, In Aristotelis librum De interpretatione commentarius, Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca IV/5 (Berlin, 1897), p. 19 l. 9–18; English transl. by David Blank, Ammonius on Aristotle: On Interpretation 1–8 (London et alibi, 1996), p. 28.

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Katerina Ierodiakonou highlights other evidence in support of the thesis of an identity of νοήματα (“concepts”) among all persons regardless of the language they speak.79 Scholarios, in commenting on De interpretatione 1,103–108, maintains that “εἰ γὰρ Γραϊκὸς καὶ Λατῖνος λίθον ὁρῴη, τὴν αὐτὴν ὁμοιότητα τοῦ λίθου ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ ἑκάτερος ἕξουσιν” (“if a Greek and a Latin were to look at a stone, each would represent the same image of the stone in their soul”).80 In this regard, Ierodiakonou says: “Note, here, how the Latins creep into Scholarios’ example, substituting the Phoenicians and Egyptians mentioned by the other commentators.” At this point, it is easy to see how Scholarios’s substitution was, to some extent, ‘anticipated’ by Nicholas of Methone.81 In fact, Nicholas, while not substituting the Phoenicians and Egyptians with the Latins (but with Scythians, Persians, Indians, and Galatians), nonetheless embodies the attempt to facilitate a dialogue between Greeks and Latins by using, like Scholarios much later, this particular argument belonging to the theory of meaning derived from Aristotle.

5

Anselm of Havelberg

Finally, turning our attention briefly to the Latin side, it should be noted that the polemical targets of such etymological objections almost completely ignored the argument, considering it as patently inconsistent, an example of the ‘superflua loquacitas’ of the Greeks. In addition to Humbert of Silva Candida’s timely rebuttal, which we examined at the beginning of this essay, we could also mention Peter Abelard (c.1079–1142), who is aware of the firm belief of the Byzantines that, in the Greek of the Scriptures, ἄρτος can only mean “leavened bread.”82 However, a passage contained in Anselm of Havelberg’s (c.1099–1158) so-called Anticimenon also contains a long discussion of the question of 79 80 81 82

Ierodiakonou, “The Byzantine Reception,” p. 6. George-Gennadios Scholarios, Comm. in Arist. De interpretatione, Treatise 1, eds. Martin Jugie et al., Oeuvres complètes de Georges (Gennadios) Scholarios, 7 (Paris, 1936), p. 241 l. 11–12. See the passage quoted from Nicholas of Methore supra, p. 309. Cf. Peter Abelard, Sermon 11 (De rebus gestis in diebus Passionis), eds. Lodewijk J. Engels and Christine Vande Veire, Petri Abaelardi Sermones, Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Mediaevalis 286 (Turnhout, 2020), p. 146 l. 514–519: “Unde et Greci non de azymo pane sed de fermentato Dominum dicunt novum Pascha confecisse, quasi nihil de veteri Pascha in novo vellet retinere. Quin etiam ubicumque nos habemus in novo Pascha dictum de Domino quod ‘accepit panem et benedixit’ [Mt. 26:26; Lc. 24:30], pro pane in Greco habetur ‘arton’, quod fermentatum significat.”

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unleavened bread. In the first proem (1149/1150) of the work, addressed to Pope Eugenius III (1145–1153), Anselm states that he had several conversations with Greeks, both public and private, during his long stay in Constantinople as ambassador. Thus, he emphasises that he had direct knowledge of their rites and doctrines. According to Anselm, he wrote down, with some amplification, two actual dialogues that he publicly held in 1136 with the learned and eloquent Nicetas, Bishop of Nicomedia.83 To the latter Anselm attributes the following passage, with which the author intends to express the Greek point of view: When the text [scil. Lc. 24:30]84 says artos, it then seems to simply indicate bread, common bread (‘communem panem’), that is, leavened bread such as men use everywhere (‘quo homines universaliter’), and which they name by the usual term artos, that is, ‘bread’. Whenever people specifically mean unleavened bread, they do not use this word artos for ‘bread’, but rather the specific term azymos. The Greek a means ‘without’ 83

84

Cf. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, ed. in PL 188, col. 1141Α: “Conservavi autem quantum memoriam subministrabat, tenorem dialogi quem cum venerabili ac doctissimo archiepiscopo Nicodemiae (sic) Nichite in publico, conventu apud urbem Constantinopolitanam habui, addens quaedam non minus fidei necessaria, quam huic operi congrua.” According to the summary of Anselm of Havelberg, Nicetas of Nicomedia was the head of a college of twelve Greek theologians (διδάσκαλοι) (see PL 188, coll. 1141A–B e 1162C–D), who should be identified as the διδάσκαλοι of the Patriarchate, see, e.g., Jean Darrouzès, Recherches sur les ΟΦΦΙΚΙΑ de l’Église byzantine, Archives de l’Orient chrétien 11 (Paris, 1970), pp. 75–79; Michael Angold, Church and Society in Byzantium under the Comneni, 1081–1261 (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 92–93. On the Anticimenon and, in particular, on the question of the azymites in the work, see Jay T. Lees, Anselm of Havelberg. Deeds into Words in the Twelfth Century, Studies in the History of Christian Thought 79 (Leiden et alibi, 1998), pp. 256–262, pp. 267–71. Additionally, see also Walter Berschin, “Anselm von Havelberg (†1158), die Griechen und die Anf愃ࠀnge einer Geschichtstheologie des hohen Mittelalters,” in Byzanzrezeption in Europa. Spurensuche über das Mittelalter und die Renaissance bis in die Gegenwart, ed. Foteini Kolovou, Byzantinisches Archiv 24 (Berlin, Boston, 2012); Brian Dunkle, “Anselm of Havelberg’s Use of Authorities in his Account of the Filioque,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 105/2 (2012), 695–722; Teng Li, The Holy Spirit in Twelfth-Century Thoughts: Rupert of Deutz (ca 1075–1129) and Anselm of Havelberg (ca 1095–1158) (PhD thesis, University of Liverpool, 2016) available at https://livrepository .liverpool.ac.uk/3003773. Accessed 2022 Dec 3; finally, Alex J. Novikoff, “Anselm of Havelberg’s Controversies with the Greeks: A Moment in the Scholastic Culture of Disputation,” in Dialogues and Debates from Late Antiquity to Late Byzantium, eds. Averil Cameron and Niels Gaul (Oxford, New York, 2017), pp. 105–122. On the enigmatic figure of Nicetas of Nicomedia, see Pietro Podolak, “Nicetas Archbishop of Nicomedia: A Forgotten Figure in the Twelfth-Century Controversy Sorrounding the Filioque,” Rivista di studi bizantini e neoellenici 53/1 (2016), 151–172. “Καὶ ἐγένετο ἐν τῷ κατακλιθῆναι αὐτὸν μετ’ αὐτῶν λαβὼν τὸν ἄρτον εὐλόγησεν καὶ κλάσας ἐπεδίδου αὐτοῖς.”

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in Latin, and zymos means ‘leaven’. So, I understand simply leavened bread, in its usual meaning, when I read in the Gospel: eulogesen arton, that is, ‘He blessed bread’.85 Even if we are now aware that the words pronounced by Nicetas of Nicomedia (of whom we know very little) as reported in Anselm’s Anticimenon are not necessarily a faithful transcription of Nicetas’ speech, on the other hand, the examination of the various accounts concerning him has brought out the profile of “an ecclesiastic who shows a familiarity with the methods of ancient philosophy (which is used preferentially concerning biblical or patristic witnesses) and who shows himself in line with the official theology of Byzantium.”86 In the brief passage from Anselm of Havelberg quoted above there is no clear reference to ‘concepts’ but, apparently, only to a thing (“communis panis”) and to the name by which it is usually referred to in Greek (artos). However, hypothetically, one might wonder whether the statements attributed to Nicetas do not actually reveal a much deeper argumentative substratum, namely whether that “common” (“communis”) and that “everywhere” (“universaliter”) are not in some way related to the theory of the interpretation of ‘common concept’ that was clearly in vogue among Byzantine theologians in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.

6

Conclusions

Between the eleventh and the twelfth century, the etymological argument was employed by several Byzantine authors, who were engaged in defending the use of leavened bread in the Eucharist. Although it represents a minor topic, generally treated in few lines, it lies upon a dense web of grammatical 85

86

See Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon: On the Unity of the Faith and the Controversies with the Greeks, Transl. by Ambrose Criste, OPRAEM, and Carol Neel, Premonstratensian Texts and Studies 1 (Collegeville, Minnesota, 2010), p. 196, translation slightly changed. As for the original Latin text, cf. Anselm of Havelberg, Anticimenon, book 3, ch. 17, ed. in PL 188, col. 1237A: “Cum igitur ἄρτον dicit, panem videtur velle simpliciter intelligere, communem panem, scilicet fermentatum, quo homines universaliter utuntur, et quem usitato sermone ἄρτον, id est panem vocant. Quod si quando discrete voluerint loqui de azymo, nequaquam utuntur hoc verbo ἄρτος, quod est panis; sed utuntur discreta locutione, hoc verbo quod azymus. Nam ἀ Graece, Latine dicitur sine; ζυμός autem fermentum. Ita nimirum et ego simpliciter vulgari significatione intelligo fermentatum, cum lego in Evangelio: ‘Εὐλόγησεν ἄρτον’, id est ‘benedixit panem’.” See, for example, Podolak, “Nicetas,” p. 151 (from the abstract); see also ibidem, pp. 156–159 for an evaluation of the reliability of the testimony of Anselm of Havelberg.

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and philosophical theories. In the synoptic Gospels, the word ἄρτος (“bread”) occurs alone, without any modifiers, in the tale of the Last Supper. Some Byzantine theologians claimed that the origin(s) of the word ἄρτος confirmed the rightness of the use of leveaned bread in the eucharistic liturgy. In so doing, they were inspired by (and, at the same time, reshaped to new purposes) a long philosophical tradition, which went back to Plato and Neoplatonism and investigated the nature of language and its relations with the world. Knowing the etymology of a name meant knowing the true essence of the thing to which that name was applied. This also impacted the way a noun should be translated into another language: in fact, according to the Greeks, by virtue of its etymology, ἄρτος could not be translated as “panis azymus”, since the noun itself implied a process of leavening. In fact, as Peter Abelard suggests, in Greek the word ἄρτος means not simply “panis” but “panis fermentatus.” However, as we have observed, in the specific case of the Latin-Byzantine debate on the azymes, the etymological approach was mocked and rejected by the Latins, although, in general, etymology frequently served as a catalyst for meditation and as a pathway to divine truth in the Latin Middle Ages as well.87 This divergence was a further element of hyndrance to the linguistic and cultural exchange between Greeks and Latins and, on a step before translational practices, shows their profoundly different approach and sensitivity toward language, at least when it comes to steadfastly defending their own positions.

Acknowledgments I would like to thank Caterina Tarlazzi for her careful reading of this article and her useful suggestions. I also thank the editors of this book and the anonymous reviewer for their valuable remarks.

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Part 4 Multilingual Practices

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Chapter 12

Untranslatable Law: Explaining the (Non-)Transfer of Byzantine Legal Knowledge in Medieval Southern Italy James Morton

This paper’s title is, one must admit, rather obtuse. Law is not literally untranslatable; it may be difficult to translate technical terms or expressions from one language to another, but it is not impossible. It is, however, more fitting if we take ‘translation’ in the broader sense of the transfer of legal knowledge. Just because it is possible to render terminology from one language to another does not necessarily mean that it is possible to translate a legal system from one cultural context to another. Medieval southern Italy in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries provides an excellent illustration of this point. Thanks to a significant body of historical scholarship in the last twenty years or so, the region has become well known for its multicultural and multireligious character. Having been divided between Byzantines, Lombards, and Arabs in the early Middle Ages, it was eventually conquered by the Norman Hauteville family in the late eleventh century and later united into the new Kingdom of Sicily (1130–1816) by Roger II (r. 1105–1154). The new king oversaw a famously multicultural government that employed Latin, Greek, and Arab officials and worked in all three languages. Moreover, the royal court of Palermo was a centre of translation activity in the twelfth century. As such, it would appear to be an excellent place to study legal translations and the transfer of legal knowledge. Unfortunately, no such translations exist, which makes writing a paper on the transfer of legal knowledge in medieval southern Italy quite difficult. Nonetheless, this very absence of activity is an interesting point that highlights much about both the character of law in the Kingdom of Sicily and the underpinnings of translation work more generally. This paper will argue that there are three crucial preconditions for translation activity, of which southern Italy fulfilled only two: the availability of textual sources, presence of capable translators, and practical motivation to translate. Paradoxically, although the kingdom’s cultural pluralism provided the right context for translations, the nature of its legal pluralism meant that the third precondition was not met.

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_013

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Morton

Legal Texts in Byzantine Southern Italy

There was no shortage of Byzantine legal texts in medieval southern Italy, though their content and availability were constrained by the empire’s changing geopolitical fortunes in the region. Following Justinian’s Italian reconquests of 535–554, the imperial presence in the peninsula was threatened first by the Lombard invasions (beginning in 568) and then by the Islamic conquest of Sicily in the ninth century. Byzantine forces came perilously close to being driven out of Italy altogether in the 840s–870s, but a series of military victories in the 880s allowed the Macedonian emperors Basil I (r. 867–886) and Leo VI ‘the Wise’ (r. 886–912) to restore the empire’s rule over Calabria and much of Apulia. These regions were collectively re-organized into a new theme (military province) of ‘Longobardia’ by the end of the century. The administration would be further consolidated around the year 970 with the creation of the Catepanate of Italy.1 As Byzantine provincial government in Italy was undergoing this series of crises and reforms, the empire itself experienced a profound, if gradual, cultural shift of its own. Justinian’s government in the sixth century had been able to draw upon a pool of both Latin- and Greek-speaking officials with a thorough training in Late Antique Roman law. Although there was a great degree of continuity in legal institutions and education, as Humphreys has emphasized, the following centuries saw much greater Christian religious influence in legal thought.2 Moreover, the loss of the empire’s Latin-speaking territories saw Greek take its place as the primary language of state by the eighth century, creating a need to produce new Greek-language legal texts (a process known as exhellenismos).3 The result was a new generation of Greek legal compilations infused with a more overtly Christian ethos, beginning under the Isaurian Dynasty (718–802) and culminating under the Macedonian (867–1056). As we shall see, it is primarily this generation of texts that is reflected in the extant sources. First, however, it is necessary to say a few words about the sources themselves. A significant number of Byzantine legal manuscripts, containing both civil law (nomima) and canon law (nomokanones), survive from medieval southern 1 For an up-to-date account of the development of Byzantine provincial administration in southern Italy in the ninth and tenth centuries, see Vivien Prigent, “Byzantine Administration and the Army,” in A Companion to Byzantine Italy, ed. Salvatore Cosentino, Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World 8 (Leiden, 2022), pp. 152–162. 2 Michael T.G. Humphreys, Law, Power and Imperial Ideology in the Iconoclast Era, c.680–850 (Oxford, 2015), pp. 85–87. 3 On exhellenismos, see Zachary Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture and the Roman Legal Tradition, 867–1056 (Cambridge, 2017), pp. 160–162.

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Italy; I shall focus here on the civil law manuscripts, as I have written about the nomokanones elsewhere.4 The reason for southern Italy’s surprisingly high rate of manuscript survival lies mainly in the institutional continuity of its Greek monasteries (and their libraries and scriptoria), many of which not only survived the Middle Ages but remained in operation until the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.5 Still more medieval manuscripts were in the possession of Italo-Greek parish schools in the Salento peninsula that persisted into the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when they were acquired by a range of Renaissance book collectors.6 Indeed, the majority of ‘Byzantine’ manuscripts were actually produced under Norman, not Byzantine, rule.7 However, these dynamics of source preservation mean that the extant corpus of Greek manuscripts from southern Italy is not representative of the entirety of what was originally produced. With that caveat in mind, enough manuscripts of Byzantine civil law survive to give a relatively good idea of what texts were available in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries. Guglielmo Cavallo produced an influential survey of the southern Italian Byzantine legal manuscripts in the 1980s, though some new codices have inevitably come to light since the publication of his article and a few of his identifications have been challenged.8 More recently, Cristina 4 James Morton, Byzantine Religious Law in Medieval Italy, Oxford Studies in Byzantium (Oxford, 2021). 5 The bibliography on the Italo-Greek monasteries of Calabria and their book collections is extensive. For a general introduction, see, e.g., Robert Devreesse, Les manuscrits grecs de l’Italie méridionale (histoire, classement, paléographie), Studi e testi 183 (Vatican City, 1955), pp. 9–26; Vito Capialbi, “Sopra alcune biblioteche di Calabria,” Archivio storico per la Calabria e la Lucania 10 (1940), 250–66; Kirsopp Lake, “The Greek Monasteries in South Italy. IV. The Libraries of the Basilian Monasteries,” Journal of Theological Studies 5 (1904), 189–202; Pierre Batiffol, L’abbaye de Rossano. Contribution à l’histoire de la Vaticane (Paris, 1891). 6 Daniele Arnesano, “Copisti salentini del cinquecento,” in ‘Colligite fragmenta’. Studi in memoria di Mons. Carmine Maci, ed. Dino Levante (Campi Salentini: Centro Studi ‘Mons. Carmine Maci’, 2007), pp. 91–93; André Jacob, “La formazione del clero Greco nel Salento medievale,” Ricerche e Studi in Terra d’Otranto 2 (1986), 223–36; André Jacob, “Culture grecque et manuscrits en Terre d’Otrante,” in Atti del III. congresso internazionale di studi salentini e del I. congresso storico di Terra d’Otranto (Lecce, 22–25 ottobre 1976), ed. Pier F. Palumbo, Congressi (Centro di Studi Salentini) 4 (Lecce, 1980), p. 66. 7 See Paul Canart, “Aspetti materiali e sociali della produzione libraria italo-greca tra Normanni e Svevi,” in Libri e lettori nel mondo bizantino. Guida storica e critica, ed. Guglielmo Cavallo, Universale Laterza 612 (Rome – Bari, 1982), pp. 121–123. 8 Guglielmo Cavallo, “La circolazione di testi giuridici in lingua greca nel Mezzogiorno medievale,” in Scuole, diritto e società nel Mezzogiorno medievale d’Italia, ed. Manlio Bellomo, Studi e ricerche dei Quaderni catanesi 8, 2 (Catania, 1985), pp. 87–136. See also Léon-Robert Ménager, “Notes sur les codifications byzantines et l’Occident,” in Varia. Études de droit romain. III, ed. Jules Roussier, Henri-Jacques Legier, and Léon-Robert Ménager, Publications de l’Institut de droit romain de L’Université de Paris 16 (Paris, 1958), pp. 239–303.

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Rognoni has provided a useful overview of legal texts and practice in Byzantine Italy; while her scope is broader than my own, she offers an excellent discussion of the manuscript tradition and the dynamics that shaped it.9 Consequently, I will focus here on a discussion of what the extant codices reveal about the availability of major Byzantine legal texts in the period in question. I am aware of twenty-five manuscripts of Byzantine civil law that survive from southern Italy, not including small fragments, palimpsests, or excerpts that may have been included in other codices (see Table 12.1 below).10 Interestingly, only one of these can be said with certainty to date to the era of Byzantine rule.11 At least twelve were produced in the Norman period (with a further five likely to have been) and a further seven were copied in the thirteenth to fourteenth centuries. For obvious reasons, very few Byzantine legal texts were introduced to southern Italy in the years after the Norman conquest, so even the latest manuscripts reflect the body of legal literature that was available in the region in the ninth to eleventh centuries. Anyone who hopes to find complete editions of the Justinianic corpus or even its later Greek redaction, the Basilica, will be disappointed.12 Instead, the manuscripts mainly contain abbreviated handbooks and synopses dating to the Isaurian and Macedonian eras, with a handful of texts from the sixth, seventh, and later eleventh centuries. The earliest major work to be preserved is Theophilos’ Paraphrase, a Greek redaction (c.533/4) of Justinian’s Institutes (a four-part introductory textbook for students of Roman law).13 This occurs in three manuscripts of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.14 From the same 9 10 11 12

13 14

Cristina Rognoni, “Legal Texts and Juridical Practice in Byzantine Italy,” in A Companion to Byzantine Italy, ed. Salvatore Cosentino, Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World 8 (Leiden, 2021), pp. 774–778. I have omitted from this list manuscripts whose attribution to southern Italy is questionable or depends on single criteria such as writing style. Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. gr. 2075 (tenth century). Text in Herman J. Scheltema, Douwe Holwerda, and Nicolaas Van der Wal, eds., Basilicorum libri LX, 17 vols., Scripta Universitatis Groninganae (Groningen, 1953). On the Basilica, see Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 32–35; Spyridon N. Troianos, Die Quellen des byzantinischen Rechts, trans. Dieter Simon and Silvia Neye (Berlin, 2017), pp. 202–211. One manuscript (Messina, Biblioteca Universitaria Regionale “Giacomo Longo”, S. Salv. 158) does seem to contain palimpsested fragments of the Basilica, but these were originally copied outside southern Italy; see below. Text in J.H.A. Lokin et al., eds., Theophili antecessoris paraphrasis institutionum (Groningen, 2010). See also Rognoni, “Legal Texts,” pp. 465–466; Troianos, Die Quellen, pp. 94–96; J.H.A. Lokin, “Theophilus Antecessor,” Tijdschrift 44 (1976), 337–344. Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, plut. 80.1 (late thirteenth century), 80.18 (late thirteenth/early fourteenth century); Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, gr. 178 (late thirteenth/early fourteenth century).

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era comes a Greek collection of 168 Novels of Justinian compiled in the reign of Tiberios II (r. 574–582); this can be found in manuscripts of the late twelfth and the late thirteenth century.15 The twelfth-century manuscript belonged to a judge of Rossano in Calabria named Sinator Maleinos and also includes the 113 Novels of Leo VI.16 The most common texts, however, are handbooks of the Isaurian and Macedonian eras: the Ecloga (c.741), the Prochiron (c.870–879), and Symbatios’ Epitome of Laws (921). The first of these was produced by a commission of jurists under Leo III and consists of a selection of Justinianic law in Greek, divided into eighteen ‘titles’ and edited in places to better reflect Christian morality.17 The Prochiron appears to have been an effort by Basil I to replace the handbook of his hated Iconoclast predecessor with one of his own, a text that would serve as a basic didactic supplement to the much more comprehensive Basilica (which was already in preparation at the time).18 Lastly, the Epitome is essentially an expansion of the Prochiron with added material from the work of the antecessores (a group of influential Byzantine legal scholars of the sixth century); unlike the Ecloga and Prochiron, it does not seem to have been given official status by the emperor.19 This already-complicated picture is further muddled when we look at the manuscripts themselves. Byzantine copyists did not simply limit themselves to producing faithful reproductions of legal compilations, but sometimes altered and combined aspects of texts to create new redactions of their own. Thus, we encounter numerous derivations and hybrid compilations such as the Ecloga privata, Ecloga privata aucta, Ecloga ad Prochiron mutata, Epitome ad Prochiron 15 16

17

18 19

Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, gr. 179, fols. 1r–62r, 76v–391r (late twelfth century); Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, plut. 80.4, fol. 1r–194v (late thirteenth century). The text of the note of possession can be found in Karl-Eduard Zachari愃ࠀ von Lingenthal, ed., Imp. Iustiniani pp.a. Novellae quae vocantur sive Constitutiones quae extra Codicem supersunt, ordine chronologico digestae (Leipzig, 1881), p. viii. On Sinator Maleinos, see Morton, Byzantine Religious Law, pp. 150–153; Santo Lucà, “Rossano, il Patir e lo stile rossanese,” Rivista di studi bizantini e neoellenici 22–23 (1985–1986), pp. 125–126 n. 163; Alexander Turyn, Codices Vaticani Graeci saeculis XIII et XIV scripti annorumque notis instructi, Codices e Vaticanis selecti phototypice expressi 28 (Vatican City, 1964), pp. 28–34. Text in Ludwig Burgmann, ed., Ecloga. Das Gesetzbuch Leons III. und Konstantinos’ V, Forschungen zur byzantinischen Rechtsgeschichte 10 (Frankfurt am Main, 1983). See Humphreys, Law, Power and Imperial Ideology, pp. 81–130; Troianos, Die Quellen, pp. 118–128. See Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 22–29; Troianos, Die Quellen, pp. 196–200. See Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 42–43; Troianos, Die Quellen, pp. 211–215. On the antecessores, see ibid. pp. 94–99 and Dafni Penna, Roos Meijering, A Sourcebook on Byzantine Law (Leiden, Boston, 2002), pp. 34–65.

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mutata, and so on.20 Some of these are unique to southern Italy, such as the Epitome Vaticana, the Epitome Marciana, and the Prochiron Calabriae.21 The latter of these is a particularly interesting twelfth-century blend of the Ecloga, the Epitome, and the Eisagoge (c.886) that also includes oblique references to the kings of Sicily and the Kingdom of Jerusalem.22 Besides these compilations, numerous manuscripts include one or more of the so-called leges speciales (‘special laws’: the Farmer’s, Sailor’s, and Soldier’s Laws).23 These were produced across several decades in the mid-to-late eighth century as expansions to Leo III’s Ecloga, though they encompass a variety of styles and seem to have gone through several redactions of their own.24 Finally, the last major text to appear is the Synopsis Basilicorum maior, an abridged version of the Basilica in one volume produced in the tenth century.25 As one 20 21 22

23

24 25

The Latin names for these derivatives have become well-established in the historiography of Byzantine law, so I have chosen to leave them untranslated here. For an extended discussion of these recensions, see Ménager, “Notes sur les codifications byzantines,” pp. 248–275. Text in Francesco Brandileone and Vittorio Puntoni, eds., Prochiron legum, pubblicato secondo il Codice vaticano greco 845, Fonti per la storia d’Italia. Leggi, secolo XI 30 (Rome, 1895). For a study of the manuscript, see Filippo Ronconi, I manoscritti greci miscellanei. Ricerche su esemplari dei secoli 9.–12., Testi, studi, strumenti 21 (Spoleto, 2008), pp. 273–289. On the legal content of the manuscript, see Giuseppina Matino, “Aspetti giuridici e linguistici nella legislazione matrimoniale dell’Italia meridionale bizantina,” in La cultura scientifica e tecnica nell’Italia meridionale bizantina. Atti della sesta Giornata di studi bizantini (Arcavata di Rende, 8–9 febbraio 2000), ed. Filippo Burgarella and Anna Maria Ieraci Bio, Studi di filologia antica e moderna 13 (Soveria Mannelli, 2006), pp. 155–173. Evidence from marginalia on fols. 60r and 67v indicates that it was copied near Soverato in central Calabria: see Santo Lucà, “Le diocesi di Gerace e Squillace. Tra manoscritti e marginalia,” in Calabria bizantina. Civiltà bizantina nei territori di Gerace e Stilo (Soveria Mannelli, 1998), pp. 284–285. Grottaferrata, Badia greca, gr. 50, fols. 121r–141r (thirteenth century), 76, fols. 71v–84v, 120r–126v (eleventh–twelfth century), 87, fols. 15v–24v (thirteenth century); Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Q 25 sup., fols. 1r–10v (eleventh–twelfth century); Messina, Biblioteca Universitaria Regionale “Giacomo Longo”, S. Salv. 114, fols. 60r–69r, 111v–121r, 139v–146v (early twelfth century); Moscow, Gosudarstvennij Istoričeskij Musej, Sin. gr. 314, fols. 88v–96r (fourteenth century); Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, gr. 1384, fols. 113r–127r, 128r–134r (1165/6); Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. gr. 845, fols. 90r–95r, 104v–105v, 107r–113r (twelfth–thirteenth century), 1168, fols. 107r–122r (eleventh–twelfth century), 2075, fols. 25v–30v, 32r–41r, 254r–257r; Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, gr. 172, fols. 30v–42v, 227v–231r (1175), 579, fols. 82r–83v, 188v–194v (eleventh century). See Humphreys, Law, Power and Imperial Ideology, pp. 152–232; Ludwig Burgmann, “Die Nomoi stratiotikos, georgikos und nautikos,” Zbornik radova Vizantološkog Instituta 46 (2009), 53–64. See Troianos, Die Quellen, pp. 222–224.

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would expect of a Byzantine legal codex, the southern Italian manuscripts also include a host of lesser texts, abbreviations, and excerpts that are too numerous to mention here. Given the nature of these texts, it is clear that they were brought to southern Italy in the wake of the Byzantine reconquests and administrative reorganizations that occurred in the late ninth and tenth centuries. The newly established theme of Longobardia (and later the Catepanate of Italy) required legal compilations for use by local judges. At first, the most readily available texts were the Ecloga and its various appendices including the leges speciales; these were later supplemented (though not replaced) by the Prochiron and Epitome in the tenth century. With their short length, thematic structure, and didactic tone, these texts were ideally suited for practical use by local officials in the frontier province of Byzantine Italy. Indeed, these officials produced at least one local redaction of these texts, the Prochiron Calabriae, in the twelfth century, and may also have been responsible for creating the Epitome Vaticana and Epitome Marciana. Table 12.1 Surviving manuscripts of Byzantine civil law from southern Italy (References are to Ludwig Burgmann et al., Repertorium der Handschriften des byzantinischen Rechts. Teil I. Die Handschriften des weltlichen Rechts (Nr. 1–327), Forschungen zur byzantinischen Rechtsgeschichte 20 (Frankfurt am Main, 1995))

Manuscript

RHBR Date

1. 2.

Vat. gr. 2075 Marc. gr. 579

249 302

3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Vat. gr. 2076 ÖNB jur. gr. 18 Ambros. Q 25 sup. Bodl. Selden sup. 11 Crypt. gr. 76 (Z γ III) K.B. 157 Vat. gr. 1168

250 321 123 153 79

8. 9.

89 242

10. Marc. gr. 177 11. S. Salv. 114

294 127

12. Vat. Ottob. gr. 15

253

Late C10 C11

Major content

Epitome Vaticana; leges speciales Ecloga ad Prochiron mutata; leges speciales C11 Epitome Vaticana C11 Ecloga privata; Prochironderivat C11/12 Epitome; Sailor’s and Farmer’s Laws C11/12 Epitome ad Prochiron mutata C11/12 Prochironderivat; Ecloga privata; leges speciales C11/12 Theophilos, Paraphrase C11/12 Ecloga privata; Prochironderivat; leges speciales Early C12 Synopsis Basilicorum maior Early C12 Ecloga privata; Prochironderivat; leges speciales Early C12 Synopsis Basilicorum maior

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Table 12.1 Surviving manuscripts of Byzantine civil law from southern Italy (cont.)

Manuscript

RHBR Date

13. Vat. Pal. gr. 249 14. Escorial T.III.13

265 53

15. BnF gr. 1384

188

16. Marc. gr. 172 17. Marc. gr. 179 18. Vat. gr. 845

289 296 230

19. Crypt. gr. 87 (Z γ V) 80 20. Laur. 80.1 65 21. Laur. 80.4 + Periz. 67 F 35 22. Laur. 80.18 74 23. Marc. gr. 178 295 24. Crypt. gr. 50 81 (Z γ VII) 25. Sin. gr. 314 134

2

Major content

Early C12 Synopsis Basilicorum maior C12 Ecloga privata; Ecloga ad Prochiron mutata; Prochironderivat; Michael Psellos, Synopsis legum 1165/6 Prochiron; Ecloga privata aucta; Ecloga ad Prochiron mutata; leges speciales 1175 Epitome Marciana; leges speciales Late C12 Leo VI, Novels; Justinian I, Novels C12/C13 Prochiron Calabriae; Michael Psellos, Synopsis legum; Farmer’s and Sailor’s Laws C13 Epitome; Soldier’s and Sailor’s Laws Late C13 Theophilos, Paraphrase Late C13 Justinian I, Novels C13/14 C13/14 C14 C14

Theophilos, Paraphrase Theophilos, Paraphrase Prochironderivat; Ecloga privata; leges speciales Ecloga; Epitome; Sailor’s Law

Greek-to-Latin Translation in the Norman Court

Byzantine legal texts were widely available in southern Italy in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries, meeting one of the key criteria for translation activity. The second criterion – the presence of capable translators – was also amply fulfilled. Rather than attempting to exclude or assimilate the Italo-Greeks, southern Italy’s new Norman rulers made extensive use of them in their administration, especially during the reign of Roger II (r. 1130–1154).26 Several high-ranking members of the Sicilian royal court were native Greek-speakers, including 26

See Vera von Falkenhausen, “I funzionari greci nel regno normanno,” in Byzantino-Sicula V: Giorgio di Antiochia – L’arte della politica in Sicilia nel XII secolo tra Bisanzio e l’Islam, ed. Mario Re and Cristina Rognoni, Quaderni 17 (Palermo, 2009), pp. 165–202, esp. pp. 169–72;

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the chamberlains Nicholas of Mesai and Basil; the ammirati Christodoulos (d. 1131), George of Antioch (d. c.1152), and Eugenios (c.1130–1202); and the logothetes Leo and Nicholas. Most of the royal charters issued under Roger II were written in Greek and the king even signed his name in Greek on many Latin documents.27 Several of Roger’s officials were bilingual or even trilingual, making the royal court in Palermo an example of a cultural ‘third space’, as Houben has written.28 Moreover, it is likely that some of these officials would have been at least passingly familiar with the Byzantine civil law corpus. The son of the logothete Leo, for example, is attested in a document of 1131 as ‘great judge of all Calabria’, a role in which he must have encountered Byzantine legal texts like the ones mentioned above.29 Another interesting case is an anonymous Italo-Greek official (possibly from Calabria) who was exiled to Malta or Gozo in the 1140s, where he produced a long poem in Byzantine dodecasyllable verse.30 Although the poet’s identity is unknown, he calls himself a retainer of the ammiratus George of Antioch, to whom the poem is dedicated. He exhibits a wide awareness of both Classical and Byzantine history and culture,

27

28

29

30

Hiroshi Takayama, “The Great Administrative Officials of the Norman Kingdom of Sicily,” Papers of the British School at Rome 58 (1990), 317–335. Vera von Falkenhausen, “I diplomi dei re normanni in lingua greca,” in Documenti medievali greci e latini. Studi comparativi (Atti del seminario di Erice, 23–29 ottobre 1995), ed. Giuseppe de Gregorio and Otto Kresten, Incontri di studio 1 (Spoleto, 1998), pp. 283–286; see also Hubert Houben, Roger II of Sicily: A Ruler between East and West, trans. Graham A. Loud and Diane Milburn, Cambridge Medieval Textbooks (Cambridge, 2002), p. 108. Hubert Houben, “Between Occidental and Oriental Cultures: Norman Sicily as a ‘Third Space’?,” in Norman Tradition and Transcultural Heritage: Exchange of Cultures in the ‘Norman’ Peripheries of Medieval Europe, ed. Stefan Burkhardt and Thomas Foerster (Aldershot, 2013), pp. 30–31. Bernard de Montfaucon, Palaeographia graeca, sive, De ortu et progressu literarum Graecarum (Paris: Guerin, 1708), pp. 401–402; cited in Jeremy Johns, Arabic Administration in Norman Sicily: The Royal Dīwān, Cambridge Studies in Islamic Civilization (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 67. Text in Joseph Busuttil and Stanley Florini, eds., Tristia Ex Melitogaudo: Lament in Greek Verse of a XIIth-Century Exile on Gozo (Mriehel, 2010); also Ioannis Vassis and Ioannis Polemis, eds., Ένας Έλ뮻ηνας εξόριστος στην Μάλτα του δωδέκατου αιώνα: το ποίημα του Ελ뮻ηνικού κώδικα της Εθνικής Βιβλιοθήκης της Μαδρίτης 4577, Keimena Vyzantines Logotechnias 7 (Athens, 2016). For a discussion of the poem, see recently Carolina Cupane, “Byzantine Poetry at the Norman Court of Sicily (1130–1200),” in A Companion to Byzantine Poetry, ed. Wolfram Hörandner, Andreas Rhoby, and Nikos Zagklas, Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World 4 (Leiden, 2019), pp. 357–364; Marc D. Lauxtermann, “Tomi, Mljet, Malta. Critical Notes on a Twelfth-Century Southern Italian Poem of Exile,” Jahrbuch Der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 64 (2014), 155–176.

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including law.31 As Falkenhausen has previously noted, the poem describes the main books and contents of the Justinianic legal corpus in Greek; it also quotes almost word-for-word from the introduction to the Institutes.32 Even if the anonymous official was not a legal expert himself, the poem demonstrates an awareness of the main sources of Byzantine civil law among the Italo-Greek intellectuals in the Kingdom of Sicily. Furthermore, the royal court patronised several Greek-Latin translation projects, particularly in the second half of the twelfth century.33 For instance, the archdeacon Henry Aristippus (active c.1150–1160) translated a range of philosophical texts such as Plato’s Meno and Phaedo, as well as Diogenes Laertius’ On the Lives of the Philosophers. Aristippus also acquired a Greek copy of Ptolemy’s Almagest, which was translated by a medical student from Salerno. Even Burgundio of Pisa (c.1110–1194), the famous jurist who translated the Greek passages in the Digest, spent two years in the Kingdom of Sicily (mainly in Messina, Naples, and Gaeta) in 1171–1173 on his return from an embassy to Constantinople, where he worked on a translation of John Chrysostom’s commentary on the Gospel of John.34 However, none of this translation activity seems to have extended to Byzantine legal texts from southern Italy, nor did it involve any of the Italo-Greek officials from Roger II’s reign.35 As Angold has pointed out, the translations 31

32

33 34

35

For an in-depth discussion of the poet’s knowledge of legal texts, see Cristina Rognoni, “Libri legales e cultura giuridica alla corte di Ruggero II. La testimonianza di un contemporaneo,” in Dialoghi con Bisanzio. Spazi di discussione, percorsi di ricerca. Atti dell’VIII Congresso dell’Associazione Italiana di Studi Bizantini, ed. Salvatore Cosentino, Margherita E. Pomero, and Giorgio Vespignani, Rivista di bizantinistica. Quaderni 20 (Spoleto, 2019), pp. 943–62. Text in Vassis and Polemis, Ένας Έλ뮻ηνας εξόριστος, pp. 140–42 ll. 1079–87, pp. 226 ll. 1952–62; Vera von Falkenhausen, “The Graeco-Byzantine Heritage in the Norman Kingdom of Sicily,” in Norman Tradition and Transcultural Heritage: Exchange of Cultures in the ‘Norman’ Peripheries of Medieval Europe, ed. Stefan Burkhardt and Thomas Foerster (Aldershot, 2013), p. 64. See recently Michael Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court as a Centre for the Translation of Classical Texts,” Mediterranean Historical Review 35.2 (2020), 147–167. On Burgundio of Pisa, see Walter Berschin, Griechisch-Lateinisches Mittelalter. Von Hieronymus zu Nikolaus von Kues (Bern, 1980), pp. 267–271; Peter Classen, Burgundio von Pisa. Richter, Gesandter, Übersetzer (Heidelberg, 1974), and most recently, Leonie Exarchos, Lateiner am Kaiserhof in Konstantinopel: Expertise und Loyalitäten zwischen Byzanz und dem Westen (1143–1204) (Paderborn, 2022), pp. 56–57. Ironically, although Burgundio made his translation of the Greek passages of the Digest from a southern Italian manuscript, he did not encounter it in southern Italy. His legal translation was based on a sixth-century manuscript from Amalfi that had been brought to Pisa as plunder earlier in the twelfth century; it was later looted and brought to Florence in 1411. See Charles M. Radding and Antonio Ciaralli, The Corpus Iuris Civilis in the Middle

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were produced not at Roger’s court but at that of his successor William I (r. 1154–1166); moreover, they were a result of the gradual erosion of the cultural third space as the upper echelons of the kingdom became less fluent in Greek. In Angold’s words: “Rather than being a sign of the harmonious interaction of different cultures, translating Greek and Arabic texts into Latin now became a necessary way of channelling the benefits of multilingualism to a Latin elite.”36 Roger’s court had not produced such translations because it did not need to. In fact, the translators do not even seem to have used southern Italian manuscripts; their main source material appears to have come from Constantinople, either as gifts of the emperor Manuel I Komnenos (r. 1143–1180) or as private acquisitions by the translators themselves.37 They may not have fully appreciated the range of Greek texts that were already available in southern Italy itself. Of course, just because none of the famous translators that we know by name like Aristippus or Burgundio worked with Byzantine legal texts from southern Italy does not mean that they were not translated at all. One important case to consider is the legal compilation issued by Roger II in c.1140; this was traditionally known as the ‘Assizes of Ariano’ though, as Kenneth Pennington has pointed out, a more accurate name would be the Constitutions.38 Scholars have debated the extent to which Roger’s Constitutions were influenced by Byzantine models; both Francesco Brandileone and Erich Caspar, for instance, argued that the penalty of rhinotomy (nose-slitting) for female adultery in Roger’s legislation could be traced back to the Ecloga.39 Benjamin Kedar

36 37 38

39

Ages: Manuscripts and Transmission from the Sixth Century to the Juristic Revival, Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 147 (Leiden, 2007), p. 2, pp. 37–38; Enrico Spagnesi, ed., Le Pandette di Giustiniano: Storia e fortuna della ‘littera Florentina’. Mostra di codici e documenti, 24 giugno–31 agosto, 1983 (Florence, 1983). Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” p. 148. Angold, “The Norman Sicilian Court,” p. 150–152. Kenneth Pennington, “The Birth of the Ius commune: King Roger II’s Legislation,” Rivista internazionale del diritto comune 17 (2006), 36. The text of the Constitutions can be found in Ortensio Zecchino, ed., Le Assise di Ruggiero II. I testi, Pubblicazioni della Facoltà giuridica dell’Università di Napoli 219 (Naples, 1984). Francesco Brandileone, “Il diritto greco-romano nell’Italia meridionale sotto la dominazione normanna,” in Scritti di Storia giuridica dell’Italia meridionale, ed. Carlo G. Mor, Documenti e monografie 34 (Bari, 1970), pp. 285–287 (originally published 1886); Erich Caspar, Roger II. (1101–1154) und die Gründung der normannisch-sicilischen Monarchie (Innsbruck, 1904), pp. 253–254. Surprising as it may seem to modern readers, the imposition of rhinotomy was part of the Isaurians’ Christianising impulse to make legal penalties more humane.

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observed a similar case of Byzantine-influenced rhinotomy in the Kingdom of Jerusalem in the early twelfth century.40 If aspects of Byzantine legislation found their way into the Constitutions of Roger II, is it possible that the jurists who compiled the collection were working from a Byzantine legal text? Putting the proem of Roger’s Constitutions alongside that of the Ecloga, Brandileone stated that, “I do not believe that there can be any doubt that the one proem was born from the other; it is true that the prologue of the Assizes [i.e. Constitutions] is not a repetition or literal translation of that of the Ecloga, but it is a free reworking of the same thoughts …”.41 Yet, this is not so much evidence that the proem’s author(s) had a translation as it is that they were familiar with the Ecloga, a fact that is not at all surprising in the context of Roger’s court. In addition, the proem was not necessarily written by the same person as the legislation itself, which Pennington has argued draws much more from the Latin texts of the Codex and the Digest.42 Roger II’s legislation is another example of Angold’s observation that a multicultural setting did not necessarily result in translation: the authors were surely aware of Byzantine legal texts like the Ecloga and were influenced by them to an extent, but they did not feel the need to actually translate them.

3

Translated Texts in Legal Manuscripts

If there was no place for legal texts in the translation activity of the royal court in Palermo, we might still expect to find signs of translation at a more functional level. Italo-Greek legal officials actively produced and used manuscripts of Byzantine law in the Norman and early Hohenstaufen periods; meanwhile, Byzantine law exerted a degree of influence on Roger II’s Constitutions, even if it was not directly translated in the text. Perhaps this influence is reflected in lower-level translations that are only attested in the manuscript evidence itself? With one interesting exception (to which we shall return below), the answer appears to be a resounding ‘no’. Latin legal manuscripts of the period seem to have drawn on exclusively Latin textual sources, be they Lombard law, Roman law, or the royal law of the kings of Sicily. A similar picture presents itself in 40 41

42

Benjamin Z. Kedar, “On the Origins of the Earliest Laws of Frankish Jerusalem: The Canons of the Council of Nablus, 1120,” Speculum 74.2 (1999), 320–322. Brandileone, “Il diritto greco-romano,” p. 303 (the translation from the original Italian is my own). Pennington referred to this as “Brandileone’s most striking example of Byzantine influence” (Kenneth Pennington, “The Constitutiones of King Roger II of Sicily in Vat. Lat. 8782,” Rivista Internazionale Del Diritto Comune 21 [2010], p. 45). Pennington, “The Constitutiones of King Roger II,” pp. 45–46.

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the realm of canon law, where even Byzantine Patristic texts were drawn from translated Latin collections of Late Antiquity rather than from the readily available body of contemporary Italo-Greek manuscripts.43 In fact, the evidence for translation activity in legal manuscripts is almost entirely from Latin into Greek, not the other way around (see Table 12.2 below). This is primarily represented by Greek versions of royal laws issued by the kings of Sicily. The manuscripts Marc. gr. 172 (the Epitome Marciana) and Vat. gr. 845, for example, each contain a Greek version of a law on inheritance (referred to in the text as a ‘Novel’) issued by Roger II in 1150.44 According to the text, the king issued this law at Bisignano in Calabria in the month of June and that he “commanded all the judges of Calabria and the Val di Crati concerning children’s inheritance, [telling them] how male and female children should inherit from their own parents.”45 In truth, one cannot say for certain if this is actually a translation of a Latin original; no Latin version of this law has been found to date and the wording indicates that it was issued specifically for Calabria. Many of Roger’s top officials were native Greek-speakers, so it is entirely possible that the king issued the original law in Greek. Nonetheless, it is worth including as a possible instance of translation. There are much clearer examples to be found in three manuscripts of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The fourteenth-century Sin. gr. 314 contains Greek translations of five excerpts from the Constitutions of Roger II concerning private injuries, judicial privileges of bishops and priests, proscribed gatherings, and the ordination of ascriptitii (naturalised foreigners) as bishops.46 As Burgmann has shown, these correspond to sections 34, 8, 9, and 10 of the

43

44

45 46

See, e.g. Roger E. Reynolds, “Canonistica Beneventana,” in Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Medieval Canon Law, Munich, 13–18 July 1992, eds. Peter Landau and Jörg M甃ࠀller, Monumenta Iuris Canonici. Series C, Subsidia 10 (Vatican City, 1997), pp. 26–27; Roger E. Reynolds, “The South-Italian Canon Law Collection in Five Books and Its Derivatives: New Evidence on Its Origins, Diffusion, and Use,” Mediaeval Studies 52 (1990), 292. Marc. gr. 172, fol. 257r; Vat. gr. 845, fols. 106r/v, 141r. The text of the two manuscripts can be found in Francesco Brandileone, ed., “Frammenti di legislazione normanna e di giurisprudenza bizantina nell’Italia meridionale,” Atti della Reale Accademia di Lincei 2 (1886), 277–284. “τὸ ἔνθεον καὶ γαληνότατον κράτος αὐτοῦ προσέταξε πᾶσι τοῖς κριταῖς Καλαβρίας καὶ βαθείας Γράτη περὶ τῆς τῶν παίδων κληρονομίας, πῶς ὀφείλουσι κληρονομεῖν τοῦς ἑαυτῶν γονεῖς τά τε ἄρρενα καὶ θηλυκὰ παιδία” (Brandileone, “Frammenti di legislazione”, p. 277). Sin. gr. 314, fol. 110r/v. Text in Ludwig Burgmann, “Ein griechische Fassung der ‘Assisen von Ariano’,” Fontes Minores 5 (1982), 190–192.

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Constitutions.47 Although no complete Greek translation of the Constitutions survives, it is possible that one existed; after all, only one complete (and one abridged) Latin version of the text has been preserved, so its odds of survival were clearly not high.48 It would make obvious sense for Italo-Greek legal officials to make translations of this text as it had a direct bearing on their work. If anything, the greater surprise is that we do not know of more Greek translations of this collection, though this may simply be a result of historical dynamics of source survival. From the thirteenth century, two manuscripts contain complete Greek translations of King Frederick II’s (r. 1198–1250) famous legal compilation known as the Constitutions of Melfi or Liber Augustalis, issued in 1231.49 This law code applied to all the subjects of the king of Sicily, irrespective of their ethnic or religious community, and sought to centralise judicial power in Frederick’s hands in a manner that has been seen as an early example of absolute monarchy.50 Unlike the Constitutions of Roger II, which would have essentially operated alongside Byzantine law in Italo-Greek communities, the Liber Augustalis replaced it. As Annick Peters-Custot has recently remarked, “Paradoxically, the Frederician state, under the banner of the Roman imperial tradition and thanks to an antiquity-like rhetoric, forced the Italo-Greek populations to abandon Roman (Byzantine) law…”.51 As in the case of Roger II’s Constitutions, it is easy to see why Italo-Greek officials would have wanted a Greek translation of the text.52 47 48 49

50 51 52

The original Latin text of Roger’s Constitutions can be found in Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. lat. 8782 and is published in Francesco Brandileone, Il diritto romano nelle leggi normanne e sveve del regno di Sicilia (Turin, 1884), pp. 94–118. The abridged version can be found in Cassino, Abbey of Montecassino, Cas. 468. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, gr. 1392; Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Barb. gr. 151. Greek text in Thea von der Lieck-Buyken, ed., Die Konstitutionen Friedrichs II. von Hohenstaufen für sein Königreich Sizilien. I. Der griechische Text, Studien und Quellen zur Welt Kaiser Friedrichs II. 5 (Cologne, 1978). For the Latin text, see Wolfgang St甃ࠀrner, ed., Die Konstitutionen Friedrichs II. für das Königreich Sizilien, MGH: Leges, 5.2 (Hanover, 1996). Hubert Houben, Mezzogiorno normanno-svevo: monasteri e castelli, ebrei e musulmani, Nuovo Medioevo 52 (Naples, 1996), p. 182. Annick Peters-Custot, “Greek Communities in Post-Byzantine Italy,” in A Companion to Byzantine Italy, ed. Salvatore Cosentino, Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World 8 (Leiden, 2021), p. 240. Peters-Custot has also noted that the translator of the Liber Augustalis, the basilikos grammatikos John of Otranto, was not himself a jurist and that, unlike earlier translations of Rogerian legislation, his work was “unusable from a juridical point of view” (Annick Peters-Custot, Les grecs de l’Italie méridionale post-byzantine (IXe–XIVe siècle). Une acculturation en douceur, Collection de l’École française de Rome 420 [Rome, 2009], p. 378).

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For the most part, then, the manuscript evidence suggests a single direction of translation from Latin to Greek as Sicilian royal legislation was translated for use by Italo-Greek officials. While that legislation may have shared a common Justinianic source with (or even been tangentially influenced by) medieval Byzantine legal texts, it did not depend on them directly. However, there is one manuscript that appears to contradict this picture. S. Salv. 158 is a manuscript of exapostilaria (a type of liturgical hymn) produced at the monastery of the Holy Saviour of Messina in the second half of the thirteenth century by the scribe Makarios.53 However, the parchment leaves used in the manuscript are two palimpsests of legal texts. One contains in the scriptio inferior excerpts of Byzantine legal texts (including parts of the Basilica, Prochiron, and Novels of Leo VI), which Maria Rodriquez has attributed to the region of Rossano in the early twelfth century.54 The most interesting part of the palimpsest for our purposes, however, is a Latin legal miscellany in a mid-twelfth-century hand that contains extracts from both Lombard law and the Byzantine Ecloga.55 Although the text is badly faded, Rodriquez has been able to read a number of the titles, including one that reads: “De accusationibus. In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti Leo et Constantinus fideles imperatores …”.56 This is a direct translation of two of the opening lines of the Ecloga.57 The excerpts are brief and much of the text is unfortunately unreadable, but this does seem to be a clear case of a Byzantine legal text being translated into Latin. Might this finally provide evidence for broader translation activity – efforts towards the transfer of legal knowledge – in medieval southern Italy? While it is certainly a proof of translation activity (at least to a limited degree), it does not indicate any significant transfer of legal knowledge. As

53

54 55 56 57

I would argue, however, that this is more evidence of the decline of Italo-Greek legal expertise at the royal court than of any perceived lack of legal need for the collection to be translated (a point that Peters-Custot makes herself). Messina, Biblioteca Universitaria Regionale “Giacomo Longo”, S. Salv. 158 (thirteenth century). See Maria T. Rodriquez, “Riflessioni sui palinsesti giuridici dell’area dello Stretto,” in Vie per Bisanzio. VIIo Congresso Nazionale dell’Associazione Italiana di Studi Bizantini, ed. Antonio Rigo, Andrea Babuin, and Michele Trizio, vol. 2, Due punti 25 (Bari, 2013), pp. 627–31; Rognoni, “Legal Texts,” p. 775. On the scribe Makarios, see Maria B. Foti, “Macario monaco scriba,” Koinonia 9 (1985), 81–90. Rodriquez, “Riflessioni,” p. 630. See also Maria T. Rodriquez, “Un ‘nuovo’ palinsesto dei Basilici,” Νέα Ῥώμη 7 (2010), 81–82. S. Salv. 158, 25r–113r. S. Salv. 158, 62r. Text in Rodriquez, “Riflessioni,” p. 628 n. 14. “Ἐν ὀνόματι τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ υἱοῦ καὶ τοῦ ἁγίου πνεύματος Λέων καὶ Κωνσταντῖνος πιστοὶ βασιλεῖς” (Burgmann, Ecloga, p. 160 ll. 9–10).

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Rognoni notes, the miscellany was probably intended “for technical use in areas of mixed population” – most likely the Salento peninsula or parts of central Apulia.58 Unlike Calabria, this was a region where Lombard and Italo-Greek populations lived in close proximity to one another, often intermarrying and sometimes even worshipping in the same churches together.59 It is easy to imagine a Latin-speaking official making use of Latin translations of Byzantine law texts in such an environment. Interestingly, a similar selection of excerpts of Lombard law translated into Greek can also be found in the civil law manuscript BnF gr. 1384, produced in 1165/6, which Cavallo has likewise localised to the Salento peninsula.60 Besides typical Byzantine legal texts like the Prochiron, Ecloga privata aucta, leges speciales, and the Ecloga ad Prochiron mutata, the codex also contains several sections of the Edict of Rothair, the seventh-century Lombard compilation.61 It is quite possible that this was used by a Greek-speaking official who also lived in an ethnically mixed community. The surviving corpus of southern Italian manuscripts does little to dispel the impression of an absence of translation and knowledge transfer in the realm of law. Most legal collections from the region appear to have been narrowly monocultural: Latin manuscripts generally contained Roman, Lombard, and royal law, while Italo-Greek manuscripts have overwhelmingly Byzantine content. The few examples of translation largely consist of Latin laws being rendered into Greek for the benefit of the Sicilian kings’ Italo-Greek subjects. The only exception to this picture is in the palimpsest S. Salv. 158, but this simply proves the rule: it was a product of local circumstances in the Salento peninsula that were not replicated in other parts of the kingdom. There is no evidence (at least at present) of similar translations being made anywhere else in medieval southern Italy.

58 59 60 61

Rognoni, “Legal Texts,” p. 775. See esp. Linda Safran, The Medieval Salento: Art and Identity in Southern Italy, Middle Ages (Philadelphia, 2014), pp. 140–208. BnF gr. 1384, fols. 135r/v, 140r–141r, 175v, 177r–179v. On the localisation of the manuscript, see Cavallo, “La circolazione,” p. 104. Text in Karl-Eduard Zachari愃ࠀ von Lingenthal, ed., Fragmenta versionis graecae legum Rotharis Longobardorum regis (Heidelberg, 1835), pp. 51–61, 62–80. See also Giovanna Princi Braccini, “Persistenze di effetti della dominazione longobarda nell’Italia meridionale,” in Wentilseo, I Germani sulle sponde del ‘Mare Nostrum’. Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi, Padova, 13–15 ottobre 1999, Studi e testi di linguistica e filologia germanica (Padua, 2001), pp. 238–51.

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Untranslatable Law Table 12.2 Translated texts in southern Italian civil law manuscripts

Manuscript

RHBR

Date

Translation

1. 2.

S. Salv. 158 BnF gr. 1384

– 188

C12 1165/6

3.

Marc. gr. 172

289

1175

4.

Vat. gr. 845

230

C12/C13

5. 6. 7.

BnF gr. 1392 Vat. Barb. gr. 151 Sin. gr. 314

– – 134

C13 C13 C14

Greek to Latin: excerpts from the Ecloga Latin to Greek: excerpts from the Edict of Rothair Latin to Greek: Novel of Roger II on inheritance Latin to Greek: Novel of Roger II on inheritance Latin to Greek: Liber Augustalis Latin to Greek: Liber Augustalis Latin to Greek: Excerpts from the Constitutions of Roger II

4

Pluralism and the Motivation to Translate

The surviving evidence indicates that the third key criterion for Greek-to-Latin translation activity, i.e. motivation, was absent. With the limited exception of the Salento, what motivation did exist was for translation of Latin texts into Greek. This may seem perplexing, especially when one considers that southern Italy would later become a major source of Greek texts (including legal ones) for Renaissance-era collectors and translators.62 Both Roger II and Frederick II made use of legislation to centralize power in the hands of the monarchy; the legislative projects of the Byzantine emperors provided an obvious point of reference for this effort. Indeed, Roger II emulated the aesthetic

62

The bibliography on southern Italy’s contribution to Renaissance book collecting is extensive. See, e.g. Morton, Byzantine Religious Law, pp. 62–70; Santo Lucà, “L’apporto dell’Italia meridionale alla costituzione del fondo greco dell’Ambrosiana,” in Nuove ricerche sui manoscritti greci dell’Ambrosiana. Atti del convegno, Milano, 5–6 giugno 2003, ed. Carlo M. Mazzucchi and Cesare Pasini, Bibliotheca erudita 24 (Milan, 2004), pp. 191–232; Marco Petta, “Codici greci della Puglia trasferiti in biblioteche italiane ed estere,” Bollettino della Badia greca di Grottaferrata 26 (1972), 83–129; Devreesse, Les manuscrits grecs, pp. 16–20; Giovanni Mercati, Per la storia dei manoscritti greci di Genova, di varie badie basiliane d’Italia e di Patmo, Studi e testi 68 (Vatican City, 1935), pp. 31–116.

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and administrative style of Byzantium extensively.63 Why, then, was there no clear interest in translating Byzantine legal texts? There are two key points to bear in mind when answering this question. First, legal manuscripts in the Middle Ages were viewed through a primarily utilitarian perspective: they were “reference books in which the reader sought answers (possibly rapid ones) concerning specific normative questions,” in Alessia Aletta’s apt expression.64 Medieval readers of legal manuscripts did not share later Renaissance and Enlightenment scholars’ antiquarian intellectual interests. In other words, the reason why the manuscripts were copied in the first place was to be used by local judicial officials.65 Second, although the Kingdom of Sicily was both culturally and legally pluralistic, this was not a sign of multicultural values or a ‘melting pot’-style society, at least as far as judicial affairs were concerned. One of the main reasons for the resilience of Byzantine law in the Kingdom of Sicily was the fact that different groups’ legal systems remained segregated until at least the mid-thirteenth century. Calabria, for instance, had two ‘great judges’, one a Latin and one a Greek, whose names are attested in 1176 as Matthew of Salerno and Nicholas of Gerace.66 In Messina, surviving legal sources attest to separate ‘judges of 63

64 65

66

See, e.g. Annick Peters-Custot, “‘Byzantine’ Versus ‘Imperial’ Kingdom: How ‘Byzantine’ Was the Hauteville King of Sicily?” in Menschen, Bilder, Sprache, Dinge. Wege der Kommunikation zwischen Byzanz und dem Westen 2: Menschen und Worte, ed. Falko Daim et al., Römisch Germanisches Zentralmuseum, 9.2 (Regensburg, 2018), pp. 235–247; Stergios Laitsos, “‘Imitatio Basilei’? The Ideological and Political Construction of the Norman Kingdom of Sicily in the 12th Century,” in The Eastern Roman Empire and the Birth of the Idea of State in Europe, eds. Spyridon Flogaitis and Antoine Pantélis, European Public Law 80 (London, 2003), pp. 227–247; Houben, Roger II of Sicily, pp. 117–135; Horst Enzensberger, “Chanceries, Charters and Administration in Norman Italy,” in The Society of Norman Italy, eds. Graham A. Loud and Alex Metcalfe, Medieval Mediterranean 38 (Leiden, 2002), pp. 139–148. Alessia A. Aletta, “Testo e ornamentazione nei corpora canonum bizantini del IX–X secolo,” Rivista di storia della miniatura 17 (2013), 24. Several surviving manuscripts bear evidence of the officials who owned them. Marc. gr. 172 (the Epitome Marciana of 1175), for instance, bears a note of possession by the notary Philip Malegras on fol. 179r, while Marc. gr. 179, as we have seen, belonged to the Italo-Greek judge Sinator Maleinos (sic) of Rossano. A particularly interesting case is the so-called Iudex Tarentinus, an Italo-Greek judge from Taranto who served as a member of the regalis magna curia in the years 1159–1171 and possessed fourteen books of civil law (see Evelyn Jamison, “Judex Tarentinus: The Career of Judex Tarentinus Magne Curie Magister Justiciarius and the Emergence of the Sicilian Regalis Magna Curia under William I and the Regency of Margaret of Navarre, 1156–1172,” Proceedings of the British Academy 53 [1967], 289–344; Rognoni, “Legal Texts,” p. 777). Cristina Rognoni, ed., Les actes privés grecs de l’Archivo Ducal de Medinaceli (Tolède). 1. Les monastères de Saint-Pancrace de Briatico, de Saint-Philippe-de-Bojôannès

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the Latins’ and ‘judges of the Greeks’.67 In much of Calabria (where the majority of the Italo-Greek population was concentrated), local communities would simply have had a Greek-speaking judicial official bearing a title such as krites, nomikos, or even nomophylax.68 These titles reflect a real multiplicity of legal practices in the Kingdom of Sicily. As Pasciuta has underlined, both Norman legislation and documentary evidence attests to the fact that the Italo-Greeks were permitted to observe their own ‘customary law’ (by which is meant Byzantine law) insofar as it did not conflict with royal law.69 Indeed, Peters-Custot recently observed that “private law, as an important element of the Byzantine culture and essential link between the members of the Italo-Greek communities, remained almost untouched during the whole of the Norman period.”70 It was only much later in the thirteenth century, during what she calls the ‘Swabian rupture’, that Italo-Greeks had to adapt to non-Byzantine law to a significant degree as a result of the promulgation of Frederick II’s Liber Augustalis.71 On one hand, judicial officials required legal manuscripts as practical reference aids; on the other, they only required legal manuscripts that reflected contemporary royal law and their own community’s customary law. Royal laws were drafted first in Latin and thus naturally only had to be translated into Greek for the benefit of the king’s Greek-speaking subjects. As far as customary law was concerned, officials would have had no interest in making translations; there was no need for a Latin judge to be able to read Byzantine law, nor for a Greek judge to be able to read Latin (Roman or Lombard) law. The only

67

68

69 70 71

et de Saint-Nicolas-des Drosi (Calabre, XIe–XII sècles), Textes, documents, études sur le monde byzantin, néohellénique et balkanique 7 (Paris, 2004), p. 250 (ad. 8, a. 1176). André Guillou, ed., Les actes grecs de S. Maria di Messina. Enquête sur les populations grecques d’Italie du sud et de Sicile, XIe–XIVe siècle, Testi e monumenti. Testi 8, 1 (Palermo, 1963), pp. 89 (no. 8, a. 1152), 117 (no. 13, a. 1187/8). For discussion, see Peters-Custot, Les grecs de l’Italie méridionale, p. 387. Cristina Rognoni, ed., Les actes privés grecs de l’Archivo Ducal de Medinaceli (Tolède). 2. La Vallée du Tuccio (Calabre, XIIe–XIIIe siècle), Textes, documents, études sur le monde byzantin, néohellénique et balkanique 12 (Paris, 2011), pp. 71 (no. 3, a. 1153), 80 (no. 5, a. 1154/5); Francesco Trinchera, ed., Syllabus Graecarum membranarum quae partim Neapoli in maiori tabulario et primaria bibliotheca partim in Casinensi Coenobio ac Cavensi et in episcopali tabulario Neritino iamdiu delitescentes et a doctis frustra expetitae (Naples, 1865), p. 372 (no. 271, a. 1219). Beatrice Pasciuta, “From Ethnic Law to Town Law: The Customs of the Kingdom of Sicily from the Twelfth to the Fifteenth Century,” Rechtsgeschichte 24 (2016), 277–79. See esp. Zecchino, Le Assise di Ruggiero II. I testi, p. 27. Peters-Custot, “Greek Communities,” p. 237. Peters-Custot, “Greek Communities,” pp. 239–45; Peters-Custot, Les grecs de l’Italie méridionale, pp. 483–99.

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limited exception to this is the case of the mixed Latin-Greek communities of the Salento peninsula where some judicial officials seem to have had a need for a basic understanding of both Lombard and Byzantine law in the twelfth century. However, even in this instance it is notable that the one surviving copy of Byzantine legal texts translated into Latin was palimpsested for re-use in a new manuscript in the thirteenth century.

5

Conclusion

This paper began with the observation that there are three key criteria for translation activity: the availability of source texts, the presence of capable translators, and a suitable motivation to produce translations. The case of medieval southern Italy demonstrates that we cannot take this motivation for granted. The availability of a large body of Byzantine legal texts inherited from the empire’s administrative presence in the region in the ninth to eleventh centuries ensured that the first criterion was met. The Norman kings’ willingness to employ Italo-Greek officials at all levels of government fulfilled the second. However, the third criterion – motivation – seems to have been absent. This absence can be explained, ironically, by the cultural and legal pluralism of the Kingdom of Sicily. In his recent article on the translation of Classical Greek texts in twelfth-century Sicily, Angold made the observation that diversity was not enough on its own to generate translation activity; it required the further impetus of a political programme driven by a Latin-speaking elite. In the case of legal texts, we can take the argument even further: diversity actually restrained translation activity. The Italo-Greeks’ continuing use of Byzantine law, adjudicated by Greek-speaking officials equipped with manuscripts of Byzantine legal texts, guaranteed its long-term textual transmission in southern Italy. However, the reason they were able to do so was that they were largely segregated from the Latin and Lombard legal traditions that would eventually come to dominate in southern Italy from the mid-thirteenth century on. This combination of pluralism and segregation was the key factor that obviated any need for legal translations. Latin officials simply did not need to read Byzantine law in translation. Jurists drawing up royal legislation such as the Constitutions of Roger II and the Liber Augustalis could use Latin texts of Lombard and Justinianic law as sources. Meanwhile, local Latin-speaking judges generally did not have to familiarise themselves with Greek texts as they were not responsible for Greek-speaking communities. On the other hand, there was a need for Italo-Greek officials to familiarize themselves with Latin texts, since that was the language of royal legislation that would ultimately

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apply to the entire kingdom. It would only be much later, when Renaissance and Enlightenment scholars began to treat Byzantine texts as historical sources for the study of ancient Roman law, that there was a perceived need to translate them into Latin.

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episcopali tabulario Neritino iamdiu delitescentes et a doctis frustra expetitae. Naples, 1865. Vassis, Ioannis, and Ioannis Polemis, eds. Ένας Έλληνας εξόριστος στην Μάλτα του δωδέκατου αιώνα: το ποίημα του Ελληνικού κώδικα της Εθνικής Βιβλιοθήκης της Μαδρίτης 4577. Keimena Vyzantines Logotechnias, 7. Athens, 2016. Zachari愃ࠀ von Lingenthal, Karl-Eduard, ed. Fragmenta versionis graecae legum Rotharis Longobardorum regis. Heidelberg, 1835. Zecchino, Ortensio, ed. Le Assise di Ruggiero II. I testi. Pubblicazioni della Facoltà giuridica dell’Università di Napoli, 219. Naples, 1984. Zachari愃ࠀ von Lingenthal, Karl-Eduard, ed. Imp. Iustiniani pp.a. Novellae quae vocantur sive Constitutiones quae extra Codicem supersunt, ordine chronologico digestae. Leipzig, 1881.

Secondary Literature Aletta, Alessia A. “Testo e ornamentazione nei corpora canonum bizantini del IX–X secolo.” Rivista di storia della miniatura 17 (2013): 17–28. Angold, Michael. “The Norman Sicilian Court as a Centre for the Translation of Classical Texts.” Mediterranean Historical Review 35.2 (2020): 147–167. Arnesano, Daniele. “Copisti salentini del cinquecento.” In ‘Colligite fragmenta’. Studi in memoria di Mons. Carmine Maci. Ed. Dino Levante, 83–94. Campi Salentini, 2007. Batiffol, Pierre. L’abbaye de Rossano. Contribution à l’histoire de la Vaticane. Paris, 1891. Berschin, Walter. Griechischn-Lateinisches Mittelalter. Von Hieronymus zu Nikolaus von Kues. Bern, 1980. Berschin, Walter. “Il diritto greco-romano nell’Italia meridionale sotto la dominazione normanna.” In Scritti di Storia giuridica dell’Italia meridionale. Ed. Carlo G. Mor, 213–313. Documenti e monografie, 34. Bari, 1970. Berschin, Walter. Il diritto romano nelle leggi normanne e sveve del regno di Sicilia. Turin, 1884. Burgmann, Ludwig. “Die Nomoi stratiotikos, georgikos und nautikos.” Zbornik radova Vizantološkog Instituta 46 (2009): 53–64. Burgmann, Ludwig, Marie-Theres Fögen, Andreas Schminck, and Dieter Simon. Repertorium der Handschriften des byzantinischen Rechts. Teil I. Die Handschriften des weltlichen Rechts (Nr. 1–327). Forschungen zur byzantinischen Rechtsgeschichte, 20. Frankfurt am Main, 1995. Canart, Paul. “Aspetti materiali e sociali della produzione libraria italo-greca tra Normanni e Svevi.” In Libri e lettori nel mondo bizantino. Guida storica e critica. Ed. Guglielmo Cavallo, 103–153. Universale Laterza, 612. Rome – Bari, 1982. Capialbi, Vito. “Sopra alcune biblioteche di Calabria.” Archivio storico per la Calabria e la Lucania 10 (1940): 250–266.

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Caspar, Erich, Roger II. (1101–1154) und die Gründung der normannisch-sicilischen Monarchie. Innsbruck, 1904. Cavallo, Guglielmo. “La circolazione di testi giuridici in lingua greca nel Mezzogiorno medievale” In Scuole, diritto e società nel Mezzogiorno medievale d’Italia. Ed. Manlio Bellomo, 2:87–136. Studi e ricerche dei Quaderni catanesi, 8. Catania, 1985. Chitwood, Zachary. Byzantine Legal Culture and the Roman Legal Tradition, 867–1056. Cambridge, 2017. Classen, Peter. Burgundio von Pisa. Richter, Gesandter, Übersetzer. Heidelberg, 1974. Cupane, Carolina. “Byzantine Poetry at the Norman Court of Sicily (1130–1200).” In A Companion to Byzantine Poetry. Ed. Wolfram Hörandner, Andreas Rhoby, and Nikos Zagklas, 353–378. Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World, 4. Leiden, 2019. Devreesse, Robert. Les manuscrits grecs de l’Italie méridionale (histoire, classement, paléographie). Studi e testi, 183. Vatican City, 1955. Enzensberger, Horst. “Chanceries, Charters and Administration in Norman Italy.” In The Society of Norman Italy. Ed. Graham A. Loud and Alex Metcalfe, 117–150. Medieval Mediterranean, 38. Leiden 2002. Exarchos, Leonie. Lateiner am Kaiserhof in Konstantinopel: Expertise und Loyalitäten zwischen Byzanz und dem Westen (1143–1204). Paderborn, 2022. Falkenhausen, Vera von. “I diplomi dei re normanni in lingua greca.” In Documenti medievali greci e latini. Studi comparativi (Atti del seminario di Erice, 23–29 ottobre 1995). Ed. Giuseppe de Gregorio and Otto Kresten, 253–308. Incontri di studio, 1. Spoleto, 1998. Falkenhausen, Vera von. “I funzionari greci nel regno normanno” In Byzantino-Sicula V: Giorgio di Antiochia – L’arte della politica in Sicilia nel XII secolo tra Bisanzio e l’Islam. Ed. Mario Re and Cristina Rognoni, 165–202. Quaderni, 17. Palermo, 2009. Falkenhausen, Vera von. “The Graeco-Byzantine Heritage in the Norman Kingdom of Sicily.” In Norman Tradition and Transcultural Heritage: Exchange of Cultures in the ‘Norman’ Peripheries of Medieval Europe. Ed. Stefan Burkhardt and Thomas Foerster, 57–77. Aldershot, 2013. Foti, Maria B. “Macario monaco scriba.” Koinonia 9 (1985): 81–90. Houben, Hubert. “Between Occidental and Oriental Cultures: Norman Sicily as a ‘Third Space’?.” In Norman Tradition and Transcultural Heritage: Exchange of Cultures in the ‘Norman’ Peripheries of Medieval Europe. Ed. Stefan Burkhardt and Thomas Foerster, 19–33. Aldershot, 2013. Houben, Hubert. Mezzogiorno normanno-svevo: monasteri e castelli, ebrei e musulmani. Nuovo Medioevo, 52. Naples, 1996. Houben, Hubert. Roger II of Sicily: A Ruler between East and West. Trans. Graham A. Loud and Diane Milburn. Cambridge Medieval Textbooks. Cambridge, 2002.

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Humphreys, Michael T.G. Law, Power and Imperial Ideology in the Iconoclast Era, c.680–850. Oxford Studies in Byzantium. Oxford, 2015. Jacob, André. “Culture grecque et manuscrits en Terre d’Otrante.” In Atti del III. congresso internazionale di studi salentini e del I. congresso storico di Terra d’Otranto (Lecce, 22–25 ottobre 1976). Ed. Pier F. Palumbo, 51–77. Congressi [Centro di Studi Salentini], 4. Lecce, 1980. Jacob, André. “La formazione del clero Greco nel Salento medieval.” Ricerche e Studi in Terra d’Otranto 2 (1986): 223–236. Jamison, Evelyn. “Judex Tarentinus: The Career of Judex Tarentinus Magne Curie Magister Justiciarius and the Emergence of the Sicilian Regalis Magna Curia under William I and the Regency of Margaret of Navarre, 1156–1172.” Proceedings of the British Academy 53 (1967): 289–344. Johns, Jeremy. Arabic Administration in Norman Sicily: The Royal Dīwān. Cambridge Studies in Islamic Civilization. Cambridge, 2002. Kedar, Benjamin Z. “On the Origins of the Earliest Laws of Frankish Jerusalem: The Canons of the Council of Nablus, 1120.” Speculum 74.2 (1999): 310–335. Laitsos, Stergios. “‘Imitatio Basilei’? The Ideological and Political Construction of the Norman Kingdom of Sicily in the 12th Century.” In The Eastern Roman Empire and the Birth of the Idea of State in Europe. Ed. Spyridon Flogaitis and Antoine Pantélis, 227–47. European Public Law, 80. London, 2003. Lake, Kirsopp. “The Greek Monasteries in South Italy. IV. The Libraries of the Basilian Monasteries.” Journal of Theological Studies 5 (1904): 189–202. Lauxtermann, Marc D. “Tomi, Mljet, Malta. Critical Notes on a Twelfth-Century Southern Italian Poem of Exile.” Jahrbuch Der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 64 (2014): 155–176. Lokin, J.H.A. “Theophilus Antecessor.” Tijdschrift 44 (1976): 337–344. Lucà, Santo. “Rossano, il Patir e lo stile rossanese.” Rivista di studi bizantini e neoellenici 22–23 (1985): 93–170. Lucà, Santo. “L’apporto dell’Italia meridionale alla costituzione del fondo greco dell’Ambrosiana.” In Nuove ricerche sui manoscritti greci dell’Ambrosiana. Atti del convegno, Milano, 5–6 giugno 2003. Ed. Carlo M. Mazzucchi and Cesare Pasini, 191–232. Bibliotheca erudite, 24. Milan, 2004. Lucà, Santo. “Le diocesi di Gerace e Squillace. Tra manoscritti e marginalia.” In Calabria bizantina. Civiltà bizantina nei territori di Gerace e Stilo, 245–343. Soveria Mannelli 1998. Matino, Giuseppina. “Aspetti giuridici e linguistici nella legislazione matrimoniale dell’Italia meridionale bizantina.” In La cultura scientifica e tecnica nell’Italia meridionale bizantina. Atti della sesta Giornata di studi bizantini (Arcavata di Rende, 8–9 febbraio 2000). Ed. Filippo Burgarella and Anna Maria Ieraci Bio, 155–74. Studi di filologia antica e moderna, 13. Soveria Mannelli, 2006.

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Ménager, Léon-Robert. “Notes sur les codifications byzantines et l’Occident.” In Varia. Études de droit romain. III. Ed. Jules Roussier, Henri-Jacques Legier, and Léon-Robert Ménager, 239–303. Publications de l’Institut de droit romain de L’Université de Paris, 16. Paris, 1958. Mercati, Giovanni. Per la storia dei manoscritti greci di Genova, di varie badie basiliane d’Italia e di Patmo. Studi e testi, 68. Vatican City, 1935. Montfaucon, Bernard de. Palaeographia graeca, sive, De ortu et progressu literarum Graecarum. Paris, 1708. Morton, James. Byzantine Religious Law in Medieval Italy. Oxford Studies in Byzantium. Oxford, 2021. Pasciuta, Beatrice. “From Ethnic Law to Town Law: The Customs of the Kingdom of Sicily from the Twelfth to the Fifteenth Century.” Rechtsgeschichte 24 (2016): 276–287. Pennington, Kenneth. “The Birth of the Ius commune: King Roger II’s Legislation.” Rivista internazionale del diritto comune 17 (2006): 1–40. Pennington, Kenneth. “The Constitutiones of King Roger II of Sicily in Vat. Lat. 8782.” Rivista Internazionale Del Diritto Comune 21 (2010): 35–54. Peters-Custot, Annick. “‘Byzantine’ Versus ‘Imperial’ Kingdom: How ‘Byzantine’ Was the Hauteville King of Sicily?” In Menschen, Bilder, Sprache, Dinge. Wege Der Kommunikation Zwischen Byzanz Und Dem Westen 2: Menschen Und Worte. Ed. Falko Daim, Christian Gastgeber, Dominik Heher, and Claudia Rapp, 235–247. Römisch Germanisches Zentralmuseum, 9.2. Regensburg, 2018. Peters-Custot, Annick. “Greek Communities in Post-Byzantine Italy.” In A Companion to Byzantine Italy. Ed. Salvatore Cosentino, 225–51. Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World 8. Leiden, 2021. Peters-Custot, Annick. Les grecs de l’Italie méridionale post-byzantine (IXe–XIVe siècle). Une acculturation en douceur. Collection de l’École française de Rome, 420. Rome, 2009. Petta, Marco. “Codici greci della Puglia trasferiti in biblioteche italiane ed estere.” Bollettino della Badia greca di Grottaferrata 26 (1972): 83–129. Penna, Dafni, Meijering, Roos. A Sourcebook on Byzantine Law. Leiden, Boston, 2002. Prigent, Vivien, “Byzantine Administration and the Army.” In A Companion to Byzantine Italy. Ed. Salvatore Cosentino, 140–168. Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World, 8. Leiden, 2022. Princi Braccini, Giovanna. “Persistenze di effetti della dominazione longobarda nell’Italia meridionale.” In Wentilseo, I Germani sulle sponde del ‘Mare Nostrum’. Atti del Convegno internazionale di studi, Padova, 13–15 ottobre 1999, 225–264. Studi e testi di linguistica e filologia germanica. Padua, 2001. Radding, Charles M., and Antonio Ciaralli. The Corpus Iuris Civilis in the Middle Ages: Manuscripts and Transmission from the Sixth Century to the Juristic Revival. Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History, 147. Leiden, 2007.

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Reynolds, Roger E. “Canonistica Beneventana.” In Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Medieval Canon Law, Munich, 13–18 July 1992. Ed. Peter Landau and Jörg M甃ࠀller, 21–40. Monumenta Iuris Canonici. Series C, Subsidia, 10. Vatican City, 1997. Reynolds, Roger E. “The South-Italian Canon Law Collection in Five Books and Its Derivatives: New Evidence on Its Origins, Diffusion, and Use.” Mediaeval Studies 52 (1990): 278–295. Rodriquez, Maria T. “Riflessioni sui palinsesti giuridici dell’area dello Stretto.” In Vie per Bisanzio. VIIo Congresso Nazionale dell’Associazione Italiana di Studi Bizantini. Ed. Antonio Rigo, Andrea Babuin, and Michele Trizio, 2: 625–245. Due punti, 25. Bari, 2013. Rodriquez, Maria T. “Un ‘nuovo’ palinsesto dei Basilici.” Νέα Ῥώμη 7 (2010): 73–96. Rognoni, Cristina. “Legal Texts and Juridical Practice in Byzantine Italy.” In A Companion to Byzantine Italy. Ed. Salvatore Cosentino, 760–796. Brill’s Companions to the Byzantine World, 8. Leiden, 2021. Rognoni, Cristina. “Libri legales e cultura giuridica alla corte di Ruggero II. La testimonianza di un contemporaneo.” In Dialoghi con Bisanzio. Spazi di discussione, percorsi di ricerca. Atti dell’VIII Congresso dell’Associazione Italiana di Studi Bizantini. Ed. Salvatore Cosentino, Margherita E. Pomero, and Giorgio Vespignani, 943–962. Rivista di bizantinistica. Quaderni, 20. Spoleto, 2019. Ronconi, Filippo. I manoscritti greci miscellanei. Ricerche su esemplari dei secoli 9.–12. Testi, studi, strumenti, 21. Spoleto, 2008. Safran, Linda, The Medieval Salento: Art and Identity in Southern Italy. Middle Ages. Philadelphia, 2014. Spagnesi, Enrico, ed. Le Pandette di Giustiniano: Storia e fortuna della ‘littera Florentina’. Mostra di codici e documenti, 24 giugno–31 agosto, 1983. Florence, 1983. Takayama, Hiroshi. “The Great Administrative Officials of the Norman Kingdom of Sicily.” Papers of the British School at Rome 58 (1990): 317–335. Troianos, Spyridon N. Die Quellen des byzantinischen Rechts. Transl. Dieter Simon and Silvia Neye. Berlin, 2017. Turyn, Alexander. Codices Vaticani graeci saeculis XIII et XIV scripti annorumque notis instructi. Codices e Vaticanis selecti phototypice expressi, 28. Vatican City, 1964.

Chapter 13

Translation and Other Forms of Contact between the Greek and Latin Languages in Western European Liturgical Manuscripts, Eighth to Thirteenth Centuries Teresa Shawcross

The act of translation from the Greek into the Latin tongue during the Middle Ages existed not in isolation but rather within a broader spectrum of possibilities through which the complexities of linguistic contact were explored and dramatized on the written page.1 Authors, compilers and scribes did not always need to proceed by translating a Greek passage, phrase or word into the Latin language. They could, for instance, elect to transpose Greek content into the Latin writing system either by transliterating letter by letter or, alternatively, by transcribing phonetically. But they could also attempt to reproduce the Greek script. They could even combine several strategies and deploy them together. Such combinations were sometimes created deliberately within a work in order to achieve different goals in specific textual sections, or to produce a cumulative impression. But, on other occasions, variety in the rendition of Greek within a single codex simply reflected the multiplicity of the environments that were responsible for designing content that found itself subsequently copied and bound together. The choral settings of the words added an additional level of complication to the process. While melodies could cross linguistic boundaries with an ease that texts lacked, the notations used to write music down were

1 The author is grateful to Paraskevi Toma and Péter Bara for inviting this contribution. It is based on the author’s research into ceremonial at the Byzantine court and papal curia that was first presented publicly in 2015 and shared with colleagues at Princeton, Oxford, Birmingham, and Vienna. In order to remain consistent with the norms applied across the contributions to the present volume, assistance is offered in the footnotes in the form of renditions in Greek script of those words and passages in the Greek language that the manuscripts have rendered in Latin script. It should be remembered, however, that such renditions, which necessarily impose some degree of standardisation, obscure the variety that characterised the textual environment in which the medieval authors and scribes themselves operated.

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_014

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frequently regional and so needed to be transposed into another system when a new record was being generated. This chapter undertakes an analysis of the conventions that were available in order to represent, display, and give access to Greek within religious texts whose base language was Latin. Having identified a series of developments that became established in manuscripts during the period between the eighth and the eleventh centuries, our study traces the impact of these developments up until the thirteenth century. It offers a detailed examination of the presence of elements derived from Greek within the official liturgy and attendant paraliturgical activities of the Latin Church. It also scrutinises the information provided by the two Ordines attributed to Bernard and Benedict, who were ecclesiastical officials from Rome based respectively at St John of the Lateran and at St Peter’s in the Vatican. Theirs were normative works that were compiled in the mid-twelfth century and reflected to a large extent the programme of reforms that was introduced by Pope Innocent II (1130/8–1143) and his court. As will become apparent, the prescriptions these authors elaborated were incorporated in part into the provisions regarding ecclesiastical ritual of the highly influential Liber censuum Romanae ecclesiae, a massive compilation that was revised and expanded at the end of the twelfth century under the direction of – and perhaps largely by – the future Honorius III (1216–1227). The evidence indicates that, over the course of half a millennium, substantial elements considered either to have been Greek or derived from Greek were incorporated within the Latin rite central to religious observance in Western Europe. This can be contrasted with secular contexts, where traces of Greek are much rarer.2 Liturgical and paraliturgical texts appear to have engaged with the Greek language primarily as part of their endeavour to transcend the limits of human speech and commune with the Divine. Although these texts addressed ecumenical concerns relating to comprehension across ethnic communities, such practicalities were not their primary concern. Intended for performance, the texts strove not only to reveal the New Covenant – as it had been transmitted in the New Testament using the sanctioned language of Greek – but also to move through and beyond Scripture to knowledge of God as the ‘Word’ – or, rather, the ‘Λόγος’ – of the ‘Beginning.’ Through the celebration of the mass and

2 A notable exception is Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 6388 (urn:nbn:de:b vb:12-bsb00006691-3. Accessed 2022 Jan 29): “Cumque me ignorare quid mihi thaumastoteron edicerem … [followed by the interlinear gloss] i(d est) mirabilius,” fol. 85r; “πτοχος. ptochos. [with the gloss] i(d est) pauper,” fol. 47v. For a discussion of the Greek in Liutprand of Cremona, see Johannes Koder, “Liutprand von Cremona und die griechische Sprache,” in Johannes Koder and Thomas Weber, Liutprand von Cremona in Konstantinopel (Vienna, 1980), pp. 15–70.

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canonical hours, both priest and congregation sought to be enveloped by and participate in an aural environment that symbolised the approach of believers towards the Throne of the Inexpressible Godhead Himself. The writing and performance of liturgical texts ultimately aimed to give the faithful access to the “thrice-holy hymn of Hallelujah.” The objective was to “represent mystically” the angelic language through which the Deity is addressed by the Heavenly powers of the Seraphim and Cherubim gathered around His Throne – constantly praising and glorifying Him.3 Human congregations and angelic orders were thus understood to perform their service together, with the celebration of the earthly liturgy below mirroring the Heavenly liturgy above. Thus it was that Greek – once it had been elevated and purified through the medium of Byzantine chant – was identified at eminent monasteries and cathedrals from Italy to the British Isles as possessing an immersive power able to render the experience of Divine Glory sensible to the faithful and therefore assist these faithful in gaining admission among the ranks of those who would participate in the adoration of God for all eternity. In turn, this meant that the liturgical cycles of the annual ecclesiastical calendar overwhelmingly constituted the primary context in which westerners could claim to experience a regular and sustained contact not merely with Latin interpretations of Greek material, but also with what was perceived by them to be original Greek material.4 Choirmasters in the service of ambitious abbots, bishops – and, above all, popes – may be argued to have been responsible for placing a tradition imported from Byzantium at the heart of the religious soundscape of the Latin Church. These poet-musicians not only preserved but also expanded upon an existing corpus of hymnography that was of eastern origin. They did this to add solemnity and grandeur to High Feasts and Holidays, as well as to the commemoration of saints to whom the individual patron or wider community displayed a particular devotion. But the repertoire they created could and indeed was used on other occasions. Elements of it survive in the performance of the core sequence – whose components consist of the Kyrie eleison, Gloria in excelsis Deo, Creed, Sanctus and Agnus Dei – of the ordinary eucharistic liturgy that remains familiar today to many denominations of Christians.

3 John 1:1; Revelation 19:1-6; Nina–Maria Wanek, “The Greek and Latin Cherubikon,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 26 (2017), 96. For the eastern Mediterranean as the ‘Orient’, see Fulcher of Chartres, A History of the Expedition to Jerusalem, 1095–1127, ed. Harold S. Fink. and tr. Frances R. Ryan (Knoxville, 1969), 271–2; Amalarii episcopi opera liturgica omnia, ed. I.M. Hanssens, 3 vols. (Vatican City, 1948), vol. 2, p. 197. 4 Contrast the emphasis in the seminal article by Bernhard Bischoff, “Das griechische Element in der abendl愃ࠀndischen Bildung des Mittelalters,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 44 (1951), 27–55.

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Even if the effect of the singing of these hymns on those listening could be deeply spiritual, their words and music formed part of a ritual that was not without a political dimension. Popes such as Innocent II can be shown to have extended the conventions of ecclesiastical chant to the ‘lauds’ (laudes) that acclaimed them as the earthly leaders of a “Roman Church” (“ecclesia Romana”) whose mission was understood in the High Middle Ages to be both apostolic and imperial.5

1

The Representation of Contact between the Latin and Greek Languages

Although there was no single standard scribal representation of Greek elements in Latin manuscripts, the development of certain tendencies can be observed. Many manuscripts produced in ecclesiastical contexts in Western Europe between the eighth and the eleventh centuries list the letters of the Greek alphabet (figs. 13.1–2). The Greek letters were copied out, named and transcribed in Latin characters – with a commentary highlighting long vowels and digraphs (e.g. “cappa K XX. c.q.;” “phi Φ D. ph. et f.;” “et E V. e brevis;” “OY O LXX. o brevis. ut u”) as well as other matters relating to pronunciation (e.g., “και ce κει ci κοι cy κοy cu”). An explanation of the Greek letters’ numerical values could either be integrated into the list or follow on afterwards (e.g. “IA XI | IB XII | I� XIII”). One example puts the material immediately to use by copying out a phrase indicating the total number of letters in the Greek alphabet: “�ΑΝΤΑ. �ΙΝΕΤΑΙ. Κ.Δ. ΗΚΟCΙ. ΤΕCCΑΡΑ, i[d est] omnia fiunt XXIIII, i[d est] XXIIII.”6 In addition to the alphabet and the numerals derived from it, manuscripts might include additional information regarding basic vocabulary or grammar. But longer passages of Greek were also often given.7 Oxford, 5 For the political context, see Teresa Shawcross, “The Byzantinization of the Roman Church under Innocent II (1130–1143),” in Revisiting the Byzantine Commonwealth: Nodes, Networks, and Spheres, eds. Jonathan Shepard and Peter Frankopan (Oxford, 2025), forthcoming. 6 E.g. Laon, Bibliothèque municipale Suzanne Martinet, 444, fol. 4v (https://gallica.bnf.fr /ark:/12148/btv1b84921401. Accessed 2022 Jan 29); Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. 795, fols. 19r–20–v (http://data.onb.ac.at/rec/AC13960127. Accessed 2022 Jan 29); Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, gr. 114, fols. 9r–15v; Oxford, Bodleian, Auct. f. 4. 32, fols. 19r–19v, 22r–36r (https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/objects/783d604c-a873-4d64 -967a-8140cc0eafa5/. Accessed 2022 Jan 29); St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 327 (https:// www.e-codices.ch/en/list/one/csg/0237. Accessed 2022 Jan 29). See also Bernkastel–Kues, St. Nikolaus–Hospital/Cusanusstift, 9, fol. 63v–64r. 7 Antonio Rollo, “Il greco nell’Occidente medievale: mani e pratiche di scrittura," Travaux et Mémoires 24 (2021), 3–38.

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Figure 13.1

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Laon, Bibliothèque municipale Suzanne Martinet, 444, 4v, “Martinus Hiberniensis, Miscellanea lexicographia graeco–latina et Pseudo–Cyrillus, Glossarium græco–latinum,” 9th–10th century GALLICA.BNF.FR / BIBLIOTHÈQUE MUNICIPALE SUZANNE MARTINET

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Figure 13.2

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Oxford, Bodleian, Auct. f. 4. 32, fol. 28v, “St Dunstan’s Classbook,” 9th–11th century Creative Commons Licence CC-BY-NC 4.0

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Bodleian, Auct. f. 4. 32 contains several pages of text in Greek that can be identified as consisting of lessons and canticles for Easter – notably for the Easter Vigil (fols. 24r–36r, continued 19r–19v, fig. 13.3). Eight and half pages are set out in two columns where the left-hand column is in the Greek language and characters and the right-hand in the Latin language and characters (fols. 22r–28v), while seventeen and a half pages are set in two columns where the left-hand column is in Latin language and characters, and the right-hand in Greek transcribed into Latin characters (fols. 28v–35v, 36r, 19r–19v).8 In the composite Léon, Catedral de León, 8, prefatory material containing the Greek alphabet and Greek numerals (12v) as well as Greek words (e.g. 25r) was bound together with a large antiphonary (a collection of some 8030 short chants sung as refrains). This antiphonary includes the text and notation of several examples of chants in Greek transliterated into Latin script – sometimes, but not always, followed by a translation into the Latin language and script (e.g. 60v).9 Some manuscripts include religious passages in Greek written in Greek characters without offering any Latin parallel for the texts in question.10 More common, however, in the manuscripts of the period is the explicit representation of the interaction of the Greek and Latin languages. Scribes had several possibilities available to them. Of these, the main options were to write out the material in: a) b) c) d) e)

Greek in Greek script together with Greek transcribed into Latin script Greek in Greek script together with Latin in Latin script Greek transcribed into Latin script together with Latin in Latin script Greek in Greek script together with Latin transcribed into Greek script Latin transcribed into Greek script and Latin in Latin script.

Several of these possibilities were eschewed almost completely. The transposition of the Latin language into Greek script tends not to be found for extended passages, being limited instead only to single words or short phrases 8

9 10

This codex is made up of three parts brought together in the fifteenth or sixteenth centuries, of which the Greek material forms the third part. Unusually, the third part also contains glosses in Old Welsh, while the other two parts contain glosses and other material in Old Breton (first part) and Old English (second part). Léon, Catedral de León, Ms. 8 (https://bvpb.mcu.es/es/catalogo_imagenes/grupo.cmd ?path=26408. Accessed 2022 Jan 27), with thanks to Brittany Roberts for drawing attention to this manuscript. E.g. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Arsenale, lat. 8407, fol. 64r (https://gallica .bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b550008210. Accessed 2022 Jan 27).

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Figure 13.3

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Oxford, Bodleian, Auct. f. 4. 32, fol. 28v, “St Dunstan’s Classbook,” 9th–11th century CREATIVE COMMONS LICENCE CC-BY-NC 4.0

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that were often peripheral to the core material and associated with matters of authorship or patronage. Here, the intention often appears to have been to give the visual impression of Greek by individuals who were ignorant of the relevant vocabulary, but who nonetheless wanted to harness the associations of the Greek language (e.g. “Ω ΒΩΝΗ �ΗΚΤΩΡ ΚΑΡΙCCIΜΗ  …” for “O bone lector carissime …”).11 Similarly, one almost never finds passages of Greek in Greek script together with Greek transliterated into Latin script. Admittedly, a small number of manuscripts do shift between these conventions in different parts of their content. British Library, Harley MS. 5642, 47v, includes a transcription into Latin script of the Greek words of the Gloria in excelsis Deo (“Doxa enipsistis theo,” etc.),12 but subsequently renders the Greek words of the Sanctus in Greek script (“Α�ΙΩC Α�ΙΩC Α�ΙΩC ΚΙΡΙΟC,” etc.).13 However, so far only a single manuscript – the ninth-century Bernkastel–Kues, St. Nikolaus–Hospital/Cusanusstift, 9 (fols. 1r–64r) – has been identified with a central column in Latin written in Latin characters (e.g. “stelle et lum(en). | Celi celoru(m) et aq(ue) super celis | laudent nomen Domini” (fol. 62r, fig. 13.4) that is flanked on its right by a Greek version in Greek characters (“ΑCΤΡΑ ΚΕ ΚΑΙ ΤΟ ΦΩC. | ΟΥ(ΡΑ)ΝΟΙ ΤΟΝ ΟY(ΡΑ)ΝΟΝ | ΚΑI ΥΔΟΡ Ε�Υ ΟΥ(ΡΑ)ΝΟΝ | ΑΙΝΕCΑΤΟCΑ(Ν) ΟΝΟΜΑ Κ(ΥΡΙΟ)Υ”) as well on its left by the same Greek version transcribed into Latin characters (“astra ke to fos, | Urani ton uranon | ke ydor epy uranon | enesatosan onoma Kiriu.”). Despite the fact the scribe of this manuscript described himself as “John the Greek of Constantinople, orphan and pilgrim” (“Iohanes Grecus Costantinopoleos orfanos et peregrinos,” fol. 59v.), the hand employed displays greater facility with Latin rather than Greek script.14 While occurring more frequently than the above, parallel passages in the Greek language in Greek script as well as in the Latin language in Latin script also remained relatively rare (e.g. “Α�ΙΟC ΟΘΗΟC Α�ΙΟC ΙCΚΥ|ΡΟC Α�ΙΟC ΑΘΑΝΑΘΟC Ε�ΕΥCΟΝ ΙMΑC | SANCTUS DEUS SANCTUS FORTIS | SANCTUS 11

12 13 14

Walter Berschin, Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: From Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa (Washington, DC, 1988), pp. 194, 236. In other instances, Latin characters are combined with Greek ones in the same word (e.g. “IN ΘΗΩPHAΝΙΑ,” St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, 338, p. 77; see https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0338. Accessed 2022 Dec 12). Derived from: “Δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις Θεῷ.” See also London, British Library, Harley 5642, fols. 24r–36r, continued 19r–19v. (http:// www.bl.uk/manuscripts/FullDisplay.aspx?ref=Harley_MS_5642. Accessed 2022 Jan 22). The manuscript is acephalus. For an image, see Franz Steffens, Lateinische Paläographie: 125 Tafeln in Lichtdruck mit gegenüberstehender Transkription nebst Erläuterungen und einer systematischen Darstellung der Entwicklung der lateinischen Schrift (Trier, 1909), Nr. 57.

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Figure 13.4

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Bernkastel–Kues, St. Nikolaus–Hospital/Cusanusstift, 9, 62r, Psalms 109–150, 9th century © St. Nicholas Hospital/Cusanusstift

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INMORTALIS MISERE|RE NOBIS”).15 The most common strategy followed by manuscripts was to give Greek transcribed into Latin script together with Latin in Latin script (e.g. “Carmen Angelicum Grece et Latine. | ΔOXA ENIPSISTIS THEO. | Keepiis irini en antropis eudokias. | GLORIA IN EXCELISIS DEO. | et in terra pax hominibus bone voluntatis”).16 There is little correspondence between the equivalence set out in the transliteration of individual letters in the alphabet lists preserved in manuscripts and the actual practices followed for transcriptions of words and phrases – which can tend towards the impressionistic and contain dittographs as well as errors in morphology. Every possible iotacism is found, suggesting that the primary concern was to render the material phonetically. Words were broken down into compounds, which were then transcribed separately (e.g. “panto.cratora,” “ke sindoxa.zomenon”). Or they were combined with other words, so that nouns were routinely elided with conjunctions, prepositions and pronouns (e.g., “kegis,” “keepigis,” “isena. theon,” “keys ena kyrion,” “proskynumense”).17 At the same time, there are indications of a preference on the part of copyists for particular Latin letters whose 15 16

17

St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 338, pp. 178–179 and St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 380, pp. 333–334 (https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/list/one/csg/0380. Accessed 2022 Dec 12); see also Oxford, Bodleian, Auct. f. 4. 32, fols. 24r–28v. Derived from: “Δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις θεῷ καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς εἰρήνη ἐν ἀνθρώποις εὐδοκία.” See e.g. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 338, pp. 305–313, at pp. 310–311 (but note that the text is introduced by the Greek letter delta (“Δ”), which acts as a sign that the text that follows is also in Greek, albeit transliterated). Compare with St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 376, pp. 68–72 (https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0376. Accessed 2022 Dec 12); St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 378, p. 126 (https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0378. Accessed 2022 Dec 12); St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 381, p. 311 (https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch /de/csg/0381. Accessed 2022 Dec 12); St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 382, p. 5 (https:// www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/csg/0382. Accessed 2022 Dec 12), and St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 484, pp. 298–306, 317–318 (badly damaged) (https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch /de/list/one/csg/0484. Accessed 2022 Dec 12); Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2290, fol. 7v–8v (https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b8423836x. Accessed 2022 Jan 29); London, British Library, Royal 2. A. XX, fol. 28r (https://www.bl.uk/manuscripts /Viewer.aspx?ref=royal_ms_2_a_xx_fs001r. Accessed 2022 Jan 29); Oxford, Bodleian, 775, fols. 64r, 72r, 182r (https://digital.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/objects/783d604c-a873-4d64-967a8140cc0eafa5/ (partial). Accessed 2022 Jan 29); see also Rome (Vatican City), Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, lat. 10673. For a transcription in Greek letters without an accompanying Latin translation, see London, British Library, Harley 5642, fol. 47v. The topic (comparing Carolingian, Ottonian and Italian evidence) has been addressed in Paolo Radiciotti, “Manoscritti digrafici grecolatini e latinogreci nell’Alto Medioevo,” Römische historische Mitteilungen 40 (1998), 49–118. These are transcriptions of Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2290, fol. 7v–8v; Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, 16v; D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, fol. 203r–v. The transcriptions are derived from: “Παντοκράτορα;” “καὶ συνδοξαζόμενον;” “καὶ γῆς;” “καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς;” “εἰς ἕνα Θεόν;” “καὶ εἰς ἕνα Κύριον;” “προσκυνοῦμεν σε.” See also Bernice Kaczynski, Greek in the Carolingian Age: The St. Gall Manuscripts (Cambridge, MA, 1988), p. 89.

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appearance was considered a suitable reminder to the reader that the original had been in Greek script. There was, consequently, an overuse of the Latin letter wye (“y”) not only in contexts where ypsilon (“υ”) would have been present in the Greek, but also to represent iota (“ι”), eta (“η”), and even digraphs such as omicron + iota (“οι”). Examples of this phenomenon include the words and phrases: “dyatin,” “alythymon,” “pyitin.”18 Although the layout of bilingual content in the manuscripts of the period was by no means uniform, a limited number of solutions appear to have been envisaged. In some manuscripts, parallel columns were employed for Latin and Greek – a visual disposition that did not highlight the subordination of one linguistic version to the other. Such is the case with Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, where a Greek version transcribed into Latin characters is given to the left and a Latin version in Latin characters is given to the right of the page (fol. 16r, see fig. 13.5). Although the order implies a textual hierarchy because of the fact that both languages are habitually read from left to right, this hierarchy is not insisted upon. Other manuscripts preferred an interlinear presentation that entailed giving the primary text in one of the languages in a large script with substantial spaces between lines, then filling in the equivalent text above in the other language using a smaller script. The main language can be either Greek or Latin: in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2290, the text of the Greek is transliterated into lowercase Latin characters (fol. 7v; fig. 13.6), while a Latin text is written above in smaller lowercase letters; in London, British Library, Royal 2. A. XX the opposite occurs (fol. 28r).19 This procedure created the impression of word-for-word or at least phrase-for-phrase correspondence. Additional solutions included copying out entire passages first in the one language then in the other, so that one version of the text followed in succession below the other.20 Finally, in a number of manuscripts only the Latin material is presented initially, with the Greek material being separated out and placed in its own distinct section. The section is generally located at the end of the manuscript where it forms a sort of appendix. For example, D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, 18

19 20

These are transcriptions of Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, 16v (https:// gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b84274502. Accessed 2022 Jan 29). Derived from: “διὰ τήν;” “ἀληθινόν;” “ποιητήν.” But see Walter Berschin, “Greek Elements in Medieval Latin Manuscripts,” in The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages, ed. Shirley Ann Brown and Michael W. Herren (London, 1988), pp. 85–104 for a different interpretation of the evidence. Compare Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, lat. 2290, fol. 7v with British Library, Royal 2. A. XX, fol. 28r and Stockholm, Kungliga Bibliothek, A 136, fol. 16v. (https://www.manu scripta.se/ms/101124. Accessed 2022 Jan 22). E.g. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 376, pp. 68–69; Rome (Vatican City), Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, lat. 10673.

Translation and Other Forms of Contact

Figure 13.5

Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16r, Sacramentary, 9th–10th century SOURCE GALLICA.BNF.FR

363

364

Figure 13.6

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Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2290, fol. 7v, “Sacramentary of Saint–Denis,” 9th century Source gallica.bnf.fr

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fols. 203r–203v. concludes with transliterations into Latin characters of half a dozen Greek texts.21 The texts of some of these manuscripts indicate that one linguistic version was translated or adapted from the other.22 In one manuscript, for instance, the Psalms are first given in a Latin version. This version is then accompanied by a Greek version in Greek characters, as well as by a transcription of the same Greek version in Latin characters – the syntax and grammar of both of which have been adapted (e.g. through the elimination of articles) so that they are calqued onto the Latin.23 Elsewhere, the Apostles’ Creed is first given in Greek transliterated into Latin characters and then accompanied by an extremely literal rendition into Latin.24 In a number of copies of different versions of the Nicene Creed, the identity of the primary and secondary texts is confirmed by the treatment of a point of theology on which the Roman and Byzantine Churches were in disagreement, namely the presence or absence of the clause referring to the Procession of the Holy Spirit not only by the Father but also by the Son. For example, in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Arsenale, lat. 8407, fol. 64r, the phrase “and from the son” is present (“ΚΑI ΕIC ΤO �Ν(ΕYΜ)Α ΤO A�ΙΟΝ, ΤO Κ(YΡΙΟ)Ν Κ(ΑI) ΖΩΟ�ΟΙOΝ, ΤO EΚ ΤΟY �(ΑΤ)Ρ(O)C ΥΙΩ EΚ�ΟΡΗ [sic]”), whereas it is absent from D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, fol. 203v (“ke istu pneumatu agyon tu kyrion ke zopion to ek tu patros ek poreugomenos”).25 In Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16v, the phrase is absent from the Byzantine version of the Creed, which is in Greek transliterated into Latin characters in the left-hand column and then translated into Latin in the right-column (“ke isto | pneumato. aion. to. kyrion. ke zopion. | to ek tu patros. ek poreugomenon.” and “et in sp(iritu)m s(an)c(tu)m d(o)m(inu)m & vivificantem | de patre deprocedentem”); however, it is present in the Roman version of the Creed that is given below in Latin for comparative purposes (“filioq(ue)”) (fig. 13.7).26 More often, the exact relationship between the versions in each of the two languages is difficult to discern from the manuscripts.27 In Bibliothèque municipale Suzanne Martinet, Ms. 118, fol. 16r, the reader is offered first the text of the 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, fols. 203r–203v (http://digital.ub .uni-duesseldorf.de/ms/content/pageview/4587667. Accessed 2022 Jan 29). Kaczynski, Greek in the Carolingian Age, pp. 89–93. Bernkastel–Kues, St. Nikolaus–Hospital/Cusanusstift, 9, fols. 1r–64r; see Berschin, Greek Letters, p. 192. See Wellesz, Eastern Elements, p. 33. For: “καὶ εἰς τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ Ἅγιον, τὸ Κύριον καὶ Ζωοποιόν, τὸ ἐκ τοῦ Πατρὸς ἐκπορευόμενον.” For: “καὶ εἰς τὸ Πνεῦμα τὸ Ἅγιον, τὸ Κύριον καὶ Ζωοποιόν, τὸ ἐκ τοῦ Πατρὸς ἐκπορευόμενον.” Berschin, Greek Letters, p. 24.

366

Figure 13.7

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Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16v, Sacramentary, 9th–10th century Source gallica.bnf.fr

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Gloria in excelsis Deo in Latin (e.g. “et in terra pax hominibus”), then, below that, the equivalent Greek text accompanied by an interlinear word-for-word Latin translation (e.g. “irini pax en in anthropis hominibus”).28 On the basis solely of this evidence, it would be impossible to determine with certainty the language in which the hymn was originally composed. Indeed, it should not be assumed that we are dealing with an act of direct translation from one text to the other simply because the texts happen to be preserved together within a particular manuscript. The intricacies of transmission are evident from the material relating to the Improperia. Here, the Latin text gives the initial impression of being derived from a particular Greek troparion (a short hymn generally of one stanza chanted at fixed points in the liturgy), of which indeed one might reasonably identify it as a close translation: Κύριε, ἐπὶ τὸ πάθος τὸ ἑκούσιον παραγενόμενος ἐβόας τοῖς μαθηταῖς σου. Κἂν μίαν ὥραν Οὐκ ἰσχύσατε ἀγρυπνῆσαι μετ᾽ἐμοῦ, πῶς ἐπηγ뎳είλασθε ἀποθνήσκειν δι᾽ἐμέ; Κἂν τὸν Ἰούδαν θεάσασθε πῶς οὐ καθεύδει, ἀλ뮻ὰ σπουδάζει προδοῦναί με τοῖς παρανόμοις. Ἐγείρεσθε, προσεύχεσθε, μή τίς με ἀρνήσηται, βλέπων με ἐν τῷ σταυρῷ. Μακρόθυμε, δόξα σοι.

Una hora Non potuistis Vigilare mecum, Qui exhortabamini mori pro me? Vel Judam non videtis, quomodo non dormit, sed festinat tradere me Judaeis? Quid dormitis? Surgite et orate, ne intretis in tentationem.

However, the divergences that exist between the two texts have been argued to indicate that the translation was not in fact based on the Greek troparion but rather on an earlier Greek kontakion (a longer hymn, generally of eighteen

28

For: “εἰρήνη;” “ἐν;” “ἀνθρώποις.”

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to twenty-four stanzas preceded by a prologue) that then fell into disuse and was erased from the manuscript tradition so completely that its text does not survive.29 An even more complex process of transmission can be deduced regarding the Latin and Greek texts of the Gloria in excelsis Deo. In one exemplar, almost certainly produced in the ninth century at St Amand, the formula “who takes away the sin of the world, have mercy on us, you who takes away the sins of the world” is given in Greek as “kyrrie. otheos. o amnos | tu. theu. oyios tu patros. oeron tin. amartian. tu kosmu. | eleison. imas. oeron. tas. amartias. tu kosmu” and in Latin as “d(omi)ne art. d(eu)s art. agnus | art. d(e)i filius patris qui tollis art. peccatum art. mundi. | miserere nobis qui tollis art. peccata art. mundi” (Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2290, fol. 7v), so that in both languages there is the same transition from the singular “sin” to the plural “sins.”30 In three other manuscripts from the same scriptorium, however, the Latin remains the same but the Greek reverses the pattern, so that the transition is now from the plural “sins” to the singular “sin” (e.g. fig. 13.5: “D(omin)e | d(eu)s. Agnus d(e)i. filius | Patris qui tollis. | Peccatum mundi | Miserere nobis | Qui tollis peccata | mundi” and “oamnos. | tutheu. oyos | tupatros. oerontas | amarthias. tucosmu. eleyson. ymas. | oerontin. amarthian. | tucosmu,” Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16r; see also Stockholm, Kungliga Bibliothek, A 136, fol. 16r and St Petersburg, National Library of Russia, Q. v. I, 41, fol. 10v).31 The latter deviation represents a scribal variant that was introduced into the Greek text at some point during its transmission.32 It is noteworthy that the earliest manuscript from St Amand with the corruption predates the earliest manuscript from the same scriptorium with the correct text.33 This indicates that both the translation of the uncorrupted Greek text and the subsequent corruption of the Greek text must have predated the production of all four of the scriptorium’s extant exemplars. It also suggests that the scribes who made these exemplars had access to two 29 30

31

32 33

Wellesz, Eastern Elements, pp. 45–49; for the kontakion, see Alexander Lingas, “The Liturgical Place of the Kontakion in Constantinople,” Byzantinorossica 1 (1995), 50–57. A distinction may have been intended in the original Greek between ancestral sin and personal sin. From: “Κύριε ὁ Θεός, ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ Θεοῦ, ὁ Υἱός τοῦ Πατρός, ὁ αἴρων τὴν ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου, ἐλέησον ἡμᾶς, ὁ αἴρων τὰς ἁμαρτίας τοῦ κόσμου”, ultimately derived from “Ἴδε ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ Θεοῦ, ὁ αἴρων τὴν ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου” (John 1:29). For: “Ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ Θεοῦ, ὁ υἱὸς τοῦ Πατρός, ὁ αἴρων τὰς ἁμαρτίας τοῦ κόσμου, ἐλέησον ἡμᾶς ὁ αἴρων τὴν ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου.” See Charles M. Atkinson, “Further Thoughts on the Origin of the Missa graeca,” in De musica et cantu: Studien zur Geschichte der Kirchenmusik und der Oper, ed. Peter Cahn und Ann–Katrin Hwiner (Hildesheim, 1993), p. 87. Charles M. Atkinson, “Further Thoughts on the Origin of the Missa graeca,” p. 87. Respectively: St Petersburg, National Library of Russia, Q. v. I, 41, fol. 10v. and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2290, fol. 7v.

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independent manuscript traditions. Indeed, the evidence suggests that Greek and Latin texts of the Gloria containing a range of readings circulated in the ninth and tenth centuries across western Europe. Thus, an eighth-century manuscript from Tours contains the transition from singular to plural for the Greek as a later addition in a different hand (“ΤΗΝ AΜΑΡΤΗAΝ ΤΟΥ ΚΟCΜΟΥ … ΤΑ AΜΑΡΤIΑC ΤΟΥ ΚΟCΜΟΥ,” Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss, 204/432),34 but a ninth-century manuscript with the same provenance contains a completely different Latin and Greek text, giving the singular “sin” in Greek (i.e. “tin amarthian tu kosmu … o erontas amarthian tu kosmu”) and the plural “sins” consistently in Latin (i.e. “peccata” Rome (Vatican City), Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Reg. lat. 215, 130v).35 A manuscript produced in Mercia in the eighth century contains this alternative Latin text with a consistent plural “sins” (“peccata”), to which, however, the Greek with the transition from plural “sins” to the singular “sin” (“amarthias tuchosmu  …. amarthian tuchosmu,” London, British Library, Royal 2. A. XX, 28v) was added in the tenth century.36 Content thus appears to have been repeatedly copied by scribes in new combinations that resulted in the creation of further manuscript branches.37

2

The Function of Greek and Byzantinising Elements in the Liturgy

It is tempting to identify different uses for Greek texts that were transmitted in Greek script and those that were transcribed into Latin script. One possible explanation is that the former were reserved for private study while the latter were used in public performance. Certainly, in one manuscript where Greek uncials have been used to write out several texts, including the Gloria in Excelsis Deo (“ΔΟΞΑ ΕΝ YΨΙCΤΙC,” etc.) and Magnificat (“ΜΕ�Α�ΥΝΕΙ Η ΨΥΧΗ ΜΟΥ ΤΟΝ Κ(ΥΡΙΟ)Ν,” etc.), this content is found together with grammatical treatises (Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss., fols. 204–5/432–3).38 Yet the distinction was not always clear cut. The two hymns rendered in Greek uncials in this manuscript feature interlinear 34 35 36 37 38

For: “τὴν ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου … τὰς ἁμαρτίας τοῦ κόσμου.” For: “τὴν ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου … ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου;” note the partial absence of articles. For: “ἁμαρτίας τοῦ κόσμου … ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου;” note the absence of articles. For further examples of textual variation, see Charles M. Atkinson and Klaus-J甃ࠀrgen Sachs, “Zu Entstehung and Überlieferung der ‘Missa graeca’,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 39 (1982), 113–145. Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss., fols. 204–5/432–3 (https:// diglib.hab.de/?db=mss&list=ms&id=86-weiss. Accessed 2022 Jan 29). Here, the neumes seem to be contemporary with the text, but this is not always the case.

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musical notation in the form of rudimentary adiastematic neumes (figs. 13.8–9). Admittedly, these neumed hymns may have been intended to be used primarily for instructional purposes – much as secular texts in Latin were selectively neumed within an educational setting in order to aid their memorisation and retention.39 But they also presupposed the existence of a living musical repertoire within a specifically ecclesiastical context. The letters of the Greek alphabet and the numerals derived from them can be shown to have been often copied by clergy and monks with performative functions in mind. Already in the eighth century, these letters were drawn by the bishop with his staff on the floor in a pattern shaped like a reclining cross (X) as part of the procedure of dedicating a new church.40 In the eleventh century, the Greek number (ϘΘ) was being used in Italy to write the isopsephic ‘Amen’ at the end of public devotional texts, while in the twelfth century the same number together with a fuller sequence of Greek numerals was being used in Iberia in the postscript of correspondence so as to authenticate letters of accreditation given to clerics.41 Books containing longer passages in the Greek script could be reverently displayed to the congregation during the liturgy by processing through the nave with them clasped at chest level, or by raising them aloft when stationary at the ambo and altar. Moreover, in a troper and gradual from St Gallen, the Greek Sanctus (Ἅγιος) is written out in Greek script and annotated with a similar, if not identical, set of neumes as the Latin that follows on immediately afterwards; in another troper and gradual from the monastic library, the neumes are identical (e.g. “Α�ΙΟC ΟΘΗΟC Α�ΙΟC … SANCTUS DEUS SANCTUS,” St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 338, pp. 178–79; see also St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 380, pp. 333–34). The chants found in both these manuscripts formed part of compilations that were intended to be used by singers preparing to sing the quotidian and festal offices before congregations. Therefore, transcriptions into Latin script of Greek texts were not uniquely associated with vocalisation through chant. Nonetheless, the rendition of 39 40 41

For the neuming of classical texts in Latin, see Jan M. Ziolkowski, Nota Bene: Reading Classics and Writing Melodies in the Early Middle Ages (Turnhout, 2007), pp. 1–56. Berschin, Greek Letters, p. 25. E.g. “�LXXX. YCCCC. AI. et primam litteram beati petri apostolorum principis. �IXXX. et secundam litteram mittentis. ΟLXX. et terciam civitatis de qua mittitur. �III. et quartam baiulatoris. AI. et numerum eorum quem apud grecos significant. cuius summa est sexcenti triginta quinque. ERA.M.C.LXe.I. Facta carta. II. calendas iunii. Addimus et seorsum nonagenarium numerum. ϘLXXXX. et nonum. ΘVIIII. Valete. A.L.N.X.L.N.VIII.NL9.” See Linda Safran, The Medieval Salento: Art and identity in Southern Italy (Pittsburg, 2014), p. 134; Richard A. Fletcher, “An Epistola Formata from Leon,” Historical Research 45 (1972), 121–128.

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Figure 13.8

371

Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss., “Commentum artis Donati and other grammatical texts,” fol. 204/432, 8th century with later additions Creative Commons Licence BY-SA 3.0

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Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss., fol. 205/433 Creative Commons Licence BY-SA 3.0

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Greek in Latin letters was considerably more common throughout the period in liturgical manuscripts than the use of actual Greek script. For example, neumes are found above the opening verses of the Gloria in excelsis Deo in several manuscripts where the Greek wording has been transcribed into Latin characters (“Doxa en ipsisti theo,” etc.).42 Over sixty manuscripts from the late ninth century to the mid-eleventh century are known to contain one or more chants in Greek, with 90% of them also bearing musical notation.43 Although in some cases this notation was added at a later date, much of it seems to have been contemporary or near-contemporary with the copying of the words of the text. Varying degrees of integration within ecclesiastical ceremonial can be distinguished for these chants in the Greek language. No single Greek invocation became more ubiquitous and fundamental to the western rite than the petition “Lord Have Mercy” (e.g. “kirrie leison,” etc., Oxford, Bodleian, 775, fol. 182r).44 Chanted at the beginning of the eucharistic liturgy, this invocation became increasingly ornamented from the tenth century onwards. It was not only rendered with elaborate melismata in Greek (i.e. the drawing out of a single syllable over several notes), but also accompanied by additional tropes in Latin.45 Several other chants in Greek were also assimilated to a large extent into western liturgical practice. Of these, the chants for the Greek Gloria in excelsis Deo (Δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις Θεῷ) and Creed (Πιστεύω) are those most frequently found in

42

43

44 45

Derived from: “Δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις Θεῷ.” E.g., Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de Paris, lat. 2291, fol. 16r and fig. 13.1; and Oxford, Bodleian, 775, fol. 64r. In the first of these examples, the notation may conceivably be contemporary with the copying of the text, while in the second it likely dates to as much as a century later. For an introduction to the complex history of medieval musical notation and the fraught issue of dating different types of neumes, see Constantin Floros, Introduction to Early Medieval Notation, rev. and tr. Neil K. Moran (Warren, Michigan, 2005), with corrections regarding the Byzantine tradition in Alexander Lingas, “Byzantine Neumes,” Early Music (2009), 300–302. This quantification is based on the data in Charles M. Atkinson, “O amnos tu theu: The Greek Agnus Dei in the Roman Liturgy from the Eighth to the Eleventh Century,” Kirchenmusikolisches Jahrbuch 65 (1981), 7–30, at 9–14, and Atkinson and Sachs, “Enstehung und Überlieferung,” 120–5; as well as Nina-Maria Wanek, “Για μια νέα αξιολόγηση της λεγόμενης ‘Missa Graeca’,” in 11ο Διατμηματικό Μουσικολογικό Συνέδριο: ‘Νεωτερισμός και Παράδοση’ (με αφορμή τα 70 χρόνια από το θάνατο του Νίκου Σκαλκώτα). Πρακτικά διατμηματικού συνεδρίου υπό την αιγίδα της Ελ뮻ηνικής Μουσικολογικής Εταιρείας, Αθήνα, 21–23 Νοεμβρίου 2019, eds. Ioannes Foulias, Petros Vouvaris, Kostas Kardamis, Giorgos Sakallieros. (Thessaloniki, 2020), 373–75. Oxford, Bodleian, 775, fol. 182r. Derived from: “Κύριε ἐλέησον”. Berschin, Greek Letters, p. 20.

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manuscripts.46 A more extensive collection of five Greek chants is found in Krakow, Biblioteka Jagiellonska, 11, which has in its troper section versions in both Latin and Greek of the Gloria in excelsis Deo (Δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις Θεῷ), the Creed (Πιστεύω), the Sanctus (Ἅγιος) and the Agnus Dei (Ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ Θεοῦ), as well as of the Pater noster (Πάτερ ἡμῶν). Finally, D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2 fols. 203r–203v contains six chants with notation: the Gloria in excelsis Deo (“Doxa en ypsistis theo ke pigis yrini”), Qui Cherubim (“Of[fertorium]. Iconi zontes ketizopion tria diton tris a gyon ymnon,” etc.), Sanctus (“Agyos agyios agyos kyrios,” etc.), Gloria Patri (“Doxa patri keyon keayon [sic] pneumatis,” etc.), Agnus Dei (“O annos tu theu oerontas amarthiastu cosmu,” etc.), and Creed (“Pysteugo is ena theon, patyran pantocratoran,” etc.) (figs. 13.10–11).47 According to the information provided in this manuscript, the Gloria in excelsis Deo, Creed, and Qui Cherubim were to be sung first in Latin then in Greek, while the Sanctus, Gloria Patri, and Agnus Dei were to be sung first in Greek then in Latin.48 But this may not have been always the case, since, in manuscripts such as St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 382, fol. 5r or 376, fol. 69r, the Greek and Latin texts are written with different melodies – the Greek text and its music coming first and the Latin text following on afterwards. One conceivable interpretation is that the Greek here occupies the place normally reserved for the choral part, and the Latin the place where, if the chant were troped, the soloist’s part would be expected. However, the nature of the rubric and notation does not allow us to exclude the possibility of some other arrangement compatible with antiphonal chant.49 There are hints that a core consisting of at least four of these liturgical chants – the Gloria in excelsis Deo, the Sanctus, and the Agnus Dei, together with the Creed – may have been sung in the Greek language as part of the ordinary mass between the ninth and the eleventh centuries. However, it seems likely that the majority of performances were not of the Greek words, but rather of 46 47

48 49

E.g., Stockholm, Kungliga Bibliothek, A 136, fol. 16; St Petersburg, National Library of Russia, Q. v. I., no. 41, fol. 10v; Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, lat. 2291, fols. 16r–16v. Ilona Opelt, “Die essener Missa greca der liturgischen Handschrift D甃ࠀsseldorf D2,” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 23 (1974), 77–88. For: “Δόξα ἐν ὑψίστοις Θεῷ καὶ ἐπὶ γῆς εἰρήνη;” “εἰκονίζοντες, καὶ τῇ ζωοποιῷ Τριάδι τὸν τρισάγιον ὕμνον;” “Ἅγιος, ἅγιος, ἅγιος Κύριος;” “Δόξα Πατρὶ καὶ Υἱῷ καὶ Ἁγίῳ Πνεύματι;” “Ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ Θεοῦ ὁ αἴρων τὰς ἁμαρτίας τοῦ κόσμου;” “Πιστεύω εἰς ἕνα Θεὸν Πατέρα παντοκράτορα.” Wellesz, Eastern Elements, p. 34. Nina-Maria Wanek, “Tropus grece: The Use of Greek-Texted Ordinary Chants in 10th/ 11th Centuries Manuscripts from St Gall and Limoges,” Journal of the International Society for Orthodox Music 4 (2020), 36.

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Figure 13.10

D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, fol. 203r, “Sacramentarium Gregorio–Hadrianum,” 10th century Creative Commons Licence BY-NC-ND 4.0

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D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, fol. 203v, “Sacramentarium Gregorio–Hadrianum,” 10th century Creative Commons Licence BY-NC-ND 4.0

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the Latin words set to music that either actually had been imported with the Greek words – or had imitative stylistic features that meant it resembled an import despite being composed locally.50 The strongest evidence for the actual practice of chanting in the Greek language is associated with the offices for the feast days of specific saints who were considered to be of eastern origin. These included the Feast of Nicholas of Myra, whose relics were brought to Bari in the eleventh century, and – although the surviving manuscripts are of late medieval date – perhaps also of St Denys the Areopagite, identified by the ninth century with the first bishop of Paris.51 Certainly, the Greek version of the Qui Cherubim (Οἱ τὰ χερουβίμ) seems to have been reserved for High Feasts. The chant was associated with the offertory in liturgies for the Resurrection, Pentecost, and Trinity Sunday.52 The singers described themselves as “mystically” representing “the Cherubim” and offering up the “thrice-holy hymn to the life-giving Trinity” as they prepared “to receive the King of All / escorted unseen by the angelic corps / Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.”53 These descriptions were associated with both the commemoration of the Passion of Christ and the celebration of the Eucharist. Although the Greek Qui Cherubim (Οἱ τὰ χερουβίμ) had a melodic outline that was overlaid by especially rich ornamentation, it was not understood to be the only ‘angelic hymn’ or ‘angelic song’, since this description was linked in manuscripts with copies of the text in Greek of other melismatic chants (e.g. “HYMNUS ANGELICUS GRECE” or “YMNUS ANGELICUS GRECA LINGUA COMPOSITUS,” referring to the neumed text in Greek of the Gloria in excelsis Deo in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16r and fig. 13.5, and Oxford, Bodleian 775, fol. 72r; see also “YMNUM ANGELICUM,” Paris, Bibliothèque 50

51

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53

The appellation of this group of chants as the ‘Missa graeca’ is misleading. On the subject, see, for example, Berschin, Greek Letters, pp. 24–25; Atkinson and Sachs, “Enstehung und Überlieferung,” 113–145 and Atkinson, “Further Thoughts,” 75–94 and plates; Michel Huglo, “Les Chants de la Missa graeca de Saint–Denis,” in Essays presented to Egon Wellesz, ed. Jack Westrup (Oxford, 1966), 74–79; Nina-Maria Wanek, “Missa Graeca,” 373–385. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 17177, fol. 50r; Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine, 526, fol. 180r; Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 776, fol. 137r–137v. See https:// gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b9065998b.image; https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b845 46727; https://bvmm.irht.cnrs.fr/consult/consult.php?REPRODUCTION_ID=14116 (partial). Accessed 2022 Jan 22. E.g., London, British Library, Harley 3095, fol. 111v (http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/Viewer .aspx?ref=harley_ms_3095_f111v. Accessed 2022 Jan 22); D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2, 203r; Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine, 384, fol. 153 (https://portail .biblissima.fr/ark:/43093/mdatafc3ac3897a154c3c62bb7da0bc233377532712d9 (partial). Accessed 2022 Jan 2022). See Wanek, Cherubikon, pp. 95–114. Wanek, Cherubikon, 96.

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nationale de France, lat. 2290, fol. 7v and fig. 13.6, and “CARMEN ANGELICUM GRECE ET LATINE,” St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 382, 5r.).54 This material suggests that the performance not only of the Greek Qui Cherubim, but also of the Greek Gloria in excelsis Deo, the Sanctus, the Agnus Dei, and the Creed may have been understood originally to imbue the fifty days of Eastertide with a special solemnity, but then, as the ordinary mass became more elaborate, began to be incorporated also into that ordinary mass. The music made the transition more easily than the lyrics, whose Latin translation was preferred. There are indications that a number of hymns for the proper masses for Easter and Pentecost may have been chanted at least partly in Greek.55 The sequence for the liturgy of Good Friday – performed in lieu of mass, whose celebration was omitted from this day – appears to have become so normalised that a manuscript refers to an antiphon before the Cross by indicating that the language to be chanted was Greek, but then giving the beginning not of the Greek but of the Latin text (“Ant. Greca. I. quando in cruce”).56 In some liturgical contexts, the western rite envisaged that Greek would be read in the form of speech as well as chanted in the form of song. The ninth-century Ordo of St Amand stipulated that not only the canticles but also the lessons were to be performed on Holy Saturday in Greek as well as Latin.57 A manuscript of the eighth or ninth centuries indicates that the epistle was meant to be read in Greek during the Pentecostal Octave or perhaps at another point during the Season of the Apostles (St Petersburg, National Library of Russia, f VVVI3). Similarly, several manuscripts from the tenth century onwards give either part or the whole of baptismal scrutiny in Greek – paralleling the scrutiny in Latin – when referring to the specific rites that were part of both the Easter Vigil and the Easter Octave (e.g. Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Z s 2 sup).58 The Roman rite prescribed bilingual readings for Christmas, Easter,

54 55

56 57 58

The neumes are likely contemporary to the copying of the text in some, but not all, of these manuscripts. E.g. Montpellier, Faculté de Médecine, H 306, fol. 138v; Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 779, fol. 67; Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, 2290, fol. 7v–8r; and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Nouvelles acq., lat. 1871, fol. 22r; Laon, Bibliothèque municipale Suzanne Martinet, Ms. 118, fol. 150v. See https://bvmm.irht.cnrs.fr/consult/con sult.php?REPRODUCTION_ID=8081 (partial); https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b8562 4659; https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b105276457. Accessed 2022 Jan 22. Göttingen, Staats- und Universit愃ࠀtsbibliothek, 2 ° Cod. Ms. theol. 231; see Wellesz, Eastern Elements, p. 26. Michel Andrieu, Les Ordines romani du haut moyen âge, 5 vols. (Louvain, 1931–1956), vol. 3, p. 472. Berschin, Greek Letters, pp. 21–22.

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Pentecost and Ember Days – as well for the installation of a new pope.59 Even so, the manuscript evidence for reading lessons in Greek (e.g. passages from the Gospels or Acts of the Apostles) or reciting dogma (e.g. the Nicene Creed) during the offices of the church remained much more restricted than that for performing chant in Greek (whether in the form of the Psalms, the Akathist Hymn or other works of hymnography).60 The description of the Feast of the Assumption in Rome in the tenth century stated that a specialist choir of the curia “sings” in Greek, following on with “various modulations,” while the assembled people of the congregation “hum” in accompaniment. The effect of this performance was said to be that: “They multiply the Kyrie a hundred times” (“Kyrie centuplicant”).61 The chant of the Kyrie eleison was thus understood to be a portion of the liturgy in which the congregation could participate. It was perhaps because of this that the Kyrie eleison eventually made a successful transition into vernacular folk song, where it was employed as a refrain and also gave its name to an entire sub-category, that of the “lay” (“lai”, from “eLEIson”). Elaborations on the melody, however, resulted by the twelfth century in the so-called “ninefold” Kyrie eleison, which took the form of three “Kyrie eleison,” followed by three “Christe eleison,” and then three “Kyrie eleison” (fig. 13.12). This growing complexity meant that participation in the liturgy by lay audiences through group singing became more notional than real.62 Indeed, the hymns and readings in the Greek language appear to have been executed almost exclusively by highly trained individuals and groups, including choirs dedicated to the performance of such material. In St John of the Lateran in Rome, alongside a clerical ministry specialising in the reading of lessons in Greek, a choir existed of mixed voices of adults and boys that was expert in the performance of Greek music. In this context, the material acquired such familiarity for professionals that its presence did not need to be written out in longhand or be accompanied by lengthy directions, but could simply be referred to summarily. The evidence from manuscripts belonging to the genre of tropers demonstrates that this was especially true for the choral melody, whose text and music were so well known by soloists that they did not need to be able to refer to them but instead required only information regarding their own parts. In some cases, the fact that a rendition in the Greek

59 60 61 62

Kaczynski, Greek in the Carolingian Age, p. 100. Kaczynski, Greek in the Carolingian Age, pp. 107–8. “Carmen in assumptione sanctae Mariae in nocte quando tabula portatur,” in Die lateinischen Dichter des deutschen Mittelalters: Die Ottonenzeit (Die Poetarum latinorum medii aevi) 6 vols., ed. Karl Strecker (Berlin/Weimar, 1881–1979), vol. 5, p. 467. Oxford, Bodleian, 775, 182r.

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Oxford, Bodleian, 775, fol. 182r, “Winchester” or “Aethelred Troper,” 11th century with 12th-century additions Creative Commons Licence CC-BY-NC 4.0

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language of a portion or the entirety of a chant was expected may have been indicated by the presence of appropriate nomenclature or explicit instructions as a cue. In other cases, however, it must simply have been assumed.

3

Language–Mixing in the Twelfth-Century Roman Rite

From this, we can see that by the end of the eleventh century language-mixing had come to occupy a definite place in the liturgy of Western Europe, where it was particularly favoured for certain High Feasts and Holidays. A notable case is that of the ecclesiastical rite that was associated with Rome during the second quarter of the twelfth century. Two main Ordines produced in the papal curia have survived from this period and its immediate aftermath. These were: the Liber politicus or Polypticus of Benedict, Canon and Cantor of St Peter’s in the Vatican, dated to the early 1140s (Cambrai, Mediathèque municipale, 0554); and the Ordo Officiorum vel Consuetudinum of Bernard, Prior and Cantor of the St John of the Lateran, dated to the 1150s (Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, 1482).63 Both of these prescriptive treatises reveal a desire on the part of their redactors and compilers to acknowledge a Greek stratum in the liturgy and draw attention to it. Although the treatises rarely contain content written out in full, preferring instead simply to allude by name to the sequences to be read or chanted in the services they describe, such information as is included suffices to allow one to conclude that the compilers consciously built on established conventions bequeathed to them by previous centuries regarding the presentation of Greek material. This engagement with tradition extended, in one of the texts, to the incorporation of a list of Greek numerals with interlinear Latin equivalents (“mia .i. dia. .ii. tria .iii.,” etc., Cambrai, Mediathèque municipale, 0554, fol. 111v). The treatises indicate that two distinct groups of clerics officiated in Rome at the main ecclesiastical complex of the papal curia, that of St John of the Lateran, during certain High Feasts. On the Feast of John the Baptist, the saint to whom the church was dedicated from the tenth to the mid-twelfth century (when a re-dedication to John the Evangelist occurred), both Latin and 63

See the editions offered by Bernhardi cardinalis et Lateranensis ecclesiae prioris ordo officiorum ecclesiae Lateranensis, ed. Ludwig Fischer (Munich and Freising, 1916) and Le Liber censuum de l’Église romaine, ed. Paul Fabre et al., 3 vols. (Paris, 1910–1952), vol. 2, pp. 141–183. For an analysis of these texts, see John F. Romano, “The Ceremonies of the Roman Pontiff: Rereading Benedict’s Twelfth-Century Liturgical Script,” Viator 41 (2010), 133–150 and “Innocent II and the Liturgy,” in Pope Innocent II (1130–43): The World vs the City, ed. John Doran and Damian Smith (London, 2016), pp. 326–351.

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Greek offices were performed. At Vespers, we are told the Greek clergy stayed in the Great Church while the Latin clergy went “to the fonts;” then at Matins, the Greek clergy went “to the fonts” while the Latin clergy celebrated in the Great Church. In his Liber, Benedict explained that the Vigil of Christmas Eve included bilingual readings. The priors of the Latin and Greek deacons, each accompanied by a subdeacon and acolyte, were to carry the books of Scripture to the ambo, where the Latin subdeacon was to read the epistle in Latin and the Greek subdeacon the epistle in Greek, after which the “archdeacon and the Greek deacon” were to read “the Gospels.” During the Easter Vigil, twenty-four lessons were traditionally to be read, twelve of which were to be in Latin and twelve in Greek. Bernard confirmed in his Ordo that, according to the “ancient rite” in the “basilica that is the Constantiniana,” meaning the main church of the Lateran Palace complex, it had been customary during the Vigil to read twelve lessons in Greek and twelve in Latin, with each reading beginning as soon as the other had ended so that the languages alternated. At Pentecost, instead of a total of twenty-four lessons, a total of twelve – six in Latin and six in Greek – had been read. This practice was still observed, he noted, with regard to Easter, when the lessons continued to be read by two groups of subdeacons, but had fallen in abeyance with regard to Pentecost.64 Furthermore, the treatises show awareness of the Byzantine origins of components of the offices that were reserved for particular feast days. Thus, when writing of the Feast of the Purification at the Temple, Bernard noted that a Pope famously of Greek origin, Sergius, had determined its composition, inferring that it was for this reason that the participants “go out in a litany” to the Churches of St Hadrian and St Mary on the day that “is called in Greek hypapanti,” organising themselves in a manner influenced by the Constantinopolitan rite. This entailed, he explained, appearing in “the guise of angels.” The remark was presumably intended as an allusion to the performance of Greek chant. Certainly, when dealing with the celebration of Pentecost, Bernard included a commentary on the origins of antiphonal chant, explaining that it was the Greeks who had first composed “antiphons” for a pair of choruses “as if the two were the Seraphim singing together but against one another.” Bernard added that, “following the example of the Greeks,” Pope Ambrose had instituted antiphonal singing in Rome, after which the “usage grew in all the western lands.”65 In discussing “how” the “Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus” should “be sung,” he described the form this angelic singing took in practice. According to him, the office on Good Friday involved the assembly of 64 65

Bernhardi cardinalis, pp. 140–41, 62, 105, 106. Bernhardi cardinalis, pp. 127, 116.

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two choirs to adore Christ and participate in the descent of his Body from the Cross. One of these choirs, he specified, would perform “the Greek verses of the Agios.” The other would genuflect at each instance of the word “Agios” but remain silent until the “Greek words” were over, when it would begin with the “Latin word Sanctus.” The two choirs would continue alternately in this manner as they processed to take up their stations around the altar.66 Such precisions notwithstanding, several Greek chants appear to have been considered by Bernard and Benedict to have become such an integral part of the liturgy as to pass unremarked unless they were either rendered in a particularly elaborate fashion, or alternatively not performed at all. Thus, we are told that, on the first Saturday of Advent, the officiating priest began the Kyrie eleison and the chorus responded with three “Kyrie eleison,” three “Christe eleison,” and three “Kyrie eleison.” The same ‘ninefold’ version of the chant was also indicated for Lent. During the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, the Kyrie eleison and the Gloria Patri were not sung, but the Pater noster and Creed were. At Easter, the Kyrie eleison together with the Gloria in excelsis Deo were pronounced at the end of the litany, being delayed until after the baptisms. Similarly, on Christmas Eve, the Kyrie eleison was deferred and then sung together with the Gloria in excelsis Deo. Although the language of the hymns accompanying the Kyrie eleison at Easter and Christmas is nowhere specified, we may assume that the hymns were delivered either solely in Greek or, more likely, both in Greek and Latin. This is borne out by the fact that the treatises only once mention that a Greek version of a chant was to be eschewed in favour of its Latin equivalent. On that occasion, relating to Palm Sunday, explicit instructions are given to avoid the Kyrie eleison and replace it instead by the Misere mei Deus.67 A somewhat different presentation is given by Benedict of the Greek content of the paraliturgical material included in his compilation. He laid out this material in three distinct ways – a fact that may betray lesser familiarity with some of its components (Cambrai, Médiathèque municipal, 0554, 136r–139v). In the initial paragraphs of the concluding section, he gave a summary of the gestures and movements of the participants, referring only to two verses of the initial chant from the sequence (“Eya preces de loco Deus ad bonam horam”) and stating that other “verses in Latin and Greek” should be sung. Having completed this, he then provided further information on the grouping of the chants, noting continuity in “manner” (“[h]oc modo”) and “tone” ([“h]oc tono”) but without including a full text (“Hoc cantatur iste laudes usque Ycode 66 67

For “Ἅγιος.” Bernhardi cardinalis, pp. 56–57. Bernhardi cardinalis, pp. 1, 31–32, 39, 46, 48, 52–53, 64, 73–75, 80, 99, 107; Liber censuum, vol. 2, pp. 141–83, 144–146, 149–151.

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spotachere. | Yco despotachere. Chere mezopanto. deo | ysoro. Orosisto mello. O chera sifilthe. car|poforunta. keagalliunta. Tysa galliusi. | Hoc tono cantatur usque ad aperite nobis | portas”).68 Finally, he gave at the end of the treatise a transcription of the full Greek and Latin chants without any accompanying comment (“Ycodes potachere […] Aperite nobis portas […] Arxomen.| protopin […] Alpha. Ar|chios. tonapanto […] pan|thaosotyr”),69 allowing us to determine that, while the content in each language touched upon similar themes and motifs, the texts did not constitute parallel versions as was the case with liturgical chants.70 Despite differences in the level of detail included, the liturgical and paraliturgical components of Benedict’s text can be shown to have overlapped in significant ways. This was true of the directions included for the performance of a chant in the portico outside the cathedral during the serving of refreshments for the pope and the curia after Vespers on Easter Sunday. The text to be chanted is given as: Se quen ti a Pascha yeronymyn. symeron. ande|dedicte. Pascha. kenon agyon. Pascha mys|ticon. Pascha pansevasmyon. Pascha χρc | tulit trotu. Pascha amomon. Pascha me|ga. Pascha zonpiston. Pascha taspilas.| ymin. tu paradisu aneoxan. Pascha pan|thas. anaplaustron. urotus. kenon.| papan χρe filaxon. (Cambrai, Médiathèque municipal, 0554, 137r and 139r.)71 Sequence Holy Easter is revealed to us today; the Holy Time of Easter; Mystical Easter; Most-Revered Easter; Easter of Christ the Redeemer; Easter, free of sin; Great Easter; Easter, Life of the faithful; Easter that opened the Gates of Paradise to us; Easter that remakes all mortals. Christ, may you anew protect the Pope.

68 69 70 71

Probably for: “Οἰκοδεσπότα, χαῖρε;” “Οἰκοδεσπότα, χαῖρε, χαῖρε μετὰ πάντων, | Θεὸν εἰσορῶ, ὁρῶ εἰς το μέλ뮻ο⟨ν⟩: | Το κέρας εἰσῆλθε καρποφοροῦντα καὶ ἀγαλ뮻ιοῦντα! | Τοῖς ἀγαλ뮻ιοῦσι …”. But other reconstructions are possible. Probably for: “Οἰκοδεσπότα, χαῖρε;” “Ἄρξωμεν πρῶτο᾽πεῖν;” “Ἄλφα. Ἀρχηγὸς τῶν ἀπάντω⟨ν⟩;” “πάντα ὁ Σωτὴρ”. But other reconstructions are possible. Cambrai, Mediathèque municipale, 0554, fols. 136r–136v, 138r–139v; see Paul Fabre, Le Polyptyque du Chanoine Benoit: étude sur un manuscrit de la Bibliothéque de Cambrai (Lille, 1889), pp. 18–36. Derived from: “Πάσχα ἱερὸν ἡμῖν σήμερον ἀναδέδεικται. Πάσχα καινόν ἅγιον. Πάσχα μυστικόν. Πάσχα πανσεβάσμιον. Πάσχα Χριστοῦ τοῦ Λυτρωτοῦ. Πάσχα ἄμωμον. Πάσχα μέγα. Πάσχα ζωὴν πιστῶν. Πάσχα τὰς πύλας ἡμῖν τοῦ Παραδείσου ἀνἑῳξε. Πάσχα πάντας ἀναπλάττον βροτούς …”.

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The words sung on this occasion echoed those of the double offices that marked the Easter Vigil and Mass.72 Similarly, series of chants that were sung in the square before the papal palace often drew on components of the ecclesiastical rites corresponding to specific dates within the liturgical calendar.73 In these instances, the singing that took place outside the offices appears to have been understood both to depend upon and to amplify the liturgy. It is no coincidence that the layout in the treatises of the material relating to these paraliturgical ceremonies closely resembles that found in contemporary tropers – a subcategory of manuscripts reserved for additions to chants that pre-existed and whose usage was already well-established.

4

The Dilemma: to Translate or Not to Translate?

In the examples analysed above, it is notable that we are never allowed to witness the actual process of translation and its traces. None of the extant manuscripts contains anything like a working draft. On the contrary, the manuscripts seem on a regular basis to bring together and place into relation with one another texts and material pertaining to endeavours by translators that were conducted at different times and in different places. What we can observe, however, is a range of strategies – including the translation from Greek into Latin, but also the transliteration of Greek into Latin script and the musical interpretation of Latin in a Byzantinising manner – that served to simulate the experience of contact with the Greek language. Manuscripts containing material from the liturgy typically feature linguistic shifts of lesser or greater syntactical integration (e.g. “Adoneus Kyrrius, dominus kyrron christlesion | Hel sother, salvator, messias, christus, unctus, ruche, pneuma;” “Kirri soter agye supplices imas te exoramus eleyson”).74 Such shifts, where elements in one language were embedded within or took over an utterance that was begun in another language, remind us of what linguists referring to spoken usage denote with the term code-switching.75

72 73 74

75

Liber censuum, vol. 2, pp. 132, 154, 172. Fabre, Polyptyque, p. 24. For: “Κύριος;” “Κύριε Χριστέ ἐλέησον;” “Σωτήρ;” “πνεῦμα;” “Κύριε Σωτὴρ Ἅγιε;” “ἡμᾶς;” “ἐλέησον.” Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, Parker Library, 473, fol. 49r. (https://parker.stan ford.edu/parker/catalog/yp193mg4537. Accessed 2022 Jan 29); Egon Wellesz, Eastern Elements in Western Chant: Studies in the Early History of Ecclesiastical Music (Oxford, 1947), p. 200. For the issue of whether ‘code-switching’ is an appropriate descriptor for phenomena in liturgical texts, see Julia G. Krivoruchko, “Code-switching in Medieval Judeo-Greek Texts

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In the majority of cases, the shifts preserved in the manuscripts were solely between languages rather than between both languages and writing systems. Most of the Greek that is preserved in western contexts was written down not in the Greek alphabet, but instead in the Latin alphabet. There were, however, exceptions. Passages of Greek that were otherwise transliterated into the Latin script could be introduced by single letters in the Greek script (e.g. the letter delta (“Δ”) in “ΔOXA ENIPSISTIS THEO”).76 Individual words – such as abbreviations of holy names – were also frequently reproduced in Greek script (e.g. “Ysu. χρε. kai aion” and “Ihesu χρε. & sancto”).77 Finally, several religious manuscripts can be identified that contain extended passages in the Greek language that were also written out in the Greek script. One example is a rendition of the speech, known in Latin as the Magnificat, with which Mary acknowledged the Annunciation and indicated her willing acceptance God’s choice of her as the vessel of the Divine Incarnation: ΜΕ�Α�ΥΝΕΙ. Η ΨΥΧΗ ΜΟΥ :ΤΟΝ | Κ(ΥΡΙΟ)Ν: ΚΑΙ Η�Α��ΙΑCΕΝ: ΤΟ �ΝΕΥ|ΜΑ ΜΟΥ: Ε�Ι ΤΩ Θ(Ε)Ω ΤΩ CΩΤΗ|ΡΙ ΜΟΥ. ΟΤΙ Ε�ΕΒ�ΕΨΕΝ: Ε�Ι | ΤΗΝ ΤΑ�ΙΝΩCΙΝ ΤΗC ΔΟΥ�ΗC. | ΑΥΤΟΥ: ΙΔΟΥ �ΑΡ. Α�Ο ΤΟΥ ΝΥΝ. | ΜΑΚΑΡΙΟΥCΙN ΜΕ �ΑCΑΙ ΑΙ �ΕΝΕ|ΑΙ: ΟΤΙ Ε�ΟΙΗCΕN ΜΟΙ: ΜΕ�Α�ΙΑ. | Ο ΔΥΝΑΤΟC ΚΑΙ Α�ΙΟΝ ΤΟ ΟΝΟΜΑ | ΑΥΤΟΥ: ΚΑΙ ΤΟ Ε�ΕΟC. ΑΥΤΟΥ | ΕΙC �ΕΝΕΑΝ ΚΑΙ �ΕΝΕΑΝ. ΤΟΙC ΦΟΒΟΥ|ΜΕΝΟΙC ΑΥΤΟΝ: […] ΕΩC ΑΙΩΝΟC.78 My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for He has looked with favour on His lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed: the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is His Name. He has mercy on those who fear Him in every generation […] forever.

76 77

78

from Cairo Genizah,” in Studies in Modern Greek Dialects and Linguistic Theory, eds. Mark Janse, Brian Joseph, Angela Ralli and Spyros Armosti (Nicosia, 2011), pp. 282–283. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 338, p. 310. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291, fol. 16r. Were it not for the matter of the Greek script, one might have been tempted to dismiss this occurrence as one of a borrowing that has been totally incorporated into the Latin language. The comparison with Bibliothèque nationale, lat. 2290 is instructive: “christe,” fol. 7v. Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss, fol. 205/433. Note the distinctive spelling of the proper nouns “Israel” and “Abraham” (“ΑΝΤΕ�Α|ΒΕ ΤΟ ΙC�ΡΑΗ� �ΕΔΟC ΑΥΤΟΥ,” “ΤΩ ΑΒEΡΑΑΜ. ΚΑΙ ΤΩ C�ΕΡΜΑΤH | ΑΥΤΟΥ”).

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As with the example above, it was the majuscule rather than minuscule script that featured in most surviving instances of the employment of the Greek writing system in a western context.79 The above passage in Greek is found in a codex that dates predominantly from the eighth century, but received additions from the ninth century and later. There is evidence from around this period of some hesitancy regarding the agency that could or should be retained by the Greek language when imported into western contexts. One ninth-century translator, Anastasius Bibliothecarius, denigrated the Byzantines by identifying them not as the living possessors of the Greek koine, but rather as the descendants of defunct communities within the eastern Mediterranean who had at various times spoken and written in historical dialects that had included Argive, Pelasgian, and Attic. Furthermore, Anastasius argued that his translations of Byzantine hagiography, rather than undertaking the Hellenisation of Latin culture, Latinised – or rather re-Latinised – these texts, since the translations took back and restored to their proper condition material that had formerly been composed in Latin but then survived only in the adulterated Greek adaptations produced by the Byzantines.80 In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, this identification of Greek as a vehicle for agendas distinct from that of the Roman Church – and consequently contrary to the Church’s interests – led to the articulation among members of the Dominican Order of radical plans for both the extirpation of both the language and its script.81 Such opposition notwithstanding, attitudes towards the Greek language were more usually marked by a profound respect in ecclesiastical circles. According to the anonymous author of the Speculum ecclesiae, the custom of chanting the Gloria in excelsis Deo “in Greek” reflected the ancient custom of the Roman Church, to which both Greeks and Latins had “once adhered.” Out of “esteem and reverence for the Greek language,” this “Angelic canticle” continued even in the thirteenth century to be sung “in Greek during the first mass,” and then in Latin “in the second” – for it was “appropriate that Greek precede Latin as a mother does her daughter, and that Latin succeed Greek

79 80 81

Kaczynski, Greek in the Carolingian Age, pp. 28–29; this majuscule, which has particular characteristics (see e.g. the formation of the letters M and N), is often referred to in scholarship as “western majuscule”. Anastasius Bibliothecarius, “Epistolae sive Praefationes,” eds. Ernst Perels and Gerhard Laehr, in Epistolae Karolini Aevi, 6 vols. (Berlin/Wiesbaden, 1892–2018), vol. 5, pp. 398– 400, 416. Bernard Bischoff, “The Study of Foreign Languages in the Middle Ages,” Speculum 36 (1961), p. 223.

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as a daughter succeeds her mother.”82 Indeed, Greek was considered to be not merely a venerable, but also a sacred language. It was identified as one of a small group of “primary languages” whose status was superior to that of the other languages spoken across “the whole world.”83 Of these “primary languages,” indeed, it was defined as the single “most famous” because purportedly it had greater “resonance” than “all other tongues,” including “Latin.”84 Greek was the language in which the New Covenant had been articulated through Scripture. The prologue to the Gospel of John (“ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος, καὶ ὁ λόγος ἦν πρὸς τὸν θεόν, καὶ θεὸς ἦν ὁ λόγος”) was understood to have an almost talismanic quality. Because of this, it was copied in Greek uncial letters as the colophon to many western liturgical manuscripts; it was in addition read aloud in Greek at Easter during the performance of the liturgy according to the Roman rite.85 Recognising their society’s attachment to the sacrality of the Greek language, western translators often expressed a belief that it was their duty to render religious texts composed in Greek into Latin without interpreting the “sense,” a task they relegated to glosses, but rather “word for word” so that a “version was created that corresponded throughout in the wording.” However, this verbatim method was admitted to produce results that, when performed before congregations, sounded “so unpalatable and disagreeable” they could be counted upon “not only to preclude all edification but also induce loathing in the reader.” When such translations were incorporated into the liturgy, the audience – the clergy lamented – more often than not burst out in laughing mockery.86 The solution was to transliterate the Greek phonetically, often accompanying the transliteration with a Latin translation, and almost always interpreting the whole through music. Modelled upon the antiphonal tradition 82 83 84 85 86

Edmond Martène, De antiquis ecclessiae ritibus, 4 vols. (Rouen, 1700), vol. 1, p. 102. Hilary of Poitiers, “Tractatus super Psalmos,” in Opera omnia, 2 vols., ed. J.P. Migne (Paris, 1844–1845), vol. 1, p. 241; Hugh of St Victor, “De grammatica,” in Opera propaedeutica, ed. Roger Baron (South Bend, 1966), p. 79. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiarum sive Originum, ed. W.M. Lindsay, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1911), vol. 1, 343–344. John 1:1; Rome (Vatican City), Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Reg. gr. 13, fol. 90r–90v (https://digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Reg.gr.13. Accessed 2022 Jan 22); Berschin, Greek Letters, pp. 18–26, at p. 20. Anastasius Bibliothecarius, “Epistolae sive praefationes,” pp. 398–400, 416; Bonitus Neopolitanus, “Passio Sancti Theodori Heracleae ducis,” in Acta sanctorum quotquot toto orbe coluntur, eds. Ioannes Bollandus et al. (Antwerp/Brussels/Paris, 1643–), Febr. II, 30–7; Réka Forrai, “The Readership of Early Medieval Greek–Latin Translations,” Scrivere et leggere nell’alto medioevo (Spoleto, 2012), pp. 295, 304–305, 307; John Duffy, “Byzantine Religious Tales in Latin Translation: The Work of John of Amalfi,” in Byzantine Culture in Translation (Leiden, 2017), pp. 115–125.

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of Byzantium, this music served not merely as a sign of authenticity but also as a symbol of the intent to transcend the limits of human language. It was the sound produced by the heavenly choirs in so far as such a sound ever could be reproduced on earth. The ‘mystic hymn’ that was sung as an offertory at High Feasts – namely, the bilingual Qui Cherubim (Οἱ τὰ χερουβίμ) – represented the most perfect manifestation of this phenomenon. Here, music, rather than constituting a transfer and interpretation of content, was understood to act as the principal means by which to approach towards and immerse oneself in the original Divine Language that eludes human understanding. This meant that it did not ultimately matter if the words of the Greek being sung were unintelligible, or indeed if the Greek had been encroached upon or replaced by Latin. The effect could even be achieved – as would be demonstrated by a hymn associated with the nuns at Chester in a thirteenth-century manuscript – by rendering a single Greek phrase (“Χαῖρε κεχαριτωμένη, θεοτόκε παρθένε”) in a highly corrupt phonetic transcription and then surrounding it with other lines in Latin (“Altitudo cogitanti / Tu in accessibili / Immissibile profundum / Angelorum oculis / Karikaristo menitroctoche partine / Sancta dei genitrix ora pro nobis”).87 In this passage, the Angel Gabriel is understood to descend to earth and, speaking in the angelic language whose sweetness resembles yet surpasses that of human song, address Mary – announcing the Incarnation and in the process revealing the path to Salvation “for us.” Likewise, within Western Europe, the presence of Greek in the liturgy was most closely linked with the mystery of the Eucharist and the liturgical season from the Feast of the Resurrection to that of Pentecost. Rather than permitting the figure of a mortal translator to play at being God by renaming everything in his own tongue, the manuscripts we have examined instead dramatized through their transcriptions the Church’s faithful recording of the Divine Word in humility and wonderment as its members prepared to receive and be filled with the outpourings of Grace. The performance of material that was either in the Greek language or identified in some way as being of Greek origin is attested to in manuscripts that were produced from the eighth century onwards in St Gallen, St Amand, St Denys, Winchester Cathedral, and other clerical and monastic communities. Revisited under the patronage of popes such as Innocent II, the spiritualism of the bilingual elements of the liturgy of the Latin rite was harnessed during the twelfth century in order to achieve precise political objectives. Established customs governing the representation of the interaction of Latin with Greek

87

Wellescz, Eastern Elements, p. 201.

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formed the foundations upon which rested Bernard’s Ordo and Benedict’s Liber. Yet the prescriptions issued by these treatises regarding the Roman rite associated the papal curia not with the preservation of continuity, but rather with a concern to reverse what were characterised as earlier ruptures in ecclesiastical tradition. The redactors and compilers of the treatises frequently drew attention to ceremonies involving the reading or chanting of Greek that had been practised “of old” or “in ancient times,” alleging that under earlier popes these ceremonies had fallen into disuse for one reason or another – including the pressures of inattentive congregations and budgetary cuts.88 In so doing, clerical officials extended to ceremonial the consciously antiquarian approach that characterised other contemporary writings associated with the curia. These writings were exemplified by a descriptive account – one version of which was also attributed to Benedict – of the legends associated with the monuments and other “marvels” of the city of Rome.89 This rhetoric allowed the employment of Greek within the Roman rite to be re-interpreted as part of a self-avowedly revivalist movement undertaken by a reforming papacy. The reading and chanting of Greek were associated in the treatises by Benedict and Bernard mainly with the preaching of the Gospels and the profession of the “Symbol of the Faith” – often in the context of a baptismal rite performed at High Feasts that evoked the mass baptisms attributed to the early church. The presence of the Greek language became interpreted as a marker of the fulfilment of the Roman’s Church mission to instruct and convert. This interpretation was especially pertinent at a time when the papacy’s authority was expanding into the territories of the eastern Mediterranean. Amalarius of Metz noted that six lessons used to be read “by the ancient Romans in Greek and Latin.” These readings had been done, according to him, so as to include individual members of the congregation for whom either one or the other language was “unknown,” but also to perform symbolically the “unity of the two peoples.”90 Similarly, Remigius of Auxerre argued that the Kyrie eleison continued to be professed in Greek as well as Latin even in his own day so that “we may show we are one people.”91 The inclusion of both Greek and Latin in the baptismal rite associated with the Church of St John of the Lateran in Rome not only recognised the existence of Greek-speaking 88 89 90 91

Cambrai, Mediathèque municipale, 0554, fol. 136v; Faber, Polyptyque, pp. 19, 23, 26; Bernhardi cardinalis, p. 105. See Codice topografico della città di Roma, ed. Roberto Valentini and Giuseppe Zucchetti, 4 vols. (Rome, 1940–1953), vol. 3, pp. 3–65. Amalarii episcopi opera, vol. 2, p. 197. Remigius of Auxerre, Opera omnia, ed., J.P. Migne (Paris, 1884), col. 1248.

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populations under the jurisdiction of the Roman Church, but also emphasised the significance of comprehensibility at the supreme moment of conversion and incorporation of the community of the faithful – that of the public profession of the faith. The language used was notionally meant to reflect that of the candidates or their sponsors. In practice, however, the ritual was formalised. Sacramentaries indicate that the Creed could be recited over the head of the same infant first in Greek and then in Latin, or alternatively in different languages according to the gender rather than the ethnicity of the infant.92 The primary audience for such rituals was not that of distant Orthodox populations, but instead of groups located near at hand. The contest between the citizenry and the papacy over jurisdiction in Rome that marked the twelfth century had led the latter to glorify both the city’s past as the capital of the Roman Empire and its own claim over that past, emphasising that the Roman Church was not merely apostolic but also imperial in nature.93 It was for this reason that the papacy assumed for its use visual and aural signs understood by it to connote the might of empire. Along with liturgical hymns originating in Byzantium, the popes also adopted the political chants by which the Byzantine emperors were acclaimed not just by the clergy in the Great Church of Hagia Sophia, but also by the court at the Palace of Constantine and by the people in the Hippodrome of Constantinople. The point was underscored through emphasis on choral performances in the city of Rome that celebrated the “glory” of “our pope,” and told of the offering of the “weapons of the Romans” by the “boys of this homeland” together with prayers for “victory.” These performances ended resoundingly with a chant that appears to have involved singing the letters of the Greek alphabet (e.g. “Alpha,” “Bita,” “Gamma”),94 embellishing these letters with additional verses or tropes in Greek (e.g. “A|rchios. tonapanto”),95 and bringing the whole together in the responses by the “Ro[mans].” Calqued on the imperial and patriarchal acclamations of the Byzantines and recorded in Greek transliterated into Latin script, the responses to the main verses of the chant included the exclamations “May the Empire of Rome be victorious!” 92 93

94 95

Kaczynski, Greek in the Carolinian Age, 101. For the conflict between the papal curia under Anacletus II, Innocent II, Lucius II and Eugenius III and sectors of the population of the city of Rome in the second and third quarter of the twelfth century that culminated with the formation of the Roman Commune, see John Doran and Damian Smith (eds.), Pope Innocent II (1130–43): The World vs the City (London, 2016); Chris Wickham, Medieval Rome: Stability and Crisis of a City, 900–1150 (Oxford, 2014); Franco Bartoloni, “Per la storia del Senato Romano nei secoli XII e XIII,” Bullettino dell’Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo 60 (1946), 1–108. Derived from: “Ἄλφα,” “Βῆτα,” “Γάμμα”. Derived from: “Ἀρχηγὸς τῶν ἀπάντω⟨ν⟩”.

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(“Romanianica”) and “The Empire of Rome, (Amen)!” (“Romania(me)n”).96 They culminated with the pious wish that their addressee, the pope – variously identified in the manuscripts as Innocent II (or III) or Alexander III – might reign for “Many years!” (“Polistis etesi”).97 For the Roman pontiffs, the attempt at translatio studii went together – as it so often did in the medieval world – with a desire to achieve translatio imperii.

Bibliography Primary Sources Manuscripts98 Bernkastel–Kues, St. Nikolaus–Hospital/Cusanusstift, 9. Cambrai, Médiathèque municipale, 0554. Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, Parker Library, 473. D甃ࠀsseldorf, Universit愃ࠀts– und Landesbibliothek, D 2. Göttingen, Staats– und Universit愃ࠀtsbibliothek, 2 ° Cod. Ms. theol. 231. Krakow, Biblioteka Jagiellonska, 11. Laon, Bibliothèque municipale Suzanne Martinet, 118. Laon, Bibliothèque municipale Suzanne Martinet, 444. León, Catedral de León, 8. London, British Library, Harley 3095. London, British Library, Harley 5642. London, British Library, Royal 2. A. XX. Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Z s 2 sup. Montpellier, Faculté de Médecine, H 306. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 6388. Oxford, Bodleian, 775. Oxford, Bodleian, Auct. f. 4. 32. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 776. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 779. 96 97

98

Derived from: “Ρωμανία νίκα!” and “Ρωμανία, (᾽Αμήν)!”. Derived from: “Πολ뮻οῖς τοῖς ἔτεσι!”. Cambrai, Mediathèque municipale, 0554, 139r. Faber, Polyptyque, pp. 28–29; see also Shawcross, “Innocent II,” forthcoming and “The De Ceremoniis and Liber Politicus: A Comparison of Ceremonial in Constantinople and Rome” (forthcoming). All forty-three manuscripts studied for this chapter were consulted in person or in electronic facsimile – with the exception of those of Göttingen, Krakow, Milan and St Petersburg, where access was not possible and historical descriptions, transcriptions and reproductions had to be used instead.

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Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2290. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2291. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 17177. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, NAL 1871. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Bibliothèque Arsenale, 8407. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Bibliothèque Mazarine, 384. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Bibliothèque Mazarine, 526. Rome (Vatican City), Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Reg. gr. 13. Rome (Vatican City), Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Reg. lat. 215. Rome (Vatican City), Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat. lat. 10673. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 327. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 338. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 376. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 378. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 380. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 381. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 382. St Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Sang. 484. St Petersburg, National Library of Russia, f VVVI3. St Petersburg, National Library of Russia, Q. v. I, no. 41. Stockholm, Kungliga Bibliothek, A 136. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, 114. Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, 795. Wolfenb甃ࠀttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 86 Weiss.

Editions Amalarii episcopi opera liturgica omnia. Ed. I.M. Hanssens. 3 vols. Vatican City, 1948. Anastasius Bibliothecarius. “Epistolae sive Praefationes.” In Epistolae Karolini Aevi. 6 vols. Eds. Ernst Perels and Gerhard Laehr, 395–442. Berlin/Wiesbaden, 1892–2018. Andrieu, Michel. Les Ordines romani du haut moyen âge. 5 vols. Louvain, 1931–1956. Bernard. Bernhardi cardinalis et Lateranensis ecclesiae prioris ordo officiorum ecclesiae Lateranensis. Ed. Ludwig Fischer. Munich and Freising, 1916. Bonitus Neopolitanus. “Passio Sancti Theodori Heracleae ducis.” In Acta Sanctorum quotquot toto Orbe coluntur. Eds. Ioannes Bollandus et al., Febr. II, 30–7. Antwerp/ Brussels/Paris, 1643–. Codice topografico della città di Roma. Eds. Roberto Valentini and Giuseppe Zucchetti. 4 vols. Rome, 1940–1953. Fulcher of Chartres. A History of the Expedition to Jerusalem, 1095–1127. Ed. Harold S. Fink and tr. Frances R. Ryan. Knoxville, 1969. Hilary of Poitiers. Opera omnia. 2 vols. Ed. J.P. Migne. Paris, 1844–1845.

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Hugh of St Victor. Opera propaedeutica. Ed. Roger Baron. South Bend, 1966. Isidore of Seville. Etymologiarum sive Originum. Ed. W.M. Lindsay. 2 vols. Oxford, 1911. Die lateinischen Dichter des deutschen Mittelalters: Die Ottonenzeit. Ed. Karl Strecker. Die Poetarum Latinorum medii aevi. 6 vols. Berlin/Weimar, 1881–1979. Le Liber censuum de l’Église romaine. Eds. Paul Fabre et al. 3 vols. Paris, 1910–1952. Le Polyptyque du Chanoine Benoit: étude sur un manuscrit de la Bibliothéque de Cambrai. Ed. Paul Fabre. Lille, 1889. Remigius of Auxerre. Opera omnia, ed. J.P. Migne. Paris, 1884.

Secondary Literature Atkinson, Charles M. “Further Thoughts on the Origin of the Missa graeca.” In De musica et cantu: Studien zur Geschichte der Kirchenmusik und der Oper. Ed. Peter Cahn und Ann–Katrin Hwiner, 75–94 and plates. Hildesheim, 1993. Atkinson, Charles M. “O amnos tu theu: The Greek Agnus Dei in the Roman Liturgy from the Eighth to the Eleventh Century.” Kirchenmusikolisches Jahrbuch 65 (1981): 7–30. Atkinson, Charles M. and Klaus-J甃ࠀrgen Sachs. “Zu Entstehung and Überlieferung der ‘Missa graeca’.” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 39 (1982): 113–145. Bartoloni, Franco. “Per la storia del Senato Romano nei secoli XII e XIII.” Bullettino dell’Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo 60 (1946): 1–108. Bischoff, Bernhard. “Das griechische Element in der abendl愃ࠀndischen Bildung des Mittelalters.” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 44 (1951): 27–55. Bischoff, Bernhard. “The Study of Foreign Languages in the Middle Ages.” Speculum 36 (1961): 209–224. Berschin, Walter. “Greek Elements in Medieval Latin Manuscripts.” In The Sacred Nectar of the Greeks: The Study of Greek in the West in the Early Middle Ages. Eds. Shirley Ann Brown and Michael W. Herren, 85–104. London, 1988. Berschin, Walter. Greek Letters and the Latin Middle Ages: From Jerome to Nicholas of Cusa. Washington, DC, 1988. Doran, John and Damian Smith, eds. Pope Innocent II (1130–43): The World vs the City. London, 2016. Duffy, John. “Byzantine Religious Tales in Latin Translation: The Work of John of Amalfi.” In Byzantine Culture in Translation. Eds. Amelia Brown and Bronwen Neil, 115–125. Leiden, 2017. Fletcher, Richard A. “An Epistola Formata from Leon.” Historical Research 45 (1972): 121–128. Floros, Constantin. Introduction to Early Medieval Notation. Rev. and tr. Neil K. Moran. Warren Michigan, 2005.

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Forrai, Réka. “The Readership of Early Medieval Greek–Latin Translations.” Scrivere et leggere nell’alto medioevo. Eds. n.s. 293–315. Spoleto, 2012. Huglo, Michel. “Les Chants de la Missa graeca de Saint–Denis.” In Essays presented to Egon Wellesz. Ed. Jack Westrup, 74–83. Oxford, 1966. Kaczynski, Bernice. Greek in the Carolingian Age: The St. Gall Manuscripts. Cambridge, MA, 1988. Koder, Johannes. “Liutprand von Cremona und die griechische Sprache.” In Johannes Koder and Thomas Weber. Liutprand von Cremona in Konstantinopel, 15–70. Vienna, 1980. Krivoruchko, Julia G. “Code-Switching in Medieval Judeo–Greek Texts from Cairo Genizah.” In Studies in Modern Greek Dialects and Linguistic Theory. Eds. Mark Janse, Brian Joseph, Angela Ralli and Spyros Armosti, 279–291. Nicosia, 2011. Lingas, Alexander. “Byzantine Neumes.” Early Music (2009): 300–302. Lingas, Alexander. “The Liturgical Place of the Kontakion in Constantinople.” Byzantinorossica 1 (1995): 50–57. Martène, Edmond. De antiquis ecclessiae ritibus. 4 vols. Rouen, 1700. Opelt, Ilona. “Die essener Missa greca der liturgischen Handschrift D甃ࠀsseldorf D2.” Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 23 (1974): 77–88. Radiciotti, Paolo. “Manoscritti digrafici grecolatini e latinogreci nell’Alto Medioevo.” Römische historische Mitteilungen 40 (1998): 49–118. Rollo, Antonio. “Il greco nell’Occidente medievale: mani e pratiche di scrittura.” Travaux et Mémoires 24 (2021): 3–38. Romano, John F. “The Ceremonies of the Roman Pontiff: Rereading Benedict’s TwelfthCentury Liturgical Script.” Viator 41 (2010): 133–150. Romano, John F. “Innocent II and the Liturgy.” In Pope Innocent II (1130–43): The World vs the City. Eds. J. Doran and D. Smith, 326–351. London, 2016. Safran, Linda. The Medieval Salento: Art and Identity in Southern Italy. Pittsburg, 2014. Shawcross, Teresa. “The De Ceremoniis and Liber Politicus: A Comparison of Ceremonial in Constantinople and Rome,” forthcoming. Shawcross, Teresa. “The Byzantinization of the Roman Church under Innocent II (1130– 1143).” In Revisiting the Byzantine Commonwealth: Nodes, Networks, and Spheres. Eds. Jonathan Shepard and Peter Frankopan, forthcoming. Oxford, 2025. Steffens, Franz. Lateinische Paläographie: 125 Tafeln in Lichtdruck mit gegenüberstehender Transkription nebst Erläuterungen und einer systematischen Darstellung der Entwickling der lateinischen Schrift. Trier, 1909. Wanek, Nina–Maria. “The Greek and Latin Cherubikon.” Plainsong and Medieval Music 26 (2017): 95–114.

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Wanek, Nina–Maria. “Tropus grece: The Use of Greek-Texted Ordinary Chants in 10th/11th Centuries Manuscripts from St Gall and Limoges.” Journal of the International Society for Orthodox Music 4 (2020): 30–44. Wanek, Nina-Maria. “Για μια νέα αξιολόγηση της λεγόμενης ‘Missa Graeca’.” In 11ο Διατμηματικό Μουσικολογικό Συνέδριο: ‘Νεωτερισμός και Παράδοση’ (με αφορμή τα 70 χρόνια από το θάνατο του Νίκου Σκαλκώτα). Πρακτικά διατμηματικού συνεδρίου υπό την αιγίδα της Ελληνικής Μουσικολογικής Εταιρείας, Αθήνα, 21–23 Νοεμβρίου 2019. Eds. Ioannes Foulias, Petros Vouvaris, Kostas Kardamis, Giorgos Sakallieros, 373–385. Thessaloniki, 2020. Wellesz, Egon. Eastern Elements in Western Chant: Studies in the early history of ecclesiastical music. Oxford, 1947. Wickham, Chris. Medieval Rome: Stability and Crisis of a City, 900–1150. Oxford, 2014. Ziolkowski, Jan M. Nota Bene: Reading Classics and Writing Melodies in the Early Middle Ages. Turnhout, 2007.

Chapter 14

Latin Responses to Greek Inscriptions (Twelfth–Thirteenth Centuries): Texts and Objects Brad Hostetler

Byzantine art was replete with inscriptions. Icons were labeled with saints’ names, dedications were carved and painted onto church walls, and epigrams, or verse inscriptions, were displayed in virtually all media.1 These material texts speak to the epigraphic habit of the Byzantines, and how certain images, buildings, and other types of objects required words to be inscribed upon them for their completeness.2 This chapter examines the ways in which these texts were perceived, understood, or even translated by Latin viewers. I focus on inscriptions on Byzantine reliquaries that came into the possession of the Latin-speaking world in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The most valuable published collection for our chronological scope is Paul Riant’s Exuviae sacrae Constantinopolitanae.3 Riant brings together the numerous crusader and pilgrim narratives, lectionary 1 For naming inscriptions, see Ioli Kalavrezou, “Images of the Mother: When the Virgin Mary Became Meter Theou,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44 (1990): pp. 165–172; Henry Maguire, “Naming and Individuality,” in The Icons of Their Bodies: Saints and Their Images in Byzantium (Princeton, 1996), pp. 100–145; Bente Kiilerich, “What’s in a Name? The Meaning of Name Inscriptions in Byzantine Art,” in Medioevo: Immagine e Racconto, Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi, Parma, 27–30 Settembre 2000, ed. Arturo Carlo Quintavalle (Milan, 2003), pp. 87–95; Karen Boston, “The Power of Inscriptions and the Trouble with Texts,” in Icon and Word: The Power of Images in Byzantium, Studies Presented to Robin Cormack, eds. Antony Eastmond and Liz James (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 36–51; and Henry Maguire, “Eufrasius and Friends: On Names and Their Absence in Byzantine Art,” in Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. Liz James (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 139–160. I thank George Bartlett for discussing these sources with me; see his dissertation, “What’s in a Name? Images of Christ Inscribed with Epithets in Middle and Late Byzantine Art” (PhD thesis, University of Sussex, 2020). For epigrams, see Andreas Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung, 4 vols. (Vienna, 2009–2018); and Ivan Drpić, Epigram, Art, and Devotion in Later Byzantium (Cambridge, 2016). 2 For an overview and bibliography on the epigraphic habit in Byzantium, see Ivan Drpić, “Inscriptions,” in The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Literature, ed. Stratis Papaioannou (Oxford, 2021), pp. 381–406. 3 Paul Riant, Exuviae sacrae Constantinopolitanae, 2 vols. (Geneva, 1877–78; reprinted Paris, 2004).

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_015

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records, letters, inscriptions, and other assorted documents that were written in response to the influx of Byzantine reliquaries to the West in the aftermath of the Fourth Crusade in 1204. Many of these texts include detailed object descriptions, and a precious few even possess brief references to Byzantine inscriptions. In the case of the latter, Latin writers acknowledge, read, and translate the Greek for their audiences. These acts of engagement with Byzantine inscriptions are also evident in the objects themselves. When Byzantine reliquaries were taken to the West, they were often augmented with, and repackaged in, new frames and containers, and inscribed with new, Latin inscriptions. While such Latin inscriptions rarely translated any Greek text, they did, in some instances, acknowledge and respond to the original in various ways. Scholars have long examined the translation of relics and relic cults from Byzantium to the West in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Holger Klein, Lynn Jones, and Gia Toussiant have focused on material translations – that is the ways in which Byzantine reliquaries were adapted for their new Western audiences.4 Anne Lester has examined textual translations of Greek hagiographic sources into Latin, and how these texts informed relic devotion in the West.5 I take as my focus Byzantine Greek inscriptions and the ways in which they figured into these translative practices. What were the methods and motivations of Latin authors acknowledging, and responding to, the Greek 4 Holger Klein, Byzanz, der Westen und das ‘wahre’ Kreuz: die Geschichte einer Reliquie und ihrer künstlerischen Fassung in Byzanz und im Abendland (Wiesbaden, 2004); idem, “Eastern Objects and Western Desires: Relics and Reliquaries between Byzantium and the West,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 58 (2004): pp. 283–314. See also Lynn Jones, “Medieval Armenian Identity and Relics of the True Cross (9th–11th Centuries),” Journal of the Society for Armenian Studies 12 (2001, 2002 [2003]): pp. 43–53; idem, “The Enkolpion of Edward the Confessor: Byzantium and Anglo-Saxon Concepts of Rulership,” in Cross and Cruciform in the Anglo-Saxon World: Studies to Honor the Memory of Timothy Reuter, eds. Sarah Larratt Keefer et al. (Morgantown, 2010), pp. 369–385; idem, “Perceptions of Byzantium: Radegund of Poitiers and the Relics of the True Cross,” in Byzantine Images and their Afterlives: Essays in Honor of Annemarie Weyl Carr, ed. Lynn Jones (Farnham, 2014), pp. 105–124; idem, “Claiming the Cross: Reconsidering the Stavelot Triptych,” in The Eloquence of Art: Essays in Honour of Henry Maguire, eds. Andrea Olsen Lam, and Rossitza Schroeder (London, 2020), pp. 131–145; and Gia Toussaint, Kreuz und Knochen. Reliquien zur Zeit der Kreuzzüge (Berlin, 2011). 5 Anne E. Lester, “The Tasks of the Translators: Relics and Communications Between Constantinople and Northern France in the Aftermath of 1204,” in The French of Outremer: Communities and Communications in the Crusading Mediterranean, eds. Laura K. Morreale and Nicholas L. Paul (New York, 2018), pp. 179–200; idem, “Translation and Appropriation: Greek Relics in the Latin West in the Aftermath of the Fourth Crusade,” Studies in Church History 53 (2017): pp. 88–117. See also David Perry, Sacred Plunder: Venice and the Aftermath of the Fourth Crusade. (University Park, 2015).

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inscriptions on the objects that flooded the West in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries?6 In the first part of this chapter I examine the literary sources that provide evidence for Latin writers responding to Byzantine Greek inscriptions; in the second I focus on two Byzantine reliquaries and the ways in which their inscriptions were perceived by Latin audiences. I argue that the acknowledgement, incorporation, and translation of Byzantine Greek inscriptions into Latin contexts reveal that these texts helped authenticate relics and enhance the authority of the authors and their narratives.

1

Literary Response

The term ‘literary epigraphy’ has been used to describe literary sources that mention inscriptions.7 While ancient and medieval authors’ methods and motivations for studying inscriptions were very different from our own analyses, they did so in order to make larger points about the stories that they were telling, and the arguments they were making. The type of Byzantine inscription most frequently cited by medieval Latin writers are those that name a holy figure. Surveying these sources, we primarily find three ways in which Byzantine naming inscriptions and labels are referenced: first by implying their presence, second by describing them simply as ‘Greek letters’, and third by transcribing the inscription. In so doing, Latin writers could prove the authenticity of the objects they described, and exert their own authority as eye-witnesses to the sacred relics and to the circumstances of their acquisition. The first, and most common, method was to simply imply the presence of an inscription without explicitly mentioning it. One example of this approach is found in Gunther of Pairis’ account of abbot Martin’s acquisition of relics during the sack of Constantinople in his Hystoria Constantinopolitana. The HC functions as an epic tale of the abbot’s crusading adventures, as a justification for his act of looting, and ultimately as a way to authenticate the relics.8 After

6 Excluded from consideration are objects that were designed to have inscriptions in more than one language, such as the now-lost silk textile with Greek and Latin inscriptions that was given to Pope Gregory X (r. 1271–76); see Cecily J. Hilsdale, Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline (Cambridge, 2014), p. 46; and the trilingual (Latin, Greek, and Arabic) marble panel, dated ca. 1142, in the Norman Palace in Palermo; see Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme, pp. 3:494–497 (IT31). 7 Peter Liddel, and Polly Low, eds., Inscriptions and Their Uses in Greek and Latin Literature (Oxford, 2013). 8 Alfred Andrea, The Capture of Constantinople (Philadelphia, 1997), pp. 14–15.

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describing Martin’s plundering of the Pantokrator Monastery, Gunther then lists over fifty relics that he donated to his Cistercian abbey in Alsace. Among these were the following: Item de lapide ubi Iohannes stetit, quando Dominum baptizavit. Item de loco ubi Christus Lazarum suscitavit. Item de lapide super quem Christus in templo est presentatus. Item de lapide super quo Iacob obdormivit. Item de lapide ubi Christus ieiunavit. Item de lapide ubi Christus oravit. Likewise (a relic) from the stone where John stood when he baptized the Lord. Likewise (a relic) from the spot where Christ raised Lazarus. Likewise (a relic) from the stone on which Christ was presented in the temple. Likewise (a relic) from the stone on which Jacob slept. Likewise (a relic) from the stone where Christ fasted. Likewise (a relic) from the stone where Christ prayed.9 These individually identified stone relics would have looked more-or-less the same to a Byzantine monk or a Latin Crusader. There would have been no material or visual clues in the materiality of the stones for Gunther to distinguish one from another when he drew up this inventory in 1205.10 Therefore, Byzantine reliquaries were frequently inscribed with Greek labels in order to specify the identities and origins of such mundane, yet sacred, things. An example is the reliquary of the True Cross in the Protaton Treasury, made in the eleventh or twelfth centuries and then altered in the eighteenth.11 The Middle Byzantine components are visible in the corners of the box where we find four small oval-shaped windows framing stone relics in silver-gilt revetment (fig. 14.1). These stones are visually indistinguishable from each other, 9 10 11

Gunther of Pairis, Hystoria Constantinopolitana, 24.46–53 ed. Peter Orth (Hildesheim, 1994), p. 176, trans. Andrea, Capture, p. 126, with modifications. For the date of composition, see Andrea, Capture, p. 11. Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme, pp. 2:201–203 (Me34); Brad Hostetler, “The Iconography of Text: The Placement of an Inscription on a Middle Byzantine Reliquary,” Eastern Christian Art 8 (2011): pp. 49–55; and idem, “Image, Epigram, and Nature in Middle Byzantine Personal Devotion,” in Natural Materials of the Holy Land and the Visual Translation of Place, 500–1500, eds. Renana Bartal, Neta Bodner, Bianca K甃ࠀhnel (London, 2017), pp. 172–189.

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Figure 14.1

401

Protaton reliquary, box with relics and Greek inscriptions, eleventh– twelfth centuries and 1758. The Holy Community of Mount Athos, Treasury of the Protaton Photo after Stelios Papadopoulos and Chrysoula Kapioldasi-Sotiropoulou, eds., The Treasury of the Protaton, vol. 1 (Mount Athos, 2001), fig. 8, p. 51

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but accompanying labels inscribed into the metal revetment tell us where these stones originated: from the holy Tomb of Christ, from the holy Skull (i.e. Golgotha), from holy Bethlehem, and from holy Gethsemane.12 Nowhere does Gunther tell us that Martin’s relics were accompanied by such inscriptions, but even if the relics’ identities were verbally conveyed to one or both of them, labels would have been necessary to identify and distinguish each relic the first time. Alfred Andrea says that Gunther had a “superficial knowledge of Greek,” which would have been sufficient in reading the identifying labels that certainly accompanied these relics.13 However, an explicit acknowledgment of such Greek inscriptions was not necessary for Gunther’s narrative and so he did not mention them. The second method of documenting Byzantine inscriptions was for authors to simply mention the presence of “Greek letters” inscribed on the object. One example of this approach is found in a letter, written in Old French, and dated January 1245.14 It describes a relic given by Léger, dean of Hagia Sophia and chancellor of the Empire, Etienne, treasurer of Hagia Sophia, and Gauthier, dean at the Panachrantos Monastery, to Geoffrey of Méry, the constable of the Empire: Une partie du chief monseignor saint Phelipe l’apostre, liquels estoit d’ancien tens en l’yglise Nostre Dame de Penecrante, avironné d’une bande d’or tot entour, en laquelle ses noms estoit escriz de lettres Grecoises.15 A part of the head of our lord Saint Philip the apostle – which was from ancient times in the Church of Our Lady of Penecrante – encircled by a band of gold around it, in which his name was written in Greek letters. The reliquary mentioned in this letter no longer exists, but the description agrees with what we know of Middle Byzantine head reliquaries: a relic wrapped in a gold band upon which the name of the saint was inscribed in

12 13 14 15

“Ἐκ τοῦ ἁγίου Τάφου τοῦ Χ(ριστο)ῦ, ἐκ τοῦ ἁγίου Κρανίου, ἐκ τῆς ἁγίας Βηθλεέμ, ἐκ τῆς ἁγίας Γεθσημανί;” ed. Hostetler, “Image, Epigram, and Nature,” p. 186 n. 14. Andrea, Capture, p. 6. Riant, Exuviae, pp. 2:131–132, no. 76. Ed. Riant, Exuviae, p. 2:132. For the Panachrantos Monastery, see Raymond Janin, La géographie ecclésiastique de l’Empire byzantin, première partie, Le siège de Constantinople et le patriarcat œcuménique, tome III, Les églises et les monastères (Paris, 1969), pp. 214–215.

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Greek letters.16 A similar form of adornment is seen on the cranium of St Mamas, which was also looted from Constantinople during the Fourth Crusade and is now in the Cathedral of Saint-Mammès in Langres.17 It features simple metallic bands that cross the top of the skull and are inscribed, in Greek, with the name of the saint (fig. 14.2). For such a brief description of the head of Saint Philip, why was the inscription mentioned at all? In this case, I suggest that the acknowledgment of the “Greek letters” (“lettres Grecoises”), and the claim that the head relic was held “from ancient times” in the Panachrantos Monastery, guaranteed the authenticity and antiquity of the relic. At a time when there were concerns and skepticism regarding the veracity of the many relics entering the West following the Fourth Crusade, the presence of the Greek letters inscribed on an object coming from Constantinople would dispel any doubts.18 This approach to acknowledging the inscription differs from what we saw in Gunther of Pairis’ account. Gunther did not need to explicitly mention any Greek inscriptions because his relics were authenticated by his description of Martin’s act of looting, which preceded the list of relics. Once the relics were inventoried, the Greek inscriptions that he would have used to identify each item ceased to have value for his narrative. In contrast, the description of St Philip’s relic was embedded in a short letter and thus required additional credentials to prove its provenience and provenance, its authenticity and antiquity. The third method of documenting Byzantine Greek inscriptions was to transcribe, transliterate, or translate them into Latin. While this approach is rarer, the discovery of the head reliquaries of St George and St John the 16

17 18

On Byzantine head reliquaries, see Rainer R甃ࠀckert, “Zur Form der byzantinischen Reliquiare,” Münchner Jahrbuch der bildenden Kunst 8 (1957): pp. 7–36; Gia Toussaint, “Schöne Sch愃ࠀdel: Die H愃ࠀupter der Heiligen in Ost und West,” in Knotenpunkt Byzanz: Wissensformen und kulturelle Wechselbeziehungen, eds. Andreas Speer und Philipp Steinkr甃ࠀger (Berlin, 2012), pp. 655–678; and Mabi Angar, Byzantine Head Reliquaries and their Perception in the West After 1204: A Case Study of the Reliquary of St. Anastasios the Persian in Aachen and Related Objects (Wiesbaden, 2017). See also Brad Hostetler, “The Function of Text: Byzantine Reliquaries with Epigrams, 843–1204” (PhD dissertation, Florida State University, 2016), pp. 47–49 and 113–122. Jannic Durand, “Les reliques de saint Mammès au trésor de la cathédrale de Langres,” Travaux et mémoires 14 (Mélanges Gilbert Dagron) (2002): pp. 181–200. Such concerns were explicitly addressed in Canon 62 of the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215; Conciliorum oecumenicorum decreta, ed. Giuseppe Alberigo et al. (Bologna, 1973), pp. 263–264. See also Gia Toussaint, “Identit愃ࠀt und Inschrift. Reliquien und ihre Kennzeichnung in Byzanz und im Westen,” in Inschriften als Zeugnisse des Kulturellen Gedächtnisses. 40 Jahre Deutsche Inschriften an der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen 1970–2010, ed. Nikolaus Henkel (Wiesbaden, 2012), pp. 73–85.

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Figure 14.2

Relic of the cranium Saint Mamas with metal bands and Greek inscription, twelfth century. Langres, Cathedral of Saint-Mammès Photo after Jannic Durand, “Les reliques de saint Mammès au trésor de la cathédrale de Langres,” Travaux et mémoires 14 (Mélanges Gilbert Dagron) (2002): fig. 12, p. 197

Baptist by Wallon de Sarton, a canon from the area of Amiens, offers us an example.19 In 1206, while serving the monastery of St George of Mangana in Constantinople, Wallon discovered two silver disc-shaped vessels hidden 19

Richard de Gerberoy, De capta et direpta a Latinis Constantinopoli …, Acta Sanctorum Iunii (Antwerp, 1707), pp. 4:745–747. The Latin edition in the AASS derives from two manuscripts that seem to have been lost soon after this publication. This edition was re-published with emendations in Riant, Exuviae, 1:35–44. For a history of these editions, see Leslie C. Brook, “A Translation de la Relique de Saint Jean-Baptiste à la Cathédrale d’Amiens: Récits Latin et Français,” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 91 (1990): pp. 93–106. Wallon de Sarton’s account is also discussed by Stefan Albrecht, “Vom Ungl甃ࠀck der Sieger  – Kreuzfahrer in Konstantinopel nach 1204,” in Byzanz – das Römerreich im Mittelalter, vol. 2.1, Schauplätze, eds. Falko Daim, and Jörg Drauschke (Mainz, 2010), pp. 135–144; and Bissera Pentcheva, “The Performance of Relics,” in Symmeikta. Collection of Papers Dedicated to

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within an abandoned room of the church. His account of these events, as recorded by Richard de Gerberoy, the bishop of Amiens, from Wallon himself, proceeds as follows: Necdum pleno crepusculo praestolato, discos suos in secretum tulit cubiculum, nemine consciente. Quibus apertis, in uno caput S. Georgii contineri cognovit ex superscriptione, Agios Georgios; in altero vero superscriptum erat, Agios Joannes Prodromos. Quod cum plene non intelligeret, non est ausus a quoquam sciscitari quid esset. Fregit autem discos magnos, reservatis sibi minoribus, in quibus erant illa duo capita signata, et in duabus peris ea reposuit sub ascellis singulis appendenda: argentum vero discorum vendidit; firmans secum in pios usus tantumdem aut amplius se erogaturum, si quando ad pinguiorem reduceretur fortunam. Explorabat quoque in ecclesiarum parietibus titulos ubicumque, Sanctorum imaginibus superscriptos; et in pluribus locis legebat, Α Prodromos, iconiae superscriptum Baptistae, interpretatur enim, Α Prodromos, Praecursor. Ex quo quanta fuerit jucunditate persusus, quantaque Dominum gratiarum actione fuerit prosecutus.20 Waiting before the break of day, he took his discs into a secluded room, without anyone’s knowledge. When they were opened, he learned from the inscription, Agios Georgios, that the head of St George is contained in one of them; on the other was inscribed Agios Joannes Prodromos. When he did not fully understand this, he did not dare to ask anyone what it was. He broke the large discs, reserving for himself the smaller ones, in which those two heads were sealed, and placed them in two bags under his arms. However, he sold the silver discs, pledging to himself that he would spend just as much or more toward pious purposes, if at any time his fortune were restored in full. He explored on the walls of churches everywhere the titles inscribed above the images of saints; in many places he read A Prodromos, inscribed above icons of the Baptist, and so he understood A Prodromos to mean Precursor. Having been convinced from this, he was filled with much joy, and gave thanks to the Lord. When Wallon opened the silver casings, he would have encountered two head relics adorned in a manner similar to that seen for the cranium of St Mamas.

20

the 40th Anniversary of the Institute for Art History, Faculty of Philosophy, University of Belgrade, ed. Ivan Stevović (Belgrade, 2012), pp. 55–71. Ed. Acta Sanctorum Iunii (Antwerp, 1707), p. 4:746.

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These relics were inscribed with the names of the saints, and Wallon’s approach to these Greek texts was to transcribe them as he saw them.21 He was able to read both names, but he had greater difficulty in understanding the word “Prodromos” inscribed on the second reliquary. This is likely because the eleventh or twelfth-century Byzantine enamel plaque that accompanied the head of St John seems to have displayed this word as a ligature next to the image of the saint.22 We know this because the relic and the plaque survived at the Cathedral of Amiens into the seventeenth century when Charles Dufresne Du Cange documented its appearance in an engraving (fig. 14.3).23 Wallon seems to have been confused by the reading of this ligature and needed to consult the naming inscriptions that accompanied other icons of saints in churches throughout the city. Through this epigraphic research, Wallon must have found an icon of St John with the word “Prodromos” spelled out, as seen on the enamel medallion at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (fig. 14.4). This comparison allowed him to read and translate the ligature and to identify the saint to whom the relic belonged. On the surface, it may seem unnecessary for Wallon to spend so much effort documenting the inscriptions and detailing his engagement with them. I argue, however, that Wallon’s close reading of these inscriptions endowed himself and his narrative with greater authority. It added an element of uncertainty as he tried to uncover the meaning of the second inscription; and when his research was fruitful, he could attribute his success to God’s guidance. As the only one who saw these inscriptions and then communicated the meaning of these foreign words, Wallon exerted his own authority as eyewitness, author, and translator by showing that he was the one with this exclusive knowledge.24 21

22

23

24

In Riant’s edition (Riant, Exuviae, p. 1:40–41), he publishes the inscriptions in Greek, rather than in the Romanized transliteration seen in the AASS edition. Riant did not see the manuscripts used for the AASS edition. I assume that if the manuscripts provided the Greek, then the editors of the AASS would have followed. For the date of the enamel plaque, see Jannic Durand, “Reliques et reliquaires constantinopolitains du chef de saint Jean-Baptiste apportés en Occident après 1204,” in Contacts: Revue Française de l’Orthodoxie 59, no. 218 (La vénération de saint Jean-Baptiste. Actes du Colloque œcuménique du diocèse d’Amiens, 23–24 juin 2006) (2007): pp. 195–196. Charles Dufresne Du Cange, Traité historique du chef de S. Jean Baptiste (Paris, 1665), p. 132; see also p. 136. Wallon took the head of St George to Marestmontiers, and donated the head, or face, of St John the Baptist to the Cathedral of Amiens. The latter still survives, but the present reliquary, modeled on Du Cange’s engraving, dates to 1876; see Durand, “Reliques et reliquaires,” pp. 188–189. For the use of literary epigraphy as a demonstration of exclusive knowledge, see Liddel and Low, Inscriptions and Their Uses, p. 11. As argued by Leonie Exarchos, medieval translators

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Figure 14.3

407

Engraving of the face relic of John the Baptist at the Cathedral of Amiens, from Charles Dufresne Du Cange, Traité historique du chef de S. Jean Baptiste (Paris, 1665), p. 132 Photo in the Public Domain

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Figure 14.4

Enamel medallion with Saint John the Baptist from an icon frame, ca. 1100. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 17.190.677 Photo in the Public Domain

His engagement with these inscriptions had such a profound impact on the Cathedral of Amiens, where he donated the head, or face, of John the Baptist, that it was preserved in the cathedral’s lectionary readings.25 These readings include Wallon’s documentation of the Greek inscriptions and his quest to find their meanings as he consulted other icons in the churches of Constantinople.

25

required specialized expertise that included not only knowledge of the languages, but also the context of the content; Lateiner am Kaiserhof in Konstantinopel: Expertise and Loyalitäten zwischen Byzanz und dem Westen (1143–1204) (Paderborn, 2022), p. 119. Riant, Exuviae, pp. 2:26–30.

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Material Response

While literary epigraphy offers us valuable perspectives into the methods and motivations of Latin authors documenting Greek inscriptions, objects are also rich sources in this investigation. When inscribed Byzantine objects were taken to the West, they were often re-housed in new containers, frames, and other adornments that were then inscribed with Latin inscriptions. Such composite objects juxtapose the old with the new, the Greek with the Latin, and allow us to see how the Byzantine inscriptions functioned, and were perceived, in their new contexts. The Stavelot Triptych is one well-known example of such an object (fig. 14.5).26 Now in the Morgan Library and Museum in New York, this reliquary of the True Cross is generally thought to have been made under the patronage of Wibald, the abbot of Stavelot, following a diplomatic mission to Constantinople in 1155–56.27 The interior wings feature champlevé enamel medallions illustrating narrative scenes from the lives of Constantine and Helena, each labeled by Latin inscriptions. Those on the left depict Constantine’s vision of the cross, his defeat of Maxentius at the Milvian Bridge, and his baptism by Pope Sylvester; those on the right include Helena’s inquiry about the location of the wood of the Crucifixion, her discovery of it, and her performance of miracles through the relic. The central panel of the Stavelot Triptych stages two smaller triptychs made of gold and cloisonné enamel plaques that feature saints and narrative scenes each labeled with Greek inscriptions. In the upper triptych, behind the image of the Crucifixion, the following relics were housed, each identified by a Latin authentic: earth from the Holy Sepulcher, a piece of the robe of Mary, and a fragment of the True Cross. The lower triptych displays a relic of the True Cross between images of Ss. Constantine and Helena (fig. 14.6).28 The Stavelot is a composite object. While the cloisonné enamels – and presumably the relics – were sourced from Constantinople, the smaller triptychs were actually constructed by Mosan craftsmen. The Byzantine components were pulled from another object, or group of objects, and reassembled in the composition we see today.29 Klein argues that this staging of Byzantine 26

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The Morgan Library and Museum, Bequest of J.P. Morgan, AZ001. William Voelkle, The Stavelot Triptych: Mosan Art and the Legend of the True Cross (New York, 1980) provides the most detailed analysis of all parts of the reliquary. For a recent study with complete bibliography, see Jones, “Claiming the Cross,” pp. 131–145. Jones, “Claiming the Cross,” pp. 131 and 139, presents other contexts in which this triptych could have been made. Voelkle, The Stavelot Triptych, pp. 19–20. Klein, Byzanz, pp. 209–211; and Jones, “Claiming the Cross,” pp. 131–132, with references.

Figure 14.5

Stavelot Triptych, full view with central doors closed, ca. 1156–58. The Morgan Library & Museum, Bequest of J.P. Morgan (1867–1943), AZ001 Photo courtesy of The Morgan Library & Museum, New York

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Figure 14.6

Stavelot Triptych, detail of the lower triptych with doors open, ca. 1156–58. The Morgan Library & Museum, Bequest of J.P. Morgan (1867–1943), AZ001 Photo courtesy of The Morgan Library & Museum, New York

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material culture at the center of the Triptych was a way to authenticate the relics; even the triptych format seems to have been inspired by Byzantine prototypes.30 More recently, Lynn Jones has shown that the Byzantine images of Ss. Constantine and Helena flanking the True Cross were particularly critical in shaping the Constantinopolitan identity and source for the relics; the champlevé scenes of Constantine and Helena were designed according to a Western-inflected narrative that revised, and responded to, the conspicuously Byzantine depictions of the imperial couple at the center of the Triptych.31 In this way we can see how the Greek naming inscriptions that accompany each of the saints and narrative scenes on the Byzantine cloisonné enamels contribute to this authentication process. None of the relics preserve their Greek inscriptions; therefore the Byzantine enamels and their Greek inscriptions served as the visual elements that communicated the Byzantine origins of the sacred remains.32 Just as the inscriptions documented by Wallon assured the authenticity of his relics and the authority of his words, so too do the preservation of the Greek inscriptions on the Stavelot triptych prove the veracity of these relics, and elevate Wilbald’s status as a diplomat who could acquire such prestigious items. The Stavelot Triptych and the literary sources that we have heretofore examined address the reception of only one type of Byzantine Greek inscription: labels attached to relics and icons. As for Byzantine epigrams, they are largely absent from the Latin literary sources of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but here is where one object can offer us a perspective. I focus now on a Byzantine reliquary of the True Cross that was made in the middle of the twelfth century and then given in 1174 to the Grandmont Abbey, where it was housed in a Limousin triptych and inscribed with a Latin epigram. The reliquary and triptych were destroyed in the French Revolution, but we have a number of sources that allow us to reconstruct the object’s history and physical appearance.33 The most important source is by the cleric François Ogier, who in 1658 published a description and two drawings of the Byzantine components.34 In 1668 Du Cange repeated Ogier’s observations, and offered a 30 31 32 33

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Klein, Byzanz, pp. 209–10 and 213. Jones, “Claiming the Cross,” pp. 131–145. Toussaint, “Identit愃ࠀt und Inschrift,” p. 79. The reliquary and triptych were transferred to the Limoges Cathedral on April 8, 1790, then later lost; see Jacques Rémy Antoine Téxier, Dictionnaire d’orfévrerie, de gravure et de ciselure chrétiennes (Paris, 1857), col. 882. Marie-Madeleine Gauthier, Les Routes de la Foi: Reliques et reliquaires de Jérusalem à Compostelle (Paris, 1983), p. 57; and Klein, Byzanz, p. 220 n. 194, give 1792 as the year of transfer. François Ogier, Inscription antique de la Vraye Croix de l’Abbaye de Grandmont (Paris, 1658).

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more historical analysis of the Byzantine reliquary, including how it may have been transferred from Constantinople to Grandmont.35 The inventories of the Grandmont Treasury, the first of which dates to 1495, are also crucial sources on the appearance of both the reliquary and triptych.36 While the Byzantine reliquary and its epigram have been studied most notably by Du Cange, Anatole Frolow, Klein, and Andreas Rhoby, much less attention has been given to the Limousin triptych and its Latin epigram. In what follows I reconstruct the appearance of the reliquary and the triptych and discuss the ways in which the Latin poet appears to have had some knowledge regarding the content and meaning of the Greek epigram.37 The Byzantine reliquary was small (15 × 10 cm), and could have been worn as an enkolpion.38 It consisted of a shallow silver-gilt box with a sliding silver lid, that featured a repoussé depiction of the Crucifixion.39 This image adhered to standard Middle Byzantine iconography with one notable addition. It featured Christ on the cross, the Mother of God to the left, John the Apostle to the right, two angels above the crossarm, and a man in a gesture of prayer at the foot of the cross.40 While sources do not identify this figure it is presumably the patron, Alexios Doukas, who is mentioned in the epigram that was inscribed on the back of the reliquary.41 The relic of the True Cross was housed inside the box, for which we have a drawing published by Ogier (fig. 14.7). The wood was displayed in a receptacle 35

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Charles Dufresne Du Cange, “Explication des inscriptions de la vraye Croix, qui est en l’Abbaye de Grandmont, et de celle qui est au Monastere du Mont S. Quentin en Picardie,” in Histoire de S. Louys IX. du nom roy de France, ecrite par Jean sire de Joinville (Paris, 1668), pp. 309–314 (Dissertation XXVI). For these inventories, see Téxier, Dictionnaire d’orfévrerie, cols. 833–36; and Jacques-Paul Migne, Dictionnaire d’épigraphie chrétienne, vol. 1, Nouvelle encyclopédie théologique 30 (Paris, 1852), cols. 672–675. I thank Alexandra Courtois de Viçose for her assistance in reading these inventories. My analysis expands upon my previous work on this reliquary; see Hostetler, “Image, Epigram, and Nature,” pp. 179–183. For a discussion these dimensions see Hostetler, “Image, Epigram, and Nature,” pp. 186–187 n. 34. Du Cange, “Explication des inscriptions,” p. 310, describes the reliquary as an enkolpion. The form and materials of the reliquary are confirmed by Ogier and the inventory records cited above. The 1567 inventory in Migne, Dictionnaire d’épigraphie, col. 673, suggests that the lid loaded from the upper end of the box. The most detailed description of the lid is found in the 1666 inventory; Téxier, Dictionnaire d’orfévrerie, col. 835. A comparable composition is found on the eleventh- or twelfth-century lid of a reliquary of the True Cross in the Protaton Treasury, mentioned above; Hostetler, “Image, Epigram, and Nature,” pp. 172–179. Anatole Frolow, La relique de la Vraie Croix: recherches sur le développement d’un culte (Paris, 1961), no. 319, p. 320; and Klein, Kreuz, p. 220.

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Figure 14.7

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Engraving of the relic of the True Cross in the Byzantine reliquary, formerly of the Grandmont Abbey, from François Ogier, Inscription antique de la Vraye Croix de l’Abbaye de Grandmont (Paris, 1658) Photo in the Public Domain

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in the shape of a double-arm cross, and the silver-gilt plate around it appears to have been undecorated. Ogier also published a drawing of the back of the box, which featured a sixteen-verse epigram (fig. 14.8). Each line of inscribed text as seen in the drawing corresponds to one verse.

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Βραχὺν ὑπνώσας ὕπνον ἐν τριδενδ[ρί]ᾳ ὁ παμβασιλεὺς καὶ θεάν(θρωπ)ος Λόγος πολ뮻ὴν ἐπεβράβευσε τῷ δένδρῳ χάριν· ἐμψύχεται γὰρ πᾶς πυρούμενος νόσοις ὁ προσπεφευγὼς τοῖς τριδενδρίας κλάδοις· ἀλ뮻ὰ φλογωθεὶς ἐν μέσῃ μεσημβρίᾳ ἔδραμον, ἦλθον, τοῖς κλάδοις ὑπεισέδυν· καὶ σῇ σκιᾷ δέχου με καὶ καλῶς σκέπε, ὦ συσκιάζον δένδρον ἅπασαν χθόνα, καὶ τὴν Ἀερμὼν ἐνστάλαξόν μοι δρόσον ἐκ Δουκικ(ῆς) φυέντι καλ뮻ιδενδρίας, ἧς ῥιζόπρεμνον ἡ βασιλὶς Εἰρήνη, ἡ μητρομάμμη, τῶν ἀνάκτων τὸ κλέος, Ἀλεξίου κρατοῦντος Αὐσόνων δάμαρ· ναί, ναί, δυσωπῶ τὸν μόν(ον) φύλακά μου, σὸς δοῦλος Ἀλέξιος ἐ[κ] γένους Δούκας.42 Having slept a short sleep on the three-part tree the all-king and divine-man Logos granted much grace to the tree. For anyone inflamed with sickness is refreshed who fleeing for refuge to the branches of the three-part tree. But being ablaze right at the peak of midday I ran, I came, I sneaked to the branches. Receive and rightly shelter me with your shade, O Tree, shading the whole earth, and instill the dew of Haërmon upon me, having descended from the beautiful-tree of the Doukai, whose root being the Empress Eirene, the maternal grandmother, the glory of the kings, spouse of Alexios, ruler of the Ausones.

Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme, p. 2:175.

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Figure 14.8

Hostetler

Engraving of the inscription on the Byzantine reliquary, formerly of the Grandmont Abbey, 1658, from François Ogier, Inscription antique de la Vraye Croix de l’Abbaye de Grandmont (Paris, 1658) Photo in the Public Domain

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Yea, yea, I beg [you] my sole protector, your servant Alexios from the Doukai family.43

The end of this epigram identifies the patron as a certain Alexios Doukas, who claims to have been a grandson or great-grandson of Eirene Doukaina and the Emperor Alexios Komnenos (r. 1081–1118). We are unable, at this time, to identify this Alexios in the historical record, as there were several family members with this same name.44 While we do not know the author of this epigram, certain stylistic features suggest that it could have been written by Nicholas Kallikles, who composed epigrams for all types of objects on behalf of the Komnenian family.45 In any case, the reliquary likely dates to the middle of the twelfth century. This epigram is composed of sixteen verses and each verse consists of twelve syllables, with a caesura after the fifth or seventh, and a stress on the eleventh, a common verse form for inscriptions of the Middle and Late Byzantine periods.46 The epigram is noteworthy for its length; I know of only one epigram for a reliquary that was longer, and it was seventeen verses and was inscribed on a reliquary of the True Cross commissioned by Alexios’ grandmother, Eirene.47 We should remember that Alexios’ reliquary was only 15 × 10 cm, meaning that each of the letters would have been less than 1 cm in height for the full epigram to fit on the back of the reliquary. Needless to say, that was a lot of text to fit onto the surface of such a small object. Epigrams on works of art typically reference the object to some degree, name the patron or donor, and express the patron’s desired outcome, such as salvation, health, and protection. For Alexios’ epigram, we can identify four parts. Verses 1–5 describe the Crucifixion and the salvific power that it grants to the faithful who seek the cross. Verses 6–10 then turn to a personal narrative of a speaker who desires salvation by coming to the cross/tree and seeking shelter beneath its “branches”. Verses 11–14 then identify this speaker as a certain Alexios Doukas and his noble family lineage from Eirene Doukaina and 43 44 45 46 47

Hostetler, “Image, Epigram, and Nature,” p. 179. For a summary Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme, p. 2:177. Anatole Frolow, “Deux inscriptions sur des reliquaires byzantins,” Revue Archéologique 18 (1941): pp. 233–239. See also Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme, p. 2:177. For a detailed explanation of these rules, see Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme, p. 1:60. Rhoby, Byzantinische Epigramme, pp. 2:268–72 (Me90). The Anthologia Marciana (Venice, Biblioteca Marciana, Marc. Gr. 524) records two lengthy epigrams for reliquaries – one 24 verses long and the other 16 verses long – but we are uncertain whether these two epigrams were ever inscribed, or if they only existed in the manuscript record; Spyridon Lambros, “Ὁ Μαρκιανὸς κῶδιξ 524,” Nέος Ἑλ뮻ηνομνήμων 8 (1911): nos. 79, 92.

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Alexios Komnenos. The final two verses (15–16) then present Alexios’ plea to the cross for protection. This epigram is highly personal. Alexios speaks in the first-person singular, and addresses the relic directly in the vocative (v. 9, “ὦ δένδρον”). He beseeches it with imperative verbs, such as “receive me” (v. 8, “δέχου με”), “shelter me” (v. 8, “σκέπε”), and “instill upon me” (v. 10, “ἐνστάλαξόν μοι”), culminating with verse 15, where Alexios asks it to be “my sole protector” (“τὸν μόνον φύλακά μου”). The True Cross is for him, and him alone. The idiosyncratic ways in which Alexios addresses the relic also speaks to the personal nature of the object. Epigrams on reliquaries of the True Cross typically identify the relic by such terms such as wood (ξύλον) and cross (σταυρός). This is not the case for Alexios’ epigram. He addresses the relic using tree-like terminology and imagery to extend the metaphor of the True Cross as his shading tree of protection.48 The epigram speaks of Alexios’ fever, allegorically presented here as heat from the sun, and that he runs to the relic of the True Cross as his respite. It says that this fever broke at “the peak of midday”, a phrase that alludes to the moment of the Crucifixion.49 He finds his solace at the cross, and at the time and place of his salvation. Today we are reading this epigram divorced from the object, but it is clear that Alexios is narrating the image that was on the lid. Here, we would have found him in a gesture of prayer beneath the cross, at the Crucifixion and with Mary and John. The epigram was therefore Alexios’ own narration of the events that he experienced via the image. The personal nature of the object is also conveyed by the elaboration of Alexios’ lineage. As Ivan Drpić demonstrates, Byzantine epigrams tend to position the patron on two axes. The vertical axis seeks to ingratiate the patron to the divine, as Alexios does through his personal pleas to the cross. On the horizontal axis, patrons attempt to position themselves within their social and family connections.50 Alexios shows that he is a direct descendant of the imperial couple, and thus part of these illustrious families (Komnenoi and Doukai). By establishing these imperial links, Alexios is also showing his rightful access to relics of the True Cross. From the time of Constantine and Helena, relics of the True Cross were associated with Byzantium; emperors controlled the relics’ distribution to the Christian world.51 This Byzantine reliquary eventually came into the possession of Amalric the Latin King of Jerusalem (r. 1163–111174). We do not know the precise 48 49 50 51

Hostetler, “Image, Epigram, and Nature,” p. 182. Hostetler, “Image, Epigram, and Nature,” p. 182. Drpić, Epigram, Art, and Devotion, p. 99. Jones, “Perceptions of Byzantium,” pp. 105–106.

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circumstances of this transfer, but Frolow has suggested that it could have been a wedding gift in 1167, when Amalric married Maria Komnene, the great grandniece of Manuel Komnenos (r. 1143–80).52 Du Cange suggested that Amalric could have received it from Alexios Doukas himself, when the king visited Constantinople in 1170.53 In any case, the reliquary then passed to Bishop Bernhard of Lydda who brought it to Grandmont, and donated it to the Abbey in 1174 on Amalric’s behalf.54 At some point after its arrival to Grandmont, the Byzantine reliquary was enclosed at the center of a silver-gilt triptych with gabled top, produced by a local Limousin workshop.55 The central compartment was also small, matching the dimensions of the Byzantine reliquary. The inside of the doors of the triptych featured engraved images of Ss. Peter and Paul (presumably left and right) each labeled with Latin inscriptions.56 The entire triptych was mounted on a pole that measured one foot, and supported by a square base, measuring one-half foot on each side.57 This base was decorated with precious stones and perhaps enamels.58 This new triptych was given a Latin epigram.59 Eight verses were displayed on the outside of the doors, and eight more verses were displayed in the back:

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Qui semper vivit, cum mortem sponte subivit, Mors vitam genuit, mors nece trita fuit. Lux caligavit, pax vera crucem toleravit. Nox sua nostra dies, crux sua nostra quies. Crux plasmatoris, via pacis, meta laboris, Mors Salvatoris, mors mortis, culmen honoris, Crux pretiosa, vale, mundi pretium speciale;

Frolow, “Deux inscriptions,” p. 234. Du Cange, “Explication des inscriptions,” pp. 312–313. Bernard Itier, Chronicon, p. 48, ed. and trans. Andrew W. Lewis, The Chronicle and Historical Notes of Bernard Itier (Oxford, 2012). See also Frolow, La relique, pp. 341–342, no. 365. Ogier, Inscription antique, n.p., attributes the triptych to a local Limousin workshop. Klein, Byzanz, p. 224, believes that the triptych was made soon after the reliquary’s arrival. Téxier, Dictionnaire d’orfévrerie, col. 835. Téxier, Dictionnaire d’orfévrerie, cols. 835–836. Téxier, Dictionnaire d’orfévrerie, cols. 835–836. The inventory of 1567 suggests that the base was not original to this triptych; Migne, Dictionnaire d’épigraphie, col. 673. Ogier, Inscription antique, n.p., described the letters as Gothic, and was of the opinion that the inscriptions on both sides were contemporaneous with each other and with the triptych.

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Crux reverenda, vale, populi decus imperiale. Rex Amalricus sit summi regis amicus. Propter dona crucis donetur munere lucis. Quando crucem misit, nos Christi gratia visit. Hinc jocundemur, vigilesque Deum veneremur, Regia miremur; regem pro rege precemur. Christo jungatur quicunque crucem veneratur. Ne pars nec tota sit Grandimonte remota. Qui scelus illud aget, Deus hanc anathemate plaget.60 He who lives forever, when he willingly submitted to death, death begat life, death was destroyed by death. The light dimmed, true peace sustained the cross. His night is our day, his cross is our rest. Cross of the Creator, way of peace, the end of suffering, Death of the Savior, death of death, the height of honor, Precious Cross, be strong, special ransom for the world; Venerable Cross, be well, imperial glory for the people. May King Amalric be the friend of the Supreme King. On account of his gifts of the cross, may he be given the gift of light. When he sent the cross, the grace of Christ visited us. Let us henceforth rejoice, O Watchmen, and worship God. Let us admire royal things; let us pray for the king to the king. Christ joins whoever worships the cross. Neither part nor the whole may be removed from Grandmont. Whoever should commit this crime, may God strike him with anathema.61

The Latin epigram consists of five parts. The first part (vv. 1–6) is a description of, and a theological comment on, the Crucifixion and the power of the cross. The second (vv. 7–8) addresses the cross directly. The third (vv. 9–11) identifies King Amalric as the donor of the relic. The fourth (vv. 12–14) calls upon the Grandmont Abbey to pray for their royal donor. The fifth part (vv. 15–16) ends with a plea to God to punish anyone who might remove any part of this relic from Grandmont. It is clear that the Latin epigram is not a translation of the

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Ed. Téxier, Dictionnaire d’orfévrerie, col. 835, with emendations by Frolow, La relique, pp. 321–322, no. 319; and Robert Favreau, et al., eds., Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale, vol. 2, Limousin: Corrèze, Creuse, Haute-Vienne (Paris, 1978), p. 111. I am grateful to Sarah Luginbill and Péter Bara for their assistance with my translation.

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Greek epigram, but there are clues that suggest the Latin poet was consciously responding to it. This inscription, like that on the Byzantine reliquary, is also metrical. It is composed of sixteen leonine verses, meaning that the word at the middle of each verse, at the caesura, rhymes with the last word of that same verse. The first four verses are composed as two elegiac couplets, that is, a hexamer verse followed by a pentameter verse. The remaining twelve verses are all written as hexameters. Latin leonine hexameter was a popular verse form for inscriptions in eleventh and twelfth-century France.62 When we survey verse inscriptions on portable objects from this period, we discover that sixteen verses was a lot for an object of this size.63 Verse inscriptions of this length were most often associated with epitaphs and architectural inscriptions, i.e., monuments and spaces with more surface area. When we look for longer inscriptions on portable objects – those that are comparable in word quantity to the Grandmont triptych – they tend to be in prose, tend to be found on reliquaries, and tend to list the relics that these reliquaries contain.64 The metrical inscription on the Grandmont triptych was therefore exceptional for its length on such a small portable object. Given that it consists of sixteen verses we can reasonably conclude that its verse quantity was determined by a desire to match the number of verses in the Byzantine epigram. Just as the Greek epigram addresses the relic in the vocative and with imperative verbs, so too does the Latin epigram (v. 7, “Crux pretiosa vale”; v. 8, “Crux reverenda vale”). But while the Greek epigram, as we have seen, speaks to the highly personal nature of the Byzantine reliquary, the Latin epigram conveys the object’s changing audience and function. Verse four makes it apparent that the epigram is written in the first-person plural, and verse twelve calls upon the Grandmont community to venerate the relic and to pray for the donor. This change, from first person singular of the Byzantine reliquary to 62

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For an overview of Latin verse inscriptions in the West, see Calvin B. Kendall, The Allegory of the Church: Romanesque Portals and Their Verse Inscriptions (Toronto, 1998), pp. 69–79. One example is the tympanum of the Last Judgment, dated ca. 1130–1135, at the Cathedral of St-Lazare in Autun that is inscribed with six leonine hexameter verses; Kendall, Allegory, pp. 206–207, cat. 12. See the inscriptions documented in the Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale, 26 vols. (Paris, 1974–2016). See, for example, the reliquary of the Holy Thorn, dated to the mid-thirteenth century, now at the Abbey of Grandselve in Bouillac. The back of this reliquary is equipped with a copper door (29.5 × 13.2 cm), engraved with a non-metrical inscription that lists over 30 relics; the letters are 0.8 cm tall, and distributed over 24 lines. Robert Favreau et al., eds., Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale, vol. 8, Ariège, Haute-Garonne, Hautes-Pyrénées, Tarn-et-Garonne (Paris, 1982), pp. 117–119.

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first person plural of the Limousin triptych, reflects the new context in which the relic was used. The triptych was equipped with a stand, and placed on the altar of the Grandmont abbey. Frolow even suggests that the pole may have been added in order for the reliquary to be processed in liturgy.65 No longer was the reliquary a personal object, but now one designed for the benefit of the community. Its donation to the Grandmont Abbey was even recorded in the Grandmont’s martyrology for May 31, where the relic and its illustrious donor could forever be remembered.66 We should also consider the way in which the Latin inscription was displayed. The first eight verses were placed on the doors; the other eight verses were displayed on the back as a single block of text. This latter portion of the Latin inscription would have mirrored the way in which the Byzantine inscription was displayed on its reverse. In this new setting, however, the Greek text was completely concealed within the triptych, and over-written by the Latin inscription on the outside. The only way in which the Byzantine inscription would have been visible is by removing it from the triptych, and it is not clear by the sources whether this was regularly practiced.67 This form of display is in stark contrast to what we saw with the Stavelot Triptych, where the Byzantine enamels, their images and inscriptions, are all central to the object’s visual presentation and validation of the relic of the True Cross. For the Grandmont triptych, the Greek epigram was completely enveloped and concealed by the Latin text, front and back, as if it was meant to supplant and replace the Byzantine inscription. This writing-out of Byzantium is also seen in the way in which the Latin epigram documents the provenance of the relic. Byzantium is passed over in silence; Amalric’s connections to the Byzantine court and his access to relics of the True Cross – whether by marriage or by some other diplomatic means – was completely omitted from the relic’s history. Amalric is presented as the sole source of the relic, and the Grandmont abbey as the sole recipient.

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Frolow, “Deux inscriptions”, p. 233. “Anno MCLXXIV, tempore Guillelmi VI, Prioris Grandimontis, susceptio vivificae Crucis pridie Kal. Iunii, quam praedictus Rex Amalricus cum aureo contulit phylacterio, et divina inspiratione illuminatus eamdem per Bernardum venerabilem Liddensem Episcopum apud Grandimontem direxit;” ed. Du Cange, “Explication des inscriptions,” p. 312. This was obviously possible when Ogier made his edition of the Greek epigram, but few of the inventories even mention the Greek inscription, which raises the question whether its presence was forgotten by most of the Grandmont community.

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Conclusion

These examples of texts and objects illustrate some of the methods and motivations of Latin authors and artists responding to Greek inscriptions on Byzantine objects. As we have seen, the acknowledgement of a Greek inscription can be one way in which the author attempts to authenticate the Byzantine object for its new Western context. This was especially important at this time when there was an influx of sacred remains that were moving West from Constantinople and other parts of the Eastern Mediterranean. Acknowledging the presence of a Greek inscription was one way in which the new Latin recipients were able to discern between what was authentic and what was a forgery. In the case of Wallon de Sarton, we see how he went beyond simply acknowledging the Greek inscription, and used it as part of his discovery narrative: he was able to recognize and identify the relics because of the Greek inscriptions. But in the case of the reliquary triptych of Grandmont, we find a different response. The Latin epigram shows an awareness of the Byzantine epigram – due to the quantity of verses, the vocative and imperative address of the relic, and the first-person narration – but the visual presence of that Greek epigram is all but erased. The new Latin epigram and its setting helps transform this personal object to one that was publicly venerated. This does not mean that Byzantium was completely erased from the Grandmont triptych. The lid of the Byzantine reliquary was still visible when the doors of the triptych were opened. The lid could be removed to show the relic in the form of a double-arm cross – an iconography that originated in, and was associated with, Byzantium.68 So while the Greek inscription may have become unnecessary for the purpose of the reliquary’s new setting, other Byzantine features were still visible. The Grandmont is a rare exception of a Latin author and/or artist responding to a Greek epigram. This raises the question of why there is more evidence of Latin writers acknowledging, documenting, and describing Greek naming inscriptions, but very little evidence for them doing the same with Greek epigrams. I argue that naming inscriptions and labels were more frequently documented because they had a utilitarian purpose. Beyond the cultural value that any Greek letter inscribed on an object could convey, the label for a relic was also valuable in that it identified the sacred matter. Epigrams do not always possess that same quality. They tend to be more personal and specific to the owner. In the case of Alexios’ reliquary, the epigram was specific to him, and 68

Anatole Frolow, Les reliquaires de la Vraie Croix, (Paris, 1965), pp. 124–134.

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would therefore have had little purpose for the new Latin audience, especially one that wanted to transform the object’s function from private to public, and to foreground the preeminence of Amalric as the object’s primary and only donor.

Bibliography Primary Sources Bernard Itier. Chronicon. Ed. and trans. Andrew W. Lewis, The Chronicle and Historical Notes of Bernard Itier. Oxford, 2012. Conciliorum oecumenicorum decreta. Ed. Giuseppe Alberigo et al. Bologna, 1973. Gunther of Pairis. Hystoria Constantinopolitana. Ed. Peter Orth. Hildesheim, 1994. Trans. Alfred Andrea, The Capture of Constantinople. Philadelphia, 1997. Richard de Gerberoy. De capta et direpta a Latinis Constantinopoli. Acta Sanctorum Iunii. Antwerp, 1707.

Secondary Sources Albrecht, Stefan. “Vom Ungl甃ࠀck der Sieger – Kreuzfahrer in Konstantinopel nach 1204.” In Byzanz – das Römerreich im Mittelalter, vol. 2.1, Schauplätze, eds. Falko Daim, and Jörg Drauschke, 135–144. Mainz, 2010. Angar, Mabi. Byzantine Head Reliquaries and their Perception in the West After 1204: A Case Study of the Reliquary of St. Anastasios the Persian in Aachen and Related Objects. Wiesbaden, 2017. Bartlett, George. “What’s in a Name? Images of Christ Inscribed with Epithets in Middle and Late Byzantine Art.” PhD thesis, University of Sussex, 2020. Boston, Karen. “The Power of Inscriptions and the Trouble with Texts.” In Icon and Word: The Power of Images in Byzantium, Studies Presented to Robin Cormack, eds. Antony Eastmond and Liz James, 36–51. Aldershot, 2003. Brook, Leslie C. “A Translation de la Relique de Saint Jean-Baptiste à la Cathédrale d’Amiens: Récits Latin et Français.” Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 91 (1990): 93–106. Drpić, Ivan. Epigram, Art, and Devotion in Later Byzantium. Cambridge, 2016. Drpić, Ivan. “Inscriptions.” In The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Literature, ed. Stratis Papaioannou, 381–406. Oxford, 2021. Du Cange, Charles Dufresne. Traité historique du chef de S. Jean Baptiste. Paris, 1665. Du Cange, Charles Dufresne. “Explication des inscriptions de la vraye Croix, qui est en l’Abbaye de Grandmont, et de celle qui est au Monastere du Mont S. Quentin en Picardie.” In Histoire de S. Louys IX. du nom roy de France, ecrite par Jean sire de Joinville, 309–314. Paris, 1668. Durand, Jannic. “Les reliques de saint Mammès au trésor de la cathédrale de Langres.” Travaux et mémoires 14 (Mélanges Gilbert Dagron) (2002): 181–200.

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Durand, Jannic. “Reliques et reliquaires constantinopolitains du chef de saint Jean-Baptiste apportés en Occident après 1204.” In Contacts: Revue Française de l’Orthodoxie 59, no. 218 (La vénération de saint Jean-Baptiste. Actes du Colloque œcuménique du diocèse d’Amiens, 23–24 juin 2006) (2007): 188–221. Exarchos, Leonie. Lateiner am Kaiserhof in Konstantinopel: Expertise and Loyalitäten zwischen Byzanz und dem Westen (1143–1204). Paderborn, 2022. Favreau, Robert, et al., eds. Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale. 26 vols. Paris, 1974–2016. Frolow, Anatole. “Deux inscriptions sur des reliquaires byzantins.” Revue Archéologique 18 (1941): 233–239. Frolow, Anatole. La relique de la Vraie Croix: recherches sur le développement d’un culte. Paris, 1961. Frolow, Anatole. Les reliquaires de la Vraie Croix. Paris, 1965. Gauthier, Marie-Madeleine. Les Routes de la Foi: Reliques et reliquaires de Jérusalem à Compostelle. Paris, 1983. Hilsdale, Cecily J. Byzantine Art and Diplomacy in an Age of Decline. Cambridge, 2014. Hostetler, Brad. “The Iconography of Text: The Placement of an Inscription on a Middle Byzantine Reliquary.” Eastern Christian Art 8 (2011): 49–55. Hostetler, Brad. “The Function of Text: Byzantine Reliquaries with Epigrams, 843–1204.” PhD dissertation, Florida State University, 2016. Hostetler, Brad. “Image, Epigram, and Nature in Middle Byzantine Personal Devotion.” In Natural Materials of the Holy Land and the Visual Translation of Place, 500–1500, eds. Renana Bartal, Neta Bodner, Bianca K甃ࠀhnel, 172–189. London, 2017. Janin, Raymond. La géographie ecclésiastique de l’Empire byzantin, première partie, Le siège de Constantinople et le patriarcat œcuménique, tome III, Les églises et les monastères. Paris, 1969. Jones, Lynn. “Medieval Armenian Identity and Relics of the True Cross (9th–11th Centuries).” Journal of the Society for Armenian Studies 12 (2001, 2002 [2003]): 43–53. Jones, Lynn. “The Enkolpion of Edward the Confessor: Byzantium and Anglo-Saxon Concepts of Rulership.” In Cross and Cruciform in the Anglo-Saxon World: Studies to Honor the Memory of Timothy Reuter, eds. Sarah Larratt Keefer et al., 369–385. Morgantown, 2010. Jones, Lynn. “Perceptions of Byzantium: Radegund of Poitiers and the Relics of the True Cross.” In Byzantine Images and their Afterlives: Essays in Honor of Annemarie Weyl Carr, ed. Lynn Jones, 105–24. Farnham, 2014. Jones, Lynn. “Claiming the Cross: Reconsidering the Stavelot Triptych.” In The Eloquence of Art: Essays in Honour of Henry Maguire, eds. Andrea Olsen Lam, and Rossitza Schroeder, 131–145. London, 2020. Kalavrezou, Ioli. “Images of the Mother: When the Virgin Mary Became Meter Theou.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44 (1990): 165–172.

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Kendall, Calvin B. The Allegory of the Church: Romanesque Portals and Their Verse Inscriptions. Toronto, 1998. Kiilerich, Bente. “What’s in a Name? The Meaning of Name Inscriptions in Byzantine Art.” In Medioevo: Immagine e Racconto, Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi, Parma, 27–30 Settembre 2000, ed. Arturo Carlo Quintavalle, 87–95. Milan, 2003. Klein, Holger. Byzanz, der Westen und das ‘wahre’ Kreuz: die Geschichte einer Reliquie und ihrer künstlerischen Fassung in Byzanz und im Abendland. Wiesbaden, 2004. Klein, Holger. “Eastern Objects and Western Desires: Relics and Reliquaries between Byzantium and the West.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 58 (2004): 283–314. Lambros, Spyridon. “Ὁ Μαρκιανὸς κῶδιξ 524.” Nέος Ἑλληνομνήμων 8 (1911): 3–59, 123–92. Lester, Anne E. “The Tasks of the Translators: Relics and Communications Between Constantinople and Northern France in the Aftermath of 1204.” In The French of Outremer: Communities and Communications in the Crusading Mediterranean, eds. Laura K. Morreale and Nicholas L. Paul, 179–200. New York, 2018. Lester, Anne E. “Translation and Appropriation: Greek Relics in the Latin West in the Aftermath of the Fourth Crusade.” Studies in Church History 53 (2017): 88–117. Liddel, Peter, and Polly Low, eds. Inscriptions and Their Uses in Greek and Latin Literature. Oxford, 2013. Maguire, Henry. The Icons of Their Bodies: Saints and Their Images in Byzantium. Princeton, 1996. Maguire, Henry. “Eufrasius and Friends: On Names and Their Absence in Byzantine Art.” In Art and Text in Byzantine Culture, ed. Liz James, 139–160. Cambridge, 2007. Migne, Jacques-Paul. Dictionnaire d’épigraphie chrétienne. Vol. 1, Nouvelle encyclopédie théologique 30. Paris, 1852. Ogier, François. Inscription antique de la Vraye Croix de l’Abbaye de Grandmont. Paris, 1658. Papadopoulos, Stelios and Chrysoula Kapioldasi-Sotiropoulou, eds. The Treasury of the Protaton. Vol. 1. Mount Athos, 2001. Pentcheva, Bissera. “The Performance of Relics.” In Symmeikta. Collection of Papers Dedicated to the 40th Anniversary of the Institute for Art History, Faculty of Philosophy, University of Belgrade, ed. Ivan Stevović, 55–71. Belgrade, 2012. Perry, David. Sacred Plunder: Venice and the Aftermath of the Fourth Crusade. University Park, 2015. Rhoby, Andreas. Byzantinische Epigramme in inschriftlicher Überlieferung. 4 vols. Vienna, 2009–2018. Riant, Paul. Exuviae sacrae Constantinopolitanae. 2 vols. Geneva, 1877–78; reprinted Paris, 2004. R甃ࠀckert, Rainer. “Zur Form der byzantinischen Reliquiare.” Münchner Jahrbuch der bildenden Kunst 8 (1957): 7–36.

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Téxier, Jacques Rémy Antoine. Dictionnaire d’orfévrerie, de gravure et de ciselure chrétiennes. Paris, 1857. Toussaint, Gia. Kreuz und Knochen. Reliquien zur Zeit der Kreuzzüge. Berlin, 2011. Toussaint, Gia. “Schöne Sch愃ࠀdel: Die H愃ࠀupter der Heiligen in Ost und West.” In Knotenpunkt Byzanz: Wissensformen und kulturelle Wechselbeziehungen, eds. Andreas Speer und Philipp Steinkr甃ࠀger, 655–678. Berlin, 2012. Toussaint, Gia. “Identit愃ࠀt und Inschrift. Reliquien und ihre Kennzeichnung in Byzanz und im Westen.” In Inschriften als Zeugnisse des Kulturellen Gedächtnisses. 40 Jahre Deutsche Inschriften an der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen 1970–2010, ed. Nikolaus Henkel, 73–85. Wiesbaden, 2012. Voelkle, William. The Stavelot Triptych: Mosan Art and the Legend of the True Cross. New York, 1980.

Chapter 15

The Bilingual Inscriptions in the Nativity Church in Bethlehem: an Epigraphic Convergence Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

The restoration works (2013–2020) of the Nativity church in Bethlehem have unveiled what appears to be, for the most part, an extraordinary graphic symphony, which turns into a cacophony in certain areas.1 This shrine, built on the alleged birthplace of Christ, thus one of the most significant loca sancta, received a great number of inscriptions and graffiti in numerous languages, from the fourth century – the first Constantinian church – to the twenty-first century.2 Most of the monumental writings still extant were made in the twelfth century, particularly under the joint patronage of King Amalric (1163–1174) and Emperor Manuel I Komnenos (1143–1180), in the 1160s with the participation of the local Christian communities. When the Crusaders occupied Bethlehem in 1099, the building still roughly maintained its original sixth-century form, erected after a fire had destroyed the very first church. The Crusaders made no – or very minimal – structural changes, limited only to the décor, but at the same time, they transformed the ecclesiastical status of the church. Bethlehem became the seat of a bishop, a church ruled by regular canons3 where two kings chose to be crowned, Baldwin (on Christmas Day 1100) and his successor Baldwin II (in 1119). In the second half of the twelfth century, especially after the earthquake in Judea in 1160, the church received an important decorative programme, covering all

1 This study is a part of the GRAPH-EAST project on the inscriptions and graffiti in Latin alphabet in Eastern Mediterranean during the Middle Ages. This ERC Starting grant project has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under grant agreement No 948390. Concerning the epigraphy, see Clément Dussart, Estelle Ingrand-Varenne, eds., The Graphic Signs in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem during the Middle Ages (proceedings of the international conference, June 2022, in preparation). I am very grateful to Maria Aimé Villano for her valuable help with the translation. 2 See Claudio Alessandri, ed., The Restoration of the Nativity Church in Bethlehem (London, 2020). 3 On the bishop and the canons, see the synthesis: Bernard Hamilton, Andrew Jotischky, Latin and Greek Monasticism in the Crusader States (Cambridge, 2020), in particular the chapter “The Austin Canons of the Church of the Holy Nativity, Bethlehem” pp. 92–112.

© Koninklijke Brill BV, Leiden, 2025 | doi:10.1163/9789004721678_016

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the walls with mosaics and most of its columns with paintings.4 Within the frame of these extensive works, a series of inscriptions in Greek and in Latin were integrated. It is important to underline that such inscriptions need to be interpreted together with their iconographic context, which has been fortunately very well studied in recent years by Gustav and Bianca K甃ࠀhnel and Michele Bacci, after the work made by the Franciscan Bellarmino Bagatti.5 This artistic “Byzantine-Latin joint venture”6 was also a linguistic and textual entreprise through epigraphy. Nevertheless, such a venture was not a translation strictly speaking, at least not in the narrow sense of the term, if translation is the communication of the meaning of a source-language text by means of an equivalent target-language text, presupposing a text chronologically prior to the second which results from it.7 It is even doubtful whether there was any coherent overall linguistic thinking behind these inscriptions, as we will see. However, the coexistence and interference of the two languages and scripts bear witness to a linguistic and graphic ‘experience’ that we must try to grasp. Within the general aim of this volume – the dynamics of linguistic and cultural exchange from Greek into Latin (and perhaps also from Latin into Greek) – I propose to distinguish three different types of relationships, three types of dialogue between the inscriptions: namely, that of equivalence (the names of the saints on the columns), of adaptation (the dedicatory inscription in the bema), and of selection (the councils in the mosaic of the nave). These relationships will be analysed not only from a linguistic point of view but also

4 This decoration was not the first one made by the Crusaders; it was superimposed on earlier paintings. See Michele Bacci, “Paintings on Columns,” in The Restoration of the Nativity Church, pp. 271–272. 5 Bellarmino Bagatti, Gli antichi edifici sacri di Betlemme: In seguito agli scavi e restauri praticati dalla custodia di Terra Santa (1948–51), Studium Biblicum Franciscanum: Collectio Maior 9 (Jerusalem, 1952); Gustav K甃ࠀhnel, Wall Painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem (Berlin, 1988), pp. 1–147; Michele Bacci, The Mystic Cave: A History of the Nativity Church in Bethlehem (Brno and Roma, 2017); Bianca and Gustav K甃ࠀhnel, The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem: The Crusader Lining of an Early Christian Basilica; With a New Edition of the Mosaic Inscriptions in the Appendix by Erich Lamberz (Regensburg, 2019). 6 Bacci, The Mystic Cave, p. 136. 7 Nevertheless, we should mention the recent works published on medieval translation, particularly in France: Claudio Galderisi, dir., Translations médiévales. Cinq siècles de traductions en français au Moyen Âge (XIe–XVe siècles). Étude et Répertoire, 2 vols. (Turnhout, 2011); Claudio Galderisi, Jean-Jacques Vincensini, eds., La traduction entre Moyen Âge et Renaissance. Médiations, auto-traductions et traductions secondes (Turnhout, 2017); Claudio Galderisi, La rumeur des distances traverses. Transferts culturels, traductions et translations entre Moyen Âge et Modernité (Turnhout, 2021). See also two collections of Brepols: “Bibliothèque de Transmédie” and “The Medieval Translator.”

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from a graphical and sociolinguistic perspective, which will, in addition, take into account the various actors of epigraphic communication.

1

Introductory Remarks

Before plunging into the analysis of the texts, four essential insights into the political-religious and epigraphical context will be given to understand the singularity of Bethlehem better. 1. The epigraphic and iconographic programme of the Nativity church was the result of a very well-known ‘rapprochement’ of the Latin and Byzantine interests in the second half of the twelfth century.8 This rapport occurred through a series of marriages between the Komnenoi and the ruling families of the Levant (the marriage of Baldwin III to Manuel’s niece, Theodora in 1158, Amalric’s wedding to Manuel’s great-niece Maria in 1167). Still, more importantly, it took place through the shift from an anti-crusader doctrine to the so-called ‘policy of détente’ promoted by the Byzantine emperor. Moreover, the Byzantine Empire was an essential ally for the Latins in the fight on the Islamic frontier. During the decade from 1166–1176, Manuel pursued a policy to unite Christendom under his protection. His policy was realised through discussions about church unity with the pope and the leaders of the non-Chalcedonian churches of the East.9 2. The second aspect we must consider is the common attitude towards epigraphy both in the Latin and the Byzantine realms, which is rooted in the convergence of theology and writing. In Christian culture, Christ is the incarnated Verbum; because of that, writing was the source, agent, and product of Christian sacredness.10 In the twelfth century, the written word could be found everywhere in the church, and this statement is valid for the entire

8 9 10

Ralph-Johannes Lilie (translated by J.C. Morris and Jean E. Ridings), Byzantium and the Crusader States, 1096–1204 (Oxford, 1993; rev. 1988). Christopher MacEvitt, The Crusades and the Christian World of the East. Rough Tolerance (Philadelphia, 2008), in particular chapter 6: “The Price of Unity: Ecumenical Negotiations and the End of Rough Tolerance.” Vincent Debiais, “La tentation de Byzance. Réflexions sur les inscriptions byzantines vues de la Latinité,” in Inscriptions in Byzantium and Beyond. Methods – Projects – Case Studies, ed. Andreas Rhoby (Vienna, 2015), pp. 39–49. This article highlights some common features of epigraphic practices across medieval Europe and tries to erase the artificial separations established by scholarly traditions during the nineteenth and twentieth century.

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Christendom. Hence the church may be considered a “house of inscriptions” – to use Giorgios Pallis’ expression – full of texts that the faithful would see and even read.11 Among these texts, the name of saints was particularly significant: after the iconoclastic controversy, it had become unacceptable to represent a figure or a scene without identifying it by an inscription. In the Western Christian world, because of the so-called ‘inflation of the name’ phenomenon, the representations and the names of the saints increased significantly in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.12 3. The coextensive use of Greek and Latin in Bethlehem, even if exceptional, was not unique during the Crusader period. In the rotunda of the Holy Sepulchre, the visual representations of Constantine and his mother Helena were accompanied by their names, written in both languages.13 In the 1160s, the German pilgrim Theodoric stated, about this rotunda and the lower string-course which runs around the whole church, that “Grecis literis descriptum est per totum” (it is covered with inscriptions in Greek letters). He also mentioned the bilingual salutation “Ave Maria gratia plena” written around the Christ himself.14 Furthermore, it should be stressed that even the liturgy could be bilingual: during the triduum sacrum, in particular during the Holy Fire celebration, some chants and mostly the readings alternated in their entirety by being read first in Latin and then in Greek.15 Some decades before (1100s), the seal of one of the first Latin patriarchs of Jerusalem, Evremard, bore a two-line legend in Latin and Greek.16 Contemporary to the mosaics of 11

12

13 14 15

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Georgios Pallis, “The House of Inscriptions: The Epigraphic World of the Middle Byzantine Church,” in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: Continuities and Transformations. Papers from the Forty-Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, eds. Marc Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London and New York, 2020), p. 155. Robert Favreau, “Des inscriptions pour l’image du Christ (XIe–XIIIe siècles),” in Qu’est-ce que nommer ? L’image légendée entre monde monastique et pensée scolastique, ed. Christian Heck (Turnhout, 2010), pp. 169–185. On names in epigraphy, see also: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne, Elisa Pallottini, Janneke Raaijmakers (†) dir., Writing Names in Medieval Sacred Spaces. Inscriptions in the West, from the Late Antiquity to the Early Middle Ages (Turnhout, 2023). Francesco Quaresmio, Historica theologica et moralis Terrae Sanctae elucidatio (Anvers, 1639), vol. 2, p. 369. R.B.C. Huygens, Peregrinationes tres: Saewulf, Iohannes Wirziburgensis, Theodericus (Turnhout, 1994), p. 150. Sebastián Ernesto Salvadó, The Liturgy of the Holy Sepulchre and the Templar Rite. Edition and Analysis of the Jerusalem Ordinal (Rome, Bib. Vat., Barb. Lat. 659) with a Comparative Study of the Acre Breviary (Paris, Bib. Nat., Ms. Latin 10478) (PhD, Stanford University, 2011), pp. 154–155. Melchior de Vog甃ࠀé, Les églises de la Terre Sainte (Paris, 1860), pp. 87–88.

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Bethlehem, in the 1160–1170s, an important set of wall paintings was accomplished by Byzantine artists in the Hospitaller church of Abu-Ghosh. Some of the scenes in this cycle have inscriptions only in Greek (nomina sacra in the Deeisis or for the name of John the Baptist), and some others, as in the case of the scene of the Crucifixion, propose a mixture of languages (the names of the thieves in Greek, the names of John, Mary, Synagogue in Latin).17 4. Whereas this paper focuses on the use and interaction of Latin and Greek, the Nativity church was not a bilingual or digraphic universe but a multilingual and multigraphic one. In the nave mosaics, on the north wall, the Melkite deacon and artist Basil gave his signature in Latin and Syriac. It testifies to the role of the art of the Melkite community within the Nativity Church and Melkite-Latin relations within the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem.18 This community could speak Greek, but also Syriac or Arabic. Later, in the years 1220–1230, when the Byzantine portal of the basilica was transformed into an ogival doorway, it received new leaves with Armenian and Arabic texts.19 The twelfth-century lavish programme of the Nativity church involved at least three actors/communities for the epigraphic communication. It is, therefore, necessary to overcome the Roman- or Constantinopolitan dichotomy, together with its binary and limited perspective, to unveil the multi-layered interactions that took place in the decoration of the church. Depending on the linguistic and cultural baggage of each person/community, the relationships between the languages were different. These interactions could reflect either mutual understanding with faculties of bilingualism issued from a surrounding multilingual universe or distance and linguistic gaps. For instance, it is unlikely that 17

18

19

Despite several recent works on these paintings, there is no specific study of the inscriptions and this question of languages: Jean-Baptiste Delzant dir., L’église d’Abu Gosh : 850 ans de regards sur les fresques d’une église franque en Terre sainte (Paris, 2018); Rachel Ouizemann, “Between Conservation and Restoration: The Wall Paintings in the Church of the Crusaders in Abu Gosh and the Authentication of the Site as Emmaus,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 112 (2019), pp. 935–958; Gil Fishhof, “The Meanings of Byzantium: The Church of Abu-Ghosh (Emmaus) and the Meanings of Byzantine Pictorial Language in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,” Convivium 7 (2020), pp. 15–34. Lucy-Anne Hunt, “Melkite-Latin Artistic Interaction at the Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem, and in the Melisende Psalter: Art, Liturgy and Politics Between Antioch and the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem in the Twelfth Century,” Aram Periodical 31 (2019), pp. 233–316; Lucy-Anne Hunt, “Art and Colonialism: The Mosaics of the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (1169) and the Problem of ‘Crusader’ Art,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 45 (1991), pp. 69–85. Denys Pringle, The Churches of the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem: A Corpus, Volume 1: A–K (excluding Acre and Jerusalem) (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 154–155.

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Manuel knew more than a smattering of Old French and Latin or that Amalric could speak Greek,20 nevertheless the empress Maria of Antioch knew Latin and Greek.21 Not to mention the fact that there were also different levels of literacy.22 The complexity of the relationship between languages in the Levant was, therefore, the reflection of a multifaceted world.

2

Equivalence of Bilingual Names

On twenty-eight of the forty-four columns23 of the nave of the Nativity Church, there were visual representations of Mary and painted saints standing frontally inside a simple coloured frame, which mirrored the medieval concept of the saint as a pillar of the church and symbolised Jesus’ mission on earth.24 20

21 22

23

24

Steven Runciman, “The Visit of King Amalric I to Constantinople in 1171,” In Outremer. Studies in the History of the Crusading Kingdom of Jerusalem presented to Joshua Prawer, eds. Benjamin Zeev Kedar, Hans Eberhard Mayer, Raimund Charles Smail (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 157, note 16. This is a just an example and it does not imply that an emperor or king’s linguistic choice in commissions reflects his own knowledge base. On the multilingualism in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, see: Jonathan Rubin, Learning in a Crusader City: Intellectual Activity and Intercultural Exchanges in Acre, 1191–1291 (Cambridge, 2018), chapter 3 “Language and Translation”, pp. 62–83; Jonathan Rubin, “Multilingualism and the Attitude toward French in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem,” in Multilingualism and History, ed. Aneta Pavlenko (Cambridge, 2023), pp. 123–137; Kate A. Tuley, “Multilingualism and Power in the Latin East,” in Multilingualism in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age: Communication and Miscommunication in the Premodern World, ed. Albrecht Classen (Berlin and Boston, 2016), pp. 177–206; Jean Richard, “Le plurilinguisme dans les actes de l’Orient latin,” in La langue des actes. Actes du XIe congrès international de diplomatique (Troyes, jeudi 11–samedi 13 septembre 2003), dir. Olivier Guyotjeannin. Available at http://elec.enc.sorbonne.fr/CID2003/richard. Accessed 2023 Sep 1. See also, for comparison, the interesting study of Bruno Rochette, “Problèmes du bilinguisme dans l’Antiquité gréco-romaine,” in Langue et histoire, eds. Jean-Marie Bertrand, Pierre Boilley, Jean-Philippe Genet, et Pauline Pantel (Paris, 2012), pp. 103–122. The set of columns can now be well studied thanks to the restorations but also thanks to the publication by Michele Bacci of the manuscript of a Franciscan from the 1950s: Emérico Vicente Juhász, Pinturas y grafitos. Basílica de la Natividad en Belén, ed. Michele Bacci (Jerusalem, 2021). Following letters of Paul, where the Apostles are said to be “the pillars of the Church:” Gal 2:9 and Eph 2:19–20. See G甃ࠀnter Bandmann, Mittelalterliche Architektur als Bedeutungsträger (Berlin, 1951), p. 76; Joseph Sauer, Symbolik des Kirchengebäudes und seiner Austattung in der Auffassung des Mittelalters: mit Berücksichtigung von Honorius Augustodunensis Sicardus und Durandus (Freiburg, 1924), p. 134; Éliane Vergnolle, “La colonne à l’époque romane. Réminiscences et nouveautés,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale

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This gallery of icons of saints shows a great variety of figures: i) hermits and ascetics, ii) apostles and evangelists, iii) holy bishops, iv) holy deacons, and v) soldiers-saints, which follow the categories established by Gustav K甃ࠀhnel. Nineteen of the thirty figures25 – mostly in the central nave – have their name both in Latin and in Greek: eight on the northern side (Macarius, Anthony, George, Leonard, Cosmas, Damian, Catald, and John the Evangelist), nine on the southern side (Theodosius, Sabbas, Stephen, Vincent, John the Baptist, Elijah, Onuphrius, Fusca, and Margarita), and two in the southern nave (Anna and Margarita) (fig. 15.1). The adjective ‘saint’, on one side of the image, specifies the figure’s celestial aspect, while the name on the opposite side refers to his earthly identity and life. These names offer the first relationship, namely in terms of equivalence, that can be seen between Latin and Greek writings. For most of them, it is even a strict equivalence with the adjective ‘saint’ (or the term ‘prophet’ for Elijah) preceding the name of the figure, which bear very close phonetics features in both languages: for instance: “S(an)c(tu)s Georgius”; “ὁ ἅγιος Γεώργιος.” Nevertheless, in the case of three figures, the perfect symmetry is slightly unbalanced by the addition of a different qualifier: saint Theodosius is called Cenobiarch in Greek (“ὁ Κοινοβηάρχις”), but not in Latin; the epithet ‘evangelist’ for saint John is mentioned in Latin (“evvangelista” [sic]), but not in Greek; finally, John is the Baptist in Latin (“babtista”[sic]) and the forerunner in Greek (“ὁ Πρόδρομος”). This linguistic – and somewhat sonorous – equivalence has also its graphic and visual counterpart in the staging of names. In fact, it is divided and distributed on each side of the figure, in particular near the head of the saint. This ‘dispositif’ is very common and meaningful in Byzantine and Latin art.26 In the Nativity Church, it is common to display the two scripts according to two variants and two sub-variants (right-left, top-bottom). The first method consists of a vertical staging, in which the Latin name is written on several

25 26

162 (1998), pp. 141–174, and K甃ࠀhnel, Wall Painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, pp. 8–9. Two of them are in the same column in the southern nave: The Virgin Glykophilousa and Brasius (D5 in figure 15.1), and Anna and Leon (D6 in figure 15.1). For the explanations of this ‘dispositif,’ see: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne, “Nommer, couper, incorporer: Quand le nom rencontre le corps de l’image,” in Les Mots au Moyen Âge – Words in the Middle Ages, eds. Victoria Turner and Vincent Debiais (Turnhout, 2020), pp. 185−204, and Estelle Ingrand-Varenne, “Incorporating a Name in an Image and an Image in a Name. Comparison between Byzantine and Latin Inscriptions,” in Studies in Byzantine Epigraphy 1, eds. Ida Toth and Andreas Rhoby (Turnhout, 2022), pp. 93−111.

The Bilingual Inscriptions in the Nativity Church in Bethlehem

Figure 15.1

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Plan of the saints on the columns in the Nativity Church, extracted from The Restoration of the Nativity Church in Bethlehem, ed. Claudio Alessandri, 2020, fig. 6.1.6. p. 276, courtesy of Michele Bacci and Thomas Kaffenberger, University of Friburg. We underline in yellow Greek inscriptions, in blue Latin inscriptions, in green bilingual inscriptions.

lines on the left of the saint’s head and the Greek one on the right, as with “sanctus Antonius / ὁ ἅγιος Ἀντόνηος” (fig. 15.2). The same arrangement is used on the columns of Leonard, Catald and Theodosius, while for Onuphrius, the Greek name is on the left. The second arrangement is not vertical but horizontal: the Latin name is distributed on each side of the figure and the Greek name follows the same distribution on the line below. The columns with Macarius, George, Cosmas, Damian, Sabas, Stephen, Vincent, John the Baptist, Fusca, and

436

Figure 15.2

Ingrand-Varenne

St Anthony painted on a column in the Nativity church of Bethlehem with his name in Greek and in Latin (B2 in the plan) Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

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Margarita show this staging, but in the case of John the Evangelist and Anna, the Greek name is above the Latin name (fig. 15.3). Although the combinations are extremely varied, they show in all cases that bilingual writing had been conceived as a whole. The painters respected the forms of writing specific to each tradition and did not try to mix the common letter shapes. This game on homographic characters in both alphabets, (T, H, O, I, B, C, X, A, E, M, N, P, R, S), was particularly widespread in Venice, for instance in the mosaic inscriptions of St Mark’s Basilica. From the beginning of the twelfth century until the fifteenth century, Venetian artists developed a graphic mimesis, namely the stylisation of the shapes of Latin characters intended to imitate Greek letters.27 It is not the case in Bethlehem because those ‘transfers’ from Greek to Latin that we can observe in some of the columns appear to be more of a lapsus calami of a Byzantine or local artist trained in the Byzantine tradition or a palaeographic contamination, without any specific goal rather than an intentional imitation of forms. For instance, the abbreviation of the final “S” in the Latin name of Macarius is clearly influenced by Greek, but the painter also added an apostrophe above the “U,” which is the Latin way of abbreviating the final -us (fig. 15.4). All these differences are probably due to the variety of the actors – Byzantine artists, either local or imported, and Western artists – who worked either at the same time or perhaps also at staggered moments. Indeed, two dates are given in the decoration: the date 1130 is painted in the column with the Virgin Glykophilousa in the south side28 and the date 1169 appears in the mosaics of the bema. One of the major questions for art historians concerns the articulation between the different phases of the décor between or around these dates. Can the bilingualism displayed in some columns be seen as a shift in language use? Can we say that the decoration moved from isolated and scattered paintings, with only Latin or Greek inscriptions – because some names are only monolingual29 – to a coherent and bilingual ensemble? How was the linguistic 27

28 29

This phenomenon of hybrid Grecolatine writing, called “a la greca” by Armando Petrucci (“Scrivere ‘alla greca’ nell’Italia del Quattrocento,” in Bisanzio fuori di Bisanzio, ed. Guglielmo Cavallo (Palermo, 1991), pp. 121–136) was studied by Elisabetta Barile, Littera antiqua e scritture alla greca. Notai e cancellieri copisti a Venezia nei primi decenni del Quattrocento (Venezia, 1994), and more recently Desi Marangon in her thesis, Scrivere alla greca a Venezia: alfabeti ibridi e identità a confronto (secoli XI–XV) (PhD, University of Padua, 2020). On this figure, see Juhász, Pinturas y grafitos, pp. 22–23, K甃ࠀhnel, Wall Painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, p. 17. Euthymius has an inscription only in Greek, in the north, and he is the only one; the Virgin Galaktotrophousa (in the north, B9 in figure 15.1), saint Olaf in the south, and on

Figure 15.3

St Cosmas with his name in Greek and in Latin painted on a column in the nave of the Nativity church of Bethlehem (B6 in the plan) Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

438 Ingrand-Varenne

The Bilingual Inscriptions in the Nativity Church in Bethlehem

Figure 15.4

439

St Macarius with his name in Greek and in Latin painted on a column in the nave of the Nativity church of Bethlehem (B1 in the plan) Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

440

Ingrand-Varenne

argument used by historians and art historians? In other words, how to think about plurilingualism?30 Some nineteenth-century scholars interpreted the mosaics as made in two different periods, allotting to the crusaders the Latin inscriptions and considering all the remainder as the ‘debris’ of an earlier decoration. This idea had already been discarded by the French archaeologist and diplomat Melchior de Vog甃ࠀé in 1860.31 Gustav K甃ࠀhnel tried to prudently distinguish different chronological phases based on iconographic and stylistic analysis. According to him, the group of ascetics (Sabbas, Euthymius, Theodosius, and Anthony) can be regarded as the earliest of the column paintings, made in 1140–1150s, followed immediately after by the group of George, Knute, and Olaf, with Stephen and Vincent; and then, in 1150–1160s by the bishop Leo, Brasius, and Catald.32 This stylistic chronology does not overlap with the distinction between monolingual and bilingual inscriptions. As stated by Michele Bacci, the decoration of the columns started probably in the 1130s as an unplanned addition of isolated murals that were gradually integrated into a more coherent program of saintly images, while the inscriptions could have been due to private initiative to suit the devotional needs of single individuals. These paintings can be regarded as a very early manifestation of an approach to the decoration of the church space reserved for the laity, which became distinctive of Western devotional life from the twelfth century onwards.33 These first figures with donors (the Virgin Glykophilousa, Olaf, and Brasius) bear a text only in Latin. Bilingual names were not reserved for holy figures venerated in both churches; even some saints who were known and revered only in the western realm of the medieval Christian world had inscriptions in Latin and in Greek, such as Fusca, Catald, and Léonard. The case of the French soldier-saint Léonard de Noblat is particularly striking because, with St George, he represented the military trait of the crusades and was considered the patron of all crusader prisoners.34

30 31 32 33 34

the columns of the south side nave, saint James, the Virgin Glykophilousa, saint Brasius the holy bishop, saint Leo have inscriptions only in Latin. On this topic, see Benoît Grévin, “Le plurilinguisme, objet d’histoire,” Hypothèses 19 (2016), pp. 333–350. Vog甃ࠀé, Les églises de la Terre Sainte, p. 87. K甃ࠀhnel, Wall Painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, pp. 138–139. Bacci, Mystic Cave, pp. 130–134. K甃ࠀhnel, Wall Painting in the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, p. 126.

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3

441

Adaptation

The second sort of relationship between Greek and Latin that emerges from our study is that of the adaptation, as in the mosaic inscription on the southern wall of the main apse explaining the context and the actors of the work. It was the only epigraphic text actually composed for the occasion. Moreover, while all the other texts were religious, this one refers to the contemporary situation, indicating that the lavish decoration was the outcome of an unprecedented financial and political collaboration. It was also the longest epigraphic text. Consequently, the display of a double inscription in a prominent location – not as an easy-to-read place, but as a more prestigious location – might have undoubtedly made an overwhelming impression on the visitor and the worshipper. As with most names of saints, the Latin text is on the left, while the Greek text is on the right. Both texts look very similar, with black tesserae on a gold background, and are arranged in four lines.35 Nevertheless, despite their appearance and the four common elements that structure the text (the Latin and Byzantine patrons, the artist Ephrem and the date), these two inscriptions have two different forms and propose two different political views. Only the Greek part is preserved almost completely, whereas of the Latin poem very few letters remain. However, it is possible to know the content of the Latin poem thanks to the fact that the text was entirely copied by pilgrims and scholars in medieval and modern times36 (fig. 15.5). The bilingual inscription reads: Rex Almaricus, custos virtutis, amicus Largus, honestatis comes, hostis impietatis, Justicie cultor, pietatis criminis ultor, Quintus regnabat et Greciis imperitabat, Emmanuelque, dator largus, pius imperitator, Presul vivebat hic ecclesiamq(ue) docebat. Pontificis dignis Radulphus honore benignus, Cum manus his Efrem fertur fecisse tu autem.37 35

36 37

From a palaeographical point of view, the Greek text is written in scriptio continua. It was probably the same thing for the Latin part, which employed only one dot to mark the end of the verse. Even though both of the texts make use of letter plays (nested letters, connected letters, enclosed letters), only the Greek text has diacritical marks. For the textual tradition of the Latin and Greek inscriptions, see Erich Lamberz, “Appendix. The Bilingual Inscription in the Bema and the Conciliar Inscriptions in the Nave,” in The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, pp. 148–151. Translation of the Latin text (from Lamberz, “Appendix,” p. 148): “King Almaricus, guardian of virtue, generous friend, comrade of honour and impiety’s foe, patron of justice and

Figure 15.5

The bilingual inscription of the bema in the Nativity church of Bethlehem Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

442 Ingrand-Varenne

The Bilingual Inscriptions in the Nativity Church in Bethlehem

443

Ἐτεληώθη τὸ παρὸν ἔργον διὰ χειρὸς Ἐφραὶ(μ) μ(ον)αχ(οῦ) ἡστοριο[γράφου καὶ μουσιάτορος] ἐπὶ τῆς βασιλείας Μανοῦὴλ, μεγάλοῦ βασιλέ(ως) Πορφυρογεν[νήτου τοῦ Κομνηνοῦ, καὶ ἐπὶ τὰς ἡμέρας τοῦ μεγάλοῦ ῥηγὸς Ἱεροσολύμ[ων κυροῦ Ἀμμορὶ] καὶ τοῦ τῆς ἁγίας Βηθλεὲμ ἁγιωτάτου ἐπισκόπου, κυροῦ Ῥαοὺ[λ ἐν ἕτει͵ϛχοζʹ ἰνδικτηõν(ος) βʹ].38 The Latin inscription is a poem of eight leonine hexameters and describes four important characters, according to their own hierarchy. The poem begins with the name of the king (written “Almaricus”), followed by his moral portrait, which occupies three and a half verses. The accumulation of the virtues in binary form (noun  +  complement of noun/adjective), was very common in Western inscriptions, especially in epitaphs. The six formal qualifiers that depict the portrait of the Latin king can be found, with variations, in Western epigraphic poetry and in the same position within the verse. The formula “virtutis amicus” in verse 1 (even if it is dissociated in the Bethlehem verse, since “virtutis” seems to be a noun complement of “custos,” and “amicus” to be qualified by the adjective “largus” which by enjambment begins the following verse) is found exactly at the end of the verse in a mention of a versified donation dated 1137 “Rex Ludovicus pius et virtutis amicus.”39 “Comes honestatis” is more original than the common expression “vir honestatis” (as in the epitaph of the bishop Saint Guiraud who died in 1123, at the beginning of the second verse is the expression “hic vir honestatis”40). Fifteen examples of the expression “justicie cultor”, which often rhymes with “ultor”, are provided by Otto

38

39 40

piety, avenger of wrong, was fifth on the throne, and over the Greeks ruled Emmanuel, the generous donor and pious ruler, and as presider and teacher of the church here lived Ralph the benignant, worthy of the Bishop’s throne, when the hand of Effrem, they say, brought the present work to completion.” Translation of the Greek text (from Lamberz, “Appendix,” p. 150): “The present work was finished by the hand of Effrem the monk, painter and mosaicist, during the reign of the great emperor Manuel Porphyrogennetos Komnenos and in the days of the great king of Jerusalem Lord Ammori and the most holy bishop of holy Bethlehem Lord Raoul in the year 6677, second indiction.” Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale 17, Ain, Isère (sauf Vienne), Rhône, Savoie, Haute-Savoie, eds. Robert Favreau, Jean Michaud, Bernadette Mora (Paris, 1994), p. 63 (Rhône n°1). Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale 12, Aude, Hérault, eds. Robert Favreau, Jean Michaud, Bernadette Mora (Paris, 1988), p. 111 (Hérault n°10).

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Schumann in his catalogue of poetic formulas.41 In other words, the rather conventional laudatory description can be explained by the status of the royal figure for which certain formulas were expected. The portrait ends with “quintus regnabat.” The word “quintus” has been interpreted in two ways: either as the fifth king of Jerusalem (as Godfrey of Bouillon had not this title) – and this appears so in some charters42 – or as the fifth year of his reign started in February 1163, which corresponds with the date of the mosaic. The imperfect tense used for “regnabat,” but also for the other verbs “imperitabat”, “vivebat,” and “docebat” is a marker of duration. If we follow the meaning of the verbs, the mentions of Amalric, Manuel, and Ralph are not meant to show that they were the sponsors of the work (it is implicit), but rather to provide the date of the décor. As is the case in many inscriptions,43 such a dating refers to a period or a mandate rather than being anchored to a precise date, hence the use of the imperfect tense marking the duration and the employment of verbs indicating the reign. Consequently, while the actions are linked to the duration of a certain reign or episcopate, that of the artist is completed (past infinitive: “fecisse”). The use of past tenses establishes the distance between the time of the enunciation and the time of the realization of the inscription. Moving forward, one and a half verse focuses on the emperor Manuel. The fourth verse brings the two sovereigns together and serves as a transition from one type of sovereignty to another, well shown by the different verbs employed. The term used to qualify the emperor, “imperitator” (or “imperiator” according to the version of James of Verona44), seems to be an hapax.45 This term, which provides a rhyme with “dator”, emphasizes both the financial participation and the government (in the form of a polyptote) with two almost similar words issuing from the same root at the end of the verse (“imperitabat” 41 42 43 44 45

Otto Schumann, Lateinisches Hexameter-Lexikon: dichterisches Formelgut von Ennius bis zum Archipoeta. T. 3, I–N (Munich, 1981), pp. 140–141; see the comment of Robert Favreau and all the examples he gives, Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale 22, p. 311. “Rex quintus” is in charter of 1168, see: Henri-François Delaborde, Chartes de Terre Sainte provenant de l’abbaye de N.-D. de Josaphat (Paris, 1880), p. 83. Robert Favreau, “La datation dans les inscriptions médiévales françaises,” in Construire le temps. Normes et usages chronologiques du Moyen Âge à l’époque contemporaine, ed. Marie-Clotilde Hubert (Paris and Genève, 2000), pp. 11–39. Reinhold Röhricht, “Le pèlerinage du moine augustin Jacques de Vérone (1335),” Revue de l’Orient latin, 3, 1895, p. 220. There is no example in the Database of Latin Dictionnaries of Brepols; in the Library of Latin Texts of Brepols, there is only one example of the fourteenth century, given the term at the same place, the end of the verse: Rudolfus de Liebegg, Pastorale novellum, praef., versus 7: “Sic mundi dominus, rex noster et imperitator.”

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line four, “imperitator” line five). It echoes in a way the repetition found in the Greek text in line two (“βασιλείας;” “βασιλέως”). In this poem, the king and the emperor have an adjective in common “largus,” referring to their financing of the works and as a quality inherent to any great ruler. The third character, which occupied verses six to seven, is the bishop of Bethlehem, Ralph, an Englishman who was also chancellor of the Kingdom. He was the host (“vivebat hic”) and was qualified “benignus.” This adjective was also often used in poetry, in particular at the end of a verse (for example, in the epitaph of an abbot in Sens during the eleventh century46). Nevertheless, this choice is interesting because William of Tyre, when recording his death, calls him “vir liberalis et benignus admodum”47 perhaps as an echo of the inscription, or as a real virtue. Finally, the poem focuses briefly on the artist and ends with a liturgical expression, which several scholars misunderstood. “Tu autem” is a quotation from Psalm 40:11, which was used as a ritual response to mark the end of the readings at the divine office.48 In the poem, “fecisse tu autem,” to have made the “tu autem,” means to have led to a good end, with the same idea of completion expressed by the following Greek verb “ἐτεληώθη.”49 The Greek text, in prose, is considered to be a ‘dedicatory inscription’, a sort of text declaring the gift of the donor and asking for holy intercession, the remission of the donor’s sins and the donor’s salvation. In the Byzantine world, the dedicatory inscriptions of the church were an excellent means to demonstrate the value of the donors’ initiative and to enhance their social prestige. Moreover, as explained by Giorgio Pallis, artists’ and craftsmen’s social status, which was rather low, occasionally found a channel to escape anonymity, by writing their names or even declaring their belief in the importance of their art and personal skills.50 But for Erich Lamberz, this Greek text is composed in form of a subscriptio, with elements traditionally found in manuscripts.51

46 47 48 49

50 51

Corpus des inscriptions de la France médiévale 21, Yonne, eds. Robert Favreau, Jean Michaud, Bernadette Mora, Giuseppe De Spirito (Paris, 2000), pp. 191–192, n°173. William of Tyre, Historia Transmarina, in Recueil des historiens des Croisades, vol. 3, partie 2 (Paris, 1844), p. 999. Charles Clermont-Ganneau, “Le pèlerinage de Louis de Rochechouart,” Recueil d’archéologie orientale t. VII (1905), p. 138. On these expressions, see Estelle Ingrand-Varenne and Vladimir Agrigoroaei, “Cum manus his Efrem fertur fecisse tu autem (1169). Formulaic Transfer in the Mosaics of the Nativity Church in Bethlehem,” in Translation Automatisms in the Vernacular Texts of the Middle Ages and Early Modern Period, eds. Vladimir Agrigoroaei and Ileana Sasu (Turnhout, 2023), pp. 430–436. Pallis, “The House of Inscriptions,” p. 157. Lamberz, “Appendix,” p. 150.

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This part of the inscription has an opposite structure if compared to the Latin poem: in Latin, the main proposition has the king, emperor, and bishop as subjects, and the temporal subordinate introduced by “cum” at the end of the poem focuses on the work of the artist. In Greek, the work of the artist constitutes the main verb of the sentence from the first line, when the other actors are introduced by their tenure (with the preposition “ἐπὶ” followed by the genitive). If we compare both texts, this feature almost forms a chiasmus, which could be an intended effect. The inscription opens with the work and a verb in the passive voice. In Greek as in Latin, it is the hands of Ephrem (“manus his Efrem” and “διὰ χειρὸς Ἐφρ̣αὶμ”) that are put forward.52 Three terms qualify this actor: monk (“μοναχοῦ”), designer (“ἡστορ̣ιογράφου”), and mosaic-worker (“μουσιάτορος”). This last word is also an hapax, as Anthony Cutler53 already mentioned and Erich Lamberz54 confirmed, coming from the Latin ‘musivum’, which means mosaic. In addition, this is the only inscription in which the two words “ἡστορ̣ιογράφου” and “μουσιάτορος” are used together.55 After the portrait of the artist occupying the first line, the second line highlights the emperor with his titles. Manuel bears the epithet of “πορφυρογεννήτου,” born in the purple, that is to say born in the purple room of the imperial palace. Appeared in the eighth century, the history of this title is well known.56 Although the epithet was first used by John II and his son Alexis on the mosaics of the tribune of Hagia Sophia, it became widespread and acquired a new meaning under Manuel Komnenos’ rule. Indeed, the Turkish and Norman pushes triggered a certain Byzantine patriotism which was translated by a strong attachment to the aristocratic families and particularly to the imperial family.57 The reign of Manuel and that of Amalric are not introduced in the same way: “ἐπὶ τῆς βασιλείας” for the emperor and a much weaker expression, not mentioning the rulership but only ‘the days’ for the king: “καὶ ἐπὶ τὰς ἡμέρας.” For the king and the bishop the great cities of Jerusalem and Bethlehem are named, and this last one is called holy. The mention of the cities which 52 53 54 55 56 57

See Ingrand-Varenne and Agrigoroaei, “Cum manus his Efrem fertur fecisse tu autem (1169),” pp. 430–436. Anthony Cutler, “Ephraim, Mosaicist of Bethlehem: The Evidence from Jerusalem,” Jewish Art 12/13 (1986/1987), p. 179. Lamberz, “Appendix,” p. 151. Cutler, “Ephraim, Mosaicist of Bethlehem: The Evidence from Jerusalem,” p. 183. Gilbert Dagron, “Nés dans la pourpre,” Travaux et Mémoires du Centre de recherche d’histoire et civilisation de Byzance 12 (1994), pp. 105–142. Arnaud Loaëc, L’empereur dans les inscriptions byzantines (641–1204) (PhD, University Paris IV Sorbonne, 2016).

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opposes the “here” (“hic vivebat”) of the Latin poem shows the distance of Constantinople, already pointed out by Anthony Cutler who spoke of two different styles – “conventional and remote” for the Greek and “fulsome and factual” for the Latin.58 The final line is consecrated to the bishop. There is a sort of equality of treatment, since, contrary to Latin, here each one has a line dedicated to him. This is the only inscription bearing the name of king Amalric in the Latin East. If, as we mentioned in the introductory remarks, there is a common epigraphic ground between the Latin and the Byzantine worlds, the use of public writing by powerful figures differs. The name of Manuel Komnenos was widespread in Constantinople, since building inscriptions focus mainly on the names of emperors and their titles. For instance, Manuel’s conciliar edict of 1166, installed in Hagia Sophia, shows that the Great Church was indeed perceived as a forum for conferring to public texts a tangible form of the imperial word inside the seat of the patriarchate, as Nicholas Melvani explains.59 The decorative effects of script, determined by material, colour, display and staging, were a significant part of the visual language of this monument within the process of spreading the royal and imperial collaboration. Is it the same author who composed the two texts in Bethlehem? It is difficult to say, for they are both linked and independent, with inverted parallels of structures and innovative elements, and follow the epigraphic conventions specific to Western and Byzantine traditions. In any case, they were written jointly, with the same calibration within the space they had to occupy, thus they form a real pair. This long inscription, taken as a whole, is less of a linguistic adaptation than of a political and diplomatic one.

4

Selection

The third relationship in these monumental writings shows a process of selection of a single language and the role played in it by the artists. First of all, it should be remembered that we have focused on bilingual inscriptions within the framework of the general topic, but they are the rarest. The epigraphic texts using only one language are the most numerous in Bethlehem, although 58 59

Cutler, “Ephraim, Mosaicist of Bethlehem: The Evidence from Jerusalem,” p. 182. Nicholas Melvani, “State, Strategy, and Ideology in Monumental Imperial Inscriptions,” in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: Continuities and Transformations. Papers from the FortyNinth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, eds. Marc Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London and New York, 2020), p. 169.

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the whole, on the scale of the church, is indeed bilingual. Many inscriptions are only in Latin: the ones in the grotto, in the apsidal arch where the Annunciation was depicted, in the walls of the transept, north and south, with the Gospel scenes, in the inner west wall of the basilica with the Tree of Jesse, and the texts in the nave with the genealogy of Christ.60 Just above the mosaic of the genealogy, along the entire length of the nave, thirteen church councils were represented in an ‘aniconic’ mode, through text rather than through a figural representation of the assembly of bishops itself. They structure the nave walls in an impressive and compelling demonstration of church authority.61 The south wall displays representations of seven ecumenical Councils of the Church, featured as columns and simple arches,62 and six of the provincial synods of the early church on the northern one, each of them manifested in an architectural profile of a structure.63 For all councils, the goal was to establish and record a consensus, whether in matters of ecclesiastical discipline or in questions of faith, in “unum convenire” to use Cyprian’s formula64 (fig. 15.6–7). It is important to underline that what we read are not the complete texts of the councils, but the synopses. These abridgements were not specifically conceived for the Nativity church, but were copied from older manuscripts. All of them were in Greek with the notable exception of the one concerning the seventh ecumenical council, Nicaea II, which was written in Latin: S(an)c(t)a synod(us) Ni[c]ena II, CCCLXVII patru(m) contra impugnatores s(an)c(t)aru(m) ymaginu(m) co(n)gregata sub Constantino et Yrena matre ej(us) : decrevit aut(em) s(an)c(t)a synodus ut 60 61

62 63 64

See Sabino De Sandoli, Corpus Inscriptionum Crucesignatorum Terrae Sanctae (1099–1291): Testo, traduzione e annotazioni, Studium Biblicum Franciscanum: Collectio Maior 21 (Jerusalem, 1974), pp. 193–226. K甃ࠀhnel, The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, p. 142. See also: Gustav K甃ࠀhnel, “Die Konzilsdarstellungen in der Geburtskirche in Bethlehem: Ihre kunsthistorische Tradition und ihr kirchenpolitisch-historischer Hintergrund,” Byzantinische Zeitschrift LXXXVI–LXXXVII (1993–1994), pp. 86–107. Nicaea I a. 325, Constantinople I a. 381 (with the Nicene Creed in its Orthodox form, without the addition of the filioque clause), Ephesus a. 431, Chalcedon a. 451, Constantinople II a. 553, Constantinople III a. 680/1, Nicaea II a. 787. Carthago a. 251, Laodicea ante a. 380, Gangrai ca. a. 340–342, Sardica a. 342, Antioch a. 268, Ancyra a. 314. Hermann-Josef Sieben, S. Georgen, “Dimensions historiques de l’idée de concile,” Centre Sèvres. Recherches de Science Religieuse 93 (2005), p. 196. On the councils, see also: Henri Stern, “Les représentations des conciles dans l’église de la Nativité à Bethléem,” Byzantion 13 (1938), pp. 415–459 (the inscriptions); Andrew Jotischky, “Manuel Comnenus and the Reunion of the Churches: The Evidence of the Conciliar Mosaics in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem,” Levant 26 (1994), pp. 207–223.

Figure 15.6

The ecumenical Councils of the Church, in the southern wall of the nave in the Nativity church of Bethlehem Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

The Bilingual Inscriptions in the Nativity Church in Bethlehem

449

Figure 15.7

The provincial synods of the early church on the northern wall of the nave in the Nativity church of Bethlehem Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

450 Ingrand-Varenne

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451

s(an)c(t)or(um) ymagines ob ipsor(um) veneratione(m) honoren(tu)r, que(m)admodu(m) s(an){c}(t)e crucis signum p(ro)p(ter) C(hristi) crucifixi re{ver}entia(m) [vene]rant(ur) : anathematizav(it) [autem leonem et] Co(n)stantin(u)s impiissim[os imperato]res Anastasiu(m) etia(m) et [Consta]t(i)n(u)s atq(ue) Nicitam [ut Constan]tinopolita [nos pseudopatriarchas … et omnes impugnatores sancta]ru(m) ym[agines …].65 Several hypotheses were put forward to explain this linguistic choice, and these speculations also show the evolution of the way of apprehending these languages in the Levant in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The first explanation was political, linked to the content of the message and its reception. In an article published in 1926, Séverien Salaville explained that, because two emperors of the East and three patriarchs of Constantinople were condemned at this council, the Latin rulers preferred probably to dissimulate a memory that might have been humiliating to the Greeks.66 In Salaville’s opinion, the real reason, nevertheless, of the use of the Latin language in this case was rather the recognition by the Franks of the legitimacy of the seventh council, which had been initially strongly disputed, especially in the entourage of Charlemagne.67 Vincent and Abel, French Dominican priests and archaeologists at the École biblique et archéologique française in Jerusalem, proposed in 1914 that the Greek language of the councils marked as much the intention to conform to the original texts, the only one accepted by the Byzantine Church, as a concession made to the Greeks’ self-esteem. Nevertheless, they specified that the original language of the synod of Carthago was the Latin. If this synod was also in Greek, it was because it belonged to the rule of faith of the Eastern Communion set forth at the Council in Trullo (692 Constantinople).68 65

66 67 68

Text from Quaresmio, Historica theologica et moralis Terrae Sanctae elucidatio, vol. 2, p. 669, and Vog甃ࠀé, Les églises de la Terre Sainte, p. 85, Louis-Hugues Vincent, Félix-Marie Abel, Bethléem : Le Sanctuaire de la Nativité (Paris, 1914), p. 151. Translation (from Lamberz, “Appendix,” p. 164): “The holy second Nicean Council of the 367 fathers was convened under Constantine and his mother Irene against the enemies of the holy images. The holy council decreed that the images of the saints should be honoured for the sake of their veneration, in the same way as the sign of the holy cross is venerated for the sake of veneration of the crucified Christ. And it anathematized Constantine ⟨of Nacolia⟩ the most impious leader of the heresy, and also Anastasius, Constantine and Nicetas, as so-called patriarchs of Constantinople, and all the enemies of the holy images.” Sévérien Salaville, “L’iconographie des ‘sept conciles œcuméniques’,” Échos d’Orient t. 25, n°142 (1926), pp. 153–154. Salaville takes up arguments developed by Melchior de Vog甃ࠀé; see Vog甃ࠀé, Les églises de la Terre Sainte, pp. 104–105. Vincent and Abel, Bethléem, pp. 105–106 and 163.

452

Figure 15.8

Ingrand-Varenne

St John the Baptist painted on a column in the nave of the Nativity church of Bethlehem Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

The Bilingual Inscriptions in the Nativity Church in Bethlehem

Figure 15.9

Bilingual inscription of the gospel (Jn 1:29) on the scroll of St John the Baptist in the Nativity church of Bethlehem Image: Estelle Ingrand-Varenne

453

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Recently, Erich Lamberz69 proposed another solution, more pragmatic: in the original Melkite synopses, one of which was the textual source for the inscriptions of Bethlehem, Nicaea II was missing. It seems, thus, highly probable that Bishop Ralph or another leading personality in the execution of the work supplemented the text of Nicaea II from a Latin synopsis.70 The peculiar selection of synods at Bethlehem was inspired by textual sources associated with the Orthodox church of Palestine and not directly with Byzantine archetypes.71 The artists Ephrem and Basil were local Christians. But, what is interesting in these hypotheses is that they all refer to the source of the text, and to the respect of the source language. Notably, the same can be said for the inscriptions on the scrolls of the saints painted on the columns. Four saints have a scroll with a Greek text, Anthony, Euthymius, Sabbas, and John the Baptist. In the case of saint Anthony, the quotation “The Father-Superior Anthony has said that obedience and asceticism can subdue the Satans” comes from the Apothegma Patrum, with some mistakes and minor changes, but originally in Greek. The quotation of the gospel of John 1:29, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” for John the Baptist, is given first in Latin, and then in Greek (fig. 15.9). The Latin version of the quotation was thought as first and to occupy all the space; the Greek version is, on the contrary, clearly an addition, but very close in time. This can also be questioned for some names of saints (fig. 15.8).

5

Conclusion

If this study was possible, it is thanks to the recent restorations of the basilica on the one hand as well as to the new edition of the texts by Erich Lamberz, and on the other hand because of a change of interest in the epigraphy of Crusaders. Indeed, in the corpus of inscriptions of the Kingdom of Jerusalem – entitled Corpus Inscriptionum Crucesignatorum Terrae Sanctae and published in 1974 – Sabino De Sandoli, a Franciscan friar, provided only the texts in Latin alphabet, which includes the Latin language and the Outremer French.72 The generation of scholars to which De Sandoli belonged was influenced by the 69 70 71 72

K甃ࠀhnel, The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, p. 165. Of the 21 Arabic manuscripts described by J.B. Darblade, La collection canonique arabe des Melkites (XIIIe–XVIIe siècles) (St Paul, 1946), only seven contain Nicaea II. Apparently, in some versions of the Melkite collection the text was supplemented later. Bacci, The Mystic Cave, pp. 170–171. De Sandoli, Corpus Inscriptionum Crucesignatorum Terrae Sanctae (1099–1291).

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idea of segregation developed by Smail and Prawer,73 whereas, for almost thirty years now, the culture of the Crusader States Mediterranean has been studied in terms of multiculturalism and hybridity. Although no large-scale movement of bilingual inscriptions was set underway in the Crusader States such as there was in Sicily, the case of the Nativity church allows us to rethink the whole of the inscriptions of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. In the particular context of Bethlehem in the second half of the twelfth century, the epigraphic use of Latin and Greek could be compared to parallel voices, as in a polyphonic song, where the melody and the words for the two voices are different, but form a harmonious and complementary whole. To say it in other words and paraphrasing the Council of Chalcedon in 451, this bilingual programme was “without confusion […] without separation.” It contributed to the “atmosphere of reciprocity and mutual consideration” that emanated from the decoration and that was the result of a fruitful cooperation.74 The Bethlehem inscriptions raise a series of fundamental questions connected to communication: Who did choose the language? With what intention and with what logic was this done? Who did decide on the layout? And how was it received? There are several levels related to reception. Firstly, the overall appearance of the text takes priority over its comprehensibility, as correctly stated by Antony Eastmond.75 From a visual point of view, given the equivalence and similarities between these two scripts, which have many characters in common, they could remain indistinguishable for a large part of the pilgrim-visitor public. The palaeographic forms of the two scripts are always respected and therefore clearly differentiated, although the layout is similar. They are therefore visually put on an equal footing and constitute a visual demonstration of power. The inscriptional performance was not only visual: those capable of deciphering the texts could read them aloud to the public76 and could explain them. In this linguistic and graphical dialogue between two high status languages, vehicle for public statements, the three solutions proposed – equivalence, adaptation, selection – represent in each case a compromise, acceptable to 73 74 75 76

R.C. Smail, Crusading Warfare 1097–1193 (Cambridge, 1956); Joshua Prawer, The Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem: European Colonialism in the Middle Ages (London, 1972). K甃ࠀhnel, The Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, p. 143. Anthony Eastmond ed., Viewing Inscriptions in the Late Antique and Medieval World (Cambridge and New York, 2015). Andreas Rhoby, “Inscription and the Byzantine beholder,” in Inscribing Texts in Byzantium: Continuities and Transformations. Papers from the Forty-Ninth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, eds. Marc Lauxtermann and Ida Toth (London and New York, 2020), p. 111.

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both the Latins and the Greeks, the patrons and the artists. Moreover, it was also simultaneously suitable for the needs of diverse audiences (Latins, Greeks, local Christians). From an imperial and political point of view, the epigraphic writing was the perfect mean to let the emperor’s mark in the loca sancta and, and according to Jotischky, to reconstruct a Byzantine religious past within the frontiers of the new Latin kingdom.77 For the Franks, this equivalence between Greek and Latin was especially beneficial. The West was aware of the oriental origin of the Church, as shown by Jacques de Vitry in his Historia orientalis, written between 1216 and 1224 when he was Bishop of Acre,78 and of the transfer of responsibility for the Ecclesia orientalis from the Orientals to the Westerners. A century later, Humbert of Romans, a French Dominican friar who served as the fifth Master General of the Order of Preachers from 1254 to 1263, recognized the historical paternity of the Greeks (“Graeci sunt quasi patres Latinorum”) which came from their anteriority and from the intellectual, legal and religious heritage that they transmitted to the Latins.79 The Greek writing benefited also from a high status, the status of a sacred language, written on the titulus of the Cross, original language of the New Testament, a language of liturgy and culture. The presence of Greek inscriptions gave auctoritas and antiquitas. There was consequently a confluence of interest. The case study of the Nativity Church in Bethlehem is simply one example among many others in the Mediterranean area of such a linguistic cohabitation. It is a must to study all these inscriptions together to analyse their interactions and to provide a connected history of epigraphy. This is one of the goals of the ERC project ‘GRAPH-EAST’ on the inscriptions and graffiti in Latin alphabet in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Middle Ages. In addition, the comparison with Sicily inspired by the ERC project ‘Documenting Multiculuralism’ led by Jeremy Johns, would deserve further investigation. To conclude, a regrettable proof that the choice of language and epigraphic writing in this church was still a source of conflict in modern times is linked to the story of the silver star that used to mark the birthplace of Jesus in the grotto. The star, which was placed in the Greek part of the church but was engraved with the Latin words “Hic de Virgine Maria Jesus Christus natus est” (Here Jesus Christ was born to the Virgin Mary), was stolen in 1847 and the 77 78 79

Andrew Jotischky, The Perfection of Solitude: Hermits and Monks in the Crusader States (University Park, 1995), p. 84. Jacques de Vitry, Histoire orientale, ed. Jean Donnadieu (Turnhout, 2008), XV pp. 158–161 and LXIX pp. 277–281. Camille Rouxpetel, L’Occident au miroir de l’Orient chrétien: Cilicie, Syrie, Palestine et Égypte (XIIe–XIVe siècle) (Rome, 2015), pp. 435–457.

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Greeks Orthodox of Bethlehem were accused of the theft. This ‘epigraphic’ and even ‘linguistic’ event, in the issue of the holy places, contributed to tensions that set off the Crimean War (1853–1856).80

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Index of Names Abraham ibn Ezra 28 Achmet Ben Sirin 43 Adam of Buckfield 122, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130 Adelard of Bath 63, 67, 68 Adrian IV, pope 31 Aesop 9, 149, 152 Aitone, king of Armenia 188 Albert the Great xiii, 53, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 127n39, 128, 129, 132, 133 Alberto Mussato 107 Aldhelm of Malmesbury 5 Alexander IV, pope 223 Alexander of Aphrodisias xiv, 53, 55, 121, 122, 125, 210 Alexios Doukas xvii, 413, 417, 419 Alexios I Komnenos, emperor 36, 139, 417, 418 Alfanus of Salerno xi, 26–28 Amalarius of Metz 390 Amalric, the Latin King of Jerusalem xvii, 418, 419, 420, 422, 424, 428, 430, 432, 444, 446, 447 Ambrose of Camaldoli/Traversari 7, 164 Ambrose, pope 382 Ammonius 313 Anacletus II, pope 391 Anastasios of Sinai 45 Anastasius Bibliothecarius xin17, 4, 24, 159, 172, 387 Andrew of St Victor 49 Andronikos Kamateros 282, 285 Andronikos II Palaeologos 189, 200, 201, 202, 203 Andronikos of Sardis 211, 213, 214, 215, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 224 Anna Komnene xii, 4, 39, 125 Anselm of Canterbury 1 Anselm of Havelberg xv, xvi, 34, 40, 41, 43, 73, 279, 281, 294, 314–316 Archimedes x, 56, 63 Aristotle xiii, xiv, 14, 28, 31, 39, 40, 41, 45, 51, 52, 53, 54, 59, 63, 70, 73, 95–113, 116–135, 240n25, 247, 248, 250, 306, 313, 314 Arnau de Villanova 64

Arsenios, patriarch of Constantinople 218, 224 Artemidoros 45 Augustine 186, 200, 201, 202 Averroes xiii, 121, 122, 128, 130, 132, 133, 134 Avicenna 127, 133 Baldwin I, Latin emperor 183, 428 Baldwin II 428 Baldwin III 430 Balthasar Cordier 164 Bartholomeus Salernitanus 41 Bartholomew of Messina xiii, 58, 59, 61, 65, 96, 99, 100, 101–115 Basil I, emperor 326, 329 Basil of Caesarea 195, 305 Benedict, Canon and Cantor of St Peter’s in the Vatican 381, 382, 383, 384, 390 Benedict, Dominican friar 190 Bernard of Clairvaux 43 Bernard, Prior and Cantor of the St John of the Lateran 381, 382, 383, 390 Bernhard of Lydda 419 Berthold of Hohenburg 211, 214–219, 221, 224 Boethius 63, 189, 197, 198, 199, 201, 238, 244, 245, 246, 253 Boethius of Dacia 127 Burgundio of Pisa xv, 17, 37, 38, 39–42, 51, 57, 61, 64, 65, 75, 95, 103, 234–255 Burzoy, Persian translator 153 Caecilius 239 Calcidius 244 Campanus of Novara 53, 56 Cassius Iatrosophista 60 Cerbanus Cerbano 34, 36–38, 42, 51, 65, 68, 74 Cesare Baronio 299 Charlemagne 6, 451 Charles of Anjou 58, 200 Charles the Bald 6, 7, 167n35, 172 Cicero 3, 238, 244, 245, 246, 248 Clement IV, pope 56, 74 Conrad IV 215, 216, 217

464 Constantine Kaloethos 212 Constantine Lascaris 16 Constantine of Orvieto 223, 224 Constantine the African xi, xii, 27, 28, 64, 71, 133, 234 Constantine the Great, Roman emperor 391 Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, Byzantine emperor 7 Daniel de Morlai 16 David of Dinant 122 David the Benedictine, abbot of Pannonhalma 37, 74 David the Invincible 306 Demetrios Cydones 196 Demetrios of Lampe 42 Dietpold of Vohburg 216 Diogenes Laertios 32 Dionysios of Syracuse, tyrant 31 Domenico Michiel, doge of Venice 36, 38 Efrem, the artist xvii, 441, 446 Eirene Doukaina, empress 417 Elias, neoplatonic commentator 304n47, 306 Epiphanes, monk 46 Epiphanios of Salamis 35 Erasistratus 251 Etienne, treasurer of Hagia Sophia 402 Euclid 33, 34, 56, 63, 70 Eudes III, abbot 166, 170, 171 Eugene III, pope 242, 315, 391n91 Eugenios of Palermo 30n57, 139, 140, 142, 147, 153, 333 Eustathios of Thessalonike 308n57 Eutokios 56 Evremard, Latin patriarch of Jerusalem 431 Frederick I Hohenstaufen 42 Frederick II Hohenstaufen 57, 95, 105, 142, 153, 154, 215, 216, 338, 341, 343 Gauthier, dean at the Panachrantos Monastery 402 Geoffrey of Aspall 125, 126, 128, 130, 132 Geoffrey of Méry 402 George Akropolites 190, 192 George of Antioch 333

Index of Names George of Kyzikos 215 George Pachymeres 193, 194 George-Gennadios Scholarios 313, 314 Gérard de Huy 15 Gerard of Cremona 65n308, 95 Germanos II, patriarch of Constantinople 189 Germanos III, patriarch of Constantinople 197 Gersonides 122 Gilbert of Poitiers 43, 46, 65 Giles of Rome 126 Godfrey of Bouillon, king of Jerusalem 444 Gregory II of Cyprus 190 Gregory IX, pope 56, 189 Gregory of Nazianzos 31, 65, 277, 280 Gregory of Nyssa 7, 42, 195, 305 Gregory Palamas 162 Gregory the Great, pope 195 Gregory IX, pope 56, 189 Gregory X, pope 399n6 Guillaume Bernard de Gaillac 188 Gunther of Pairis 399, 400, 402, 403 Hadrian, emperor 9, 13, 167n33 Heinrich von Veldeke 153 Helena, mother of Constantine the Great 409, 412, 418, 431 Henry Aristippus 30–34, 65, 74, 334, 335 Henry Dandolo, patriach of Grado 44, 45, 46 Henry of Carinthia 33, 63, 67 Hermann of Carinthia 63, 67, 71n334 Hermes Trismegistos 45 Hesiod 307, 308n57 Hilduin, abbot 6, 14, 159, 164, 167 Hippocrates 27, 41, 57, 59, 65, 109, 253, 307 Homer 305, 307, 308, 313 Honorius III, pope 352 Honorius of Autun 1, 169 Horace 239n20, 244, 245 Hugh, archbishop of Palermo 31n64, 32 Hugo Eteriano 42–44, 66, 73, 282–287 Hugo of Honau 46 Hugh of Saint Victor 48 Humbert of Romans 191, 456 Humbert of Silva Candida xv, 297–304, 312, 314

465

Index of Names Hyacinthus, Dominican 187 Hyginus 9 Ibn al-Muqaffa, Arabic translator 153 Innocent II, pope 352, 354, 389, 391n91, 392 Innocent III, pope 183, 184, 392 Innocent IV, pope 215 Ioannes de Dumpno 58 Ioannikios, grammatikos 40, 41 Isidore of Seville 5 Isidore of Kiev 309 James, apostle 440n29 James of Rossano 190 James of Venice xiii, 38–39, 40, 54, 95, 97, 99, 122, 124, 274 James of Verona 444 Jerome 35, 46, 49, 238, 239, 243–246 Joachim Périon 164n24 Joannes Kronsbein 124, 126 John Blund xiii, 128 John Buridan 126, 127, 132, 133 John Chrysostom 42, 43, 65, 72, 241, 242, 247, 248, 251, 255, 334 John II Komnenos, emperor xv, 34, 36, 40, 73 John III Ducas Vatatzes 189, 212, 214, 215, 217, 218, 220 John Italos 162 John of Alexandria 59, 65 John of Amalfi 24, 25n18 John of Basingstoke 15, 16, 50, 68n321, 70, 75 John of Capua 154, 155 John of Damascus xv, 37, 42, 50, 51, 65, 68, 162, 214, 276, 299, 301, 303, 306n51 John of Jandun 126 John of Parma 214, 221 John of Salisbury 32n68, 47, 48, 49, 166, 167, 168, 170, 171, 172 John of Scythopolis 162, 163, 172 John of Trani 296 John Oxeites xv, 294, 304–308, 309n60 John Parastron xiv, 57, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 205 John Philoponos 54, 198 John Phournes 270–272 John Sarracenus xiv, 7, 47–49, 65 John Scotus Eriugena xin17, 1, 7, 47, 48, 159

Justinian 3, 42, 244, 326–334 Léger, dean of Hagia Sophia 402 Leo I, pope 266 Leo III, Byzantine emperor 330, 451 Leo VI, Byzantine emperor 329, 332, 339 Leo, Amalfitan merchant 24 Leo, Athonite monk 23 Leo Magentenos 313n75 Leo of Ohrid xv, 294, 295–304, 312 Leo of Russia xv, 294, 311–314 Leo Tuscus 34, 42–43, 45, 66, 67, 72 Liutprand of Cremona 7, 352n2 Livius Andronicus 3 Lothar III 40 Louis the Pious 6, 164n23, 167 Lucius II, pope 391 Lucius III, pope 44 Lucretius 248 Macrobius 5, 28 Maio, admiral 31n64, 32, 33, 74 Makarios, scribe 339 Manfred, king of Sicily 57–59, 74, 108, 112 Manuel Chrysoloras 2, 16 Manuel Holobolos xiv, 189, 196–199, 200, 201, 203, 205 Manuel I Komnenos, Byzantine emperor xv, xvii, 30, 34, 40, 42, 43, 68, 73, 335, 419, 428, 430, 432, 441, 444, 446, 447 Manuel Planoudes xiv, 186, 189, 192, 199–203, 204, 205 Maria of Antioch 432 Marinos of Cyprus 264 Marsil Ficino 164n24 Martin IV, pope 200 Matthew of Salerno 342 Matthew Rubens Ursinus 155 Maximus the Confessor 7, 37, 51, 65, 162, 163, 172, 264 Menander 239 Michael Choniates 183, 184 Michael II, emperor 6 Michael Keroularios 266, 295 Michael Magentenos 313, 365 Michael of Chios 39 Michael of Ephesos 39, 121, 123

466 Michael Psellos 307, 313 Michael Scot xi, 95, 97, 98, 105, 113, 122, 128 Michael Synkellos 46 Michael VIII Palaeologos, emperor 182, 188, 189, 195, 197, 200, 201, 203, 218, 220 Moses ben Solomon of Salerno 219 Moses ibn Thibbon 122n16 Moses of Bergamo 34–36, 38, 39, 65, 75 Nemesios of Emesa 26, 28n39, 42, 64, 235 Niccolò da Reggio 62, 64, 75, 236, 239 Niccolò Leonico Tomeo 125 Nicholas Graecus 16, 50n205, 51, 75 Nicholas Kallikles xvii, 417 Nicholas of Gerace 342 Nicholas of Jamsilla 271 Nicholas of Mesai 333 Nicholas of Methone xv, xvi, 276, 278, 283, 284, 286, 294, 310, 311, 312, 314 Nicholas of Saint-Omer 53 Nikephoros Blemmydes 190, 212, 213, 214, 217, 218, 219, 226n57, 228n69 Niketas Byzantios 283 Niketas of Maroneia 239 Niketas of Nikomedeia 34, 273, 274, 280, 293 Niketas of Thessaloniki. See Niketas of Nikomedeia Odo III, abbot 46, 47, 49 Pascal the Roman 44–46, 67, 75 Paul I, pope 172 Paul of Tarsus 248 Pepin, Frankish king 172 Peter Abelard 286, 314, 317 Peter III of Antioch 266, 310n64 Peter Lombard 38, 65, 68, 286, 287 Peter of Abano 60–62, 65, 107 Peter of Ireland 116, 123, 126, 128–134 Peter of Spain 126, 128, 129, 133 Peter of Vienna 44 Petrus Alfonsi 67 Petrus de Flandria 126 Philippe of Pera 194, 196 Photios 265, 285 Piero della Vigna 142 Pierre Lanssel 164n24

Index of Names Pietro Grossolano 270, 271, 272 Plato 14, 30, 31, 63, 74, 134, 161, 293n4, 304, 306, 317, 334 Plautus 3, 239n20 Porphyry 306 Proklos 33, 34, 54, 55, 57, 63 Prokopios of Gaza 276 Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite xiv, 6, 7, 46, 47, 48, 51, 52, 66, 158, 161, 163, 165, 166, 167, 173 Ptolemy 30, 33, 34, 55, 66, 334 Purchart of St. Gallen 4 Radalphus Brito 126 Ralph, bishop of Bethlehem xvii, 442n37, 444, 445, 454 Ramón de Moncada, Aragonese envoy 43, 72 Ramon Llull 17 Remigius of Auxerre 390 Richard de Gerberoy, bishop of Amiens 405 Robert Grosseteste 7, 15, 16, 49–52, 65, 75, 164n24, 166 Robert Guiscard 71 Robert of Anjou 236 Robert of Chester 63 Roger Bacon 15, 16, 17, 56, 62n92, 74, 126, 191 Roger II, king of Sicily 29, 332–338, 341, 344 Sextus Empiricus 59 Simon of Constantinople xiv, 194–196, 197, 205 Simon of Faversham 126, 127, 129, 130 Simon of Genoa 28n42 Simplikios 51, 53, 54, 56n244 St Francis 186, 187 Stephen of Antioch Stephen of Pisa Stephen of Messina 58–59 Stephen of Pisa 28–29 Suger, abbot 48, 167 Sylvester I, pope 409 Symeon Seth xiv, 139–152 Themistios 54 Terence 239, 244, 245, 246, 248 Theodore II Laskaris xiv, 196, 211, 213, 214–229

Index of Names Theodore of Tarsus 5 Theodore Skoutariotes 213 Theodoric, German pilgrim 431 Theophlylaktos of Ohrid 73, 267 Theophylaktos, grand interpreter 221 Theoridus of Brindisi 31n64 Thierry of Chartres 67 Thomas Aquinas 42n145, 53, 54, 68, 74, 120, 122, 123, 126, 127, 130, 196, 254n78 Thomas Gallus 164n24, 173 Tiberios II 329 Trullo 451 Urban IV, pope 53 Vitalian, pope 5

467 Wallon de Sarton 404, 423 Walter of Burley 116, 126 Wibald, abbot 409 William Adam 189 William de Mara 16 William I, king of Sicily 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 74, 335, 342n65 William, medicus of Gap 171 William, monk in St Denys 46 William of Luna 58 William of Moerbeke xi, xiii, xiv, 39, 52–57, 59, 63, 64, 65, 68, 74, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 102, 103, 104, 106, 107, 113, 122, 124, 129, 210, 223 William of Tyre 445 William the Physician 46, 47

Index of Passages Cited Ammonius, Commentary On Aristotle, De interpretatione 19, l.9–18 313 Andronikos Kamateros, Sacred Arsenal 1:84 282 Anselm of Havelberg, Dialogi/Anticimenon 1164A 274 1164B 275 1169B 279 1183A 280 1180A–C 281 Aristotle, De interpretatione 16a 306 Boethius, Latin translation of Porphyry, Isagoge Prologue, 135 246 Burgundio of Pisa, Latin translation of John Chrysostom, Homilies on John Prologue, 87, 71–76 243 Prologue, 95, 178–181 247 Prologue, 94, 153–161 247 Burgundio of Pisa, Latin Translation of John Chrysostom, Homilies on Matthew Prologue, 817–819 247 Colloquium Harleianum 2:27 13 Colloquium Stephani 1:234 12 Contra Graecos (Dominican pamphlet from 1252) 341–342 189 342 191 Elias, In Aristotelis Categorias 226, l. 2–4 307n54 Elias, In Porphyrii Isagogen 4, l. 5–12 304n47 Etymologicum Gudianum 16, 50 α: Ἄρτος, 1:209, l. 2–3, 22–26 297n14 Etymologicum Magnum αἴρω, 103, l. 9–12 297n14 Euthymius Zigabenus, Commmentaria in quattuor evangelia 764, 47–765, 4 276

Gennadios Scholarios, Commentary On Aristotle, De interpretatione 1:103–108 314 Holy Scriptures Genesis 18:5–6 (LXX) 303n41 19:3 (LXX) 303n41 Psalms (LXX) 25:8 187 Jeremiah (LXX) 11:19 297n14 20:7 151 Matthew 26:26–28 314n81 Luke 24:30 296, 314n81 John 1:29 368n29, 453, 454 Horace, Ars poetica 133–134 239n20 Hugo Eteriano, De sancto et immortali Deo 60, l. 36–42 282 Humbert of Silva Candida, Adversus Graecorum calumnias/Dialogus 13, 100, I:2–7 299, 299n21, 299n24 John of Damascus, Dormition of the Virgin/ Oratio I 8 301 John of Damascus, Sacra parallela 1069, 20–24 276 John Oxeites, De azymis 8–9 304–306 John Phournes, Oratio antirrhetica de processione Spiritus sancti 41, 25–42 272n35 44, 3–11 272 Leo of Ohrid, Epistulae tres de azymis Epistula I, 182, l. 28–33 296 Leo of Russia, Contra Latinos de azymis 120–121 312

Index of Passages Cited Manuel Holobolos, Greek Translation of Aristotle (Pseudo), De plantis Preface, 589–590 198–199 Manuel Planoudes, Letter 113 40–43 202 Maximus the Confessor, Letter to Marinos of Cyprus 136, 30–38 265 Nicholas of Methone, Adversus Latinos de azymis 308 82–83 309–310 Nicholas of Methone, Refutatio institutionis theologicae Procli 146, 133:25 278 76, 79:12–20 278 Nicholas of Methone, Refutationes theologicae doctrinae Latinorum 368:3–5 283 Niketas Byzantios, Capita syllogistica 6, 103:30–33 283 8, 108:4–6 284 Peter Abelard, Theologia Christiana 4:136, p. 334, 22178–2181 286

469 Peter III of Antioch, Letter to Michael Keroularios p. 198, l. 23–35 267 Peter Lombard, Sentences 1:2. 1.11.2, p. 116: l.1 287 Plato, Cratylus 390d–e 306 Prokopios of Gaza, Fragment 7 7:2, p. 502, 8–13 277 Richard de Gerberoy, De capta et direpta a Latinis Constantinopoli Concerning the relics of St George and John the Baptist, 4:746 405 Stephanites and Ichnelates Prologue 2, p. 64 (Greek), p. 78, l.17–20 (Latin) 147 Theodore II Laskaris, Letter to Andronikos of Sardis Greek text and English translation 225–229 Theophylaktos of Ohrid, Allocutio ad quemdam p. 253, l. 25–255, l. 5 268 p. 255, l. 25–27 269 p. 257, 1–23 269

Index of Places Amalfi 23–25, 66, 69, 334n35 Anagni 215 Antioch 26n23, 28–29, 42, 51, 70, 266, 304, 310n64, 333, 432, 448n63 Apulia 68n320, 108, 142, 215, 216, 326, 340 Assisi 215 Athens 50, 68n321, 70, 161n13, 183, 210 Auxerre 6, 390 Avignon 17 Benevento 30 Bergamo 34–35 Bethlehem 428 Bithynia 43, 190, 193 Bologna 17, 214 Byzantium xi, 6, 8, 69, 71, 191, 193, 194, 200, 203, 342, 353, 389, 391, 398, 418, 422, 423 Calabria 142, 153, 238, 326, 327n5, 329, 330, 331 Carthago 451 Catania 32 Catepanate of Italy 326, 331 Chalcedon 184, 301, 455 Chartres 67, 353n3 Chios 23, 36 Constantinople 2, 23, 24, 30, 34, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 50, 60, 61, 69, 70, 71, 161, 171, 172, 173, 181–205, 214, 215, 238, 264, 273, 298, 315, 334, 335, 359, 391, 403, 404, 408, 409, 413, 419, 423, 424, 451 Corinth 57 Ephesos 39, 212, 217 Florence 2, 285, 328n14, 329n15, 334n35 Galata 188 Genoa 28n42, 69, 204 Gradmont 17 Grado 36, 44, 75 Greece 22n1, 53, 68, 69, 170, 183, 188, 210, 224n52, 229

Holy Land 22n1, 36, 69, 70 Italy xii, xiv, xvi, 4, 5, 22n1, 25, 27, 27, 30, 38n111, 43, 53, 57, 68, 69, 70, 71, 74, 108, 112, 134, 142, 153n67, 160, 172, 173, 215, 216, 217, 218, 220, 221, 228n67, 325–345, 353, 370 Laon xix, 6, 354n6 Larissa 212 Leicester 50 Levant xi, 430, 433 Lincoln 15, 49, 74 Lykaionia 43 Lyon 56, 72, 73, 191, 200 Magna Graecia 4 Magnesia 218 Monte Cassino 25, 26, 64, 71, 74, 234, 338n48 Mont-Saint-Michel 38n111 Mount Athos 23, 212, 401 Naples 23, 57, 74, 129, 130, 155, 159, 214, 236, 334 Negroponte 188, 195 Nicaea xiv, 53, 69, 73, 185, 189, 190, 194, 195, 196, 197, 203, 210–229, 448 Nikaia. See Nicaea Nymphaion 214, 215, 218 Ohrid xv, 73, 212, 267, 294, 295 Oxford 17, 126, 128, 129, 130, 171, 356, 358, 373, 377, 380 Padua 60, 61, 107 Palermo 2, 31n64, 32, 33, 34, 139, 140, 142, 147, 153, 154, 155, 325, 333, 336 Palestine 69, 454 Pannonhalma 37, 74 Paris xiii, xiv, xix, 7, 8, 17, 24, 38, 43, 46, 47, 54, 58, 60, 68, 124, 125, 126, 128, 129, 130, 171, 172, 173, 214 Pásztó/Pastuchium 37 Pavia 216

471

Index of Places Pelagonia xiv, 211 Pera 184, 188, 194, 196 Perugia 215, 224n52 Philippi 220 Pisa xv, 25, 28, 29, 34, 37, 38, 39–41, 42, 69, 70, 238 Poitiers 43, 46, 47 Ravenna 38, 234 Roman Empire xii, 2, 5, 9, 217, 391 Rome xii, xvi, 4, 44, 159, 172n56, 189, 196, 215, 300, 352, 379, 381, 382, 390, 391 Salamanca 17 Salerno xi, 25–26, 32, 33, 41, 57, 64, 71, 130, 219, 234, 234n2, 237n12, 243, 334, 342 Saragosa 71 Sicily xi, xvi, 2, 4, 25, 27, 29–34, 40, 69, 71, 74, 96, 105, 139, 142, 143, 153, 154, 215,

216, 325, 326, 330, 333, 334, 336, 337, 338, 342, 343, 344, 456 Smyrna 212, 218 St. Gallen 370, 374, 389 Syria 69 Taranto 216, 342 Thebes 53, 210, 211, 224 Thessaloniki 212, 217, 224, 293 Toledo 71, 235 Tyre 36, 38 Venice xiii, 34, 36, 37, 38–39, 69, 203, 204, 437 Viterbo 53, 54, 56 Wölfenbüttel 33, 34

Index of Works Referred To A Hundred and One Nights 143, 144, 152 Abu Ma‘shar Excerpts from the Secrets 58 On the Revolutions of the Years of Nativity 58 Achmet Ben Sirin, Oneirocriticon 43, 45, 67 Albert the Great, De principiis motus processivi 108 Aldhelm of Malmesbury, De metris et enigmatibus 5 Alexander of Aphrodisias, On Fate 55 Alexander Romance (Historia de preliis) 154 Anastasios of Sinai, Disputation against the Jews 45 Andronikos Kamateros, Sacred Arsenal 282, 292 Annales of the Abbey of Saint-Denis 171 Anself of Havelberg, Dialogi/ Anticimenon 273 Apostles’ Creed 17, 56, 193, 194, 267, 280, 353, 365, 374, 378, 379, 383 Apophthegmata Patrum 454 Archimedes, On Conoids and Spheroids 56 Archimedes, On Floating Bodies 56 Archimedes, On Spirals 56 Archimedes, On the Equilibrium of Planes 56 Archimedes, On the Sphere and Cylinder 56 Archimedes, Quadrature of the Parabola 56 Aristotle, Analytica posteriora 38, 104 Aristotle, Analytica priora 38 Aristotle, Categories 53, 304n47 Aristotle, De anima 116, 117, 118, 119, 121, 127, 128, 132, 134 Aristotle, De animalibus 96, 97, 117n4, 118, 123, 129, 132 Aristotle, De caelo 51, 54, 56n244, 214 Aristotle, De coloribus 98 Aristotle, De divinatione 121, 123, 125 Aristotle, De divinatione per somnum 123 Aristotle, De generatione animalium 95, 97–113 Aristotle, De historia animalium 95, 107, 108 Aristotle, De incessu animalium 122, 125 Aristotle, De insomniis 121, 123, 125, 127 Aristotle, De interpretatione 307n53, 313, 314

Aristotle, De iuventute et senectute 96, 97, 118n8, 122, 123, 124, 125, 131n45, 133 Aristotle, De longitudine et brevitate vitae xiii, 97, 116, 117, 122, 123, 126, 127, 128, 129 Aristotle, De memoria 118, 121, 122, 123, 125 Aristotle, De memoria et reminiscentia 122, 127, 128, 131n45 Aristotle, De morte et vita 96, 97, 117, 122, 123, 125, 128, 129, 131n45, 133 Aristotle, De motu animalium 95, 97, 108–113, 122, 123, 124, 125, 131n45, 132 Aristotle, De mundo 59, 109, 110, 112, 124, 223 Aristotle, De partibus animalium 59, 95,96, 97, 98, 99, 100–113 Aristotle (Pseudo), De plantis 123 Aristotle, De progressu animalium 95, 97, 98, 131 Aristotle, De respiratione 96, 97, 122, 123, 124, 125, 131 Aristotle, De sensu et sensato 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 125, 126, 128, 131n45 Aristotle, De signis 59, 96, 110, 223 Aristotle, De somno et vigilia 118, 121, 122, 123, 125 Aristotle, De sophisticis elenchis 104 Aristotle, Eudemian Ethics 52, 55 Aristotle, Magna moralia 55, 59, 100, 109, 110, 223 Aristotle, Metaphysics xi, 28, 54, 104, 132, 210 Aristotle, Meteorology xiv, 32, 53, 99, 123, 129, 132, 210 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 41, 51, 250 Aristotle, Organon 222, 227, 228 Aristotle, xiii, 95, 97, 116–135 Aristotle, Physics 28, 118, 130, 132, 134, 214 Aristotle, Physiognomica 59, 223 Aristotle, Poetica 55, 107 Aristotle (Pseudo), Problemata 59, 60, 61, 96, 103, 104, 109, 223 Aristotle, De respiratione 39, 96, 97, 122, 123, 124, 125, 131 Aristotle, Rhetorica 59, 109, 110, 111, 112 Ars medica 41

Index of Works Referred To Articella 27, 42, 64, 65, 237n12, 243 Asclepius 45n168, 67 Augustine, De Trinitate 186, 200, 201, 202 Avicenna, Liber sextus naturalium 127 Barlaam and Ioasaph 23 Basilica 328, 329, 330, 339 Bede, Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 254 Bible. See Holy Scriptures Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae 198, 201 Boethius, De differentiis topicis 197 Boethius, De hypotheticis syllogismis 197, 198 Book of Causes 54 Book of Sydrac 154 Burgundio of Pisa, John Chrysostom, Homilies on John 42, 65, 241–243, 255 Burgundio of Pisa, John Chrysostom, Homilies on Matthew 42, 65, 242 Cassius Iatrosophista, Problemata 60 Centiloquium Hermetis 58 Cerbanus Cerbano, Translatio Isidori 36, 37 Constitutions of Melfi/Liber Augustalis 338, 341, 343, 344 Constitutions of Roger II 335, 336, 337, 338, 341 Contra Graecos (Dominican pamphlet from 1252) 188 Corpus Dionysiacum xiv, 6n24, 47, 51, 65, 158–173 Dante, Divine Comedy 164 De lineis indivisibilibus 51, 98 De medicorum astrologia 62 De mirabilibus auscultationibis 59, 96, 103, 104, 109, 110, 112, 223 Dialectics 51 Diogenes Laertios, Lives of the Philosophers 32 Dionysios Periegetes, Periegesis 36 Dioscorides, On Medical Material 28 Discussion between a Christian and a Saracen 51 Donatus, Ars minor 9

473 Ecloga 329, 330, 331, 332, 336, 340, 341 Ecloga ad Prochiron mutata 329, 331, 340 Ecloga privata 329, 331, 332 Ecloga privata aucta 329, 332, 340 Ecloga privata aucta, leges speciales 340 Edict of Rothair 340, 341 Eisagoge 330 Eneas Romance 153 Epiphanes, Life of the Virgin 46 Epitome ad Prochiron mutata 330, 331 Epitome Marciana 330, 331, 332 Epitome Vaticana 330, 331 Etymologicum Gudianum 16, 50 Etymologicum Magnum Euclid, Catoptricks 34, 63 Euclid, Data 34 Euclid, Elements 56, 63 Euclid, Optics 34, 63 Excerptio compendiosa 35 Galen, Ars medica, see Galen, Tegni Galen, Compendium pulsuum 238 Galen, De alimentorum facultatibus 57 Galen, De atra bile 62 Galen, De bono corporis habitu 62 Galen, De causis pulsuum 238 Galen, De complexionibus 103, 237 Galen, De crisibus 237 Galen, De differentiis febrium 238 Galen, De elementis ex Hippocratis sententia 238 Galen, De inaequali intemperie 62 Galen, De interioribus 103, 237, 249, 250, 252, 253, 254 Galen, De marasmo 62 Galen, De marcore 62 Galen, De morborum causis 238 Galen, De morborum differentiis 238 Galen, De naturalibus facultatibus 238 Galen, De optima corporis nostri constitutione 62 Galen, De parvae pilae exercitio 62 Galen, De pulsibus ad tirones 238 Galen, De pulsuum differentiis 238 Galen, De sanitate tuenda 237, 238 Galen, De sectis 61, 237 Galen, De symptomatum causis 238

474 Galen, De symptomatum differentiis 237 Galen, In Hippocratis Aphorismos 27, 41, 65, 237, 240, 253, 255 Galen, In Hippocratis De victus ratione in morbis acutis 237, 240, 253, 254 Galen, Methodus medendi 61, 62 Galen, Tegni 26, 64, 237, 243 Geomantia 55 Greek Prophecy of the Erythrean Sibyl 30 Gregory the Great, Dialogues 195 Gunther of Pairis, Hystoria Constantinopolitana 399, 403 Hermeneumata Einsidlensia 11 Hermeneumata Monacensia 12 Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana Leidensia 10, 11 Hero of Alexandria, On Mirrors 56 Hesiod, Opera et dies 307 Hierocles, Hippiatrika 59 Hierocles, Pyrrhoniae informationes 59 Hippocrates, Aphorisms 27, 41, 65, 237, 243, 253, 255 Hippocrates, De humana natura 59, 65, 111 Hippocrates, De natura pueri 59, 65, 102, 103, 104, 109 Hippocrates, De victus ratione in morbis acutis 41 Hippocrates, Epidemics 59, 65 Hippocrates (Pseudo), On the Astrology of the Physicians 62, 65 Hippocrates, Prognostics 27, 65 Hippocrates, The Elements 65, 237 Holy Scriptures 49, 65, 151, 238, 243, 245, 246, 293, 2951 Genesis 18:5–6 (LXX) 303n43 19:3 (LXX) 303n43 1 Kings 19:6 (LXX) 303n41 Psalms (LXX) 2, 46n174, 52n219, 360, 365, 369 13:4 297n14 40:11 445 Jeremiah (LXX) 1 The Holy Scriptures are referred to as a whole body of texts.

Index of Works Referred To 11:19 297n14 Matthew 26:26–28 295n7, 296 Marc 14:22 295n7 Luke 22:19 295n7 24:30 296, 314n81 John 1:1 353n3 2 Corinthians 5:6 292 Galatians 5:9 292 Acts 379 Honorius of Autun, Clavis Physicae 1, 169 Horace, Ars poetica 244, 245 Hugo Eteriano, De sancto et immortali Deo 73, 273, 282–284, 288 Hugo Eteriano, Liber de differenta naturae et personae 44 Humbert of Silva Candida, Adversus Graecorum calumnias/Dialogus 297, 298, 299 Humbert Romanus, De eruditione praedicatorum 191 Humbert Romanus, Opus tripartium 191 Ignatios of Antioch, Letters 66 Isagoge of Ioannitius 27 Jacques de Vitry, Historia orientalis 456 Jerome, On the Best Method of Translating/ Epistle 57 238, 244 John Blund, Tractatus de anima 128 John Chrysostomos, Homilies on John 42, 65, 241, 242, 243, 255 John Chrysostomos, Homilies on Matthew 42, 65, 247 John de Scot, Periphyseon 1, 169 John of Capua, Directorium vitae humanae 154 John of Damascus, De fide orthodoxa 37, 42, 51, 65, 214 John of Damascus, Dialectica 214 John of Damascus, Dormition of the Virgin/ Oratio I John Oxeites, De azymis 304, 307

475

Index of Works Referred To John Phournes, Oratio antirrhetica de processione Spiritus sancti 271 Junillus, Instituta regularia divinae legis 5 Justinian, Digest 42, 334, 336 Justinian, Geoponika 42 Justinian, Institutes 328, 334 Kalila wa-Dimna 139, 146, 148, 152 Kyranides 45, 67 Leo VI, Novels 329, 332, 339 Leo of Ohrid, Epistulae tres de azymis 296 Leo of Russia, Contra Latinos de azymis 311 Lexicon Arundelianum 16 Liber censuum Romanae ecclesiae 352 Liber de differentia spiritus et anime 97 Liber de septem herbis 46 Liber politicus/Polypticus 381 Liber Thessali de virtutibus herbarum 46 Maimonides, Guide to the Perplexed 219 Manuel Planoudes, Letter 113 Maximus the Confessor, Chapters of Charity 37, 65 Maximus the Confessor, Letter to Marinos of Cyprus 264–265 Michael of Ephesos, Commentary on Aristotle’s Parva naturalia  121, 123, 125 Michael Synkellos, Laudatio sancti Dionysii 47 Moschos, Spiritual Meadow 24 Moses of Bergamo, Liber Pergaminus 35 Nemesios of Emesa, On the Nature of Man 26, 28n39, 42, 64, 235 Nicholas of Methone, Adversus Latinos de azymis 308 Nicholas of Methone, Memoriae contra Latinos 311 Nicholas of Methone, Refutationes theologicae doctrinae Latinorum Nikephoros Blemmydes, Epitome logica 212 Nikephoros Blemmydes, Epitome physica 212 Niketas of Maroneia, Dialogi sex de processione Spiritus Sancti 293 On the Hymn Thrice Holy 51

Ordo officiorum vel consuetudinum 381 Ordo Romanus antiquus 185 Ovid, Heroides 201 Ovid, Metamorphoses 201 Palamedes Romance 153 Pantegni 27, 28, 235 Pascal the Roman, Book of a Hidden Treasure 45 Peter of Abano, Compilatio physionomiae 60 Peter of Abano, Conciliator differentiarum philosophorum et praecipue medicorum 60, 61, 62 Peter of Abano, Expositio problematum Aristotelis 60 Peter of Abano, Lucidator dubitabilium astrologiae 60 Peter of Spain, Tractatus de longitudine et brevitate vitae 133 Philaretos, On Pulses 27 Photios, De Spiritus Sancti mystagogia 265 Photius, Bibliotheca 297 Pietro Grossolano, Sermo Grisolani ad imperatorem de processione Spiritus sancti contra Graecos 270 Plato, Cratylus 293n4 390d–e 306 Plato, Meno 30, 31, 63, 74 Plato, Parmenides 55, 63 Plato, Phaedo 30, 31, 32, 63, 74, 334 Plato, Protagoras 238 Plato, Timaeus 55, 63 Prochiron 329, 331, 332, 339, 340 Prochiron Calabriae 330, 331, 332 Proklos, Divine Providence 55 Proklos, Elementatio physica 33, 34 Proklos, Elements of Theology 54, 222 Proklos, Free Will 55 Proklos, On Evil 55 Pseudo-Alexander, Problemata 60, 61 Pseudo-Dionysius the Aeropagite 6, 7, 46, 66, 158–173, 246 Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, De coelesti hierarchia 47, 48, 161, 165, 166n28, 167, 170, 246 Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, De divinis nominibus 49, 161, 166, 170n47, 171

476 Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, De ecclesiastica hierarchia 47, 48, 161, 166, 168 Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, De mystica theologia 49, 166 Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, Epistulae 6, 161, 163, 166 Pseudo-Phocylides, Maxims 36 Ptolemy, Almagest 14, 28, 30, 32, 33, 34, 66, 68, 334 Ptolemy, De analemmate 55 Ptolemy, Megiste syntaxis, see Ptolemy, Almagest Ptolemy, Tetrabiblos 55, 66 Rhetorica ad Alexandrum 59 Rhetorica ad Herennium 28 Richard de Gerberoy, De capta et direpta a Latinis Constantinopoli 404n19 Robert Grosseteste, Commentary on Galatians 52 Robert Grosseteste, On the Cessation of Laws 52 Roger Bacon, Opus maius 56 Roger Bacon, Opus minus 56 Roger Bacon, Treatise on Radiation 56 Rule of St Francis 185, 186 Sacrobosco, On Spheres 66 Speculum ecclesiae 387

Index of Works Referred To Stephanites and Ichnelates 139–155 Stephen of Pisa, Liber Mamonis 28 Suda lexicon 16 Supplementa problematorum 60, 61 Symbatios, Epitome of Laws 329 Synopsis Basilicorum maior 330, 331, 332 Synopsis chronike 213, 224n53 Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs 16, 50, 51 The Book of Good Fortune 55 The Hundred Heresies 51 Theodore II Laskaris, Letter to Andronikos of Sardis 211–229 Theodore II Laskaris, Sacred Orations 219 Theognis of Megara, Elegies 36 Theophilos, De urinis 27 Theophrastos, De principiis 59 Theophylaktos of Ohrid, Allocutio ad quemdam 267 Thierry of Chartres, Heptateuchon 67 Thomas Aquinas, Commentary On Aristotle’s De sensu et sensato Prologue 15 120 Trisagion 66 Vita Secundi 46 Xenophon, Oeconomicus 238n20 Ystoria beate Marie virginis 46

This volume examines the ‘phenomenon’ of translation from Greek into Latin from the eleventh century to the thirteenth. These translated texts prompted Western scholars to rediscover the works of classical Greek and Byzantine authors and reshape the medieval intellectual landscape. Though our agenda focuses on translations of scientific texts, the collection of essays here also offers the reader insights into the broader cultural, social, and political functions and implications of individual translations and translation more broadly as a practice. Paraskevi Toma, Ph.D. (2016), Münster, a former teaching and research fellow in Münster and Hamburg, is currently an independent scholar. She published thirty unknown hymns of Joseph the Hymnographer (Lit Verlag, 2018) and articles on Byzantine monasticism. She is now preparing the edition of Nicholas of Otranto’s Greek-Latin Three Syntagmata.

Contributors are Dimiter Angelov, Péter Bara, Pieter Beullens, Alessandra Bucossi, Luigi d’Amelia, Paola Degni, Michael Dunne, Elisabeth Fisher, Brad Hostetler, Estelle Ingrand-Varenne, Marc Lauxtermann, Tamás Mészáros, James Morton, Teresa Shawcross, and Anna Maria Urso.

Péter Bara, Ph.D. (2020), University of Szeged, is a Research Fellow at the HUN-REN Research Centre for the Humanities, Budapest. He has published articles and translations on early monasticism, eleventh-century Byzantium, and the Venetian translator Cerbanus Cerbano.

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