Litterarum dulces fructus: Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael Herren for his 80th Birthday (Instrumenta Patristica Et Mediaevalia, 85) (English and German Edition) 9782503589763, 2503589766

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LITTERARVM DVLCES FRVCTVS

I N S T R V M E N TA PAT R I S T I C A E T M E D I A E VA L I A

Research on the Inheritance of Early and Medieval Christianity

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LITTERARVM DVLCES FRVCTVS STUDIES IN EARLY MEDIEVAL LATIN CULTURE IN HONOUR OF MICHAEL W. HERREN FOR HIS 80th BIRTHDAY

Edited by Scott G. Bruce With the participation of Emanuela Prinzivalli Barbara Feichtinger Giuseppe Caruso

F 2021

I N S T R V M E N TA PAT R I S T I C A E T M E D I A E VA L I A Research on the Inheritance of Early and Medieval Christianity

Founded by Dom Eligius Dekkers († 1998)

Rita Beyers Alexander Andrée Emanuela Colombi Georges Declercq Jeroen Deploige Paul-Augustin Deproost Greti Dinkova-Bruun Anthony Dupont Jacques Elfassi  Guy Guldentops Hugh Houghton Mathijs Lamberigts Johan Leemans  Paul Mattei Gert Partoens Marco Petoletti Dominique Poirel Kees Schepers Paul Tombeur Marc Van Uytfanghe Wim Verbaal

D/2021/0095/211 ISBN 978-2-503-58976-3 E-ISBN 978-2-503-58977-0 DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.120468 ISSN 1379-9878 E-ISSN 2294–8457 © 2021, Brepols Publishers n.v./s.a., Turnhout, Belgium. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher.

Printed in the EU on acid-free paper.

Table of Contents Acknowledgments .

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Scott G. Bruce, Michael W. Herren: An Appreciation

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Alexander Andrée, Ad utrumque paratus: The Medieval Latinist and the Classical Tradition . . . . . . . 15 Walter Berschin, Iohannes Scottus Eriugena, Honorius Augustodunensis und die karolingisch-neuplatonische Naturphilosophie im Bild (Paris, BNF Latin 6734) . . 35 Scott G. Bruce, The Redemption of Flavius Josephus in the Medieval Latin Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . 53 Brigitte Bulitta, Ein Heiliger als furcifer: Zur Glossierung von lat. glisis durch frühmittelhd. ouenkere in einem Fuldaer Handschriftenfragment der Vita Wilhelmi con fessoris aus dem 12. Jahrhundert . . . . . . . . 71 Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann, The Whole and Parts of Aldhelm’s De metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis (Epi stola ad Acircium) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 Scott Gwara, Pioneer Connoisseurship in Upper Canada: Henry Scadding’s 1901 Bequest of Early Manuscripts at the University of Toronto . . . . . . . . . . . 135 Justin Haynes, Roger Bacon’s Reading of Aethicus Ister in his  Opus maius . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169 Michael Lapidge, Poetic Compounds in Late Latin and Early Medieval Latin Verse (300–900) . . . . . . 189 Patrizia Lendinara, Medieval Versifications of Lists of Animal Sounds . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235 Tristan Major, The Number Seventy-Two in Early Anglo Latin Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275 Haruko Momma, “Element by Element”: Glosses, Loan Translations, and Lexical Enrichment in Old English . 323 Joseph Falaky Nagy, A Future for the Beholder’s Eye . . 347

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Sinéad O’Sullivan, The Practice of “Alignment” in Medie val Ireland . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 355 Jennifer Reid, Patrick and Social Identity at the End of Roman Britain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 385 Peter Stotz †, Iam satis blando satiata lusu: Eine bisher unbekannte Ode eines Humanisten auf die Jungfrau Maria . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 419 Mariken Teeuwen, I2’s Interest in Music: Two Manuscripts that Witness his Knowledge and Scholarship . . . . 435 Benjamin Wheaton, Nicetius of Trier’s Letter to Justinian and the Aphthartodocetic Controversy . . . . . . 461 Dylan Wilkerson, Filologos ration uel uerbi amatores: Interpretive Strategies of an Early Medieval Philologist Preserved in the Corpus Glossary . . . . . . . . 477 Appendix: Michael  W. Herren: Bibliography, 2007–2020 .

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Index of Names .

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Tabula gratulatoria . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 511

Acknowledgments This book celebrates the 80 th birthday of Professor Michael W. Herren. The contributors overcame many challenges presented by the global pandemic during 2020 to prepare the articles included in this volume for publication. Even though many of us were in frequent contact with Michael during this time, “Project 80” remained clandestine. As a result, when we gathered for a remote conversation with our friend and mentor in December 2020, he was pleasantly surprised by this collaborative birthday gift. I am very grateful to Shirley Ann Brown for being my co-conspirator in this book project; to the contributors who shared their research at a time when the production of scholarship was very difficult; to the external readers of the manuscript for their expertise and generosity; to Bart Janssens at Brepols for his support of “Project 80” from the beginning; and especially to Michael himself, whose lifetime of labor on early medieval literature and manuscript studies we are so pleased to celebrate with the litterarum dulces fructus offered to him in this Festschrift. Ad multos annos! SGB Baltimore, MD

Michael W. Herren: An Appreciation Scott G. Bruce (Baltimore) When he retired in 2006 from his position as Distinguished Research Professor of History and Classics at York University in Toronto, Michael W. Herren had already labored fruitfully in the fields of academia for four decades. His achievements during this time were formidable. He was the author and editor of numerous books, articles, and critical editions, which made him a globally recognized expert on the literary history of late classical and early medieval Latin literature and the reception of the classical tradition in western Europe. He was the founding editor of the Journal of Medieval Latin (1991–present), which rapidly became (and remains) the premiere publishing venue in the field of medieval Latin studies, and co-editor of the book series “Publications of the Journal of Medieval Latin” (2001–present), which has published fourteen volumes to date. He was also the recipient of numerous prestigious awards: a Killam Research Fellowship from the Canada Council (1995–1997), a Guggenheim Research Fellowship (1998–1999), and the Konrad Adenauer Prize for lifetime work in the Humanities (2003). After a semester in his native California as Distinguished Visiting Professor of Medieval Studies at the University of California at Berkeley in the spring of 2007, retirement surely beckoned to Michael, but even after forty years of scholarly industry, he was not yet done. Like a late Roman aristocrat taking a well-deserved break from the sarcina of public service, Michael set aside the negotium of academic labor — grading and administration — and embraced a new life of intellectual otium honestum. This heralded a decade and a half of astounding productivity. Indeed, since 2007 Michael has

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 9–13. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125555 ©

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produced a career’s worth of research.1 His published work during this otium honestum includes no fewer than twenty-nine scholarly articles in refereed journals and conference proceedings on topics ranging from the knowledge of Greek in the Middle Ages to the character of early Irish Christianity; an ambitious monograph called The Anatomy of Myth: The Art of Interpretation from the Presocratics to the Christian Fathers on the history of ancient myth criticism and the formative influence of this tradition on early biblical interpretation; and an immensely valuable annotated on-line bibliography on the topic of “The Classics in the Middle Ages,” which surveys dozens of academic works on the transmission and reception of classical Greek and Latin texts in western Europe from the sixth to the fourteenth centuries. Accolades accumulated apace during this time, including his election as a Life Member of Clare Hall at the University of Cambridge (2009) and as a Fellow of the Medieval Academy of America (2010). Michael’s most enduring contributions to scholarship since his retirement are the completion of two major text editing projects. The first is the publication of his critical edition with translation and commentary of the so-called Cosmography of Aethicus Ister.2 Michael’s abiding interest in this difficult and fascinating text has been obvious for decades to anyone who has ever sent him an email. “A farrago of science fiction, travel adventure, literary criticism, and prophecy,” the Cosmography is the work of an early eighth-century monk posing as St Jerome, who purported to produce an epitome of a lost work by a pagan philosopher named Aethicus. 3 Although it was well known in monastic reading communities and survives in forty-four medieval manuscripts, the opaqueness of this Latin text has warded off all but the most intrepid modern interpreters. In a landmark achievement, Michael produced not only a critical edition of the Cosmography, but also a 1  For

a complete list of Michael Herren’s published work from 2007–2020, see Appendix, below. For a list of his publications before 2007, see “Michael Herren: Bibliography, 1963–2006”, in Insignis Arcator Sophiae: Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Michael Herren on his 65th Birthday, ed. by G. Wieland, C. Ruff, and R. Arthur, Turnhout, 2006, pp. 273–85. 2  Michael W. Herren, The “Cosmography of Aethicus Ister”: Edition, Translation, and Commentary, Turnhout, 2014. 3  Herren, The “Cosmography of Aethicus Ister”, p. xi.

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clear translation and voluminous commentary to guide future generations in their study of this strange and wonderful work. As one reviewer noted about Michael’s fervor for this book project: “the fruit of his labors make his interest and enthusiasm infectious.”4 On the heels of this massive project comes another: Michael’s updated critical edition of the poems of John Scottus in the prestigious series Corpus Christianorum: Continuatio Mediaevalis.5 An Irish theologian and poet active in the court of King Charles the Bald (d. 877), Scottus composed many poems for the entertainment of his royal patron ranging from celebrations of political success to mundane aspects of social interaction with his peers. One of the few Carolingian intellectuals with an impressive knowledge of Greek, Scottus’s theological and poetical works have been a touchstone of Michael’s research for many decades. Even in his otium honestum, Michael remains an active teacher and mentor to his many students, most recently as the project coordinator and co-editor of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary Project (https://www.doe.utoronto.ca/epinal-erfurt/). With the support of the Alexander-von-Humboldt-Stiftung (2013) and an Insight Grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (2018–2021), Michael and his co-investigators are hard at work on the first critical edition of a Latin-Old English dictionary, composed in all likelihood at Canterbury in the late seventh century. A veritable early medieval wordhord, the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary comprises over 3,300 entries for Latin terms, a third of which have glosses in Old English. As the coordinator of this project, Michael works closely with the graduate editorial assistants,

4  Review by Benjamin Garstad in Speculum, 93 (2018), pp. 515–16 (quotation at p. 515). 5 Iohannes Scottus Eriugena, Carmina; De Imagine, ed. by Michael Herren, Andrew Dunning, Giovanni Mandolino, and Chiara O. Tommasi, Turnhout, 2020 (Corpus Christianorum: Continuatio Mediaevalis 167), pp. ix– xc and 1–66. Michael had edited and translated these poems previously in Iohannis Scotti Eriugenae Carmina, ed. by Michael W. Herren, Dublin, 1993 (Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 12). The revised Corpus Christianorum edition “contains a much expanded apparatus fontium and apparatus biblicus, and a few changes to the text that are indicated in the apparatus criticus” (p. xxv) and is now accessible to a much wider audience than the Dublin edition, which is out of print and difficult to find.

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who are all Ph.D. candidates in the Center for Medieval Studies at the University of Toronto. Even as we celebrate Michael’s 80 th birthday with this Festschrift of linguistic and historical studies, our honoree shows no signs of slowing down. One of Michael’s lifelong intellectual passions has been the Hisperica Famina (“Western Sayings”), a patchwork of Latin literary pieces written in seventh-century Ireland, which purports to describe a verbal contest between rival schools of rhetors and outlines a day in the life of these wandering scholars, among other topics. In 1973, Michael burst upon the scene with a modern critical edition and translation of the only complete recension of this challenging work.6 One distinguished reviewer remarked wryly that, in making learned conjectures about the meaning of difficult words in the Hisperica Famina, this precocious newcomer had admirably “retain[ed] his sanity in a field where madness comes very naturally.”7 A companion volume treating poems influenced by the Hisperica Famina followed in 1987.8 Fortunately for us, Michael’s otium honestum has allowed him to return to these texts once more. He will soon bring this life-long labor to completion with a third volume in preparation entitled Hisperica Famina III: The B-Text and Other Fragments: A Critical Edition with English Translation and Philological Commentary. Michael’s industry since his retirement in 2006 has been inspiring to his many colleagues and students around the world and we look forward to the forthcoming fruits of his most recent intellectual harvests. If we lived in the waning days of the western Roman empire, Michael’s trajectory would be clear. A learned octogenarian like our honoree would soon return to public life as a bishop and, eventually, achieve sainthood. Until then, we hope that Michael finds joy in the litterarum dulces fructus gathered in this volume for his 80 th birthday. Some were written by his most recent 6 

The Hisperica Famina I: The A-Text: A New Critical Edition with English Translation and Philological Commentary, ed. by Michael W. Herren, Toronto, 1974. 7 Review by Michael Winterbottom in The Classical Review, 27 (1977), p. 196. 8  The Hisperica Famina II: Related Poems: A Critical Edition with English Translation and Philological Commentary, ed. by Michael W. Herren, Toronto, 1987.

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protégés; others by his oldest colleagues in the profession, among them Professor Peter Stotz, who sadly died in July 2020. Underlying each of these contributions is a spark of inspiration kindled as much by the keen insights of Michael’s wide-ranging scholarship on the Latin and vernacular literature of the early Middle Ages as by his comraderie and generosity to each and every one of us, his students and his friends.

Ad utrumque paratus: The Medieval Latinist and the Classical Tradition* Alexander Andrée (Toronto) In spite of the “thousand blunders of monastic blockheads” which James Willis claimed to characterize medieval copying of the Classics, the fact remains that a surprisingly large amount of ancient literature has survived.1 And sometimes the fate of the Classics has been fortuitous indeed. Had not that north Italian scribe (he was probably a dunce), copied the “little book” of Catullus, only the Thuaneus fragment would remain — this also the product of a medieval scribe;2 if Rather, the colourful bishop of Verona, most certainly an inept bungler, had not commissioned a copy — rather two copies — to be made of the commanding N, the since perished fountain-head of the Nichomachean ‘recension’ of Livy’s first decade, our appreciation of the Republican historian would certainly have been curtailed;3 Lucretius, finally, of Lachmann fame, would not have reached us at all if it had not been for the enterprising scribes — blockheads, no doubt — of * The author would like to express his gratitude to Erika Kihlman of Stockholm University as well as the two anonymous reviewers of the volume, whose comments all contributed to the amelioration of this article. 1 J. Willis, Latin Textual Criticism, Chicago, 1972, p. 12. 2 B. L. Ullman, “The Transmission of the Text of Catullus”, in Studi in onore di Luigi Castiglioni, 2 vols, Florence, 1960, vol. 2, pp. 1027–57. 3  One of Rather’s copies is still extant: Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, 63.19. Copied by several scribes, this manuscript also contains ample notes in Rather’s own handwriting. See G. Billanovich, “Dal Livio di Raterio (Laur. 63, 19) al Livio del Petrarca (B. M. Harl. 2493)”, Italia medi­ oevale e umanistica, 2 (1959), pp. 103–78, and B. Bischoff, “Ratheriana”, in idem, Anecdota novissima: Texte des vierten bis sechzehnten Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart, 1984, pp. 10–19, at p. 12. Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 15–33. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125556 ©

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the Oblongus and the Quadratus, the one issuing from the Palace School of Charlemagne and its formidable Irish scholars, the other originating in a northern French monastery, both venues no doubt teeming with ignorant fools.4 This copying was certainly not incidental and Überlieferungsgeschichte is not fudge: the monks did not just mechanically copy the texts they had in front of them to preserve them for a more enlightened age when scholars could exercise their conjectural skills to make up for the blunders of the scribes; they also took an active interest in their contents — subject-matter and style — and used them as guidelines for their own writing, whether it was chronicles, saints’ lives, or biblical commentaries. There is no denying the fact that it is in medieval manuscripts that the Classics have been transmitted, and that it was the medieval scribes — sometimes admittedly in spite of themselves — that passed on the Classical tradition. Much of medieval Latin, it is true, was employed as Geb­ rauchssprache, but some scholars strived for literary elegance in keeping with their Roman predecessors. The same intertextuality that is encountered among the classical Roman authors exists between the later Latin authors and their predecessors, although it oftentimes runs deeper and is more intricate. By allusions and choice of words writers strive to conjure up situations and scenes, characters and events with which to compare or contrast their own narrative. By the same token, they also wanted to write themselves into a tradition, continuing the narrative inherited from their forebears — be they pagan or Christian — as seamlessly as possible. Examples of medieval usage of the Classics are countless. Sallust, for instance, whose cynical view of worldly fame and accumulation of riches appealed to the medieval Lebensgefühl, was used by Richer of Saint-Rémy, William of Poitiers, and others for the

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the publication of The Oxford Guide to the Transmission of the Latin Classics, ed. by J. Stover and J. Welsh (in preparation), the textual history of the Latin Classics is accessibly traced in Texts and Transmissions: A Survey of the Latin Classics, ed. by L. D. Reynolds, Oxford, 1983; and up-to-date bibliography is furnished by the dedicatee of this Festschrift: M. Herren, “Classics in the Middle Ages”, Oxford Bibliographies, 2014.

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writing of history;5 Lucan’s rhetorically labyrinthine verse served as a model for Walter of Châtillon’s epic Alexandreis; Ovid was a fundamental source of inspiration for the Loire poets, and so on. To be fully appreciated, the works of many medieval writers must be closely read against the background of their sources; references and reminiscences, and instances of imitation, of various degrees of subtlety, abound and must be detected. To do this, the reader must be in possession of the same equipment as the authors of the works he or she is studying. More than anything, this means a thorough grounding in the Latin Classical tradition. In this essay, by way of three examples, I shall explore some of the aspects mentioned above, looking respectively at how subtle a medieval writer could be in employing references, how a muddled reading of a classical source may be elucidated (or not) by a medieval commentary, and, finally, how a single reference to a Roman poet in a twelfth-century lecture course on the Gospel of Matthew may carry with it wide-ranging allusions — both geographical and literary. 1. Maligning like a Classic Just how subtly classical references may be embedded in medieval Latin writing can be exemplified by a passage from Liudprand of Cremona’s Relatio de legatione Constantinopolitana, an account of the diplomatic mission Liudprand undertook to Constantinople on behalf of Otto the Great. The alleged purpose was to ask the Byzantine Emperor Nikephorus Phocas for the hand of Anna Porphyrogenita, daughter of the former Eastern Roman Emperor Romanus II, for his son, the younger Otto (afterwards Otto II), but some deeper diplomatic schemes were probably at hand. From the outset, the embassy was a disaster, and Liudprand’s account of it is one of the more amusing in medieval Latin literature. Liudprand found everything in Constantinople unsatisfactory and geared to his own discomfort and ridicule. The description of

5 B. Smalley, “Sallust in the Middle Ages”, in Classical Influences on Euro­ pean Culture, a.d. 500–1500, ed. by R. R. Bolgar, Cambridge, 1971, pp. 165– 75.

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Nikephorus is as full of classical references as it is of extravagant invectives.6 [A]nte Nicephorum sum deductus, hominem satis monstruosum, pygmaeum, capite pinguem atque oculorum parvitate talpinum, barba curta, lata, spissa et semicana foedatum, cervice digitali turpatum, prolixitate et densitate comarum satis Hyopam, colore Aethiopem, cui per mediam nolis occurrere noctem, ventre extensum, natibus siccum, coxis ad mensuram ipsam brevem longissimum, cruribus parvum, calcaneis pedibusque aequalem, villino, sed nimis veternoso vel diuturnitate ipsa foetido et pallido, ornamento indutum, Sicioniis calceamentis calceatum, lingua procacem, ingenio vulpem, periurio seu mendacio Ulyxem.7 I was led before Nikephorus, quite a monstrous man, dwarflike, with a fat head and like a mole because of the smallness of his eyes, made hideous by a short beard, wide, thick, and grizzled, disfigured by a finger-like neck, a veritable Iopas because of the abundance and thickness of his locks, in colour like the Ethiopian you do not want to run into in the middle of the night, with an extended belly and dry buttocks, with very long hips compared to his short height, with small legs, similar heels and feet, dressed in an elaborate garment of byssus [sea silk], but too limp or by virtue of its old age, stinking and faded, he was shod with Sicyonian sandals, and had a quick tongue, sly like a fox, a Ulysses in his perfidy and mendacity.

Not just a testimony of Liudprand’s well-developed Latin vocabulary, the passage also gives evidence of his Latin literary learning. But the references are far from obvious and require extensive reading in the classical tradition to be detected. First, by the abundance and thickness of his hair, the Emperor is described as “satis Hyopam”, which, taking the usual medieval Latin spelling into account, refers to Iopas, the long-haired lute-playing bard at Dido’s banquet in Virgil’s Aen. 1, 740: “Cithara crinitus Iopas /

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do not pretend to have detected these allusions and references myself: they are all listed in the apparatus fontium in Paolo Chiesa’s edition. I simply make use of them here to prove my point. See Liudprandi Cremonensis Anta­ podosis, Homelia paschalis, Historia Ottonis, Relatio de legatione Constantinopo­ litana, ed. by P. Chiesa, Turnhout 1998 (Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaeualis 156). All translations in this essay are my own. 7  Rel. 3, 46–56, ed. Chiesa, p. 188.

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personat aurata”.8 The allusion seems thus to take the hirsuteness, already underscored by an array of adjectives and descriptive nouns, of the Emperor to a new level.9 The Emperor is given further description as being of the colour of an Aethiopian (colore Aethiopem) whom you do not want to run into in the middle of the night. The reference is to Juvenal, Sat. 5, 52–55, who points out, among advice on behaviour at banquets, how the wine and water served to clients differ from that served to other, more lordly guests. This water will be served by a Gaetulian servant, which refers to a North African people inhabiting an area roughly corresponding to modern-day Morocco, or “by the bony hand of a black Moor … cui per mediam nolis occurrere noctem, when you are travelling past the monuments of the steep Latin way”.10 Whereas Liudprand has kept only the middle-of thenight part, the reference certainly carries with it more ample connotations evident only to someone who knows his Juvenal. Sicioniis calceamentis calceatum, furthermore, refers the knowledgable reader to Cicero’s De oratore 1, 54, 231, albeit obliquely. Sicyon was a city in north-eastern Peleponnesos, known apparently for its un-masculine footwear, at least according to Cicero, who in the De oratore tells the following anecdote about Socrates: The orator Lysias had brought to Socrates a splendid oration on his behalf to be used, if he so wanted, as part of his defence. Socrates read it and said that it was elegantly written but that he would not use it, just as he would not wear Sicyonian sandals, if Lysias had brought them to him, although they were comfortable 8  On the subject of Iopas the bard, see for example C. Segal, “The Song of Iopas in the Aeneid”, Hermes, 99 (1971), pp. 336–49. 9 An alternative reading for Hyopam, that is, “al. hirtum”, is provided in the margin of the sole textual witness to the Relatio, a printed edition from 1600 prepared by H. Canisius (Chronicon Victoris episcopi Tunnunensis, Chronicon Ioannis Biclarensis, episcopi Gerundensis, Legatio Liutprandi episcopi Cremonensis, ad Nicephorum Phocam Graecorum Imperatorem, nomine Othonis Magni Imp. Augusti. Synodus Bauarica sub Tassilone Bavariae duce tempore Caroli Magni, Ingolstadt, 1600). “Shaggy” gives the same idea as the reference to Iopas but misses the more subtle intertextual reference to Virgil. 10 Iuu. Sat. 5, 52–55: “[…] tibi pocula cursor Gaetulus dabit aut nigri manus ossea Mauri et cui per mediam nolis occurrere noctem, cliuosae ueheris dum per monumenta Latinae”.

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and fitting his foot, as they were not masculine. In like manner, he judged the oration not to be manly enough.11 By comparison with the former two references, both relatively straightforward and easy to detect, this one is certainly subtle, requiring knowledge of a passage buried towards the end of the long first book of Cicero’s work. In addition, the availability of De oratore in the Middle Ages was limited. In the ninth century, Lupus of Ferrières famously had to ask Einhard for the three books of the work,12 of which he later possessed a copy that he had written and that is still extant.13 Liudprand had obviously read De oratore and must have committed large parts of it — if not only the passage on Sicyonian sandals — to his memory.14 Recalling the perfidy and mendacity of Ulysses, finally, ought to have struck a chord in Liudprand’s western, Latin readers, who 11 Cic. De

orat. 1, 54, 231: “Imitatus est homo Romanus et consularis ueterem illum Socratem, qui, cum omnium sapientissimus esset sanctissimeque uixisset, ita in iudicio capitis pro se ipse dixit, ut non supplex aut reus, sed magister aut dominus uideretur esse iudicum. Quin etiam, cum ei scriptam orationem disertissimus orator Lysias attulisset, quam, si ei uideretur, edisceret, ut ea pro se in iudicio uteretur, non inuitus legit et commode scriptam esse dixit; ‘sed’ inquit ‘ut, si mihi calceos Sicyonios attulisses, non uterer, quamuis essent habiles atque apti ad pedem, quia non essent uiriles’, sic illam orationem disertam sibi et oratoriam uideri, fortem et uirilem non uideri.” 12  Lupi abbatis Ferrariensis epistulae, ed. E. Dümmler, Berlin, 1925 (MGH Epist. VI), p. 8: “Sed semel pudoris transgressus limitem, etiam hoc postulo, ut quosdam librorum vestrorum mihi hic posito commodetis […] Sunt autem hi: Tulii de rhetorica liber […] Item eiusdem auctoris de Rhetorica tres libri in disputatione ac dialogo de Oratore.” 13  London, British Library, Harley 2736. 14 For studies of Liudprand and the Classics, especially in the context of the Relatio, see M. Giovini, “I viaggi a Costantinopoli di Liutprando da Cremona fra professione storiografica e spunti terenziani” Studi medievali, 46 (2005), pp. 753–81; idem, “Uritur infelix olim formonsa papia: L’incendio di una città ‘prudenziana’ in Antapodosis III 3 di Liutprando”, Maia, 50 (1998), pp. 489–98; idem, “L’Antapodosis di Liutprando da Cremona alla luce di riprese terenziane”, Maia, 53 (2001), pp. 137–65; and idem, “Ut Flaccus dicit. L’Antapodosis di Liutprando e Orazio: Forme dell’intertestualità”, Maia, 54 (2002), pp. 87–111. For a similar example, this time concerning the presence of Martial in the Relatio, see M. Petoletti, “Gli Epigrammi di Marziale prima dell’Umanesimo: Manoscritti, fortuna, tradizione”, in Storia della scrit­ tura e altre storie, ed. by D. Bianconi, Roma, 2014 (Bollettino dei classici. Supplemento 29), pp. 147–77.

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probably in some way counted their lineage from Aeneas and Troy, and who at least were able to recall the episode of the wooden horse and its creator in the second book of Virgil’s Aeneid. Indeed, Liudprand’s description of Nikephorus’s appearance is forceful in its own right: witty, cynical, and scathing; if nothing else, it is a lexical accomplishment. But whereas the vocabulary is chosen, I think, to elicit laughter from the readers, the classical allusions — be they ever so cleverly embedded — count the author among the learned and serve to position him in the literary tradition of the Greeks and Romans. The work thus speaks to a double audience: although the more subtle allusions are lost on them, the less literary well-equipped may enjoy the passage for its raucous hilarity; but the literati may also gasp in awe over their fellow intellectual’s admirable knowledge of the sources, and the facility with which he employs them in his own narrative. 2. Navigating the Aeneid Not only must the editor of Medieval Latin texts be as thoroughly acquainted with the Classics as the authors were whom he is editing, the Classicist will also do well to acquaint himself with how the medieval tradition understood ancient authors and texts. Sometimes the medieval reading of the Classics helps us to understand them beyond whatever guidance late antique commentators may give. To provide an example of how a medieval teacher might have understood a troublesome passage in the Aeneid, I turn to the manuscript Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, lat. 2° 34. This composite manuscript was written at different dates in the twelfth century and contains commentaries on Lucan, Statius’ Thebaid, and all three works of Virgil. Links between the contents of the Virgil and Statius commentaries and the teaching of Master Anselm of Laon have been proposed by scholars but never been sufficiently substantiated.15 The Virgil commentary 15 See, above all, V. de Angelis, “I commenti medievali alla Tebaide di Stazio: Anselmo di Laon, Goffredo Babione, Ilario d’Orléans”, in Medie­ val and Renaissance Scholarship. Proceedings of the Second European Science Foundation Workshop on the Classical Tradition in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed. by N. Mann and B. M. Olsen, Leiden, 1997, pp. 75–136, in which de Angelis argues that the teaching evidenced by the Berlin commentary may issue from Hilarius of Orléans, with some material going back

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expands on a core gathered from Servius (but not Servius auctus) and contains material that seems to issue from medieval classroom teaching on the Mantuan bard.16 To give but one example, let us look at a contested passage — indeed, one “among the most discussed in the whole Aeneid”, according to R. D. Williams: lines 682–86 in the third book.17 Here, Aeneas describes how he and his crew leave, almost in panic, the dwelling of the Cyclopes at the foot of Mount Etna in Sicily. They set sail and let themselves be carried by the winds until they remember the warning issued by Helenus at their last port of call, Buthrotum in Chaonia, not to try to reach the western coast of Italy by sailing through the narrow strait between Sicily and the mainland, flanked as it is by two deadly monsters, Scylla and Charybdis. They double back and decide to take the longer route around the island instead. Here is the passage as printed in Greenough’s edition, which has none of the emendations proposed by various scholars, earlier or later, allegedly to facilitate its understanding: Praecipites metus acer agit quocumque rudentis excutere, et ventis intendere vela secundis. Contra iussa monent Heleni Scyllam atque Charybdin inter, utramque viam leti discrimine parvo,   685 ni teneant cursus; certum est dare lintea retro.18 to Anselm of Laon, whose classroom Hilarius attended. This attestation has been upheld by de Angelis’ students, notably S. Invernizzi, “Le glosse alla Tebaide attribuibili a Ilario d’Orléans (libri VII–XII).” Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Milan, 2011. The original attribution to Anselm was made by M. Manitius, Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, 3 vols, Munich, 1931, vol. 3, p. 238, but has been questioned by C. Baswell, Virgil in Medieval England: Figuring the ‘Aeneid’ from the Twelfth Century to Chaucer, Cambridge 1995, p. 339, n. 98; and by J. Ziolkowski and M. C. J. Putnam, The Virgilian Tradition: The First Fifteen Hundred Years, New Haven, 2008, pp. 717–18. 16  See F. Bognini, “Per il commento virgiliano ascritto a Ilario di Orléans: A proposito delle ‘glose’ al sesto libro dell’ ‘Eneide’”, ACME, 58 (2005), pp. 129–73; A. Kraebel, “Biblical Exegesis and the Twelfth-Century Expansion of Servius”, in Classical Commentaries: Explorations in a Scholarly Genre, ed. by C. S. Kraus and C. Stray, Oxford, 2016, pp. 419–34. 17  Aeneidos liber tertius, ed. by R. D. Williams, Oxford, 1962, p. 202. 18  The Greater Poems of Virgil: Vol. 1, Aeneid I–VI, ed. by J. B. Greenough, Boston, 1900.

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Although the general sense is clear, unless very loosely translated, it is difficult to make precise grammatical sense of the passage. What does quocumque go with? However it is punctuated, the line inter … parvo (685) hangs loose between iussa Heleni and its object in line 686, ni teneant cursus: if inter refers to Scylla and Charybdis, is there not a verb in the infinitive missing (such as ‘to sail’ or similar)? And what is the subject of teneant? Scholars have tried to make sense of the lines, both by altering the punctuation and by proposing more invasive emendations. The Oxford text as printed by Mynors contains three emendations: 684 Scyllamque Charybdinque proposed by Heinsius to go with a postponed inter (unable to square Helenus’ monent with the accusatives Scyllam atque Charybdin); 685 utrimque altered by Nisbet from utramque of the manuscripts; and 686 teneam which Mynors found reported in the critical apparatus of the Harvard edition of Servius (auctus) as being the reading of the manuscripts F and G.19 The manuscripts’ teneant has the support of Servius and Priscian. But even with these emendations, the passage remains difficult to understand. It is hard to see how utrimque would improve the sense of 685. And the only good the first-person teneam in 686 would do is to make its subject agree with certum est, which is unnecessary, since the latter clause is better taken as separate from the ones preceding it. Based on a variant found in the critical apparatus of the Harvard edition of Servius, reading utrumque instead of utramque, David Traill proposed a convincingly legible reading of the passage by much less invasive changes to the text as reported by the manuscripts.20 Retaining atque connecting the two monsters and the reading teneant in line 686, the only necessary intervention to obtain an intelligible passage, according to Traill, is to alter the manuscripts’ utramque into utrumque, and 19 As per Mynors’ critical apparatus: “686 teneam ‘alii’ ap. DServ.: teneant codd., Prisc., Serv.” (P. Vergili Maronis opera, ed. by R. A. B. Mynors, Oxford, 1969, p. 174). According to the Harvard edition of Servius, teneam is reported by two manuscripts, F and G, of Servius auctus. See Serviorum in Vergilii Carmina Commentariorum editio Harvardiana, ed. by A. F. Stocker and A. H. Travis, Oxford, 1962, p. 234. The reading teneam is not found in Thilo-Hagen’s edition of Servius/Servius auctus. 20 D.  Traill, “Between Scylla and Charybdis at Aeneid 3.684–86: A Smoother Passage”, American Journal of Philology, 114 (1993), pp. 407–12.

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move the comma in 685 from after inter to before viam, which yields: contra iussa monent Heleni Scyllam atque Charybdim. inter utrumque, viam leti discrimine parvo, ni teneant cursus, certum est dare lintea retro.

Traill translates this as: “On the other hand, the commands of Helenus warned us against Scylla and Charybdis. To avoid continuing on course between them, a path only a hair’s breadth removed from death, I decided to pull down the sails.” 21 Changing an original utrumque into utramque, (mis-)understanding it to be taken with the following word, viam, must have been an easy error for a scribe to make. It remains to take cursus as the subject of teneant and to understand viam as standing in apposition to utrumque. The illuminating passage in the Harvard Servius reads as follows: 686. ni teneant cvrsvs antiqui ‘ni’ pro ‘ne’ ponebant, qua particula plenus est Plautus “ni mala ni stulta sis”. sensus ergo talis est: timor cogebat, ut quocumque navigaremus et ventum sequeremur, non iudicium: sed occurrebat praeceptum Heleni, vitare Scyllam et Charybdim. quare placuit, ne cursus teneant, hoc est, agantur et impleantur, inter utramque viam modico mortis interstitio, id est, Scyllae et Charybdis, retro dare lintea.22

For the printed text of this Servius passage, inter utramque (highlighted), Traill thus reads inter utrumque (and he adds a comma after utrumque), with, as he reports, the manuscripts FGP, which presents, as we have seen, a perfectly viable understanding of the passage.23 The only problem, however, is that it is not at this place that FGP read utrumque, but for another utramque a few lines below, as a variant to a passage in the Servius auctus portion of the edition.24 Be that as it may, the support of Servius is hardly 21 

Traill, “Between Scylla and Charybdis”, p. 412. Stocker and Travis, eds, Serviorum in Vergilii Carmina Commentario­ rum, pp. 233–34. 23 Traill translates (“Between Scylla and Charybdis”, p. 410): “therefore it was resolved that lest their passage hold fast, that is, be made and accomplished, between the two …”. 24 The variant utrumque for utramque only occurs later, in line 9, in the Servius auctus addition to the text. In his discussion, Traill seems to confuse 22 

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needed for emending utramque into utrumque, and Traill’s reinterpretation of the contested lines indeed makes for a smoother passage. But was this always the way the passage was understood, and was it always how Servius’s understanding of it was interpreted? Virgil was a staple ingredient in the medieval artes curriculum, and Servius formed the basis of most medieval commentaries on the Aeneid. In spite of this, his comments were not always taken ad litteram, and additions and modifications were constantly made.25 In the Berlin commentary on Virgil, which shows signs of having originated as a classroom lecture course, the passage is given a slightly different reading. Based in essence on Servius, the commentary shows no qualms to adapt or even change its source material. Here is the passage transcribed and lightly edited from fol. 52vb with divergences from Servius highlighted in bold face: contra ivssa. Sensus est: timor cogebat ut quocumque nauigaremus, sed iuxta preceptum Heleni erat nobis cautio Scillam et Caribdim uitare. Quare certvm est dare lintea uentis, ni pro ne teneant naute inter vtrvmqve viam, inter Scillam et Caribdim parvo discrimine leti modico mortis interuallo (secundum Seruium et Priscianum, ni pro ne sicut expositum est).

First, the lemma differs from Servius’. Then, following Servius, quocumque is explained by taking navigaremus to yield the understanding, “fear forced us to hoist sails and bend them to favourable winds, wherever we were sailing”. Then, again following Servius’ lead but with slightly changed wording, Helenus’ caution is to avoid (uitare) Scylla and Charybdis (the Harvard punctuation here is indeed reproachable). After this follows a full-scale reorganization of the Servian material: in essence it follows Servius’ reading, using word-for-word elements from it, but at the same time it clarifies and expands on its source. Interestingly, the commentary reads ‘uentis’ with 686 certum est dare lintea (omitting retro), picked up perhaps from 683. Then, in order to clear up any remaining confusion regarding who it was that was holding the Servius auctus, or Danielis, with ‘standard’ Servius. 25  See J. E. G. Zetzel, Critics, Compilers, and Commentators. An Introduc­ tion to Roman Philology, 200 bce – 800 ce, Oxford, 2018, p. 130.

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course, the commentary introduces naute as the subject of teneant, which is not found in Servius (or Servius auctus). This yields the translation, “Therefore I decided to set sail, lest the sailors hold a course (uiam) between both, between Scylla and Charybdis, a hair’s breadth from death, a small respite from death.” Although repunctuating the passage selon Traill perhaps is preferable (and simpler) than the Berlin commentator’s understanding of naute as the subject of teneant, the engagement with the material — both Virgil’s original and Servius’ commentary — displayed by the medieval teacher is fascinating and gives evidence if not of a total command of the passage, at least of a keen philological interest which goes beyond the established interpretations by Servius and his successors. This is not an isolated instance, and the Berlin commentary is stocked with super-Servian material of this sort. 3. The World Lies Open Let us now turn to our third and last example. By the mid-twelfth century, Peter of Troyes, nicknamed ‘Comestor’ or ‘Manducator’, was teaching theology in the cathedral school of Paris, a post in which he succeeded his own master, Peter Lombard. Here, in a series of lectures on the Bible, he would lay the foundations for what was to become a medieval bestseller, the Historia scholastica, a rewriting of and commentary on the historical books of the Bible intended to be used in the schools. Aside from the Historia scholas­ tica, Comestor’s lectures on the four Gospels have been preserved and can be accessed in manuscript. Though treating substantially the same material as the later Historia would, Comestor’s lectures are often more comprehensive, containing information about all things between heaven and earth, as long it has some relevance to the Gospel passage under review. In his endeavour to elucidate all possible aspects of the Gospels, Comestor does not shirk from making use of his classical education. Judging by the many references and allusions to classical texts and auctores, to ancient history, geography, and grammar found in the lectures, this education was quite substantial indeed.26 Commenting on the origin of the magi, for example, and the text of Matthew’s Gospel (2:1), ecce 26  It was probably on account of his wide learning that he earned his nickname “the Eater”: in order to have digested so much knowledge in the mere

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magi ab oriente uenerunt Ierosolymam, Comestor explains the meaning of “the East” as relative not to us, twelfth-century Parisians, but to the city of Jerusalem and the viewpoint of the evangelist. The magi were Arabs, Comestor continues, coming from far-off Arabia (extrema Arabia). He then explains that there are two Arabias, one positioned across the Jordan and not far from Jerusalem, and another which is found close to the “scorched zone” (zona perusta), of which Macrobius speaks and which is indicated on maps illustrating manuscripts of his Commentary on the Dream of Scipio.27 To further highlight the remoteness of this latter Arabia, Comestor closes his gloss with a quotation from Lucan: AB ORIENTE. Non quantum ad nos, sed quantum ad Ierusalem. Isti magi erant arabes de extrema Arabia. Due namque sunt Arabie: una trans Iordanem non longe a Ierusalem, quia post transitum Iordanis statim occurrit; altera iuxta perustam zonam in confinio nostre habitabilis, de qua Lucanus: Extremum, Arabes, uenistis in orbem.28

This is not quite literally Lucan’s text, however, which has: “ignotum uobis, Arabes, uenistis in orbem” (III, 247). Not caring much to keep the hexameter verse, Comestor changes, deliberately I think, ignotum into extremum to chime better with his purpose. For where Lucan’s Arabs came into a world “unknown”, Comestor wanted to underscore that the world his Arabs, the magi of the Gospel, came to was rather far removed from their destination, Bethlehem and the place of Jesus’ birth.29 This emphasis on the distance is important for the following section of the lecture where Comestor discusses the distance travelled by the magi and how long it took them to reach Bethlehem and the Christ child. 30 span of a human life, people thought that he must have consumed the books rather than read them. 27 See A. Hiatt, “The Map of Macrobius Before 1100”, Imago Mundi, 59 (2007), pp. 149–76. See also Macrobius, Sat. IX, 314. 28 Absent a critical edition of Comestor’s Matthew lectures, I am quoting them from the manuscript Paris, BnF, lat. 620, here fol. 8ra. 29  He could, of course, also have quoted the line from memory, thus inadvertently tweaking it to fit his expectations. 30 I have considered this passage elsewhere, where Comestor concludes that the fact that the magi covered so much ground in so short time must have been miraculous. Or they must have travelled on dromedaries, “very

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The passage as a whole, and Comestor’s seemingly simple use of Lucan, allusive and brief, is, in fact, revealing a wider nexus of medieval knowledge of ancient learning. The information provided by Comestor on the origin of the magi in the first part of the passage, before he introduces the quote from Lucan, corresponds neatly with a note on the same line from Lucan in the commentary found in the Berlin manuscript we encountered above (Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, MS lat. fol. 34). This note (found on fol. 9v) takes also the following line of Lucan’s poem into account (III, 248 umbras mirati nemorum non ire sinistras — “you wondered that the shadows of trees no longer fell to the left”) when it explains the origin of the Arabes: Arabes sunt populi fere sub perusta zona ualde remoti a nobis, et sunt sub ipso cancro. Et dum est sol sub cancro per quinque dies, in aliquibus horis illorum dierum uadit eis umbra sinistra. Et quia toto anno non uiderunt hoc apud nos, ideo crediderunt se esse in alio orbe. 31

This may have been common knowledge for a twelfth-century scholar steeped in the liberal arts curriculum, but it is nevertheless important to note that the same information about the Arabs reported by Comestor in his Matthew lecture which he supports by a quotation from Lucan, can be located in the more or less exact wording in a commentary on Lucan that is seemingly extant in only one manuscript copy. This commentary, or at least some of its contents, obviously saw a wider diffusion in the twelfth century. As was noted above, by contrast with the commentaries on fast horses”: “Sed quomodo in tam modico temporis spacio uenire potuerunt de extremis partibus mundi uel orbis? Miraculose factum est. Vel potuerunt uenire in dromedariis, equis scilicet uelocissimis” (Paris, BnF, lat. 620, fol. 8va). See A. Andrée, “Peter Comestor and the Tools for Biblical Interpretation: Grammar, Rhetoric, and Textual Criticism”, in Biblical Exegesis from Origen to Lorenzo Valla, ed. by M. V. Ingegno, Turnhout (forthcoming). 31  This is the same text printed under the siglum ‘B’ in Weber’s edition of the so-called scholiast comments to Lucan, comprising probably some late antique material that was gathered and expanded in the Carolingian period and arranged into continuous commentaries: Marci Annaei Lucani Pharsalia, vol.  iii: Scholiastae, ed. by C. F. Weber, Leipzig, 1831, p. 211, notes to line 247 and 248. The standard, allegedly late antique commentaries on Lucan, Commenta Bernensia and Adnotationes super Lucanum, have nothing to say on these lines.

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Virgil and Statius contained in this manuscript, the Lucan commentary has no apparent connection with the school of Laon. The fact that Comestor, who particularly in his lectures is heavily indebted to the teaching issuing from the Laon school, makes use also of non-Laon material is testimony to the scope of his interests and his wide learning. 32 Comestor’s conjuring up of a brief and obscure passage from Lucan — part of a longer catalogue in Book III listing all the peoples gathering behind Pompey’s banners: Greeks, Parthians, Cappadocians, etc. — also bespeaks his intimate knowledge of the Claudian epic. Indeed, Lucan was popular and part of the school curriculum, but Comestor’s use of him in this out-of-the-way context is evidence of more than just classroom knowledge. It rather recalls a type of classical learning we associate with our own time: the occasional and sponteanous flaunting of classical culture (not unlike what we saw Liudprand do earlier). His use of this passage underscores that there were no firm divisions between secular and biblical learning in the twelfth century, but much room for cross-fertilization. Just as in the case of the accessus-tradition to the classical auctores, here both the secular authors and their equally secular commentaries are allowed to influence a lecture on the Bible. It is Augustine’s spoiling of the Egyptians put into practice. In addition to biblical and medieval sources, Comestor’s world encompassed Classical and late antique sources, and extended from the mere letter into the tangible, geographical, and even exotic: like the troops rallying behind Pompey in De bello ciuili, Comestor’s knowledge is gathered from Greece, Rome, Jerusalem, Arabia, and the perusta zona, alongside all other connotations that the works of Lucan and Macrobius carried with them. Conclusion Examples like these are ubiquitous and found throughout all of medieval Latin literature. The Classics are present not only in the more obvious authors like Liudprand of Cremona, Walther of Châtillon, and John of Salisbury, but the phenomenon is also found 32  The Lucan commentary in Berlin 34 merits further inspection. For the Laon-Paris connection, see A. Andrée, “Sacra pagina: Theology and the Bible from the School of Laon to the School of Paris”, in A Companion to Twelfth-Century Schools, ed. by C. Giraud, Leiden, 2020, pp. 272–314.

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in less apparent places, such as we have seen in Peter Comestor’s biblical lectures, and hidden in manuscripts transmitting anonymous, technical texts like the Virgil and Lucan commentaries encountered above. Whereas medieval readers and scribes are responsible for the survival of the Latin Classics, how well they understood the ancient heritage is something that differed depending, of course, on education and availability of sources. Even if they did not understand everything as well as we are in a position to do today, after centuries of classical scholarship, they made an honest effort at elucidating them in terms of their knowledge, experience, and purpose. Improvements to texts were made also in the Middle Ages, and medieval monks were not more “dishonest”, as Willis claims, when trying to elucidate texts, than conjectural critics today; they did not deliberately introduce false explanations of matters geographical, onomastic, and Greek, as is sometimes alleged, invented by themselves, but took them over from scholars and scholia of late antiquity. 33 Instead, chances are, especially in contaminated traditions, that true readings are preserved in the most unlikely and unexpected places. Editors of classical texts, however, sometimes prejudiced like Willis against medieval scribes, have often spurned large swaths of manuscript evidence. Satisfied by a select number of canonical codices and relying on the apparatus of previous scholars, they have utilized their own ingenium to restore corrupt passages rather than look through the surviving witnesses for traces of original readings. The medieval Latin philologist cannot afford to take sides in the age-old struggle between conservative or conjectural critics, but must be ready to look for evidence wherever it is revealed — informed by his or her own reading or by scouring through manuscript variants. He or she must be ad utrumque paratus (or, mutatis mutan­ dis, parata) — equally well-versed not only in the genre and style of the author and his time, but also in the reading and culture that this author possessed. This reading and culture consisted to a large extent of the Classics. Through a life of scholarship devoted to the Middle Ages and its literary heritage the dedicatee of this Festschrift has proved to amply live up to this designation: Ad multos annos, Michael! 33 

Willis, Latin Textual Criticism, p. 130.

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Abstract To the great chagrin of some classicists, who like their Renaissance forebears looked upon the Middle Ages as just that, an intervening period of little intrinsic interest between the two highpoints of human existence, much if not all of classical literature was preserved through the agency of medieval monks. These monks, furthermore, were not merely mechanically copying the texts of the Classics but took an active interest in their transmission and interpretation. By examining three examples of medieval encounters with the classical tradition — to bolster a passage of invective, to help navigate a difficult passage of the Aeneid, and to expand the horizons of the biblical world — this essay displays the ingenuity of medieval readers and the facility with which they negotiated the classical heritage; thereby it makes a case for the medievalist to be thoroughly acquainted with the classical tradition, just as the medieval scholars were that s/he is studying, and for the classicist not to neglect the medieval tradition, in whose bosom the Classics were transmitted, in its multifaceted encounter with the literature of antiquity.

Bibliography Primary Sources A. Persi Flacci et D. Iuni Iuvenalis: Saturae, ed. by W. V. Clausen, Oxford, 1992. Liudprandi Cremonensis Antapodosis, Homelia paschalis, Historia Ottonis, Relatio de legatione Constantinopolitana, ed. by P. Chiesa, Turnhout 1998 (Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaeualis 156). Chronicon Victoris episcopi Tunnunensis, Chronicon Ioannis Biclarensis, episcopi Gerundensis, Legatio Liutprandi episcopi Cremonensis, ad Nicephorum Phocam Graecorum Imperatorem, nomine Othonis Magni Imp. Augusti. Synodus Bauarica sub Tassilone Bavariae duce tem­ pore Caroli Magni, ed. by H. Canisius, Ingolstadt, 1600. Macrobii Ambrosii Theodosii Saturnalia, ed. by R. A. Kaster, Oxford, 2011. Marci Annaei Lucani Pharsalia, vol. iii: Scholiastae, ed. by C. F. Weber, Leipzig, 1831. M. Tulli Ciceronis De Oratore Libri Tres, ed. by A. S. Wilkins, Oxford, 1902. Serviorum in Vergilii Carmina Commentariorum editio Harvardiana, ed. by A. F. Stocker and A. H. Travis, Oxford, 1962.

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Servii grammatici qui feruntur in Vergilii carmina commentarii, ed. by G.  Thilo and H. Hagen, Leipzig, 1881–1887, repr. Hildesheim, 1961. Virgil, Aeneid: The Greater Poems of Virgil: Vol. 1, Aeneid I–VI, ed. by J. B. Greenough, Boston, 1900. P. Vergili Maronis opera, ed. by R. A. B. Mynors, Oxford, 1969. Aeneidos liber tertius, ed. by R. D. Williams, Oxford, 1962. Secondary Sources Andrée, A., “Peter Comestor and the Tools for Biblical Interpretation: Grammar, Rhetoric, and Textual Criticism”, in Biblical Exe­ gesis from Origen to Lorenzo Valla, ed. by M. V. Ingegno, Turnhout (forthcoming). Andrée, A., “Sacra pagina: Theology and the Bible from the School of Laon to the School of Paris”, in A Companion to Twelfth-Century Schools, ed. by C. Giraud, Leiden, 2020, pp. 272–314. Baswell, C., Virgil in Medieval England: Figuring the ‘Aeneid’. From the Twelfth Century to Chaucer, Cambridge 1995. Billanovich, G., “Dal Livio di Raterio (Laur. 63, 19) al Livio del Petrarca (B. M. Harl. 2493)”, Italia medioevale e umanistica, 2 (1959), pp. 103–78. Bischoff, B., “Ratheriana”, in idem, Anecdota novissima. Texte des vierten bis sechzehnten Jahrhunderts, Stuttgart, 1984, pp. 10–19. Bognini, F., “Per il commento virgiliano ascritto a Ilario di Orléans: A proposito delle ‘glose’ al sesto libro dell’ ‘Eneide’”, ACME, 58 (2005), pp. 129–73. de Angelis, V., “I commenti medievali alla Tebaide di Stazio: Anselmo di Laon, Goffredo Babione, Ilario d’Orléans”, in Medieval and Renaissance Scholarship. Proceedings of the Second European Science Foundation Workshop on the Classical Tradition in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed. by N. Mann and B. M. Olsen, Leiden, 1997, pp. 75–136. Giovini, M., “I viaggi a Costantinopoli di Liutprando da Cremona fra professione storiografica e spunti terenziani” Studi medievali, 46 (2005), pp. 753–81. Giovini, M., “Uritur infelix olim formonsa papia: L’incendio di una città ‘prudenziana’ in Antapodosis III 3 di Liutprando”, Maia, 50 (1998), pp. 489–98.

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Giovini, M., “L’Antapodosis di Liutprando da Cremona alla luce di riprese terenziane”, Maia, 53 (2001), pp. 137–65. Giovini, M., “Ut Flaccus dicit. L’Antapodosis di Liutprando e Orazio: forme dell’intertestualità”, Maia, 54 (2002), pp. 87–111. Herren, M., “Classics in the Middle Ages”, Oxford Bibliographies, 2014. Hiatt, A., “The Map of Macrobius before 1100”, Imago Mundi, 59 (2007), pp. 149–76. Invernizzi, S., “Le glosse alla Tebaide attribuibili a Ilario d’Orléans (libri VII–XII)”. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Milan, 2011. Kraebel, A., “Biblical Exegesis and the Twelfth-Century Expansion of Servius”, in Classical Commentaries: Explorations in a Scholarly Genre, ed. by C. S. Kraus and C. Stray, Oxford, 2016, pp. 419– 34. Manitius, M., Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, vol.  iii, Munich, 1931. Petoletti, M., “Gli Epigrammi di Marziale prima dell’Umanesimo: manoscritti, fortuna, tradizione”, in Storia della scrittura e altre storie, ed. by D. Bianconi, Roma, 2014 (Bollettino dei classici. Supplemento 29), pp. 147–77. Reynolds, L. D. and P. K. Marshall, Texts and Transmissions: A Survey of the Latin Classics, Oxford, 1983. Segal, C., “The Song of Iopas in the Aeneid”, Hermes, 99 (1971), pp. 336–49. Smalley, B., “Sallust in the Middle Ages”, in Classical Influences on European Culture, a.d. 500–1500, ed. by R. R. Bolgar, Cambridge, 1971, pp. 165–75. Traill, D., “Between Scylla and Charybdis at Aeneid 3.684–86: A Smoother Passage”, American Journal of Philology, 114 (1993), pp. 407–12. Ullman, B. L., “The Transmission of the Text of Catullus”, Studi in onore di Luigi Castiglioni, 2 vols, Florence, 1960, vol. 2, pp. 1027– 57. Willis, J., Latin Textual Criticism, Chicago, 1972. Zetzel, J. E. G., Critics, Compilers, and Commentators. An Introduction to Roman Philology, 200 bce – 800 ce, Oxford, 2018. Ziolkowski, J. and M. C. J. Putnam, The Virgilian Tradition: The First Fifteen Hundred Years, New Haven, 2008.

Iohannes Scottus Eriugena, Honorius Augustodunensis und die karolingisch-neuplatonische Naturphilosophie im Bild (Paris, BNF Latin 6734) Walter Berschin (Heidelberg) Es gab wieder eine Philosophie in der Karolingerzeit. Zwar ist das Periphyseon des Iohannes Scottus Eriugena († um 880) ein ziemlich alleinstehendes und unwegsames Gebirge, aber etliche Zeitgenossen und Spätere sind doch den Wegen dieser Philosophie nachgegangen. Heinrich Joseph Floß († 1881) schuf für Mignes Patrologia Latina die erste moderne Edition;1 sie ist die einzige Originaledition der Migne-Serie (alle anderen Bände enthalten Nachdrucke). Den vorläufigen Schlußpunkt der editorischen Bemühungen um das komplex überlieferte Werk stellt die Ausgabe von Édouard Jeauneau dar,2 die den Text des Periphyseon in einer Reihe von Versionen bringt, wobei die ʻVersio IIʼ als definitiver Text des Iohannes Scottus gilt. 3

1  Joannis Scoti opera, PL 122. Die Kolumnenzählung der Floßschen Ausgabe ist die übliche Zitierweise des Periphyseon. 2  Iohannis Scotti seu Eriugenae Periphyseon, Hrsg. von É. A. Jeauneau, 5 vols, Turnhout, 1996–2003. Diese Ausgabe bringt die 612 Spalten der FloßEdition (PL 122, cols. 411–1022) auf 3177 Brepols-Seiten. 3 Nach gegenwärtigem Forschungsstand gibt es “quattro redazioni (o versioni) dell’opera, di cui le prime due risultano esser state supervisionate dall’autore, la terza risultante da integrazioni e correzioni introdotte da un suo stretto collaboratore e probabilmente dovuto in parte a Eriugena stesso, la quarta dovuta a integrazioni e correzioni di incerta attribuzione”, E. S. N. Mainoldi, “Iohannes Scottus Eriugena”, in P. Chiesa und L.  Castaldi, La trasmissione dei testi latini nel medioevo, 5 vols, Florenz, 2005, vol. 2, pp. 186– 264, hier p. 191.

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 35–52. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125557 ©

F H G

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Das Periphyseon, auch De divisione naturae betitelt,4 ist stark von griechischer Philosophie und Theologie geprägt, nicht nur aufgrund der omnipräsenten Ideenlehre Platons5 und der Schriften des Origenes,6 sondern auch wegen der intensiven Beschäftigung des Iohannes Scottus mit den frühbyzantinischen Autoren Gregor von Nyssa († nach 394), Dionysius Areopagita (um 500) und Maximus Confessor († 662). Werke dieser drei Autoren hat Iohannes Scottus selbst übersetzt: Von Gregor von Nyssa übersetzte er – in Unkenntnis einer bereits vorliegenden, viel besseren Übersetzung7 – De imagine, ein Buch über den biblischen Schöpfungsbericht.8 Bei Dionysius Areopagita überarbeitete Iohannes Scottus das den Karolingern durch eine byzantinische Gesandtschaft des Jahres 827 bekanntgewordene9 Gesamtwerk in einer bereits vorliegenden Übersetzung;10 von Maximus Confessor übersetzte er die 4 Der

Titel “De divisione naturae” geht zurück auf die Hs. Cambridge, Trinity College O.5.20 (saec. XII), die Thomas Gale für seine Edition (Oxford, 1681) benützte, cf. Iohannis Scotti seu Eriugenae Periphyseon, Hrsg. von Jeauneau, vol. 1, p. vii. Unter den verschiedenen Bezeichnungen des Periphyseon in dieser Hs. findet sich auch griechisch geschrieben ΠEPYΦYCEON )-(EPICMOY. Über hypergräzisierende Schreibweisen (ΠEPY statt ΠEPI) und den gräzisierenden, aber typisch abendländischen Buchstaben )-( (ʻSiglen-Mʼ), W.  Berschin, Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter: Von Hieronymus zu Nikolaus von Kues, Bern/München, 1980, pp. 42–43 und passim. 5  Von dessen Dialogen damals nur der Timaeus in der Übersetzung des Calcidius (Mailand um 400?) den Lateinern direkt zugänglich war. 6 Werkübersicht (auch der lateinischen Übersetzungen) bei M. Geerard, Clavis Patrum Graecorum, 5 vols, Turnhout, 1983, vol. 1, pp. 141–86. 7 Dionysius Exiguus widmete im frühen VI. Jh. dem Eugippius seine Übersetzung von Gregors v. Nyssa ΠΕΡΙ ΚΑΤΑCΚΕΥΗC ΑΝΘΡѠΠΟΥ unter dem Titel De conditione seu opificio hominis, PL 67, cols 345–408. Ein Vergleich der Übersetzung des Dionysius Exiguus mit der des Iohannes Scottus bei P. Levine, “Two Early Latin Versions of St Gregory of Nyssa’s Peri kataskeyēs anthrōpou”, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, 63 (1958), pp. 473–92. 8  M. Cappuyns, “Le De imagine de Grégoire de Nysse traduit par Jean Scot Érigène”, Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale, 32 (1965), pp. 205–62. Neue Ausgabe: G. Mandolino, CCCM 167, Turnhout, 2020, pp. 69–165. 9 Cf. W. Berschin, “Die Ost-West-Gesandtschaft am Hof Karls des Großen und Ludwigs des Frommen (768–840)”, in idem, Mittellateinische Studien I, Heidelberg 2005, pp. 105–17, hier p. 112. 10 Die erste Übersetzung des Dionysius Areopagita wurde von Hilduin v. St Denis organisiert, Hrsg. von G. Théry, Études dionysiennes t. 2, Paris

die karolingisch-neuplatonische naturphilosophie im bild 37

Ambigua11 und die Quaestiones ad Thalassium12 – alles Schriften, die in der neuplatonisch-christlichen Tradition des Origenes stehen. Wenn man Iohannes Scottus mit seinem Zeitgenossen Ana­ stasius Bibliothecarius als Übersetzer13 zusammensieht – beide arbeiteten für Karl den Kahlen –, dann hatte damit die karolingische Kultur nocheinmal Anschluß an die griechische gewonnen; nocheinmal bedeutet der Bindestrich im “Griechisch-lateinischen Mittelalter” nicht einen Gegensatz, sondern ein Miteinander und Ineinander. Anastasius Bibliothecarius († 879 oder später) hat Cassiodors Historia tripartita fortgeführt mit einer Chronographia tripertita14 und damit die griechische Geschichtsschreibung bis ins frühe IX. Jahrhundert den Lateinern zugänglich gemacht. Das von Iohannes Scottus beackerte theologische Feld interessierte auch Anastasius. Er lieferte im Jahr 875 Kritik und Ergänzungen zur Dionysius-Areopagita-Übersetzung des Iohannes Scottus15 und 1937. Übersetzung des Iohannes Scottus: PL 122, cols 1029–1194; parallel mit anderen Übersetzungen Dionysiaca, 2 vols, Brügge, 1937 und 1950. Ausgabe des Widmungsbriefs an König Karl d. Kahlen, ed. E. Dümmler, MGH Epistolae 6, Berlin, 1925, pp. 158–61. 11  Maximi Confessoris Ambigua ad Iohannem, Hrsg. von É. Jeauneau, Turnhout/Löwen, 1988. 12  Maximi Confessoris Quaestiones ad Thalassium, Hrsg. von C. Laga und C. Steel, 2 vols, Turnhout/Löwen, 1980–1990. 13  Wichtigste Quelle hierfür sind die “Anastasii Bibliothecarii epistolae sive praefationes”, Hrsg. von E. Perels und G. Laehr, MGH Epistolae 7, Berlin, 1928, pp. 395–442. Die dort als Fragment gedruckte epist. 10 (pp. 426–27) ist vollständig ediert bei W. Berschin, “Bonifatius Consiliarius († nach 704). Ein römischer Übersetzer in der byzantinischen Epoche des Papsttums”, in idem, Mittellateinische Studien I, pp. 65–78, hier pp. 76–77. 14  Theophanis Chronographia, Hrsg. von C. de Boor, 2 vols, Leipzig, 1885, vol. 2, pp. 33–346. Neuere Ausgabe des Widmungsbriefs dazu (an den Papstbiographen Iohannes Diaconus von Rom): Anastasius Bibliothecarius, epist. 7, MGH Epistolae 7, pp. 419–21. 15 Anastasius Bibliothecarius, epist. 13 (an Kaiser Karl II. d. Kahlen), MGH Epistolae 7, pp. 431–34. Zu den in diesem Brief erwähnten Ergänzungen des Anastasius zur Übersetzung des Iohannes Scottus: R. Forrai, “The Notes of Anastasius on Eriugena’s Translation of the Corpus Dionysiacum”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 18 (2008), pp. 74–100. Zu dem damit entstandenen und weitverbreiteten ʻCorpus Anastasianumʼ: B.  R. Suchla, “Anastasius Bibliothecarius und der Dionysius Areopagita latinus”, Archiv für mittelalterliche Philosophie und Kultur, 6  (2000), pp. 23–31; und Eadem, Corpus Dionysiacum 4.1: Iohannis Scythopolitani Prologus et scholia in Dionysii Areopagitae

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übersetzte eine Zusammenfassung der Historia mystica, eine liturgische Symbolik von Maximus Confessor.16 Sogar Iohannes Damascenus († um 750) tritt sporadisch gegen Ende der Karolingerzeit im lateinischen Gewand auf,17 wenngleich seine eigentliche Entdeckung durch die Lateiner erst im XII. Jahrhundert geschieht. Wäre er mit seinen anti-ikonoklastischen Schriften18 schon gegen 800 bekanntgeworden, dann hätte das dem Niveau der unter dem Namen Karls d. Gr. verfaßten Libri Carolini gutgetan. *** Iohannes Scottus übersetzte Wort für Wort, de verbo ad verbum. Er war vielleicht der ehrgeizigste westliche ʻHellenistʼ seiner Zeit, wie seine griechischen Verse zeigen, die Michael Herren zuletzt ediert hat.19 Aber “the foremost Hellenist of his time”, wie ihn Philip Levine tituliert, 20 war er doch nicht. Diesen prekären Ruhm muß man dem Römer Anastasius Bibliothecarius lassen, der als Übersetzer zwar auch seine Schwierigkeiten mit der Ausgangssprache Griechisch hatte, 21 aber die Zielsprache Latein vergleichsweise librum De Divinis Nominibus cum additamentis interpretum aliorum, Berlin/ Boston, 2011. 16 S. Pétridès, “Traités liturgiques de saint Maxime et de saint Germain”, Revue de l’Orient chrétien, 10 (1905), pp. 289–313, hier pp. 296–309. Neue Ausgabe: C. Boudignon, Maximi Confessoris Mystagogia una cum latina interpretatione Anastasii Bibliothecarii, Turnhout 2011, pp. 77–89. Maßgebende Ausgabe des Widmungsschreibens an Karl d. Kahlen (Anastasius Bibliothecarius, epist. 14): MGH Epistolae 7, pp. 434–35. 17 Im “Reichenauer Corpus von Marienpredigten”, Karlsruhe, Bad. Landesbibliothek Aug. LXXX, cf. Berschin, Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter, p. 183 (Lit.). 18  “Das Bild Christi … ist legitimiert durch die Menschwerdung des Logos … Durch die Menschwerdung ist die Materie verklärt und würdig, daß Christus in ihr dargestellt werde … Alles wird zum Bild: der Sohn ist Bild und der Geist ist Bild; Bild sind die Begriffe der zu schaffenden Dinge in Gott, Bild ist der Mensch als Abbild Gottes, Bilder sind die sichtbaren Dinge, die in ihrer Gestalt das Unsichtbare … ahnen lassen. Ikonoklasmus aber ist Manichä­ ismus”, H.-G. Beck über die Bildtheologie des Iohannes Damascenus, Kirche und theologische Literatur im byzantinischen Reich, München, 1959, p. 301. 19  Iohannis Scotti Eriugenae carmina, Hrsg. von M. W. Herren, Dublin 1993. Neue Ausgabe: CCCM 167, Turnhout, 2020, pp. 3–66. 20 Levine, “Two Early Latin Versions”, p. 479. 21  Ein neueres Votum hierzu bei P. Allen und B. Neil, Scripta saeculi VII vitam Maximi Confessoris illustrantia una cum latina interpretatione Anasta-

die karolingisch-neuplatonische naturphilosophie im bild 39

besser traf. Noch niemand hat eine griechisch-lateinische Übersetzung des Iohannes Scottus mit Vergnügen gelesen; dem Anastasius Bibliothecarius ist es jedenfalls einmal gelungen, die delectabiles historiae22 der Vita des Iohannes Eleemosynarius in so passables Latein zu bringen, daß diese Vita des Leontius von Neapolis (samt ihrer ʻhagiographischen Komikʼ) ein Klassiker der lateinischen Biographie wurde.23 Anastasius Bibliothecarius bekam über Papst Nikolaus I. und Karl den Kahlen die Dionysius-Übersetzung des Iohannes Scottus zur Beurteilung und schrieb einigermaßen höflich, daß Iohannes Scottus quem interpretaturus susceperat, adhuc redderet interpretandum.24 Das moderne Urteil ist schroffer: “sa traduction est illisible”.25 *** Aber dem Iohannes Scottus als Philosophen genügte das, was er bei den frühbyzantinischen Autoren über seine Versionen herausfand. Er war fasziniert von der Idee der theosis, der deificatio, von der er so wenig in den lateinischen Büchern fand.26 Aus Gott ist alles hervorgegangen auf dem Weg des Herabsteigens vom Allgemeinen zum Besonderen; auf diese Entfaltung folgt die Rückkehr zu Gott, die platonisch-origenistische apokatastasis, die reversio, restitutio. Die Rückkehr soll sich in Stufen vollziehen: sii Bibliothecarii, Turnhout/Löwen, 1999, pp. xxxviii–xli. Die Übersetzungen des Anastasius Bibliothecarius fallen ungleichmäßig aus. Vielleicht hängt das damit zusammen, daß er zunächst eine wörtliche Rohübersetzung anfertigte, später aber den Text besser latinisierte. An der doppelten Übersetzung der Laudes SS. Cyri et Iohannis von Sophronius v. Jerusalem (BHL 2079) läßt sich zeigen, daß Anastasius Bibliothecarius das Verfahren doppelter Übersetzung kannte und anwandte, um die Zielsprache Latein besser zu treffen; Berschin, “Bonifatius Consiliarius”, pp. 69–70. 22  Vita S. Iohannis Eleemosynarii, trad. Anastasius Bibliothecarius, PL 73, cols. 337–84, hier col. 341. Neuere Ausgabe des Widmungsbriefs an Papst Nikolaus I.: Anastasius Bibliothecarius, epist. 1, MGH Epistolae 7, p. 432. 23 W.  Berschin, Biographie und Epochenstil im lateinischen Mittelalter, 5 vols, 2nd ed., Stuttgart, 2020, vol. 2, pp. 160–62 (Lit.). 24  Anastasius Bibliothecarius, epist. 13, MGH Epistolae 7, p. 432. 25  F. Blatt, “Remarques sur l’histoire des traductions latines”, Classica et Mediaevalia, 1 (1938), pp. 217–42, hier p. 240. 26  Periphyseon 1013c: “huius nominis, deificationis dico, in latinis codicibus rarissimus est usus … Sed quare hoc evenit, non satis nobis patet. An forte sensus ipsius … altus nimium visus est”, Hrsg. von Jeauneau, vol. 5, p. 217.

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walter berschin transfusio … corporum in animas et animarum in causas et causarum in deum (877a),

also in drei Stufen vom Leib zur Seele, von der Seele zu den Anfangsgründen, von den Anfangsgründen zu Gott, oder – so an späterer Stelle (1020c–1021a, hier in der Übersetzung von Ludwig Bieler): “Die erste ist die Umwandlung des irdischen Körpers in Lebensbewegung (motus vitalis); die zweite ist die Umwandlung der Lebensbewegung in Sinneswahrnehmung (sensus); die dritte ist die Umwandlung der Sinneswahrnehmung in Vernunft (ratio); darauf folgt die Umwandlung der Vernunft in Geist (animus), und damit ist das Endziel der ganzen vernünftigen Schöpfung erreicht. Nach dieser Integration der fünf Teile …, die nun nicht mehr fünf, sondern eins sind…, folgen die drei anderen Stufen des Aufstiegs: eine davon ist der Übergang des Geistes in ein Wissen aller Dinge, die Gott nachstehen (scientia); die zweite ist der Übergang des Wissens in Weisheit (sapientia) …; die dritte und höchste ist das übernatürliche Einsinken der reinsten Geister in Gott selbst, gleichsam die Dunkelheit des unbegreiflichsten und unnahbarsten Lichtes, worin die Ursachen aller Dinge verborgen sind, und dann wird die Nacht leuchten wie der Tag…”27 Dies sollte – das war des Iren philosophischer Ehrgeiz – mit der biblischen Botschaft vollkommen in Einklang stehen. Aber wo bleiben hier die Verdammnis, das Böse und der Lohn der Guten? Für die Beantwortung der ersten Frage fand Iohannes Scottus Material im Lukaskommentar des Ambrosius. Dort kommt Ambrosius28 beiläufig auf Mt 21:13 zu sprechen: mittite eum in tenebras exteriores. Ibi erit fletus et stridor dentium. Spöttisch fragt Ambrosius, ob es dort (in der Hölle) “Kerkerhaft und Steinbrüche” gäbe (numquid illic quoque carcer aliqui lautumiaeque subeundae sunt)? Da ist nach Ambrosius kein körperliches Zähneknirschen und kein leibliches Feuer, sondern das eigene innere Feuer plagt in der Ewigkeit den Gottfernen.

27 L. Bieler, Irland. Wegbereiter des Mittelalters, Olten/Lausanne, 1961, pp. 136–37. 28 Ambrosius, Expositio evangelii secundum Lucam VII, 204 sq., Hrsg. von C. und H. Schenkl, CSEL 32.4, Wien 1902, p. 374.

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Eine Lösung der anderen Fragen fand Iohannes Scottus bei Maximus Confessor: Wenn alles zu Gott, dem Inbegriff des Guten, zurückkehrt, verschwindet das Böse, und den bösen Wesen bleiben nur die Phantasien29 davon; die Verdammnis besteht darin, daß sie Böses tun wollen, aber nicht mehr können, weil es das Böse nicht mehr gibt. Alles geht in einem reditus generalis zu Gott ein; den Seligen aber bleibt in einem reditus specialis30 der Erwählten die größere Gottesnähe vorbehalten. *** Weder Heinrich Joseph Floß (1853) noch Thomas Gale (1681) ist der wichtigste Herausgeber des Periphyseon gewesen, sondern ein Publizist des XII. Jahrhunderts, der unter dem Namen Honorius Augustodunensis († vor 1153) schrieb. 31 Der im Umkreis der Regensburger Irenkolonie arbeitende Mann, ein Hauptvertreter des ʻDeutschen Symbolismusʼ des XII. Jahrhunderts, hat sich um 1125 das Periphyseon vorgenommen, die Einteilung des Riesenwerks in fünf Bücher aufgehoben, den Text durch Abkürzung mancher Schnörkel und Schleifen32 auf den halben Umfang reduziert und damit erst zu einem integral lesbaren Buch gemacht. Hervorzuheben ist, daß er beim Redigieren offenbar erkannte, wo das philosophisch-theologisch Neue im Periphyseon steckte: nämlich in der Behandlung der universalen Rückkehr von allem 29 

Periphyseon 945a und öfter; cf. Maximus Confessor, Ambigua XVI, Hrsg. von Jeauneau, p. 133, lin. 27–30. Über diese “idea particolarmente avventurosa” des Iohannes Scottus: P. Dronke und M. Pereira, Giovanni Scoto: Sulle nature dell universo, 5 vols, Mailand 2017, vol. 5, pp. xxx und 495–96. 30  Periphyseon 1001b; cf. Maximus Confessor, Quaestiones ad Thalassium 54, Scholion 18, Hrsg. von Laga und Steel, vol. 1, p. 474. 31 Umfangreiche Lit. bei P. Stoppacci, “Honorius Augustodunensis”, in Compendium Auctorum Latinorum Medii Aevi, 6 vols, Florenz, 2018, vol. 6, fasc. 2, pp. 231–41. Es fehlt allerdings H. D. Rauh, Das Bild des Antichrist im Mittelalter. Von Tyconius zum Deutschen Symbolismus, 2. Aufl., Münster i.W., 1979. 32 M.-T. d’Alverny, “Le Cosmos symbolique du xiie siècle”, Archives d’Histoire Doctrinale et Littéraire du Moyen Age, 20 (1953), pp. 31–81, hier p. 40: “tout en respectant le plan et la plupart des termes de son modèle, le professeur du xiie siècle [Honorius Augustodunensis] l’a éclairé en ajoutant immédiatement les explications que … Jean Scot ne livre que progressivement…”.

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zum Ursprung, dem reditus. Deshalb hat Honorius Augustodunensis das V. Buch des Periphyseon fast unangetastet gelassen. 33 Die Bearbeitung wurde mit einem metaphorischen Buchtitel versehen: Clavis physicae, 34 “Schlüssel zur Natur” – kein Autor des Mittelalters hat so viele treffende Buchtitel gefunden wie Honorius Augustodunensis. Dem scholastischen und päpstlichen Bannstrahl, der das Periphyseon 1225 zu verbrennen befahl, 35 entging die im deutschen Südosten verbreitete Clavis physicae; so hat das Werk des Iohannes Scottus in der Bearbeitung des Honorius Augustodunensis auch im Spätmittelalter Beachtung gefunden. *** Die älteste Handschrift der Clavis physicae, 36 Paris BNF Latin 6734, saec. XII 2/3, trägt ein Titelbild (Abb. 1): Im Doppelbogen eines romanischen Bauwerks sitzen disputierend nebeneinander der Grieche THEODORVS mit den Gesichtszügen eines griechischen Aposteltypos (Paulus) und IOHANNES, im Typ eines römischen Philosophen. Der unbeschuhte griechische Abt und Philosoph hält ein Schriftband in der Hand mit dem leoninischen Hexameter Dogmatis is lumen pandit per mentis acumen “Dieser verbreitet das 33 Für

das V. Buch des Periphyseon bildet die Clavis physicae zusammen mit nur zwei Hss. des XII. Jhs. – Avranches, Bibliothèque municipale 230 und Cambridge, Trinity College O.5.20 – die gesamte Überlieferung. E. Graff, “A Primitive Text of Periphyseon V Rediscovered: The Witness of Honorius Augustodunensis in Clavis physicae”, Recherches de théologie et philosophie médiévales, 69 (2002), pp. 271–95 vertritt die These, daß Honorius Augustodunensis für den Schluß seiner Clavis physicae eine sehr frühe Fassung von Periphyseon Buch V benutzte bzw. kopierte. 34  Honorius Augustodunensis: Clavis physicae, Hrsg. von P. Lucentini, Rom, 1974. Hier ist die Clavis physicae nur bis zu dem Punkt ediert, wo Honorius aufhört, zu kürzen und zu bearbeiten. Der restliche Teil der Clavis physicae bei P. Arfé, La Clavis physicae (316–529) di Honorius Augustodunensis, Neapel, 2012. 35  Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis, Hrsg. von H. Denifle, 4 vols, Paris 1889, vol. 1, pp. 106–07: “Honorius III opus perifisis (sic) Iohannis Scoti referente Bartholomaeo episcopo Parisiensi nuper repertum et a nonnullis claustralibus et viris scholasticis lectum damnat…”. 36 Zuletzt beschrieben von Lucentini, Honorius Augustodunensis, pp. ix– xv (Lit.). Als Entstehungsort gilt “origine mosana”; ma. Bibliotheksort ist das Kloster Michelsberg zu Bamberg.

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Licht der Glaubenslehre durch den Scharfsinn seines Geistes”. Der Ire, von dem der Auftraggeber des Bildes oder der Zeichner glaubte, er sei römischer Archdiakon gewesen, ist charakterisiert durch sein Schriftband Involucrum rerum petit is fieri sibi clarum “Dieser bittet, daß ihm das in den Dingen Verhüllte deutlich werde”. Über dem Bild steht DISPVTATIO ABBATIS THEODORI GENERE GRECI ARTE PHILOSOPHI CVM IOHANNE VIRO ERVDITISSIMO ROMANE ECCLESIE ARCHIDIACONO GENERE SCOTHO “Disputation des Abtes Theodor, griechischer Herkunft und Philosoph von Beruf, mit dem hochgelehrten Mann Iohannes, Archidiakon der römischen Kirche und irischer Herkunft”.

Abb. 1. Paris, BNF Latin 6734, fol. 3r.

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Orient und Okzident im Gespräch, ein Grieche und ein Ire, Offenbarung (dogmatis lumen) und Erkennen des Sinns hinter der verbergenden Hülle (involucrum rerum) – das Titelblatt ist voller Symbole. Ungewöhnlich, aber verständlich ist, daß als Autor nicht Honorius Augustodunensis abgebildet wurde, sondern Iohannes Scottus, 37 dessen Periphyseon Honorius in die Clavis physicae umarbeitete. Aber wie kommt der Grieche Theodor ins Bild? Marie-Thérèse d’Alverny verstand unter dem abbas Theodorus, genere Grecus, arte philosophus Theodor von Tarsus, den er­sten Erzbischof von Canterbury: “en évoquant la mémoire vénérée de Théodore, le dessinateur a voulu incarner l’autorité reconnue à l’Orientale Lumen”. 38 Das läßt sich konkreter fassen. Wir haben in der Grammaticorum diadochē aus dem XI. Jahrhundert – die man auch ʻPhilosophorum successioʼ nennen könnte – einen Text, in dem beide, Theodor von Tarsus und Iohannes Scottus, im Rahmen einer Lehrer-Schüler-Sukzession genannt werden. 39 Dieser Text dürfte die Inspirationsquelle des symbolischen Titelbildes sein. *** In ihren Grundzügen ist die Naturphilosophie des Iohannes Scottus verblüffend einfach. Sie beruht auf zwei Voraussetzungen: einer theologischen, der Autorität und dem Dogma geschuldeten, und einer philosophischen, elementar logischen. Theologische Prämisse ist, daß die Natur, die Welt, das Seiende von einem Schöpfergott erschaffen wurde; philosophisch-logische Voraussetzung ist, daß der menschliche Verstand unterscheiden kann, bejahen und verneinen. Diese beiden Instrumente genügen dem Iohannes, nicht nur alles Sichtbare, sondern auch alles Denkbare von Natur40 = Wirklichkeit als Ganzes zu erfassen und einzuteilen in 37 Honorius Augustodunensis kannte den Namen des Verfassers des Periphyseon: De scriptoribus ecclesiasticis 3.12, PL 172, col. 222: “Joannes Scotus…scripsit eleganti stylo librum Periphyseon”. 38  d’Alverny, “Le Cosmos symbolique du xiie siècle”, p. 38. 39  Grammaticorum diadochē, Hrsg. von Berschin, Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter, pp. 150–51: “Theodorus monacus quidam a Tharso Cilitiae atque Adrianus abbas… a papa Romano Britanniarum insulae sunt directi ac eandem… secularis Philosofiae inlustrarunt disciplinis… [Theodulfus] … Iohannem scotigenam… philosoficis artibus expolivit…”. 40  Natura steht “für Eriugenas Begriff der Wirklichkeit im ganzen … Das wird nicht nur durch Eriugenas nachträglichen Hinweis auf das Wort univer-

die karolingisch-neuplatonische naturphilosophie im bild 45

- Nicht Geschaffenes, das erschafft - Geschaffenes, das erschafft - Geschaffenes, das nicht erschafft - Nicht Geschaffenes, das nicht erschafft.

Abb. 2. Paris, BNF Latin 6734, fol. 3v. sitas als Synonym für natura klargestellt. Es wird zusätzlich dadurch unterstrichen, daß Eriugena vom zweiten Buch an den Ausdruck universalis natura dem bloßen Wort natura erkennbar vorzieht”, G. Schrimpf, “Die systematische Bedeutung der beiden logischen Einteilungen (divisiones) zu Beginn von Periphyseon”, in Giovanni Scoto nel suo tempo, Hrsg. von C. Leonardi und E. Menestò, Spoleto, 1989, pp. 113–51, hier p. 115.

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Die erste dieser vier Formen ist Gott, die letzte wiederum Gott am Ende der Tage. Die nicht geschaffene Natur, die erschafft, läßt sich von einem Maler der Mitte des XII. Jahrhunderts nicht darstellen;41 denn Gott wird sichtbar und damit darstellbar erst im Rahmen von Zeit und Raum. So beginnt das Bild (Abb. 2) oben mit der zweiten, immer noch nicht sichtbaren, aber denkbaren Form von Natur als Geschaffenes, das erschafft.

Sie läßt sich als ein Reigen von allegorischen Figuren malen, die die Primordiales causae “die Uranfangsgründe”

repräsentieren. In ihrer Mitte steht als königliche Gestalt Bonitas “das Gute an sich”.

Zur Linken erscheinen Essentia

Vita

Sapientia,

Virtus

Ratio

zur Rechten Iusticia

Veritas.

Es handelt sich hier um eine Auswahl der bei Iohannes Scottus genannten Uranfangsgründe. Am Ende des II. Buchs des Periphyseon (616c) nennt er 14 causae primordiales; am Anfang des III. Buchs (622b–623c) sind es deren zehn. Dazu kommen noch beiläufig erwähnte causae primordiales wie Magnitudo, Amor, Pax, Unitas, Perfectio. Mit Ausnahme des “Guten an sich”, der höchsten ʻIdeeʼ des Platonismus, sind alle causae primordiales als Frauengestalten mit beredten Gesten dargestellt. Zwischen der obersten Bildzone, dem Geschaffenen, das erschafft und der nächsten Form von Natur, nämlich dem Geschaffenen, das nicht erschafft, in der dritten Bildzone stehen vermittelnd in der zweiten Zone die 41 Das

ist möglicherweise beim ersten Entwurf des Bildes nicht bedacht worden; denn Paris, BNF Latin 6734, fol. 3v läßt oben auffallend viel Raum: “Au-dessus du demi-cercle qui encadre le sommet de la miniature a été réservé un grand espace blanc, à peu près un quart de page. Il semble que l’artiste ait commencé son dessin plus haut, puis l’ait effacé, car l’on distingue quelques traces de dessin”, d’Alverny, “Le Cosmos symbolique du xiie siècle”, p. 57.

die karolingisch-neuplatonische naturphilosophie im bild 47 Effectus causarum “Wirkungen der Uranfangsgründe”.

Nämlich Tempus “Zeit”

Informis materia “ungestalte Masse”

Locus “Ort/Raum”.

Der Maler oder derjenige, der das Bild konzipiert hat, scheint in der mittleren Darstellung der zweiten Zone ein wenig über das hinauszugehen, was Iohannes Scottus sagt; denn dieser gemalte Klumpen Materie ist nicht mehr völlig formlos. Die vier Gesichter an den Rändern deuten an, daß daraus die vier Bestandteile des Universums werden, die vier Elemente Ignis

Aer

Aqua

Terra.

Diese vier erscheinen in den Bögen des dritten Bildstreifens, der darstellt das Geschaffene, das nicht erschafft Natura creata non creans.

Vier Arten von Lebewesen sind über die Elemente verteilt, beim Feuer die Engel, bei der Luft die Vögel des Himmels, beim Wasser die Fische, bei der Erde die Pflanzen, die Tiere und die Menschen als Mann und Frau.

Hier folgt Iohannes Scottus und mit ihm der Künstler weniger dem biblischen Schöpfungsbericht als der Schöpfungsmythe in Platons Timaeus (40a): “Und so vollendete der Bildner denn auch dies… nach der Natur des Urbildes… Es gibt aber deren vier [Gestalten]: die eine das himmlische Geschlecht der Götter, die andere die geflügelte und die Lüfte durchschwebende, die dritte die im Wasser lebende Gattung, und die vierte die, welche sich auf ihren Füßen bewegt und auf dem Erdboden wohnt. Die Gestalt des Göttlichen nun bildete er größtenteils aus Feuer”.42 42 Übersetzung von Franz Susemihl in Platon: Sämtliche Werke, Hrsg. von E. Loewenthal, 3 vols, 8th ed., Heidelberg, 1982, vol. 3, p. 119.

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walter berschin Der vierte Aspekt der Natur, nämlich Nicht Geschaffenes, das nicht erschafft,

gilt als der eigenständigste Beitrag des Iohannes Scottus zum Platonismus, und diesen Aspekt kann der Künstler nun darstellen; denn Gott ist in Zeit und Raum erschienen, kann in menschlicher Gestalt gezeigt werden. Alles Erschaffene kehrt bei Iohannes Scottus zu Gott zurück. Damit mündet sein Periphyseon in eine Geschichtsphilosophie, an deren Ende es freilich Zeit und Raum nicht mehr gibt. Der Maler hat das dramatische Element43 dieses Vorgangs in der untersten Bildzone herausgegriffen. Den schier unendlich langen Weg, auf dem Iohannes Scottus die Rückkehr aller Natur zum Schöpfergott erörtert – nämlich in Buch IV und V des Periphyseon – hat der Erfinder unseres Bildes zu einem einzigen Gestus zusammengezogen: Der menschgewordene Gott erscheint am Ende der Tage und hat mit festem Griff die Bühnenvorhänge gefaßt. Das Spiel ist aus: Die ʻTheodramatikʼ44 kehrt in sich selbst zurück. Der Vorhang fällt: FINIS. Zusammenfasung Interkultureller Austausch ist dann am überzeugendsten, wenn auf der Empfängerseite etwas entsteht, das ohne den Austausch nicht denkbar gewesen wäre. Die Naturphilosophie des 43 Das dramatische Element ist das Neue auch im Hohelied-Kommentar des Honorius Augustodunensis (Expositio in cantica, PL 172, cols 347–495). Honorius legt den Text des Canticum canticorum so aus, daß die Weltgeschichte sich in vier Akten abspielt: ante legem, sub lege, sub gratia, sub Antichristo. In jedem der vier Zeitalter aus paulinisch-christlicher Perspektive (cf. Rm 6:14) zieht eine Braut aus einer der vier Weltgegenden dem Bräutigam entgegen, zuerst die Braut aus dem Osten, dann die aus dem Süden und die aus dem Westen, zuletzt die aus dem Norden, die Mandragora “Alraune” heißt. Dieses “symbolische Weltheilsdrama” (F. Ohly, Hohelied-Studien, Wiesbaden 1958, p. 258) ist in dem Honorius Augustodunensis am nächsten stehenden Exemplar München Clm 5118 so illustriert, daß man die Personen eines jeden ʻAktesʼ mit der jeweiligen Braut einziehen sieht. Außerdem ist ein Titelbild angebracht, das eine Zusammenfassung “des Hohenliedes und damit der ganzen Erlösungsgeschichte in sich” schließt, J. A. Endres, Das St. Jakobsportal in Regensburg und Honorius Augustodunensis, Kempten, 1903, p. 34. Wenn diese Bilder nicht auf Honorius Augustodunensis selbst zurückgehen, dann auf einen genauen Kenner seines Werks. 44  Der Begriff bei H. U. von Balthasar, Theodramatik, 4 vols, Einsiedeln, 1973–1983.

die karolingisch-neuplatonische naturphilosophie im bild 49 Periphyseon von Iohannes Scottus Eriugena († um 880) wäre undenkbar ohne frühbyzantinische Autoren wie Maximus Confessor. Bei ihnen hat Iohannes Scottus die Argumente gefunden, die ihm erlaubten, bei seiner Lehre von der Rückkehr der gesamten Schöpfung zu Gott das Böse zu negieren. Honorius Augustodunensis († vor 1153), ein Meister des suggestiven Titels und der instruktiven Illustration, stellte eine Kurzfassung des philosophischen Riesenwerks des Iohannes Scottus her und gab ihm die Überschrift Clavis physicae “Schlüssel zur Natur” [= alles Denkbare von Natur], ein Schlüssel, der aufschließt und zuschließt. Mit diesem Titel ist die Dynamik der Philosophie des Iohannes Scottus erfaßt. Eine Handschrift der Clavis stellt dazu im Bild den neuplatonischen Grundgedanken des Iohannes Scottus dar: Ausgang (proodos, processio) und Rückkehr (epistrophē, reditus). Abstract Evidence of intercultural exchange is most convincing when something arises on the side of the recipient that would have been inconceivable without an exchange of some kind. The natural philosophy of the Periphyseon of John Scottus Eriugena († around 880) would be unthinkable without early Byzantine authors like Maximus the Confessor. From their work, John Scottus discovered the arguments that allowed him to negate evil in his teachings about the return of all creation to God. Honorius Augustodunensis († before 1153), a master of suggestive titles and instructive illustrations, made a redaction of John Scottus’ philosophical magnum opus and gave it the title Clavis physicae ‘Key to Nature’ [= everything pertaining to nature]. A manuscript of the Clavis represents figurally the fundamental Neoplatonic thoughts of John Scottus: exit (proodos, processio) and return (epistrophē, reditus).

Bibliography Primary Sources Ambrosius, Expositio evangelii secundum Lucam VII, Hrsg. von C. und H. Schenkl, CSEL 32.4, Wien, 1902. “Anastasii Bibliothecarii epistolae sive praefationes”, Hrsg. von E. Perels und G. Laehr, MGH Epistolae 7, Berlin, 1928, pp. 395–442. Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis, Hrsg. von H. Denifle, 4 vols, Paris 1889.

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Corpus Dionysiacum 4.1: Iohannis Scythopolitani Prologus et scholia in Dionysii Areopagitae librum De Divinis Nominibus cum additamentis interpretum aliorum, Hrsg. von B. R. Suchla, Berlin / Boston, 2011. Honorius Augustodunensis: Clavis physicae, Hrsg. von P. Lucentini, Rom, 1974. Honorius Augustodunensis, Expositio in cantica, PL 172, cols 347–495. Iohannis Scotti Eriugenae carmina, Hrsg. von M. W. Herren, Dublin 1993. Neue Ausgabe: CCCM 167, Turnhout, 2020, pp. 3–66. Iohannis Scotti seu Eriugenae Periphyseon, Hrsg. von É. A. Jeauneau, 5 vols, Turnhout, 1996–2003. Maximi Confessoris Ambigua ad Iohannem, Hrsg. von É. Jeauneau, Turnhout / Löwen, 1988. Maximi Confessoris Mystagogia una cum latina interpretatione Anastasii Bibliothecarii, Hrsg. von C. Boudignon, Turnhout 2011, pp. 77–89. Maximi Confessoris Quaestiones ad Thalassium, Hrsg. von C. Laga und C. Steel, 2 vols, Turnhout / Löwen, 1980–1990. Platon: Sämtliche Werke, Hrsg. von E. Loewenthal, 3 vols, 8th ed., Heidelberg, 1982. Scripta saeculi VII vitam Maximi Confessoris illustrantia una cum latina interpretatione Anastasii Bibliothecarii, Hrsg. von P. Allen und B. Neil, Turnhout / Löwen, 1999. Theophanis Chronographia, Hrsg. von C. de Boor, 2 vols, Leipzig, 1885. Vita S. Iohannis Eleemosynarii, trad. Anastasius Bibliothecarius, PL 73, cols 337–84. Secondary Sources d’Alverny, M.-T., “Le Cosmos symbolique du xiie siècle”, Archives d’Histoire Doctrinale et Littéraire du Moyen Age, 20 (1953), pp. 31–81. Arfé, P., La Clavis physicae (316–529) di Honorius Augustodunensis, Neapel, 2012. von Balthasar, H. U., Theodramatik, 4 vols, Einsiedeln, 1973–1983. Beck, H.-G., Kirche und theologische Literatur im byzantinischen Reich, München, 1959 Berschin, W., Griechisch-lateinisches Mittelalter: Von Hieronymus zu Nikolaus von Kues, Bern / München, 1980.

die karolingisch-neuplatonische naturphilosophie im bild 51 Berschin, W., “Bonifatius Consiliarius († nach 704). Ein römischer Übersetzer in der byzantinischen Epoche des Papsttums”, in idem, Mittellateinische Studien I, pp. 65–78 Berschin, W., “Die Ost-West-Gesandtschaft am Hof Karls des Großen und Ludwigs des Frommen (768–840)”, in idem, Mittellateinische Studien I, pp. 105–17. Berschin, W., Mittellateinische Studien I, Heidelberg 2005. Berschin, W., Biographie und Epochenstil im lateinischen Mittelalter, 5 vols, 2nd ed., Stuttgart, 2020. Bieler, L., Irland. Wegbereiter des Mittelalters, Olten / Lausanne, 1961 Blatt, F., “Remarques sur l’histoire des traductions latines”, Classica et Mediaevalia, 1 (1938), pp. 217–42. Cappuyns, M., “Le De imagine de Grégoire de Nysse traduit par Jean Scot Érigène”, Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale, 32 (1965), pp. 205–62. Dronke. P. und M. Pereira, Giovanni Scoto: Sulle nature dell universo, 5 vols, Mailand 2017. Endres, J. A., Das St. Jakobsportal in Regensburg und Honorius Augustodunensis, Kempten, 1903. Forrai, R., “The Notes of Anastasius on Eriugena’s Translation of the Corpus Dionysiacum”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 18 (2008), pp. 74–100. Graff, E., “A Primitive Text of Periphyseon V Rediscovered: The Witness of Honorius Augustodunensis in Clavis physicae”, Recherches de théologie et philosophie médiévales, 69 (2002), pp. 271–95 Levine, P., “Two Early Latin Versions of St Gregory of Nyssa’s Peri kataskeyēs anthrōpou”, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology, 63 (1958), pp. 473–92. Mainoldi, E. S. N., “Iohannes Scottus Eriugena”, in P. Chiesa und L.  Castaldi, La trasmissione dei testi latini nel medioevo, 5 vols, Florenz, 2005, vol. 2, pp. 186–264. Ohly, F., Hohelied-Studien, Wiesbaden 1958. Pétridès, S., “Traités liturgiques de saint Maxime et de saint Germain”, Revue de l’Orient chrétien, 10 (1905), pp. 289–313. Rauh, H. D., Das Bild des Antichrist im Mittelalter. Von Tyconius zum Deutschen Symbolismus, 2. Aufl., Münster i.W., 1979. Schrimpf, G., “Die systematische Bedeutung der beiden logischen Einteilungen (divisiones) zu Beginn von Periphyseon”, in Giovanni

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Stoppacci, P., “Honorius Augustodunensis”, in Compendium Auctorum Latinorum Medii Aevi, 6 vols, Firenze, 2018, vol. 6, fasc. 2, pp. 231–41. Suchla, B. R., “Anastasius Bibliothecarius und der Dionysius Areopagita latinus”, Archiv für mittelalterliche Philosophie und Kultur, 6 (2000), pp. 23–31.

The Redemption of Flavius Josephus in the Medieval Latin Tradition Scott G. Bruce (Baltimore) At first glance, the historian Flavius Josephus (c. 37/38–100 ce) seems like an unlikely champion of Christian historiography in the medieval Latin tradition, for several reasons.1 First, Josephus was a Roman Jewish historian, whose primary interest was Jewish history. He compiled the Antiquities of the Jews as a sprawling survey of the ancient history of the Jewish people in the biblical and Second Temple periods (Books 1–11) down through the Hellenistic and Roman eras until the outbreak of the Judean War in 66 ce (Books 12–20).2 He also wrote the seven books of the Judean War about the ill-fated rebellion of the Jews against Rome (66–73 ce) to exonerate himself and other Jewish leaders from any blame for the conflict. 3 These works often circulated with a short polemical treatise (Against Apion), in which Josephus defended the antiquity of Jewish beliefs against a pagan critic.4 None of these works has 1 For an indispensable introduction to Flavius Josephus, his works, their themes, and their reception history, see A Companion to Josephus, ed. by H. H. Chapman and Z. Rodgers, Oxford, 2016. A  Companion to the Latin Josephus in the Western Middle Ages, ed. by P. Hillaird and K. Kletter (forthcoming) promises to enrich our understanding of the medieval reception of Josephus even further. 2  D. R. Schwartz, “Many Sources but a Single Author: Josephus’s Jewish Antiquities”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 36–58. 3 S.  Mason, “Josephus’s’ Judean War”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 13–35. 4 This late work (composed “some time in the mid- to late-90s”) may be understood as a defense of the credibility of the claims made in his Antiquities. See J. Barclay, “Against Apion”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 75–85 (quotation at p. 76).

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 53–69. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125558 ©

F H G

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a self-evident appeal for a medieval Christian audience. Second, even though Josephus was active in Jerusalem and Rome during the apostolic age of early Christianity, the fledgling religion did not seem to attract his attention. In fact, he mentioned Jesus of Nazareth directly only briefly in Book 18 of the Antiquities (the so-called Testimonium Flavianum), but the authenticity of this passage has been hotly debated since the sixteenth century. 5 Lastly, Josephus wrote all his extant works in Greek, which made them inaccessible even to educated readers in northern Europe after the precipitous decline in Greek proficiency that attended the collapse of the western imperial infrastructure in the fifth century ce.6 Despite being written in Greek by a Roman Jewish historian with little interest in Christianity, Flavius Josephus’s magnum opus — the Antiquities of the Jews — enjoyed a robust afterlife in the medieval Latin tradition. It is the purpose of this contribution to explain why this was the case. Between the fourth and the sixth centuries, dozens of doctrinal, devotional, and historical works written by Christian Greek authors were translated into Latin for monastic reading communities in western Europe.7 The choices of a handful of translators, from Jerome of Stridon and Rufinus of Aquileia around the year 400 to the impressive équipe of bilingual monks assembled by Cassiodorus at the abbey of Vivarium in the sixth century, played a decisive role in determining which Greek texts would remain in currency for the next millennium in Latin translation and which ones would languish in obscurity until their

5  For a study of the debate, see A. Whealey, Josephus on Jesus: The Testimonium Flavianum Controversy from Late Antiquity to Modern Times, New York, 2003. Josephus also mentioned the death of John the Baptist and the stoning of James “the brother of Jesus” in Books 18 and 20 of the Antiquities, respectively, but the authenticity of these passages is not in question. 6  See H. I. Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, trans. by G. Lamb, New York, 1956, pp. 299–313 on state support for education during the Roman Empire; and p. 344 on the date of its demise: “This system [of Roman education] must have disappeared with the great invasion and the catastrophes that marked the beginning of the fifth century.” 7 A.  Siegmund, Die Überlieferung der griechischen christlichen Literatur in der lateinischen Kirche bis zum zwölften Jahrhundert, Munich, 1949; and S. G. Bruce, “The Lost Patriarchs Project: Recovering the Greek Fathers in the Medieval Latin Tradition”, Religion Compass, 14.1 (2020), pp. 1–8.

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rediscovery by Renaissance humanists in the sixteenth century.8 The decision to translate the Antiquities of Josephus was not made lightly. Late antique Christians knew very well that its author was Jewish, but their concern was as much practical as it was ideological. The challenge of translating this massive historical work from Greek into Latin was simply beyond the ambition and energy of the very few Christian intellectuals in late antiquity with the linguistic skills for the task. A reframing of Josephus as a contributor to salvation history was necessary to justify the labor of such a large translation project devoted to the work of a Jewish author. To take his place in Christian historiography, Josephus had to be redeemed for monastic readers. The redemption of Flavius Josephus was primarily the work of Cassiodorus (c. 485–c. 585).9 After a period of service in the court of the Ostrogothic kings in Ravenna, this imperial bureaucrat relocated first to Constantinople in the wake of Emperor Justinian’s war of reconquest in Italy (535–54) and then later to Calabria, where he established the abbey of Vivarium. It was there that he spent the next several decades honing a curriculum of Christian pedagogy for western readers enshrined in his short treatise Institutes of Divine and Secular Learning (Institutiones divinarum et saecularium litterarum).10 The dispersal of Vivarium’s manuscript library in the seventh century did not diminish the influence of Cassiodorus’s Institutes, which became an authoritative handbook for monastic instruction in abbeys throughout medieval Europe.11 Among the works of history recommended as essential reading by Cassiodorus was the Antiquities, an endorsement that resulted 8  On the pivotal role of Cassiodorus in this process, see P. Courcelle, Late Latin Writers and Their Greek Sources, trans. H. E. Wedeck, Cambridge, MA, 1969, pp. 331–409; and S. G. Bruce “The Dark Age of Herodotus: Shards of a Fugitive History in Early Medieval Europe”, Speculum, 94 (2019), pp. 47–67, at pp. 55–56. 9  For what follows, see J. J. O’Donnell, Cassiodorus, Berkeley, 1979, esp. pp. 177–222 on Vivarium. 10 Cassiodorus, Institutiones, ed. by R. A. B. Mynors, Oxford, 1937; English translation: Cassiodorus, Institutes of Divine and Secular Learning and On the Soul, trans. by J. W. Halporn, Leeds, 2004, pp. 103–233. 11  On the medieval reception of the work of Cassiodorus, see L. W. Jones, “The Influence of Cassiodorus on Medieval Culture”, Speculum, 20 (1945), pp. 433–42, esp. pp. 436–38 on the Institutiones.

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in its success as “the single most copied historical work of the Middle Ages.”12 This contribution has two parts. It begins with an assessment of the reception of the “Latin Josephus” in modern scholarship from the sixteenth century to the present. It then surveys the reception history of Josephus’s historical works in Latin in late antiquity with attention to the rationales by which Cassiodorus justified the translation of the Antiquities into Latin for the purpose of Christian education. Despite this endorsement, however, some monastic readers were conflicted about the Jewish identity of its author, but as we will see, they were very much in the minority. On the strength of the authority of Cassiodorus, the Antiquities of Josephus found its place among the Christian salvation histories of late antiquity as essential reading in western monasteries. 1. The Latin Josephus in Modern Scholarship Three works attributed to Flavius Josephus were translated from Greek into Latin in late antiquity and together comprise the corpus known as “the Latin Josephus”: (1) the Antiquities; (2) the Judean War; and (3) Against Apion. The Latin tradition of these texts is unusually rich, numbering over 230 extant manuscripts in total, but the study of them has proceeded in fits and starts.13 A flurry of more than a dozen printed editions of the Latin corpus of Josephus’s work appeared on the scene between 1470 and 1544, when the Greek editio princeps was published.14 While most of these early editions have been dismissed by historians as all but useless for the scientific study of the history of these texts, in no small part because they were based on faulty manuscripts or undermined by editorial interventions, the Basel edition of 1524 has served as a touchstone for inquiry into this tradition and remains the only printed edition of the entire Latin Josephus 12 

O’Donnell, Cassiodorus, p. 246. a thorough overview, see D. B. Levenson and T. R. Martin, “The Ancient Latin Translations of Josephus”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 322–44. 14 D. B. Levenson and T. R. Martin, “The Place of the Early Printed Editions of Josephus’s Antiquities and War (1470–1534) in the Latin Textual Tradition”, in Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy, ed. by J. Baden et al., Leiden, 2016, pp. 765–825. 13 For

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corpus employed with regularity by modern scholars.15 Interest in the medieval Latin tradition of the works of Josephus lay fallow throughout the early modern period until the last decades of the nineteenth century, when Benedikt Niese published his editio maior of the Greek text of the Antiquities, the Judean War, and Against Apion.16 Throughout the apparatus of these editions, Niese made use of the testimony of Latin manuscripts as well as the 1524 printing of the Latin Josephus corpus to support his reading of the Greek text or emendations to it, thus heralding the modern study of the medieval Josephus tradition. Building on the foundation of Niese’s scholarship, the first studies of the Latin Josephus corpus emerged at the turn of the twentieth century, but many of these projects faltered along the way. The first was a well-received critical edition of Cassiodorus’s translation of the treatise Against Apion, which was published in 1898.17 Designated “Part 6” of an ambitious edition of the entire Latin Josephus corpus, it was the only volume of that series ever to appear. In 1958, Franz Blatt made an important contribution to the study of the Latin Josephus corpus with his edition of the first five books of the Antiquities, which considered more than 170 extant manuscripts.18 Unfortunately, this project withered on the vine as well, perhaps due to the harsh criticism of Blatt’s methodology expressed in contemporary reviews.19 The Latin tradition 15  Flavii Iosephi Opera, ed. by J. Frobenius, Basel, 1524. Even so, historians recognize that “the 1524 Basel edition is itself highly problematic and offers a text that cannot be used with any degree of confidence for establishing the earliest recoverable text of either the [Judean War] or [the Antiquities].” See Levenson and Martin, “The Place of the Early Printed Editions of Josephus’s Antiquities and War”, p. 766. 16  Flauii Josephi Opera, ed. by B. Niese, 7 vols, Berlin, 1885–1895. 17  Flavii Iosephi opera ex versione latina antiqua, Pars VI: De Iudaeorum vetustate; sive, Contra Apionem, ed. by K. Boysen, Vienna, 1898 (CSEL 37). In turn, this study served as the basis for the modern edition: Flavius Josephus: Über die Ursprünglichkeit des Judentums (Contra Apionem), ed. by F. Siegert, 2 vols, Göttingen, 2008. 18  The Latin Josephus I, Introduction and Text: The Jewish Antiquities, Books I–V, ed. by F. Blatt, Copenhagen, 1958. 19 See, for example, the reviews by S. Lundström in Gnomon 31, (1959), pp. 619–24; R. Browning in Classical Review 10 (1960), pp. 44–46; and J. Willis in Journal of Roman Studies, 51 (1961): 272–73.

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of the Judean War also received uneven attention in the twentieth century. A critical edition of an anonymous Latin adaptation of this work in five books made in the fourth century appeared in 1932.20 This adaptation enjoyed a wide circulation in the Middle Ages under the name of Hegesippus and was also known by the title On the Ruin of the City of Jerusalem (De excidio urbis Hierosolymitano).21 In contrast, a proposed study of the more literal Latin translation of the entire seven books of the Judean War attributed by Cassiodorus to Jerome or Ambrose or Rufinus has never materialized.22 As a result, by the end of the twentieth century, no complete modern critical edition of the Antiquities or the Judean War had ever been finished. The early twenty-first century has seen a revival of the study of the Latin Josephus corpus in cooperative modes that would have pleased Cassiodorus. Two major projects are currently underway. Founded in 2014, the “Latin Josephus Project” is a collaborative enterprise to make available the Latin text of the Antiquities and the Judean War in their entirety alongside Niese’s edition of the Greek original and William Whiston’s 1737 English translation of the Josephus corpus.23 In the absence of a critical edition of the Antiquities, the editors of this project have transcribed the Latin text from a single mid-ninth-century manuscript (Staatsbibliothek Bamberg, Msc. Class. 78).24 For the Judean War, they have 20  Hegesippi qui dicitur Historiae libri v, ed. by V. Ussani and K. Mras, Vienna, 1932–1960 (CSEL 66.1–2). 21 The name “Hegesippus” is either a corruption of “Josephus” or a false attribution to the second-century Christian author of the same name, whom Eusebius tells us also wrote a work comprising five books. Further on this tradition, see R. M. Pollard, “The De Excidio of ‘Hegesippus’ and the Reception of Josephus in the Early Middle Ages”, Viator, 46 (2015), pp. 65–100. 22 G. Ussani, “Studi preparatorii ad una edizione della traduzione latina in sette libri del Bellum Iudaicum”, Bollettino del Comitato per la Preparazione dell’Edizione Nazionale dei Classici greci e latini, 1 (1945), pp. 86–102. For the dubious attributions of the translators, see Cassiodorus, Institutiones 1.17, ed. Mynors, p. 55. 23  The Genuine Works of Flavius Josephus, the Jewish Historian, trans. by W. Whiston, London, 1737. 24  Katalog der festländischen Handschriften des neunten Jahrhunderts (mit Ausnahme der wisigotischen), ed. by B. Bischoff, 4 vols, Wiesbaden, 1998– 2017, vol. 1, p. 49 (no. 217).

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reproduced a Latin edition published in 1837 by Edward Cardwell, which is based in turn on an early modern edition.25 While by no means approximating a modern critical study of the medieval Latin text and manuscript traditions of the Antiquities or the Judean War, the Latin Josephus Project succeeds in its goal of providing a readily accessible and easily searchable Latin text of the two major works of Josephus. Another collaborative project entitled “Lege Iosephum! Reading Josephus in the Latin Middle Ages” was established in 2018 at the Universität Bern with funding from the Swiss National Science Foundation. This initiative proposes to examine the Latin Josephus corpus along three lines of inquiry: (a) the manuscript traditions of these texts in medieval Europe; (b) the influence of Josephus’s work on the tenth-century Sefer Yosippon, an influential chronicle of ancient Jewish history written in Hebrew, which incorporates On the Ruin of the City of Jerusalem by Pseudo-Hegesippus; and (c) the impact of Josephus on Christian exegetical literature in the age of the Crusades.26 The “Lege Iosephum!” project remains in its infancy, but its manuscript database promises to offer a valuable resource for scholars who aspire to complete the editing projects begun in the twentieth century by Ussani and Blatt. Traditional approaches to editing the Latin Josephus corpus have not been completely abandoned, however. In 2019, Bernd Bader published a critical edition of Book 1 of the anonymous Latin translation of the Judean War made in late antiquity, the first installment of a multi-volume edition of all seven books.27 Following the counsel of David B. Levenson and Thomas R. Martin, who have published extensively on the ancient Latin translations of Josephus and have made valuable recommendations for future editors of these works, Bader consulted manuscripts representative of each of the major groups of related recensions of the Judean War and has presented a bewildering variety of variant

25  Flavii Josephi de bello Judaico libri septem, ed. by E. Cardwell, Oxford, 1837. 26 On the Yosippon, see S. Dönitz, “Sefer Yosippon (Josippon)”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 382–89. 27  Josephus Latinus, De Bello Iudaico, Buch 1, ed. by B. Bader (Stuttgart, 2019).

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readings in his ample critical apparatus.28 This depth of inquiry is particularly important to cultural historians, because the apparatus gives voice to the hundreds of medieval scribes who encountered and adapted the text by accident or design throughout the Middle Ages. Bader appended to his edition numerous examples of textual variants that illustrate his editorial choices as well as a discussion of the techniques employed by the anonymous translator, who strived for a literal rendering of his Greek source text into Latin, but who occasionally indulged in minor paraphrasing and made changes for the sake of clarity. While this renewal of interest in the Latin Josephus corpus is heartening, much work remains to be done. Scholars of the medieval reception of Josephus remain woefully underserved by Blatt’s incomplete edition of the first five books of the Antiquities, which no one has ever ventured to update or finish. A critical edition of this influential history in its entirety remains the most pressing concern of modern students of Josephus, but the sheer number of manuscripts and the complexity of the textual tradition stand as formidable barriers to any scholar with the ambition to carry Blatt’s torch into the twenty-first century. Recent attention to the Judean War is much more promising. The appearance of the first volume of Bader’s new initiative to edit all seven books of this work sets this project on a firm footing and carries the promise that the Latin translation of the Judean War will finally receive the critical treatment that it deserves, nearly a century after the Latin adaptation attributed to Hegesippus appeared in print in the series Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum. 2. Paene secundus Livius Despite its origin as a history of the ancient Jews, medieval Christian readers embraced the Antiquities of Josephus as an authoritative source for their sacred history as well. Their posture owes much to the biblical framework of the first half of the work. Josephus organized the Antiquities into twenty books, the first eleven of which drew primarily on the Hebrew scriptures to craft a nar28  Levenson and Martin, “The Ancient Latin Translations of Josephus”, p. 334.

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rative of Jewish history from the dawn of Creation to the death of Alexander the Great.29 Most of these chapters treated the lives of one or more biblical patriarchs revered and admired in the Christian tradition, including Abraham (Book 1), Joseph (Book 2), Moses (Books 3–4), Joshua (Book 5), Saul and David (Books 6–7), and Solomon and other kings of Judah (Books 8–10). In contrast, the latter half of the Antiquities (Books 12–20) was a bricolage of Jewish, Greek, and Roman sources covering the Hellenistic period, the rise of Herod and the fate of his son and heir Archelaus, and the Roman rule of Judea until the eve of the Judean War in 66 ce. We owe the survival of the Antiquities in the medieval Latin tradition to the ambition of Cassiodorus. With the efficiency of a retired bureaucrat, he put his brethren at Vivarium to work on an unprecedented cultural project: to make available in the Latin language all the sacred and secular books that would best serve the monks in their reading of the holy scripture. Assembling an équipe of bilingual monks with the time and the resources necessary to undertake translation projects too daunting for individuals to tackle alone, Cassiodorus and his companions collected manuscripts from as far afield as North Africa while they collaborated on translating important Greek works for a Latin audience. 30 It was under his supervision that his brethren laboriously rendered into Latin all twenty books of the Antiquities. While the Judean War had already been translated in the fourth century, the Antiquities had never found its champion. Cassiodorus attributed this to its great length, remarking that “Father Jerome … says that he was not able to translate Josephus because of the size of this

29  For

what follows, see Schwartz, “Many Sources but a Single Author”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 37–41. 30 Cassiodorus twice mentions waiting for books to arrive from Africa: Institutiones 1.8.9 and 1.29.2, ed. by Mynors, pp. 30 and 74. On the contents of the library of Vivarium and the fate of its manuscripts, see F. Troncarelli, Vivarium: I libri, il destino, Turnhout, 1998. On the exchange of manuscripts across the Mediterranean in this period, see S. Graham, “The Transmission of North African Texts to Europe in Late Antiquity”, in Medieval Manuscripts, Their Makers and Users: A Special Issue of Viator in Honor of Richard and Mary Rouse, Turnhout, 2011, pp. 151–68.

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prolix work.”31 At Vivarium, he and his team of brethren set out to accomplish together what Jerome could not do on his own. Cassiodorus clearly had a keen interest in historical texts and their role in monastic education, but he also had firm principles of exclusion: Since they tell the history of the Church and describe changes happening through different periods, they inevitably instruct the minds of the readers in heavenly matters. For these historians insist that nothing happens by chance or because of the weak powers of the gods as the pagan did; instead, they truly strive to attach all events to the providential guidance of the Creator. 32

Unlike Jerome, who valued the Histories of Herodotus and other ancient Greek historians for the information they conveyed about the ancient kingdoms of Persia and Egypt, Cassiodorus chose to apply the industry of his scriptorium only to those histories which revealed and explained the agency of God in human affairs. 33 In the course of Christian education outlined in the Institutes, monks began their historical studies with the Antiquities of Josephus. Recognizing the value of this work for Christian readers as a narrative of the ancient past inflected and informed by the Hebrew scriptures, Cassiodorus christened Josephus as “almost a second Livy” (paene secundus Livius), that is, as the hallowed narrator of their foundation stories. 34 Next came the triumphalist ecclesiastical histories of the fourth and fifth centuries, all originally 31 Cassiodorus, Institutiones 1.17: “quem pater Hieronymus … propter magnitudinem prolixi operis a se perhibet non potuisse transferri”, ed. by Mynors, p. 55; trans. by Halporn, p. 149. 32 Cassiodorus, Institutiones 1.17.1: “[N]ecesse est ut sensus legentium rebus caelestibus semper erudiant, quando nihil ad fortuitos casus, nihil ad deorum potestates infirmas, ut gentiles fecerunt, sed arbitrio Creatoris applicare veraciter universa contendunt.” ed. by Mynors, p. 55; trans. by Halporn, p. 149. 33 On Jerome’s knowledge of ancient Greek historians, see Courcelle, Late Latin Writers and Their Greek Sources, pp. 48–127, esp. pp. 79–81 on his knowledge of Herodotus. 34 For what follows, see Cassiodorus, Institutiones 1.17, ed. by Mynors, pp. 55–57; trans. by Halporn, pp. 149–51. In his evocation of Livy, Cassiodorus was almost certainly influenced by Jerome, who held Josephus in high esteem and referred to him once as “Graecus Liuius.” See Jerome, Ep.

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written in Greek: Eusebius, Socrates, Sozomen and Theodoret. 35 By the late fourth century, Rufinus had translated Eusebius’ work into Latin and amplified its contents, so Cassiodorus directed his attention to the other three Greek authors: “[W]ith God’s aid I have had these books translated by the learned Epiphanius in a collection of twelve books so that eloquent Greece cannot boast that it possesses an indispensible work that has not been available to us.” The Institutes recommended other Christian historians as well: Orosius (d. c. 420) “who compares Christian and pagan history” (Christianorum temporum paganorumque collator); Marcellinus Comes (d. 534), and the chronicles of Eusebius, “sketches of history or very brief summaries of the past” (imagines historiarum brevissimaeque commemorationes temporum) as translated into Latin by Jerome and furthered by his continuators up to the time of Justinian. 36 The impact of Cassiodorus’s decision was momentous. Due to the influence of the Institutes as a guide for monastic education, copies of his Latin translation of the Antiquities proliferated in early medieval abbeys. Despite the formidable length of this work, which would have required a significant investment of labor and materials to produce, no fewer than eighteen manuscripts of the Antiquities were made before the turn of the first millennium, with

22.35, ed. by I. Hilberg, in Sancti Eusebii Hieronymi Epistolae, Pars I: Epistulae I–LXX, CSEL 54, Vienna and Leipzig, 1910, p. 200. 35 A.  Momigliano, The Classical Foundations of Modern Historiography, Berkeley, 1990, pp. 132–52; H. Leppin, “The Church Historians (I): Socrates, Sozomenus and Theodoretus”, in Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity: Fourth to Sixth Century a.d., ed. by G. Marasco, Leiden, 2003, pp. 219–54; P. van Nuffelen, Un héritage de paix et de piété: Étude sur les histoires ecclésiastiques de Socrate et de Sozomène, Louvain, 2004; and T. C. Ferguson, The Past is Prologue: The Revolution of Nicene Historiography, Leiden, 2005, esp. pp. 15–56 on Eusebius. 36  Further on Orosius, see A. H. Merrills, History and Geography in Late Antiquity, Cambridge, 2005, pp. 507–92; and P. Van Nuffelen, Orosius and the Rhetoric of History, Oxford, 2012. On Marcellinus Comes, see B. Croke, Count Marcellinus and his Chronicle, Oxford, 2001. For an introduction to the Eusebian chronicle tradition, see R. Burgess and M. Kulikowski, Mosaics of Times: Volume I, A Historical Introduction to the Chronicle Genre from its Origins to the High Middle Ages, Turnhout, 2013, esp. pp. 99–131.

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another seven surviving in fragmentary form. 37 Moreover, frequent citations from Josephus’s work by early medieval authors like Defensor of Ligugé, Bede, and Hrabanus Maurus underscore the impact of Cassiodorus’s translation on devotional, exegetical, and historical projects undertaken by Christian intellectuals throughout the early Middle Ages and beyond. 38 Lastly, such was the appeal of Josephus that his work was among the books distributed to the brethren during the Lenten season for personal reading at the abbey of Cluny. We know from a Cluniac customary called the Liber tramitis that in the year 1040 a monk named Wirardus borrowed a “history by Josephus” in this manner, likely a copy of the Antiquities. 39 All told, Cassiodorus’s enterprise to translate the twenty books of the Antiquities from Greek into Latin for the benefit of Christian education was a resounding success. This was due in no small part to Cassiodorus’s redemption of Josephus as “almost a second Livy” in the Christian historiographical tradition. As a result, by the end of the first millennium, a history of the ancient Jews written by a first-century Roman Jewish author was widely copied, read, and cited as an authority alongside works of salvation history in monastic reading communities across western Europe. While the success of the Antiquities is well documented in the manuscript tradition before the turn of the first millenium, the elevation of a Jewish author like Flavius Josephus to a place of prominence on Cassiodorus’s list of Christian historians suitable for monastic education did not meet with universal approval. 37 For a list of the manuscripts, see R. M. Pollard, “Flavius Josephus: The Most Influential Classical Historian of the Early Middle Ages”, in Writing the Early Medieval West: Studies in Honour of Rosamond McKitterick, ed. by E.  Screen and C. West, Cambridge, 2018, pp. 15–32, at pp. 31–32 (Appendix: Pre-1000 Latin Manuscripts of Josephus). 38  Pollard, “Flavius Josephus”, p. 19 (Table 2.2), who reports that Josephus was cited 625 times by name as an authority by Christian writers between the second and early eleventh centuries. See more generally K. M. Kletter, “The Christian Reception of Josephus in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 368–81. 39  Liber tramitis aevi Odilonis abbatis 2.190, ed. by P. Dinter, Siegburg, 1980 (Corpus consuetudinum monasticarum 10), p. 263: “Frater Wirardus Historiam Iosephi.” Further on this custom, see K. Christ, “In Caput Quadragesimae”, Zeitblatt für Bibliothekswesen, 60 (1943), pp. 33–59.

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In the ninth century, Archbishop Amolo of Lyon (d. 852) railed against the use of Jewish teachings by church prelates and singled out Josephus and Philo in particular as bad influences on Christian readers, for even though they were learned men, they remained impious Jews (homines quidem docti, sed Judaei impii).40 Because “men estranged from truth are not without error,” Amolo warned the royal recipient of his letter, “as they recount and explain sacred history with what seems greater detail, they make many untrue and gratuitous additions, either perverting or undermining the pure meaning of the words of God to suit their own mendacious beliefs.”41 Amolo’s anxiety had likely been fueled by the recent conversion of a palace deacon named Bodo to Judaism, an act of apostasy that unnerved many of his contemporaries.42 Despite the shrillness of the archbishop’s warning about the dangers of reading Josephus and other ancient Jewish authors, it fell largely on deaf ears. As the manuscript tradition makes plain, the Antiquities of Josephus was too valuable as a source of ancient history informed by the Hebrew scriptures for Christian readers to abandon. In conclusion, the redemption of Flavius Josephus as an author of ancient history of value to medieval Christian readers took place at Vivarium in the sixth century. When Cassiodorus sur40 Amulo

of Lyons, Epistola seu liber contra Judaeos ad Carolum regem 24, PL 116, cols 156–57. On the climate of anti-Judaeism in the mid-ninth century, see B. Albert, “Adversus Iudaeos in the Carolingian Empire”, in Contra Iudaeos: Ancient and Medieval Polemics Between Christians and Jews, ed. by O. Limor and G. Stroumsa, Tübingen, 1996, pp. 119–42. 41 Amulo of Lyons, Epistola seu liber contra Judaeos ad Carolum regem 24: “Quia homines alieni a veritate, non carent errore, et divinas historias velut latius replicando et exponendo, multa de sua falsa et superflua inserunt, et sanos sensus verborum Dei, iuxta fallacem opinionem suam aut depravant, aut enervant.” PL 116, col. 157; trans. by Pollard, “The De Excidio of ‘Hegesippus’”, p. 65. Like all medieval letters, Amolo’s missive would have had a reading audience beyond his putative royal addressee. Johannes Heil has even suggested that bishops were, in fact, the primary audience of Amolo’s letter. See J. Heil, “Agobard, Amolo, das Kirchengut und die Juden von Lyon”, Francia, 25 (1998), pp. 39–76, at p. 66: “Wenigstens zulässig ist danach die Vermutung, wonach kein König, sondern Bischöfe als Empfänger zu betrachten wären.” 42 F. Reiss, “From Aachen to Al-Andalus: The Journey of Deacon Bodo (823–76)”, Early Medieval Europe, 13 (2005), pp. 131–57.

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veyed the landscape of ancient literature written in Greek, he singled out the Antiquities as a work of history suitable for monastic pedagogy. Even though it was written by a Roman Jewish author with little interest in Christianity, the Antiquities stood apart from the histories of the ancient world by Herodotus and his Hellenistic imitators because it recognized explicitly God’s agency in human affairs. Informed by the Hebrew scriptures, this sprawling work was legible to western Christian reading communities with a taste for the salvation histories of Eusebius and his continuators. Cassiodorus understood that Josephus was a Jew, but his designation of this author as “almost a second Livy,” that is, as an authoritative narrator of origin stories, earned him a prominent place among the Christian historians endorsed in the Institutes of Divine and Secular Learning, thereby assuring his popularity in monastic libraries throughout the early Middle Ages and beyond. Abstract The works of the first-century Roman Jewish historian Flavius Josephus were widely copied and read in early medieval abbeys, especially his sprawling account of ancient Jewish history called The Antiquities of the Jews. The popularity of Josephus among Christian Latin readers requires some explanation because he wrote in Greek and showed little concern for the history of Christianity. This article provides a survey of the scholarship devoted to the “Latin Josephus” corpus, that is, the translations of his work from Greek into Latin and their reception history in western Europe from late antiquity to the Renaissance. It then shows how early medieval authorities like Cassiodorus justified the translation of Josephus into Latin for monastic reading communities by reframing him as a contributor to Christian salvation history, despite the suspicion harbored by some critics that his Jewish identity debased his value as an historian. Bibliography Primary Sources Amulo of Lyons, Epistola seu liber contra Judaeos ad Carolum regem, PL 116, cols 141–84. Cassiodorus, Institutiones, ed. by R. A. B. Mynors, Oxford, 1937; English translation: Cassiodorus, Institutes of Divine and Secular Learning and On the Soul, trans. by J. W. Halporn, Leeds, 2004, pp. 103–233.

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Flavii Josephi de bello Judaico libri septem, ed. by E. Cardwell, Oxford, 1837. Flavii Iosephi Opera, ed. by J. Frobenius, Basel, 1524 Flauii Josephi Opera, ed. by B. Niese, 7 vols, Berlin, 1885–1895. Flavii Iosephi opera ex versione latina antiqua, Pars VI: De Iudaeorum vetustate; sive, Contra Apionem, ed. by K. Boysen, Vienna, 1898 (CSEL 37). Flavius Josephus: Über die Ursprünglichkeit des Judentums (Contra Apionem), ed. by F. Siegert, 2 vols, Göttingen, 2008. The Genuine Works of Flavius Josephus, the Jewish Historian, trans. by W. Whiston, London, 1737. Jerome, Epistolae, ed. by I. Hilberg, in Sancti Eusebii Hieronymi Epistolae, Pars I: Epistulae I–LXX, CSEL 54 (Vienna and Leipzig, 1910). Josephus Latinus, De Bello Iudaico, Buch 1, ed. by B. Bader (Stuttgart, 2019). The Latin Josephus I, Introduction and Text: The Jewish Antiquities, Books I–V, ed. by F. Blatt, Copenhagen, 1958. Liber tramitis aevi Odilonis abbatis, ed. by P. Dinter, Siegburg, 1980 (Corpus consuetudinum monasticarum 10). Secondary Sources Albert, B., “Adversus Iudaeos in the Carolingian Empire”, in Contra Iudaeos: Ancient and Medieval Polemics Between Christians and Jews, ed. by O. Limor and G. Stroumsa, Tübingen, 1996, pp. 119–42. Barclay, J., “Against Apion”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 75–85. Bruce, S. G., “The Dark Age of Herodotus: Shards of a Fugitive History in Early Medieval Europe”, Speculum, 94 (2019), pp. 47–67. Bruce, S. G., “The Lost Patriarchs Project: Recovering the Greek Fathers in the Medieval Latin Tradition”, Religion Compass, 14.1 (2020), pp. 1–8. Burgess, R., and M. Kulikowski, Mosaics of Times: Volume I, A Historical Introduction to the Chronicle Genre from its Origins to the High Middle Ages, Turnhout, 2013. Christ, K., “In Caput Quadragesimae”, Zeitblatt für Bibliothekswesen, 60 (1943), pp. 33–59. A Companion to Josephus, ed. by H. H. Chapman and Z. Rodgers, Oxford, 2016.

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A Companion to the Latin Josephus in the Western Middle Ages, ed. by P. Hillaird and K. Kletter (forthcoming) Courcelle, P., Late Latin Writers and Their Greek Sources, trans. H. E. Wedeck, Cambridge, MA, 1969. Croke, B., Count Marcellinus and his Chronicle, Oxford, 2001 Dönitz, S., “Sefer Yosippon (Josippon)”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 382–89. Ferguson, T. C., The Past is Prologue: The Revolution of Nicene Historiography, Leiden, 2005. Graham, S., “The Transmission of North African Texts to Europe in Late Antiquity”, in Medieval Manuscripts, Their Makers and Users: A Special Issue of Viator in Honor of Richard and Mary Rouse, Turnhout, 2011, pp. 151–68. Heil, J., “Agobard, Amolo, das Kirchengut und die Juden von Lyon”, Francia, 25 (1998), pp. 39–76. Jones, L. W., “The Influence of Cassiodorus on Medieval Culture”, Speculum, 20 (1945), pp. 433–42. Katalog der festländischen Handschriften des neunten Jahrhunderts (mit Ausnahme der wisigotischen), ed. by B. Bischoff, 4 vols, Wiesbaden, 1998–2017. Kletter, K. M., “The Christian Reception of Josephus in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 368– 81. Leppin, H., “The Church Historians (I): Socrates, Sozomenus and Theodoretus”, in Greek and Roman Historiography in Late Antiquity: Fourth to Sixth Century a.d., ed. by G. Marasco, Leiden, 2003, pp. 219–54. Levenson, D. B., and T. R. Martin, “The Place of the Early Printed Editions of Josephus’s Antiquities and War (1470–1534) in the Latin Textual Tradition”, in Sibyls, Scriptures, and Scrolls: John Collins at Seventy, ed. by J. Baden et al., Leiden, 2016, pp. 765– 825. Levenson, D. B., and T. R. Martin, “The Ancient Latin Translations of Josephus”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 322–44. Marrou, H. I., A History of Education in Antiquity, trans. by G. Lamb, New York, 1956. Mason, S., “Josephus’s’ Judean War”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 13–35. Merrills, A. H., History and Geography in Late Antiquity, Cambridge, 2005.

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Momigliano, A., The Classical Foundations of Modern Historiography, Berkeley, 1990. O’Donnell, J. J., Cassiodorus, Berkeley, 1979. Pollard, R. M., “The De Excidio of ‘Hegesippus’ and the Reception of Josephus in the Early Middle Ages”, Viator, 46 (2015), pp. 65–100. Pollard, R. M., “Flavius Josephus: The Most Influential Classical Historian of the Early Middle Ages”, in Writing the Early Medieval West: Studies in Honour of Rosamond McKitterick, ed. by E.  Screen and C. West, Cambridge, 2018, pp. 15–32. Reiss, F., “From Aachen to Al-Andalus: The Journey of Deacon Bodo (823–76)”, Early Medieval Europe, 13 (2005), pp. 131–57. Schwartz, D. R., “Many Sources but a Single Author: Josephus’s Jewish Antiquities”, in A Companion to Josephus, pp. 36–58. Siegmund, A., Die Überlieferung der griechischen christlichen Literatur in der lateinischen Kirche bis zum zwölften Jahrhundert, Munich, 1949. Troncarelli, F., Vivarium: I libri, il destino, Turnhout, 1998 Ussani, G., “Studi preparatorii ad una edizione della traduzione latina in sette libri del Bellum Iudaicum”, Bollettino del Comitato per la Preparazione dell’Edizione Nazionale dei Classici greci e latini, 1 (1945), pp. 86–102. Van Nuffelen, P., Orosius and the Rhetoric of History, Oxford, 2012. van Nuffelen, P., Un héritage de paix et de piété: Étude sur les histoires ecclésiastiques de Socrate et de Sozomène, Louvain, 2004 Whealey, A., Josephus on Jesus: The Testimonium Flavianum Controversy from Late Antiquity to Modern Times, New York, 2003.

Ein Heiliger als furcifer: Zur Glossierung von lat. glisis durch mhd. ouenkere in einem Fuldaer Handschriftenfragment der Vita Wilhelmi confessoris aus dem 12. Jahrhundert Brigitte Bulitta (Leipzig) 1. Das Fuldaer Fragment der Vita Wilhelmi Im Jahr 2002 berichtete Hartmut Hoffmann in seinem Aufsatz “Zum Fuldaer Passionale des 12. Jahrhunderts und zur Vita Wilhelmi confessoris” von der Entdeckung weiterer Fragmente eines Legendars, das in einem zur Abtei Fulda gehörenden Kloster geschrieben worden war und eine rätselhafte deutsche Glosse, das Wort ouenkere, enthielt.1 Dieses Legendar war gegen Ende des 16. Jahrhunderts in Basel makuliert worden und galt lange Zeit als verloren. Im Jahr 1992 war es Sirka Heyne gelungen, in einem Aufsatz mit dem Titel “Ein Fuldaer Legendar des 12. Jahrhunderts” die bis dahin bekannt gewordenen Fragmente zusammenhängend zu beschreiben und teilweise zu rekonstruieren.2 Seit 2019 ist das Legendar nun aktuell mit allen seinen 23 erhaltenen, zum Teil verstümmelten Blättern von Johannes Staub und Anette Löffler paläographisch-kodikologisch aufgearbeitet und über die

1 

H.  Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale des 12. Jahrhunderts und zur Vita Wilhelmi confessoris”, Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters, 58 (2002), pp. 509–19. 2  S.  Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar des 12. Jahrhunderts”, Deutsches Archiv, 48 (1992), pp. 551–84. Die meisten der derzeit bekannten Fragmente befinden sich in der Universitätsbibliothek Basel. Einzelne Fragmente sind auch im Germanischen Nationalmuseum Nürnberg, im Staatsarchiv Solothurn und in der Württembergischen Landesbibliothek Stuttgart aufbewahrt. Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 71–101. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125559 ©

F H G

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Plattform e-codices – Virtuelle Handschriftenbibliothek der Schweiz auch als Bilddigitalisat abrufbar. 3 Das Fuldaer Legendar wurde im dritten Viertel des 12. Jahrhunderts 4 geschrieben und muss ursprünglich sechs Bände mit Heiligenlegenden, Kalendern und Inhaltsverzeichnissen umfasst haben. Es galt als einer der wenigen Höhepunkte der Fuldaer Buch- und Schreibkunst dieser Zeit.5 Propst Rugger II. (1120–1177) 6 soll dieses Werk im Jahr 1156 unter Abt Marquard I. (um 1100–1168)7 im Marienkloster auf dem Frauenberg, einer Propstei des Klosters Fulda, in Auftrag gegeben haben.8 Diese Angaben zu den Umständen seiner Entstehung gehen auf den Reformtheologen Georg Witzel (1501–1573)9 zurück, der das Legendar in der ersten Hälfte des 16. Jahrhunderts noch selbst vor Ort einsehen konnte und daraus Material für eigene hagiographische Schriften geschöpft hatte. Unter den erhaltenen Fragmenten des Fuldaer Legendars sticht ein längsseitig durch Beschnitt verstümmeltes Doppelblatt mit einer Vita Wilhelmi Confessoris10 besonders heraus, das von Hoff3 J. Staub und A. Löffler, “sine loco, codices restituti, Cod. 4 (Legendarium)”, e-codices – Virtuelle Handschriftenbibliothek der Schweiz, Freiburg, 2019 (https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/description/sl/0004/Staub (abgerufen am 22. März 2020). 4  Zur Datierung vgl. Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, p. 569. 5 Vgl.  Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 509; Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, pp. 551–52 und 575. 6  Als Probst dieses Klosters ist er urkundlich erstmals im Jahr 1158 nachgewiesen (vgl. Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, p. 561); vgl. “Rugger II.”, in Hessische Biografie ‹https://www.lagis-hessen.de/pnd/1112091297› (abgerufen am 16. März 2020). 7 “Marquard I.”, in Hessische Biografie (abgerufen am 16. März 2020). 8 Vgl. Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 509 mit n. 4; vgl. Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, p. 570 und n. 67; zur Frage, ob Rugger der Schreiber oder der Auftraggeber war, vgl. Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, p. 560 f. 9 Vgl. Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, pp. 569–71 u. Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 509 n. 1–3; vgl. noch “Witzel, Georg”, in Hessische Biografie ‹https://www.lagis-hessen.de/pnd/118807757› (abgerufen am 16. März 2020). 10 Basel, UB, N I 3: 49 fol. 1ra-1vb; vgl. dazu auch das Digitalisat unter https://www.e-codices.ch/de/list/one/ubb/N-I-0003-49a (abgerufen am 22. März 2020); Anette Löffler (Leipzig, Würzburg) danke ich sehr für den Hinweis auf die deutsche Glosse.

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mann ediert und knapp besprochen wurde.11 Die Vita handelt von dem heiligen Wilhelm (gestorben 812), auch “Wilhelm von Toulouse” (“von Gellone”, “von Aquitanien”) genannt. Er war von vornehmster Herkunft, hatte unter Karl dem Großen bedeutende militärische Erfolge erzielt und stand an der Spitze der karolingischen Administration im Süden Aquitaniens und Septimaniens, bevor er Mönch in der Benediktinerabtei von Aniane wurde.12 Diese Abtei wurde von Benedikt von Aniane (gestorben 821)13 geleitet.14 Benedikt erhielt kurz nach seinem Tod von seinem Schüler und späterem Nachfolger Ardo von Aniane (gestorben 843)15 11 Vgl. Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, pp. 514–19; nach der Einschätzung Hoffmanns waren die Viten, die die Fragmente sonst bezeugen, zum größten Teil weit verbreitet. Die Neufunde seien weniger für die Überlieferungsgeschichte dieser Texte als vielmehr für die Entwicklungsgeschichte der mittelalterlichen Legendare von Bedeutung (Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 511). Möglichen Zusammenhängen des Fuldaer Legendars mit dem Magnum Legendarium Bodecense, einer um 1459 im Kloster Boddeken entstandenen Legendensammlung, geht J.  Staub, “Zum Fuldaer Legendar des 12. Jahrhunderts und dem Magnum Legendarium Bodecense”, Deutsches Archiv zur Erforschung des Mittelalters, 75 (2019), pp. 101–09 nach. 12 Vgl. G. Lubich, “Wilhelm I. d. Hl., Gf. v. Toulouse”, in LMA 9 (1998), cols 151–52; vgl. noch W.  Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia: Überlieferungsund textgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Witiza-Benedikts, seines Klosters Aniane und zur sogenannten “anianischen Reform”. Mit kommentierten Editionen der ‘Vita Benedicti Anianensis’, ‘Notitia de servitio monasteriorum’, des ‘Chronicon Moissiacense/Anianense’ sowie zweier Lokaltraditionen aus Aniane, Diss. Duisburg, Essen, 2000, p. 100; J. Meyers, “La figure de Guillaume de Gellone d’après la Vita sancti Willelmi (v. 1125): quelques remarques sur ses modèles hagiographiques”, The Journal of Medieval Latin, 24 (2014), pp. 131– 52; zu Wilhelm dem Heiligen als Vorbildgestalt in der französischsprachigen und deutschsprachigen epischen Literatur des hohen Mittelalters vgl. Lubich, “Wilhelm I. d. Hl.”, p. 152, D. Boutet, “Wilhelmsepen. I. Französische Literatur”, in LMA 9 (1998), cols 198–200 und K.  E. Geith, “Wilhelmsepen. II. Deutsche Literatur”, in LMA 9 (1998), cols 200–01. 13 Vgl. J. Semmler, H.  Bacht, “Benedikt v. Aniane”, in LMA 1  (1980), cols 1864–67. 14 Wann und unter welchen Bedingungen Benedikt und Wilhelm in engeren Kontakt miteinander traten, ist noch genauer zu untersuchen. Die Familie Wilhelms soll mit ihren monastischen Stiftungen in der Zeit um 800 eine herausgehobene Bedeutung für die Förderung benediktinischen Lebens und die Tätigkeit Benedikts von Aniane gehabt haben, vgl. Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia, pp. 100–01 n. 22. 15  F. Rädle, “Ardo von Aniane”, in LMA 1, col. 915.

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ebenfalls eine Lebensbeschreibung. Diese Vita Benedicti Anianensis (BHL 1096),16 die erstmals in einer Kartularhandschrift aus dem zweiten Drittel des 12. Jahrhunderts überliefert ist, hängt mit der Vita Wilhelmi in bemerkenswerter Weise zusammen (siehe 9.). Im Jahr 806 hatte Wilhelm nur wenige Kilometer von Aniane entfernt die Abtei von Gellone in einem abgelegenen Tal des Hérault gegründet. Nach seiner Heiligsprechung im Jahr 1066 wurde die Abtei in St.-Guilhem-le-Désert17 umbenannt. Sie ist bis heute ein beliebtes Pilgerziel, zumal sie am Jakobsweg (Via Tolosana) liegt und damit auch seit 1998 zum Weltkulturerbe der UNESCO zählt. Bislang war nur eine aus Frankreich stammende, in mehreren Handschriften überlieferte Fassung der Vita Wilhelmi bekannt (BHL 8916), die im Folgenden in Abgrenzung zur Fuldaer Fassung “Gellonenser Fassung” heißen soll. Im 17. Jahrhundert war sie in drei Editionen erschienen, darunter auch in einer Edition der Bollandisten.18 Diese zog Hoffmann bei seiner Edition der fragmentierten Fuldaer Vita-Wilhelmi-Fassung im Jahr 2002 vergleichend heran. Erst seit 2014 gibt es eine kritische Edition der Vita, die die Romanistin Alice M. Colby-Hall zusammen mit einer Übersetzung in das Französische vorlegte.19 Ihre Edition basiert auf fünf Handschriften, wobei die aus der Abtei von Gellone selbst stammende älteste Abschrift ihre Leithandschrift bildet.20 Diese Vita 16 Montpellier, Archives départementales de l’Hérault, 1H1, fol. 1r–14r; vgl. dazu Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia mit einer neuen kommentierten und übersetzten Edition der Vita Benedicti Anianensis; zur Überlieferung der Vita Benedikti Anianensis vgl. die schematische Übersicht in Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia, Teil 2, Beilage 5. 17 Vgl.  U. Vones-Liebenstein, “Saint-Guilhelm-le-Désert”, in LMA 7 (1999), cols 1166–67. 18  AASS Maii Tom. VI, Vigesima octava maii, 3. Ed. Carnendet 1866, pp. 801–09. Die erste Auflage stammt aus dem Jahr 1688. 19  A. M. Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”: Fondateur de l’Abbaye de Gellone; Édition et traduction du texte médiéval d’après le manuscrit de l’abbaye de Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, Montpellier, 2014 (Cahiers d’Arts et traditions rurales); vgl. dazu die Rezension von J.  Meyers, Review “Alice M. Colby-Hall, ed. and trans., “Vita Sancti Willelmi”: Fondateur de l’Abbaye de Gellone; Édition et traduction du texte médiéval d’après le manuscrit de l’abbaye de Saint-Guilhemle-Désert. (Cahiers d’Arts et traditions rurales). Montpellier, France: Arts et traditions rurales, 2014”, Speculum, 92 (2017), pp. 237–39. 20  Montpellier, Bibliothèque munipale 16, fol. 198v–205r; zum Digitalisat: https://memonum-mediatheques.montpellier3m.fr/doc/IFD/MANUSCRITS_

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ist in einem zwischen 1122 und 1130 entstandenen Lektionar enthalten, also bezogen auf die Überlieferungsdatierung wenigstens 30 Jahre älter als die Fuldaer Vita.21 Hoffmann hält fest, dass die beiden Viten nur “in großen Zügen” Ähnlichkeiten aufwiesen und sie letztlich zwei stark voneinander abweichende Fassungen repräsentierten.22 Er stuft das Fuldaer Fragment als jüngere und von der gellonensischen Vita Wilhelmi abgeleitete Fassung ein. Es wäre dann vermutlich zwischen 1130 und 1150 entstanden. 2. Zum Überlieferungsbefund: die Glossierung von lat. glisis durch dt. ouenkere Die Fuldaer Fassung fällt nach Hoffmann insbesondere durch ihren “preziösen Wortschatz” auf.23 Darauf wird noch einmal zurückzukommen sein, denn dieser Tatsache verdanken wir letztlich auch die seltsame deutsche Glossierung dieses Textstücks, das Wort ouenkere, um dessen Deutung und Funktion es im Folgenden gehen soll. Es wurde über dem lateinischen Textwort glisis wohl von derselben Hand, die auch den Haupttext geschrieben hat, eingetragen:

Abb. 1. Vita Wilhelmi confessoris mit der deutschen Glosse ouenkere über glisis (Basel, Universitätsbibliothek, N I 3:49a, fol. 1r, 23–28, hier Z. 27; https://www.e-codices.ch/en/list/one/ubb/N-I-0003-49a)

MEDIEVAUX_14994/vita-s-guillelmi-de-desertis (abgerufen am 8. August 2020). 21 Vgl. Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”, pp. 5–7. 22 Vgl. Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 512. 23 Vgl. Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 512.

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Der lateinische Text dieses Auszugs lautet: In pistrino etiam nisi aliqua praepediret occupatio, aut tardaret egritudo, propriis operabatur manibus sedulo, nec etiam ei rubor obstabat esse clibani furcifer, atque glisis [darüber: ouenkere], conamine summo.24

Lassen wir zunächst einmal die kritischen Wörter lat. furcifer (siehe 4.) und lat. glisis (siehe 5.) unübersetzt, so lautet der Text auf Deutsch: Auch in der [Mühlen-]Bäckerei arbeitete er [der hl. Wilhelm] fleißig mit eigenen Händen, wenn ihn nicht irgendeine Beschäftigung daran hinderte oder eine Krankheit ihn aufhielt. Und es hemmte ihn auch kein Schamgefühl, mit höchstem Eifer der ‘furcifer’ des Ofens und des ‘glis’ zu sein.

Dass die Stelle schwierig ist und auch anders verstanden werden kann, nämlich als “… der ‘furcifer’ und der ‘glis‹s›is’ des Ofens zu sein”, zeigt die Interpretation des Wortes glisis im Mittellateinischen Wörterbuch unter dem fraglichen Ansatz glissis25 (siehe 3.). 3. Bisherige Deutungsvorschläge Schon Hoffmann spricht in Bezug auf die Glossierung von lat. glisis durch dt. ouenkere von einer “besonderen crux” für den Philologen.26 Gestützt auf Hinweise der Münsteraner Philologen Ulrich Mölk und Rudolf Schützeichel schlägt er eine Deutung von glisis als “Verschreibung (oder Nebenform) von glis, gliris = ‘Haselmaus’” vor. Das Wort ouenkere lässt er unbestimmt. Im Jahr 2004 fand dieses Wort Aufnahme in den Althochdeutschen und Altsächsischen Glossenwortschatz von R. Schützeichel. Dort wird es als Hapaxlegomenon ofankerra st. f. in der Bedeutung ‘Ofenkehrerin’ als Glosse zu lat. glis angesetzt.27 Das auslautende -e wird als feminines Nomen-agentis-Suffix bestimmt, obwohl auch eine Interpretation als -o und damit der Ansatz einer maskulinen Nomen-agentis-Bildung möglich wäre (siehe 7.). Ansonsten wird weder in den Mittelhochdeutschen Wörterbüchern noch in späteren Sprachstufen und 24 Vgl. Hoffmann,

“Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 514. 4, col. 726, l. 60–63. 26 Vgl. Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 512. 27 Vgl. Gl.-Wortsch. 7, p. 180. 25 Vgl. MLW

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Dialekten des Deutschen ein Fortsetzer dieses Wortes gebucht. Im Althochdeutschen Wörterbuch der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig (AWB)28 und im Etymologischen Wörterbuch des Althochdeutschen (EWA) ist der Beleg nicht aufgenommen. Wie sieht es nun mit dem lateinischen Bezugswort glisis aus? Wie bereits erwähnt, wurde im Mittellateinischen Wörterbuch lat. glisis als ein Prädikatsnomen aufgefasst, das durch die Konjunktion lat. atque mit lat. furcifer koordiniert ist. Genitivattribut wäre demzufolge dann nur lat. clibani. So wird im Mittellateinischen Wörterbuch ein fragliches Hapaxlegomenon glissis subst. m. unklarer Herkunft mit der Bedeutung “culinarius, focarius – Küchendiener” angesetzt. Diese Interpretation des Mittelateinischen Wörterbuchs impliziert, dass die deutsche Glosse ouenkere und das lateinische Textwort glisis, über dem sie steht, morphologisch und semantisch übereinstimmen. Ich möchte stattdessen vorschlagen, lat. glisis als ein durch atque mit clibani koordiniertes Genitivattribut mit der Grundform lat. glis zu lat. furcifer aufzufassen (vgl. die Übersetzung unter 2.). Dieser Deutungsvorschlag müsste dann allerdings auch Antworten zu folgenden Fragen bereitstellen: Welche Bedeutung hat glis an dieser Stelle im Text? Die vorgeschlagene Bedeutung ‘Haselmaus’ ergibt jedenfalls keinen Sinn und wird auch vom Mittellateinischen Wörterbuch nicht aufgegriffen. Was hat es mit der deutschen Glosse ouenkere auf sich? Kann der Deutungsvorschlag als feminine Nomen-agentis-Bildung ofenkerra st. f. ‘Ofenkehrerin’29 bestätigt werden? Bezieht sich die Glosse ouenkere wirklich auf das darunterstehende Wort glisis? 4. Zu lat. clibani furcifer Schauen wir uns zunächst den weiteren Kontext der Belegstelle genauer an. Im erhaltenen Text wird das Leben und Wirken Wilhelms nach seinem Eintritt in die Klostergemeinschaft bis zu sei28 Zufällig

oder nur auszugsweise mitgeteilte Glossenfunde z. B. im Rahmen von Bibliothekskatalogisierungen können im AWB nicht systematisch berücksichtigt werden (vgl. B. Bulitta, “Das ‘Althochdeutsche Wörterbuch’ und die althochdeutsche Glossenforschung”, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 138 (2009), pp. 423–57, hier p. 429 u. 441 zu Bas Mscr. N I 3 Nr. 49). 29 Vgl. Gl.-Wortsch. 7, p. 180.

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nem Tod erzählt. In dem uns interessierenden Textteil geht es um die Schilderung niedrigster Aufgaben, die der einst hohe Graf und große Heerführer auf eigenen, dringenden Wunsch hin im Kloster verrichtet, um seine Liebe zu Gott und den Mitmenschen zu beweisen. Dazu gehörte auch die Tätigkeit als furcifer clibani atque glisis. Wir nehmen hier, wie gesagt, zwei durch atque koordinierte Genitivattribute an und prüfen, ob die Stelle einer sinnvollen Deutung zugeführt werden kann. Lat. clibanus bezeichnet im klassischen Latein einerseits ein (tönernes) Gefäß mit einem Deckel, in dem sich der Brotteig befand. Es wurde zum Backen in die heiße Asche gestellt. 30 Andererseits ist es ein Wort für den Ofen, in dem gebacken wird. Dies ist die im Mittellateinischen vorherrschende Bedeutung. 31 Für das erste Genitivattribut von furcifer wäre demnach von der Bedeutung ‘(Back-)Ofen’ auszugehen. Lat. furcifer ist ein mehrdeutiges Wort, da es seiner Bildung nach jemanden bezeichnet, der eine furca trägt und furca selbst mehrdeutig ist. Folgt man Anthony Rich, so ist ein furcifer in der klassischen Antike jemand, der mit Hilfe eines aus zwei hölzernen Stielen bestehenden, gabelförmigen Instruments eine Last trägt, deren Gewicht er damit auf Nacken und Schultern verteilt. 32 Von Rich wird dazu auch eine Abbildung von einer Darstellung auf der Trajanssäule geboten, die diese Tragetechnik veranschaulicht. Darüber hinaus kann furcifer den Träger einer furca im Sinne einer Schandstrafe oder einen üblen Kerl bezeichnen und als Schimpfwort wie dt. ‘Galgenstrick, Bösewicht’ gebraucht werden. 33 30 Vgl. TLL

3, cols 1342–43; GHWB 1, p. 1207. 2, cols 720–21; die im Mittellateinischen Wörterbuch verzeichnete Bedeutung “sartago – Pfanne” stützt sich auf einen Glossarbeleg; vgl. noch DMLBS XV, p. 2938; vgl. auch den Abschnitt “Ofenkunde” in W. Steppe, Sulpicius Severus im Leidener Glossar. Untersuchungen zum Sprachund Literaturunterricht der Schule von Canterbury, München, 1999, pp. 166–69 zu caminus und clibanus im Leidener Glossar. 32 Vgl. A. Rich, Illustriertes Wörterbuch der römischen Alterthümer mit steter Berücksichtigung der griechischen. Enthaltend zwei Tausend Holzschnitte nach Denkmälern der alten Kunst und Industrie, aus dem Englischen übersetzt unter der Leitung von Carl Müller, Paris, Leipzig, 1862; zu furca in der Bedeutung ‘Traggabel, gabelförmiges Tragreff’ vgl. noch GHWB 1, p. 2882 s. v. furca B und GHWB 2, p. 1049 s. v. mūlus ‘Maulesel’. 33 Vgl. TLL 6, 1, cols 1610–11; GHWB 1, p. 2882. 31 Vgl.  MLW

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Im Mittellateinischen ist die Verwendung von lat. furcifer als abwertende Personenbezeichnung ebenso belegt. 34 Beispielsweise wird Simon Magus von Aldhelm (gestorben 709 oder 710) in dessen Carmina ecclesiastica als furcifer tituliert. 35 Das Wort wird auch synonym zu lat. auceps in übertragener Bedeutung ‘(tückischer) Feind, Verfolger’ gebraucht. 36 Die Bedeutung ‘Dieb, Spitzbube’ wird beispielsweise auch durch eine deutsche (mittelfränkische) Glosse thieph37 in einem Glossar des 12./13. Jahrhunderts (BStK Nr. 726) gestützt. Lat. furcifer dient aber auch zur Bezeichnung von jemandem, der im landwirtschaftlichen Bereich oder im Haushalt mit einem gabelförmigen Instrument umgeht. Für den Vita-Wilhelmi-Beleg wird im Mittellateinischen Wörterbuch die Bedeutung ‘Feuerschürer’ angenommen. Lat. furca würde dann ein dafür benötigtes gabelförmiges, mit Zinken versehenes Gerät bezeichnen. Für diese Bedeutung gibt es einen volkssprachigen (niederdeutschen) Beleg in einer Prudentiushandschrift des dritten Drittels des 9. Jahrhunderts (BStK Nr. 105). Zum Kontextwort furcifer der Passio Laurentii (Kapitel 2, Vers 317), das in der Bedeutung ‘Schurke’ gebraucht wird, erscheint das Scholion furcifer furcam ferens, in dem wiederum furcam durch fi‹u›rg‹ar›d (oder g‹ar›do) glossiert wurde. Dies erlaubt einen Ansatz fiurgard as. st. m. in der Bedeutung ‘Feuergabel, Ofengabel, Schürhaken’. 38 Mit der Ofengabel, die regional auch andere Namen hat, konnte man Holz in den Ofen stoßen oder das Feuer schüren. 39 Man konnte aber auch die Kochtöpfe auf die Feuerstelle schieben.40 Ein wenigstens teilweise synonymes Wort wäre Ofenkrücke.41 Die furcifer-Stelle der Passio Laurentii wurde in 34 Vgl. MLW

4, col. 577, DMLBS IV, p. 1036. IV, p. 1036. 36 Vgl. MLW 1, col. 1166 s. v. auceps B II. 37 Vgl. Gl 3, p. 382, l. 6 in AWB 2, col. 511 s. v. thiob st. m. 38 Vgl. AWB 3, col. 932, H. Tiefenbach, Altsächsisches Handwörterbuch / A Concise Old Saxon Dictionary, Berlin, 2010, p. 95. 39  Vgl. z. B. Schweiz. Id. 2, col. 57. 40 Vgl. Thür. Wb. 4, col. 947 mit der Abbildung einer Ofengabel, die den Hals eines auf einem Dreifuß im Feuer stehenden Ofentopfes umfasst. 41 Vgl. z. B. Mnd. Hwb. 3, col. 1221: “lange Stange mit gegabeltem Ende, mit der man die Kohlenglut aus dem Ofen zieht, Ofengabel”. Eine lateinische Entsprechung wäre rutabulum, vgl. GHWB 2,2434. 35 Vgl. DMLBS

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anderen Prudentiushandschriften mit einem auf Iso von St. Gallen (gestorben 871) zurückgehenden Zusatz versehen. Er lautet exclamative, succensor ignis (‘im Ausruf, Entfacher des Feuers’) und erklärt die verschiedenen deutschen Glossierungen dieser Stelle durch die deutschen Glossen brantscurgâri, brantiscurâri st. m. (zu brant und scurgen, scurien),42 fiurscalteri st. m. (zu fiur und scaltan) 43 und fiurscurio sw. m. (zu fiur und scurgen, scurien) in der nicht kontextgerechten Bedeutung ‘einer der das Feuer entfacht und unterhält, Feuerschürer’.44 Doch warum wird in unserem Textfragment die auffällige und negativ konnotierte Bezeichnung furcifer anstelle eines stilistisch weniger markanten, gleichbedeutenden Ausdrucks wie focarius oder clibani calefactor45 verwendet? 5. Zu lat. glis oder: “glis multis modis dicitur” Kommen wir erst noch einmal auf das Textwort lat. glisis zu sprechen, dem graphischen Lemma der deutschen Glosse ouenkere. Spätestens seit spätantiker Zeit geht aus Glossarbelegen hervor, dass hinter lat. glis wenigstens drei ursprungsverschiedene, aber im Nominativ gleichlautende Wörter stehen können. Die Homonyme unterscheiden sich in den obliquen Kasus und sind leicht miteinander zu verwechseln. Das war sicher auch der Grund dafür, dass lat. glis häufig in mittelalterlichen Glossaren auftaucht.46 Lat. glis ist demnach sowohl eine Bezeichnung für ein mausähnliches Nagetier (Haselmaus, Bilch oder Siebenschläfer) 47 als auch eine Bezeichnung für tonhaltige Erde und schließlich eine Bezeich-

42 Vgl. AWB

1, col. 1321, EWA 2, col. 294. 3, col. 933, EWA 3, col. 335. 44 Vgl. AWB 3, col. 933, EWA 3, col. 335. 45 Vgl. Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”, p. 80 § 28. 46 Vgl. TLL 6, 2, cols 2045–46; zum Vorkommen von lat. glis bei Papias, Osbern von Glocester, Johannes de Janua, Matthaeus Silvaticus und in den Sinonoma Bartholomei vgl. H.  Plechl, “Die Tegernseer Handschrift Clm 19411”, Deutsches Archiv zur Erforschung des Mittelalters, 18 (1962), pp. 418– 61, hier p. 467 n. 291. 47 Vgl. OLD 1, p. 766b s. v. glīs, glīris m. ‘a dormouse’; GHWB 1, p. 2941; unsicher ist der Ansatz glīs (glix?) ‘nomen piscis’ mit drei Glossarbelegen (vgl.  TLL 6, 2, col. 2046). 43 Vgl. AWB

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81

nung für eine Pflanze.48 Das Mittellateinische Wörterbuch verzeichnet die folgenden vier Ansätze, von denen die ersten drei auch im Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources mit teilweise abweichender Stammbildung gebucht sind: 1. 2. 3. 4.

glis, gliris m. 1 ‘Siebenschläfer, Bilch’; 2 “per confusionem”: ‘Glühwurm’ (lat. cicindela) 49 glis, glitis (auch glidis; nach DMLBS 4, p. 1082b auch gliris, glisis, glitis) subst. ‘Lehm, Tonerde’ (lat. lutum, argilla)50 glis, glittis (auch gliris oder glitis; nach DMLBS 4, p. 1082b mit unsicherem Genitiv) subst. ‘Klette’ (lat. lappa)51 glis, glissis subst. ‘(Erd-)Haufen’ (lat. acervus (terrae)). 52

Der morphologischen Schwierigkeit und Bedeutungsvielfalt des Wortes glis war man sich wohl bewusst, wie ein Eintrag zu lat. glis in einem alphabetischen Sachglossar des 12. Jahrhunderts der Handschrift Cod. poet. et phil. 4° 56, fol. 27r der Württembergischen Landesbibliothek Stuttgart (BStK Nr. 860) beweist. Er beginnt mit den Worten “‹g›lis multis modis dicitur” (‘glis kann auf viele verschiedene Weisen gebraucht werden’), bevor drei Verwendungsweisen, davon zwei mit deutschen Entsprechungen, aufgezählt werden.53 48 Vgl. TLL 6, 2, col. 2046 l. 61 s. v. glis ‘diversis genetivi formis et notionibus’ mit einem Glossarbeleg “glis gliris animal, glis glitis terra tenax …, glis glidis cardu‹u›s …, glis glisis incrementum”. 49 Vgl. MLW 4, col. 725 l. 49–59; vgl. auch DMLBS IV, p. 1082b s. v. 1 glis ‘dormouse’. 50 Vgl. MLW 4, col. 725 l. 60–66; vgl. DMLBS IV, p. 1082b s. v. 3 glis ‘marl, chalky clay’; unter diesem Ansatz ist unter b auch noch eine Bedeutung ‘Schimmel’ (‘mould, moss’) verzeichnet, vgl. dazu unten Anm. 56. 51 Vgl. MLW 4, col. 725, l. 67–726 l. 3; vgl auch DMLBS IV, p. 1082b s. v. 2 glis ‘teasel, burr’. 52 Vgl. MLW 4, col. 726, 4–5. 53  Vgl. “‹g›lis multis modis dicitur. ‹g›lis enim dicitur animal .i. lezo. dicitur etiam glis tenax terra .i. argilla. glis etiam uocatur herba quam uulgus gleton uocatur” Gl 3, p. 195, l. 3–7; zu lezo vgl. AWB 5, col. 870 s. v. ?lezo sw. m. Auch eine Zuordnung zu letto sw. m. wird erwogen, das sowohl in der Bedeutung ‘Ton(erde), Lehm’ (als Interpretament von lat. glis, glissis wie auch glis, glittis), als auch in der Bedeutung ‘Kies’ (als Interpretament von lat. glarea [parvi lapilli harenarum]) belegt ist, vgl. ebda. u. AWB 5, col. 863 s. v. letto; in gleton liegt wohl kein deutsches, sondern ein französisches Interpretament vor, vgl. dazu Gl 3, p. 195, n. 4.

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Versucht man diese Bedeutungen mit dem Kontext des VitaWilhelmi-Textes zu vereinbaren, so ergibt weder die Tier- noch die Pflanzenbezeichnung einen Sinn. Aber auch die Bedeutungen ‘Lehm, Tonerde’ und ‘Erdhaufen’ wollen auf den ersten Blick nicht recht passen. Gibt es vielleicht noch weitere glis-Wörter oder -Bedeutungen, die über die genannten Angaben hinausgehen? Zwei weitere Belege seien hier noch exemplarisch angeführt, wobei allerdings auch mit Lemmaverschiebungen oder Wortverwechslungen zu rechnen ist. Der erste Beleg stammt aus einem insgesamt 215 lateinisch-lateinische und lateinisch-deutsche Artikel umfassenden grammatischen Sachglossar der in der Bayerischen Staatsbibliothek München aufbewahrten Handschrift Clm 14456, fol. 5b2 (BStK Nr. 588) aus dem 9. Jahrhundert: glis gliris mus mihhilo, glis ‹gli›sis der boͮ mholm, glis ‹gli›tis gljmo der uurm. 54

Neben der Nagetierbezeichnung, hier mûs mihhilo55 ‘große Maus’, ist noch eine Materialbezeichnung, hier boumolm56 ‘faules, morsches Baumholz, das im Dunkeln fluoresziert’,57 sowie eine Insektenbezeichnung glîmo58 ‘Glühwürmchen’ aufgeführt. Diese wird durch den Zusatz der uurm (zu ahd. uuurm ‘Käfer, Würmchen’) näher bestimmt.

54 

Gl 4, p. 230, l. 33–35. 6, col. 925 s. v. mûs st. f. 56 Vgl. AWB 1, col. 1303 s. v. boumolm st. m. und AWB 7, col. 87 s. v. olmo sw. m. 57  Zu dieser Bedeutungsansetzung gelangt S. Blum, “Aus der Werkstatt des Althochdeutschen Wörterbuchs. 37. Ahd. boumolm”, Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur, 84 (1962), pp. 454–57, hier p. 454 ff. aufgrund des in der Handschrift Trier, Bibliothek des Priesterseminars Hs. 61 (BStK Nr. 877) überlieferten Interpretaments lignum quod in tenebris vivi carbonis speciem tenet zu glis ‹gli›sis mit der deutschen Glosse holmo (vgl. P.  Katara, Die Glossen des codex seminarii Trevirensis R. III. 13. Diss. Helsingfors, 1912, p. 132; Gl 4, p. 202, l. 67). Das Wort glis kann demnach auch Holz bezeichnen, das in der Dunkelheit das Aussehen glühender Kohle hat. Eine gleichbedeutende Glosse liegt vor bei schineuuitto zu glis glissis Gl 3, p. 695, l. 43 in der Handschrift Florenz, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana Plut. 16.5 (BStK Nr. 151) aus dem 12. Jh. (vgl. Gl.-Wortsch. 8, p. 362 s. v. scînwitu st. n. ‘fluoreszierendes Holz’). 58 Vgl. AWB 4, col. 306 s. v. glîmo sw. m. 55 Vgl. AWB

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Einen zweiten Beleg enthält das lateinisch-deutsche (mittelfränkische) Sachglossar Jd der Handschrift Jun. 83 der Bodleian Library Oxford, fols 49v–71r59 (BStK Nr. 726) mit 1676 Glossen aus dem 12./13. Jahrhundert im Abschnitt “Terrestria animalia”: glis glidis griez, […], glis gliris ratta, glis glitis cletha, glis glissis hxrrf60 (vgl. dazu glis glidis glarea constat, glis gliris animal, glis glitis lappa uocatur, glis glissis meretrix in derselben Handschrift am Ende des Abschnitts).

Neben der Nagetierbezeichnung, hier ratta61 ‘Siebenschläfer’ oder ‘Haselmaus’ (lat. animal), und der Pflanzenbezeichnung kledda62 ‘Große Klette’ (lat. lappa) findet sich noch eine Materialbezeichnung, nämlich grioz63 ‘Sand’ (lat. glarea), und eine Personenbezeichnung, huora64 ‘Hure, Prostituierte’ (lat. meretrix), die in der Handschrift geheimschriftlich als hxrrf für hurre erscheint. Passt nun etwa eine der vorgestellten Gebrauchsweisen des Wortes glis in den fraglichen Kontext, der besagt, dass den heiligen Wilhelm nichts davon abhielt, “esse clibani furcifer atque glisis”? Aus moderner Sicht ohne Kenntnis vergangener Lebenswelten wird man die Frage nach wie vor verneinen müssen. Als koordiniertes Genitivattribut zu furcifer muss glis aus demselben Sachbereich wie clibanus ‘Ofen’ kommen, wenn nicht sogar synonym dazu sein. Nehmen wir also noch archäologisch-sachgeschichtliche Erkenntnisse zu Hilfe und fragen nach der Konstruktion und Funktionsweise mittelalterlicher Backöfen. Nach Anne Schulz herrscht in dieser Hinsicht “über die Regionen hinweg eine bemerkenswerte Konstanz”.65 Ralph Röber hält fest, dass die Öfen in der Regel als Einkammeröfen konzipiert waren. Im Ofen wurde zunächst ein Feuer entzündet, nach Erlöschen des Feuers die Kammer ausgeräumt und der aufgeheizte Raum dann zum Backen genutzt. 59  In

der alten Zählung nach F. Junius und der Edition, pp. 1–43. Gl 3, p. 366, l. 2 und 4–6 mit n. 3. 61 Vgl. AWB 7, col. 633 s. v. radda, ratta sw. f. 62 Vgl. AWB 5, col. 230 s. v. kledda, kletta sw. f. 63 Vgl. AWB 4, col. 436 s. v. grioz st. m. 64 Vgl. AWB 4, col. 1385 s. v. huora sw. st. f. 65 Vgl. A. Schulz, Essen und Trinken im Mittelalter (1000–1300). Literarische, kunsthistorische und archäologische Quellen, Berlin, Boston, 2011 (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, 74), p. 623. 60 

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Fast alle aufgefundenen Backofen seien einem Grundtyp zuzuweisen. Dieser bestehe aus einer Kuppel auf einer runden bis ovalen Grundfläche, rechteckige Anlagen seien eher selten. Die Kuppel sei in der Regel aus Lehm geformt, der auf einem Fundament aus Trockenmauern oder seltener Holzbalken aufgebaut sein könne. Bei größeren Ofen, die auf eine lange Haltbarkeit angelegt waren, sei die Kuppel häufig aus Backstein errichtet, der in Lehm gesetzt war.66 Vor diesem Hintergrund liegt es nahe, von dem Wort glis in der Bedeutung ‘Lehm, Tonerde’ auszugehen. Bildungen wie ovanleim st. m. oder ovanleimo sw. m. ‘Ofenlehm’67 bestätigen den sachgeschichtlichen Befund: Lehm, der besonders gut für den Ofenbau geeignet war, hatte auch eine eigene Bezeichnung. Wir können sogar noch weiter gehen und annehmen, dass in der Vita Wilhelmi das Wort glis metonymisch die aus Lehm gefertigte Wölbung bzw. Kuppel eines Ofens bezeichnet, die als Heiz- und Brennkammer für die Brote diente. Diese sieht im Prinzip aus wie ein Erdhaufen, was uns einen Anschluss an das vierte im Mittellateinischen Wörterbuch gebotene glis-Wort68 erlaubt. Dass es sich um eine große Ofenkuppel bzw. -kammer gehandelt haben muss, erschließt sich nicht nur aus der Tatsache, dass Brot für das gesamte Kloster gebacken werden musste, sondern auch aus einer Geschichte der Vita Wilhelmi selbst:69 Die Kuppel musste so groß gewesen sein, dass eine erwachsene Person hineinkriechen konnte (siehe 8.).

66 Vgl. R.

Röber, “Öfen und Feuerstellen in Handwerk und Gewerbe – mittelalterliche Realität und archäologischer Befund”, in Mittelalterliche Öfen und Feuerungsanlagen: Beiträge des 3. Kolloquiums des Arbeitskreises zur Archäologischen Erforschung des Mittelalterlichen Handwerks, Stuttgart, 2002 (Materialhefte zur Archäologie in Baden-Württemberg, 62), pp. 9–29, hier pp. 13–14. 67 Vgl. AWB 7, col. 43, EWA 6, col. 1130. 68 Vgl. MLW 4, col. 726 l. 4–5; der Beleg entstammt der BSB München, Clm 19411 aus dem 11./12. Jahrhundert und lautet: “gliris, glis animal (gloss.: glaim); glis, glittis lappa sed herba (gloss.: chlette); terra tenax glidis (gloss.: lette); tumulus fit denique glissis (gloss.: huffe)” (vgl. Plechl, “Die Tegernseer Handschrift Clm 19411”, p. 467). 69 Vgl. Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”, p. 82 § 28.

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6. Exkurs: Zur preziösen Sprache des Vita Wilhelmi-Fragments Dass der Verfasser der Vita Wilhelmi so ausgefallene Wörter wie furcifer oder ein so schwieriges Wort wie glis, noch dazu in einer Genitivform und in dieser speziellen Bedeutung, in seinen Text einbaut, ist kein Zufall. Schon Hoffmann weist auf den “preziösen Vokabelschatz” hin, der sich im Vorkommen “einmaliger oder höchst seltener”, “in den Wörterbüchern kaum zu findender” Vokabeln offenbart.70 Er greift (ohne Angaben von Bedeutungen) lat. assessus (‘Sitz’ für ‘Reittier’, hier lat. asellus ‘Esel’), calcionarius (‘Schuhflicker’), clibanarius (‘der mit einem Ofen Brot bäckt’) und pinsor (‘der für das Zerstampfen der Getreidekörner (zum Brotbacken) Verantwortliche’) heraus. Ergänzen ließe sich die zwar nicht gerade seltene, aber doch stilistisch markierte, der Dichtung entstammende Fügung lat. sonipes phaleratus (‘aufgezäumtes Pferd’). Preziös erscheint auch der Ersatz von geläufigerem sedare in sitim sedare ‘den Durst stillen’ durch refocil(l)are, das ursprünglich ‘jmdn. (durch Wärme, Essen oder Trinken, etc.) wiederbeleben, erquicken’ bedeutet.71 Neben der Häufung ausgefallener Wörter fallen auch umständliche Formulierungen und ungewöhnliche Satzkonstruktionen auf. Um ein Beispiel zu nennen: Dass der heilige Wilhelm einst bei Kriegszügen in schwerer Rüstung auf einem schäumenden Pferd mit prächtigem Zaumzeug daherritt, ist den Worten solitus erat terga sonipedis phalerati frementis premere (fol. 1ra, 6–7) zu entnehmen. Lat. terga im Plural wird mit dem Genitivattribut sonipedis im Singular konstruiert.72 Der Verfasser des Textes lässt seiner klösterlichen Gelehrsamkeit offensichtlich freien Lauf. Vor diesem Hintergrund erscheint auch der Gebrauch der Wörter lat. furcifer ‘der für den Ofen Ver-

70 Vgl. Hoffmann,

“Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 512f; es sei bezeichnend, dass culinarii mit coci glossiert wurde. 71 Die beiden Wörter dapifer ‘der für das Auftragen der Speisen Verantwortliche, Truchsess’ und pincerna ‘der für den Wein Verantwortliche, Mundschenk’, die Inhaber eines Hofamts bezeichnen, sind häufiger anzutreffen. 72 Ähnlich verhält es sich in dem Satz seruuli seruulorum innumerum possidebant equum (fol. 1ra, 14–15), wo das Adjektiv innumerum ‘zahllos’ ein Bezugsnomen im Singular (equum) hat.

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antwortliche’ (statt des gewöhnlichen Wortes focarius) und glis ‘Lehmkuppel (eines Ofens)’ nicht weiter verwunderlich. 7. Zur deutschen Glosse ouenkere Wenden wir uns nun der deutschen Glosse ouenkere zu, die über das Textwort glisis eingetragen wurde. Es handelt sich um eine Ableitung aus dem Verb keren73 mit der Akkusativergänzung ouen.74 Die daraus entstandene Nomen-agentis-Bildung hat die Bedeutung ‘Person, die die Asche (mit Arbeitsgeräten wie dem “Ofenwisch”) aus dem Ofen fegt/kehrt’. Ob es sich bei der abgeschwächten Endung -e ursprünglich um ein Femininum auf -a75 oder um ein Maskulinum auf -o handelt, lässt sich nicht sicher entscheiden. Vom Kontext her gesehen und aus sachlichen Gründen liegt eine Interpretation als maskuline Täterbezeichnung näher, denn es ist die Rede vom heiligen Wilhelm, also von einem Mann, und von einem Männerkloster, in dem die Küchenarbeit gemäß der Regula Benedicti von den Mönchen selbst zu erledigen war. Zwar scheint der Anteil femininer Wortbildungen innerhalb mittelalterlicher Personenbezeichnungen im Bereich der Nahrungszubereitung (besonders der Bäckerei und großer Küchen) vergleichsweise hoch zu sein.76 Lat. focaria ‘Herdmagd, Feuerschürerin’ hat beispielsweise die deutschen Entsprechungen fiurâra sw. f., fiurârin st. f., fiureitila sw. f. und fiursciura sw. f.77 Doch gehen wir hier unter der Annahme einer kontextkongruenten Glossierung von einem Maskulinum ouenkere aus. Es lebt in den späteren deutschen Sprachstufen nicht fort, da maskuline Nomina-agentis-

73  Vgl. ahd.

kerren, kerrien sw. v. AWB 5, col. 132, EWA 5, cols 486–87. ovan st. m. AWB 7, cols 41–43, EWA 6, cols 1123–28. 75 Vgl. Gl.-Wortsch. 7, p. 180 s. v. ofankerra st. f. 76 Vgl. A. Mikeleitis-Winter, “Zum Wortschatz der Nahrung”, in Die Althochdeutsche und altsächsische Glossographie. Ein Handbuch, hrsg. von R.  Bergmann und St. Stricker, Berlin, New York, 2009, pp. 1103–23, hier p. 1116 mit Beispielen und einer Analyse der Bildungssuffixe; zum Verhältnis maskuliner und femininer Nomina agentis im Althochdeutschen vgl.  E.  Bauer, “Anthroponyme im Althochdeutschen. Zum Verhältnis maskuliner und femininer Nomina agentis”, Sprachwissenschaft, 16 (1991), 142–61. 77 Vgl. AWB 3, col. 930. 931. 933. 74  Vgl. ahd.

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Bildungen auf -o schon seit althochdeutscher Zeit nach und nach durch die konkurrierende Bildung auf -âri, -ere ersetzt wurden.78 8. Die Tätigkeit eines ouenkere nach der Vita Wilhelmi in der Gellonenser Fassung Die Vita Wilhelmi in ihrer vollständigen Fassung aus Frankreich bietet eine außergewöhnlich ausführliche und detaillierte Beschreibung der Tätigkeiten, die ein klösterlicher furcifer zu verrichten hatte, auch wenn das Wort selbst in dieser Version nicht vorkommt. Es handelt sich um eine ausgesprochen authentische Darstellung dieser körperlich sehr anstrengenden, nicht ungefährlichen und zugleich schmutzigen Arbeitsaufgabe, die Höhergestellten wie auch dem heiligen Wilhelm vor seinem Eintritt in das Kloster mehr als fremd gewesen sein dürften. Übertragen auf unsere heutige Zeit wäre sie etwa mit der Arbeit einer Servicekraft an einer Industriespülmaschine in einer Großkantine vergleichbar, wo ebenfalls Zeitdruck, Hitze, Dämpfe (durch chemische Reinigungszusätze), Verletzungsgefahr (durch zerbrochenes Geschirr) und Schmutz herrschen.79 Da dieser Abschnitt der Erzählung unsere sachgeschichtlichen Kenntnisse über diese für das Klosterleben essentielle Aufgabe der Versorgung der Klostergemeinschaft mit Brot erweitert und auch in sprachlich-lexikalischer Hinsicht aufschlussreich ist, gehen wir auf die Textpassage noch einmal genauer ein:80 Wilhelm übernimmt die Aufgabe, den Ofen zum Brotbacken vorzubereiten (praeparare clibanum) und zu heizen (calefacere), die Brote hineinzugeben sowie gebacken wieder herauszuholen (panes imponere et coctos extrahere). Er wird somit Bäcker (pistor) und Ofenheizer (clibani calefactor).81 Obwohl er zuvor noch nie solche 78 Vgl. O. Weinreich, Die Suffixablösung bei den Nomina agentis während der althochdeutschen Periode, Berlin, 1971 (Philologische Studien und Quellen, 56), bes. pp. 173–205. 79 Ich danke Angela Schulze, Reinigungskraft in der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig, für die Schilderung dieses Tätigkeitsbereichs aus ihrer eigenen Erfahrung. 80 Vgl. Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”, p. 80 § 29; vgl. auch AASS Maii Tom. VI, p. 808b, 29. 81 Erwähnt wird noch seine Tätigkeiten in der Küche als Küchenknecht oder Koch (servitor coquinae, ministrator pulmentorum).

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Aufgaben verrichten musste, erfüllt er sie tadellos. Dann wird er jedoch erst vom Teufel und später von Gott auf die Probe gestellt: Die Brote sind schon in der üblichen Weise zum Backen fertiggestellt (panes ad coquendum ex more praeparati), aber die Holzscheite zum Heizen des Ofens (ligna ad clibanum succendum) fehlen noch. Wilhelm rennt hierhin und dorthin (atrium circuit, huc illucque discurrit) und sammelt in Windeseile alles mögliche Brennbare (fomenta wie zum Beispiel sarmenta ‘abgebrochene Zweige’ oder stipula ‘Strohhalme’) zusammen, um den Ofen zu heizen (caminum calefacere). Nachdem das Feuer im Ofen gut aufgebrannt ist (camino bene conflato) und die Ofenkammer die richtige Backtemperatur erreicht hat (camino ad opus calefacto), muss der Ofen auch schon wieder belüftet werden (fornax evaporandus) und mithilfe grünender Äste des Pflaumenbaums vom Feuer befreit werden (fornax prunis flamma vernantibus evacuandus). Mit einem Eisen muss er gereinigt (fornax chalybe repurgandus) und von der Asche gesäubert (fornax cineribus extergendus) werden. Da Wilhelm die erforderlichen Gerätschaften jedoch nicht zur Hand hat, bittet er um Gottes Hilfe und kriecht selbst in den Ofen (fornacis medium intrat), löscht die Flammen (flammas extinguit), besiegt den Brand (exsuperat incendium), mildert den Rauch (vaporem mitigat) und macht den Scheiterhaufen unschädlich (rogum reddit innocuum). Dann räumt er die Glut mit seinen eigenen Händen aus (manibus propriis extra factis carbonibus) und befördert die Asche mit seinem unversehrten Skapulier nach draußen. Er richtet die Feuerstelle her (lares aptat) und passt ihre Hitze für die hineinzuschiebenden Brote an (lares intromittendis panibus temperat). Wunderbarerweise nimmt dabei weder sein Körper noch sein Arbeitsgewand Schaden, was die in der Zwischenzeit herbeigeeilten Brüder voller Ehrfurcht zur Kenntnis nehmen.82

82 “Dass

Wilhelm in den heissen Ofen kriecht und ohne Schaden wieder herauskommt, könnte einen Bezug zu den drei Jünglingen im Feuerofen herstellen (siehe Daniel 3:8–97), deren Glaube im Feuer bestätigt wurde, wie hier Wilhelms Dienstbereitschaft bestätigt wird. Und die glühende Asche, die Wilhelm mit seinem Skapulier aus dem Ofen holt, ohne dass es beschädigt wird, stellt eine kleine Parallele zum heiligen Briktius dar, der in Gregor von Tours’ Geschichte der Franken, 2.1 glühende Kohlen in seinem Gewand trägt, ohne dass das Gewand Schaden nimmt. Wortüberschneidungen zu diesen anderen Stellen hat die Vita Wilhelmi nicht, aber Themenüberschneidungen”

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Die Thematisierung der Tätigkeiten des heiligen Wilhelm als Bäcker und Ofenknecht in der Gellonenser Fassung ist sehr auffallend.83 Ob das auch etwas damit zu tun haben könnte, dass die ersten bekannten Backöfen in Montpellier nachweislich von einem der Nachfahren aus der Adelsfamilie der Wilhelme, nämlich Guilhem II. Bernard, errichtet wurden, der in Quellen der Jahre 1019 bis 1043 erwähnt wird?84 In der fragmentierten Fuldaer Fassung der Vita mit der deutschen ouenkere-Glosse ist diese Geschichte aufgrund des Blattbeschnitts nur verstümmelt und auch deutlich knapper überliefert.85 Im Übrigen werden in der Vita Wilhelmi (nach der vollständigen Gellonenser Fassung) auch andere manuelle Tätigkeiten geschildert, die der heilige Wilhelm als ungeweihter Mönch als Geste der Demut unermüdlich auf sich nimmt. Er will den mercennarii, den bezahlten Arbeitern im Kloster, gleich sein. So arbeitet er auch als vicarius ‘Ersatzmann’, sublevator oneris ‘Lastenträger’, humilis operarius ‘niedriger Arbeiter’ und omnibus indiscrete unus ebdomadarius ‘einer, der alle Dienste ohne Unterschied im wöchentlichen Turnus übernimmt (“Hebdomadar”)’.86 Sehr ausführlich werden auch die Küchen- und Tischdienste beschrieben, die er verrichtet. Bis zu seinem Tod führt er ein weltabgewandtes, asketisches, dem Gebet und der Lektüre religiöser Schriften gewidmetes Leben und verstirbt, ohne je die klerikalen Weihen erhalten zu haben.87

(inhaltliche Ergänzung eines anonymen Gutachters dieses Beitrags, dem ich herzlich dafür danke). 83 Die Frage, ob auch andere Viten eine derartig ausführliche Beschreibung einer solchen Tätigkeit bieten, wurde hier nicht weiter verfolgt. 84  Vgl. J. C. Hélas, “Wilhelme”, in LMA 9 (1998), col. 195. 85 Die Geschichte beginnt mit “eodem tempore | plenus omnibus secum comman | deum esset humillime sub | forte clibani tunc officio f(ungeretur) …” und endet mit “deinceps magna uene(ratione ha)bitus est apud fratres” (vgl.  Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 516, l. 23–46). Die Tätigkeit des “Ofners” wird mit fungi officio clibani umschrieben. Dass der heilige Wilhelm furchtlos in den glühenden Ofen steigt und wieder herauskommt, heißt in verstümmeltem Text “in ardentem clibanum ins|” und “de feruore fornacis egred(i)”. Als “Ofenwisch” dienen ihm Stoffteile seines eigenen Skapuliers: “panni proprii scapularis”. 86 Vgl. Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”, pp. 76–78, § 26. 87 Vgl. Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”, pp. 78–80, § 27.

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Die ganze Ausgestaltung dieser Legende liest sich als eindringliches Bekenntnis zur “körperlichen Arbeit als vornehmster Tradition des Mönchtums und des Benediktinerordens”,88 wie sie zum Beispiel Robert von Molesme (gestorben 1111), der Ordensreformer und Gründerabt von Cîteaux, wieder in Erinnerung gerufen hatte: “Von der Regel des hl. Benedikt sind wir abgewichen, wir arbeiten nicht mehr mit unseren Händen, wie es die Väter taten”.89 Sie fällt in eine Zeit, in der sich Reformbenediktiner des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts darum stritten, wie das Verhältnis von Arbeit und Gebet im klösterlichen Leben künftig auszusehen habe.90 9. Exkurs: Zur Textgeschichte der Vita Wilhelmi Mit dem Fuldaer Fragment (überliefert 1165)91 gibt es ein neues Zeugnis der Vita Wilhelmi, das textgeschichtlich noch genauer einzuordnen wäre. Dass zur Gellonensischen Fassung (überliefert 1122–1130)92 lediglich ein inhaltlicher Zusammenhang besteht, stellte bereits Hoffmann fest (siehe 1.).93 Die Vita Wilhelmi wiederum erwuchs nach heutiger Forschungsmeinung aus einem Kapitel der Vita Benedicti Anianensis, die schon 823 von Ardo von Aniane verfasst worden war, aber erst dreihundert Jahre später in einem Kartular (1132–1146) mit Modifikationen aus dem 9./10. und 11./12. Jahrhundert schriftlich erhalten ist:94 88 Vgl. K.

Schreiner, Sozial- und standesgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu den Benediktinerkonventen im östlichen Schwarzwald, Stuttgart, 1964, p. 35. 89 Vgl. K. Schreiner, M.  Breitenstein und G.  Melville, Gemeinsam leben: Spiritualität, Lebens- und Verfassungsformen klösterlicher Gemeinschaften in Kirche und Gesellschaft des Mittelalters, Berlin, Münster, 2013 (Vita regularis. Ordnungen und Deutungen religiosen Lebens im Mittelalter, 53), p. 256. 90  Zu den gegensätzlichen Einstellungen zu körperlicher Arbeit im Zusammenhang mit der Gründung von Cîteaux zwischen Vertretern des monastischen Herkommens und regelbewußten Reformern vgl. Schreiner, Breitenstein und Melville, Gemeinsam leben, pp. 255–61. 91  Entstehungszeitraum zwischen 1130 und 1150 (siehe 1.). 92 Entstehungszeitraum zwischen dem Ende des 11. Jahrhunderts und 1128, vielleicht 1112 (vgl. Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”, p. 30). 93 In Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi” ist das Fuldaer Fragment nicht weiter berücksichtigt. 94 Vgl. Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia, pp. 44–45 n. 18 und n. 20 sowie pp. 70–136.

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Jusque-là, les moines de Gellone ne disposaient que du texte d’Ardon quand ils voulaient s’instruire sur la vie du saint ou en parler aux visiteurs. Sans nommer Ardon, l’hagiographe explique dans son prologue (§ 1) qu’il écrit une retractatio, c’est-à-dire une révision ou un remaniement […]. En fait, il va développer le chapitre 30 de la Vita Benedicti Anianensis en y ajoutant des éléments et des épisodes nouveaux, et il se peut que la Vita augmentée ait fait grossir le nombre des pèlerins et encouragé la translation des reliques.95

Es handelt sich um das 30. Kapitel von insgesamt 41 Kapiteln dieser Lebensbeschreibung, die im Zuge der Auseinandersetzungen und der herrschenden Rivalität zwischen den beiden Nachbarklöstern Aniane und Gellone an verschiedenen Stellen nachträglich inhaltlich verändert wurde,96 wie im Übrigen auch die GelloneFassung der Wilhelms-Vita tendenziöse Züge trägt.97 Dieses Kapitel, das nach Ende des 11. Jahrhunderts und vor 1119/1123 modifiziert worden sein muss,98 schildert die Conversio Wilhelms und sein vorbildhaft asketisches Leben als Mönch unter der väterlichen Obhut Benedikts von Aniane.99 Da sich das Kapitel 30 der Vita Benedicti Anianensis aber auch wie eine Zusammenfassung der Vita Wilhelmi lesen lässt, hat man darin gelegentlich auch eine Interpolation auf der Grundlage der Gellone-Fassung vermutet. Das Fuldaer Fragment erweckt den Eindruck, dem WilhelmKapitel der Vita Benedicti näher zu stehen als der Gellone-Fassung der Vita Wilhelmi, denn es gibt bemerkenswerte textliche Überein95 Vgl. Colby-Hall,

“Vita Sancti Willelmi”, p. 15. Subsidia Anianensia, pp. 70–138. Diese Verfälschungen des ursprünglichen Textes müssen vor der definitiven Bestätigung der Unabhängigkeit von Gellone durch Papst Calixt II. im Jahr 1123 geschehen sein (vgl. Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia, p. 106). Die Kartularhandschrift gibt jenen Zustand des Textes wieder, den er vor 1123 während der besitzrechtlichen Auseinandersetzungen ab Ende des 11. Jahrhunderts erhalten hat (vgl.  Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia, pp. 135–36). 97 Vgl.  Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia, p. 130, Colby-Hall, “Vita Sancti Willelmi”, p. 22. 98 Vgl. Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia, Teil 2, Beilage 5. 99 Dieses Kapitel ist getreu auch in das vor 1166/1170 überlieferte Chronicon Anianense (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale lat. 5941, fol. 2r–49v) übernommen (vgl. Kettemann, Subsidia Anianensia, Teil 2, Beilage 2, p. 166 und Edition p. 177). 96 Vgl. Kettemann,

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stimmungen. Rufen wir uns noch einmal den Satz mit der Glosse ouenkere aus der Fuldaer Fassung der Vita Wilhelmi in Erinnerung: in pistrino etiam nisi aliqua praepediret occupatio, aut tardaret egritudo, propriis operabatur manibus sedulo, nec etiam ei rubor obstabat esse clibani furcifer, atque glisis [darüber: ouenkere], conamine summo.100

In der modifizierten Vita Benedicti Anianensis in ihrer vor 1119/1123 geprägten Fassung lautet dieser Satz: in pistrino nisi occupatio aliqua prepediret. aut egritudo tardaret; propriis operabatur manibus.101

In seiner eigenwilligen Ausdrucksweise ist dieser Satz fast wörtlich in der Fuldaer Fassung enthalten und dort nur weiter ausgestaltet. In der Gellonenser Fassung hinterließ er hingegen keine Spuren. Die zahlreichen lexikalischen und grammatischen Auffälligkeiten der Sprache Ardos in der Benedikts-Vita wurden von Fidel Rädle102 und von Thomas Haye103 zusammengetragen und philologisch kommentiert. Nach Rädles Einschätzung spielte dieser sprachlich schwache Vita-Text Ardos von Aniane jahrhundertelang nur eine lokal-klosterhistorische Rolle und überdauerte die Zeit im Klosterarchiv als interne Abschrift ohne je in den kulturellen karolingischen Umlauf gebracht worden zu sein.104 Das Fuldaer Fragment könnte Anhaltspunkte dafür liefern, dass der Text sehr viel später, im 12. Jahrhundert, doch eine gewisse überregionale literarische Bedeutung erlangt hatte. Wie allerdings die Vermittlung vonstatten ging, ob zwischen Aniane und Fulda Kontakte bestanden oder ob dem Redaktor des Fuldaer Legendars eine Legendensammlung südfranzösischen Ursprungs vorlag, wäre noch genauer zu untersuchen.

100 Vgl. Hoffmann,

“Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 514. Subsidia Anianensia, p. 190v, 19a; MGH SS 15, 1,

101 Vgl. Kettemann,

p. 213, l. 27–28. 102 Vgl. F. Rädle, Studien zu Smaragd von Saint-Mihiel, München, 1974, pp. 84–86. 103  Vgl. T. Haye, “Solecismorum fetor: Einige philologische Bemerkungen zu Ardo von Aniane”, Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi, 52 (1994), pp. 151–61. 104  Ich danke Fidel Rädle herzlich für die brieflich mitgeteilten Ausführungen am 9. und 13. August 2020.

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10. Zum Textbezug der Glosse ouenkere Damit kommen wir auf die letzte noch offene Frage zurück, die Frage nach dem Textbezug der deutschen Glosse ouenkere ‘Ofenauskehrer, Verantwortlicher für den Ofen und das Brotbacken’, die über das Wort glisis in nec etiam ei rubor obstabat esse clibani furcifer atque glisis eingetragen wurde. Sie kann nicht dessen semantische Entsprechung sein. Lat. glisis haben wir oben als Genitivform von glis in der Bedeutung ‘Lehmkuppel (des Ofens)’ bestimmt (siehe 5.). Als eigentliches Bezugswort für ouenkere kommt deshalb nur das vorangehende nominativische Substantiv furcifer ‘Feuerschürer’ in Frage (siehe 4. und Abb.). Der Glossator wollte vermutlich sicherstellen, dass das Wort kontextgerecht und nicht als Schimpfwort im Sinne von ‘Galgenstrick, Schurke’ – noch dazu für einen Heiligen – missverstanden wurde. Warum aber wurde die Glosse ouenkere dann nicht direkt über furcifer eingetragen? Dass es sich um eine Nachlässigkeit des Glossators handelt, ist eher unwahrscheinlich. Es scheint vielmehr, als wolle er zwei Fliegen mit einer Klappe schlagen und mit dieser Platzierung gleichzeitig auch eine Identifikationshilfe für das schwierige Wort glis bieten: Mit dem Erstglied ouen der Glosse ouenkere wird nämlich auch das lateinische Textwort glis ‘Lehmkuppel (des Ofens), Ofen’ semantisch bestimmt. 11. Wer schrieb die Glosse ouenkere? Weder von Heyne noch von Hoffmann gibt es Hinweise darauf, dass die Fragmente außerhalb von ouenkere weitere deutsche Glossen enthalten. Staub – Löffler weisen jedoch in ihrer Handschriftenbeschreibung im Abschnitt “Spätere Ergänzungen” noch auf eine offensichtlich von eben dieser Hand stammende deutsche Glosse kol ‘(Gemüse-)Kohl’ über lat. caulii in der Vita sancti Germani episcopi (fol. 2vb, 4) hin.105 Dieselbe Hand hat auch die lateinische Glosse parva vinea über lat. vinepla, einer Lesart für vineola ‘kleiner Weinberg’, in derselben Vita (fol. 2vb, 17) eingetragen. In der Vita Wilhelmi lässt sich auf dem Digitalisat von Blatt 1rb, 4 105 Die Angabe im BStK online (BStK Nr. 34h) zu Zahl und Art der im Fragment N. I. Nr. 49a enthaltenen Glossen wäre noch zu aktualisieren (https://glossen.germ-ling.uni-bamberg.de/glossed_contents/12068) (abgerufen am 26. Juli 2020).

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schließlich noch eine durch Blattbeschnitt verstümmelte Glosse “i. cul|” über lat. cult| in “petentibus fratrib(us) in caumate habere cult|” erkennen.106 Ob es sich um eine lateinische oder deutsche Glosse handelt, ist nicht sicher zu entscheiden.107 Paläographische Eigenheiten der Vita Wilhelmi wie auch der anderen Heiligenlegenden des Fuldaer Legendars weisen darauf hin, dass sie sehr wahrscheinlich vom Mönch Eberhard von Fulda (Eberhardus Fuldensis), gestorben nach 1165/68,108 geschrieben wurde.109 Dieser im thüringischen (heute nordosthessischen) Ringgau an der Werra geborene Sohn eines unfreien Ministerialen ist als begabter Schreiber und Kompilator bekannt. Er fertigte im Auftrag des reformfreudigen Abts Marquard I.110 ungefähr zwischen 1155 und 1162111 eine Abschrift sämtlicher in der Reichsabtei Fulda gesammelten Urkunden über Besitztümer und Einkünfte an. Eberhard gibt sich darin an zwei nahe beieinanderliegenden Stellen zu Beginn des zweiten Bandes des Codex zu erkennen. Und im eigenhändig gezeichneten Widmungsbild portraitiert er sich sogar selbst als einen zu Füßen der Klosterheiligen Bonifatius und Sturmius liegenden, noch jugendlichen Mann mit Tonsur und 106 Vgl. Hoffmann,

“Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 515 n. f. Vita-Wilhemi-Fragment gibt es vereinzelt jüngere interlineare lateinische Glossen in sehr zarter, kaum lesbarer Schrift. Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 515 n. e nennt lat. coci über lat. culinarii (fol. 1ra, 32). Nach dem Digitalisat der Handschrift lässt sich noch eine weitere von dieser Hand eingetragene Glosse lat. coquina (fol. 1ra, 32) über culinā (Hoffmann, p. 515 l. 2) ergänzen. Eine nicht entzifferte Eintragung befindet sich über lat. infamib; parasiti| (fol. 1rb, 11). Sie gehören wohl ebenfalls zu dieser Glossierungsschicht. 108 Vgl. “Fulda, Eberhard von”, in Hessische Biografie (Stand: 17.11.2016) (abgerufen am 22. März 2020); St. Alles, Lampert von Hersfeld und Eberhard von Fulda: Zwei gelehrte Mönche als kritische Repräsentanten ihrer benachbarten Reichsabteien in den Umbrüchen des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts. Eine vergleichende Würdigung von Umfeld, Werk und Bedeutung aus landesgeschichtlicher Perspektive, Dissertation Marburg, Marburg, 2011, pp. 120–31. 109 Vgl.  Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, p. 562, Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 511, Staub und Löffler, “sine loco, codices restituti, Cod. 4 (Legendarium)” unter “Spätere Ergänzungen”. 110  Vgl. oben Anm. 7. 111 Vgl. Alles, Lampert von Hersfeld, p. 123; Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, p. 568 nennt das Jahr 1165. 107 Im

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ohne Bart.112 Dieses außerordentlich bedeutende Kopialbuch trägt deshalb auch seinen Namen: “Codex Eberhardi”.113 Nach Meinung von Hoffmann und Staub – Löffler stammen die beiden deutschen Glossen ouenkere und kol (wie auch die genannten lateinischen Glossen) mit großer Wahrscheinlichkeit von derselben Hand, die auch den Haupttext geschrieben hat.114 Wenn dem so wäre, träte ein weiterer Gelehrter aus dem Dunkel der Anonymität des Schreibens in der Volkssprache frühmittelhochdeutscher Zeit und ließe sich als Glossator namentlich identifizieren. Zusammenfasung Im Jahr 2002 gab Hartmut Hoffmann die Entdeckung mehrerer Fragmente des Fuldaer Legendars (Fuldaer Passionale) bekannt. Diese ursprünglich mehrbändige Sammlung von Heiligenlegenden, die Ende des 16. Jahrhunderts makuliert worden war, galt lange Zeit als verschollen. Das Legendar stammt aus einem Kloster in Fulda und wird in das 12. Jahrhundert datiert. Eines der Fragmente wurde von Hoffmann ediert, da es ein seltener Textzeuge der Vita Wilhelmi confessoris ist. Darin geht es um den heiligen Wilhelm von Gellone, der als Zeichen der Demut niedrige Tätigkeiten für die Klostergemeinschaft übernimmt, darunter auch das Brotbacken. An einer Stelle, und zwar über dem schwierigen lateinischen Textwort glisis, das Hoffmann versuchsweise zu glis ‘Haselmaus’ stellt, erscheint die deutsche Glosse ouenkere. Doch in welcher Beziehung stehen die beiden Wörter zueinander und wie sind sie zu deuten? Es stellt sich heraus, dass das Wort ouenkere tatsäch112  Vgl. dazu

Alles, Lampert von Hersfeld, pp. 123–24 mit Abb. und oben Anm. 108. 113 Vgl. Heyne, “Ein Fuldaer Legendar”, pp. 562–64, Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 511; die heute maßgebliche Edition mit Index- und Bildband stammt von H.  Meyer zu Ermgassen, Der Codex Eberhardi des Klosters Fulda, Veröffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission für Hessen, Bd. 58,1+2 (Edition), 58,3 (Index) u. 58,4 (Bilder), Marburg, 1995/96, 2007, 2009; zu einer Auswertung dieser Urkunden vgl. E.  Bünz, “Klösterliche Grundherrschaft in Hessen: Wirtschaftliche Bedingungen monastischen Lebens im frühen und hohen Mittelalter am Beispiel der Benediktinerabtei Fulda”, in Das Kloster Fulda und seine Urkunden: Moderne archivische Erschließung und ihre Perspektiven für die historische Forschung, hrsg. von S. Zwies, Freiburg im Breisgau, 2014, pp. 185–219. 114 Vgl. Hoffmann, “Zum Fuldaer Passionale”, p. 512, Staub und Löffler, “sine loco, codices restituti, Cod. 4 (Legendarium)” unter “Spätere Ergänzungen”.

96

brigitte bulitta lich ein anderes, benachbart stehendes Wort, nämlich lat. furcifer ‘einer, der mit der Ofengabel umgeht; Feuerschürer’, glossiert. Ouenkere lässt sich als maskuline Nomen-agentis-Bildung zu keren mit der Bedeutung ‘einer, der Glut und Asche aus dem Ofen kehrt’ bestimmen. Damit wäre furcifer adäquat wiedergegeben. Dennoch wurde diese Glosse nicht ohne Grund über das Textwort glisis platziert. Glisis kann auf ein Homonym glis ‘Tonerde, Lehm’ in einer speziellen Bedeutung zurückgeführt werden. An dieser Stelle bezeichnet es metonymisch die aus Lehm gefertigte Kuppel eines Ofens zum Brotbacken. Während das neu aufgefundene Fuldaer Fragment (überliefert 1165) mit der vollständig erhaltenen Vita-Wilhelmi-Fassung aus Gellone (überliefert 1122–1130) nur eine thematische Übereinstimmung aufweist, legt eine auffällige Textentleihung aus dem “Wilhelm”-Kapitel der Vita Benedicti Anianensis (überliefert 1132–1146) überlieferungsgeschichtlich engere Bezüge nahe, die noch genauer zu erforschen wären. Abstract In 2002 Hartmut Hoffmann announced the recovery of several fragments of the so-called Fuldaer Legendar, also known as the Fuldaer Passionale. This multi-volume collection on the lives of saints was discarded at the end of the sixteenth century and has been missing ever since. The legendarium originates from a monastery in Fulda and dates to the twelfth century. Hoffmann edited one of the fragments, because it is a rare textual witness to the Vita Wilhelmi confessoris. It concerns St. William of Gellone who, as a sign of humility, performs menial tasks for the monastic community, including the baking of bread. At a certain point in the text there is a German gloss ouenkere written above the problematic Latin word glisis, which Hoffmann tentatively explains as a miswriting of glis (“common dormouse”). But what is the relationship between the two words and how are they to be explained? It turns out that the gloss actually explains another neighboring word, namely the Latin furcifer (“someone who handles the stove fork, who stokes up the fire”). Ouenkere is a masculine agent noun formation to keren and means “someone who sweeps the ashes out of the oven”. This is an adequate equivalent of furcifer. Nevertheless, the gloss was placed over the text word glisis instead of furcifer for a reason. Glisis belongs to a homonym glis, which means “clay or loam”. In the Vita Wilhelmi the word metonymically denotes the dome of a bread oven made of clay. While the newly found fragment from Fulda (handed down in 1165) shows only a thematic correspondence with the fully

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preserved  Vita Wilhelmi version from Gellone (handed down around 1122–1130), there is a striking textual borrowing from the “Wilhelm” chapter of the Vita Benedicti Anianensis (handed down between 1132–1146). This demonstrates a textual tradition that deserves further exploration.

Literaturverzeichnis Abgekürzt zitierte Editionen und Sekundärliteratur AASS Maii Tom. VI = Acta sanctorum … ex Latinis et Græcis, aliarumque gentium antiquis monumentis collecta, digesta, illustrata a Godefrido Henschenio et Daniele Papebrochio … editio novissima curante Joanne Carnandet, Maii tomus sextus quo continentur dies XXV, XXVI, XXVII et XXVIII, Parisiis et Romae, 1866. AWB = Althochdeutsches Wörterbuch. Auf Grund der von Elias von Steinmeyer hinterlassenen Sammlungen im Auftrag der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig, begründet von E. Karg-Ga­ sterstädt und T.  Frings, hrsg. von R.  Grosse, G.  Lerchner, und H.  U. Schmid, Bd. I ff., Berlin, 1952 ff. BHL = Bibliotheca hagiographica latina antiquae et mediae aetatis, edide­ runt Socii Bollandiani, K – Z, Bruxellis, 1900–1901. BStK = R. Bergmann und St. Stricker, Katalog der althochdeutschen und altsächsischen Glossenhandschriften, unter Mitarbeit von Y. Goldammer und C. Wich-Reif, Bd. I–VI, Berlin, New York, 2005. DMLBS = Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, prepared Ronald E. Latham. Fasc. I–XVII, London, 1975–2013. Du Cange = Du Cange et al., Glossarium mediae et infimae latinitatis. Tom. 1–10, Niort, 1883–1887. EWA = A. L. Lloyd, O. Springer, und R.  Lühr, Etymologisches Wörterbuch des Althochdeutschen, Bd. 1 ff., Göttingen, 1988 ff. GHWB = K. E. Georges, Ausführliches lateinisch-deutsches Handwörterbuch. 2 Bde., 8. verb. und verm. Aufl. von H. Georges, Hannover, Leipzig, 1918, 11. Aufl. Nachdruck der 8. Aufl., Basel, 1962. Gl = Die althochdeutschen Glossen, hrsg. von E. Steinmeyer und E. Sievers, Bd. I–V, Berlin, 1879–1922. Nachdruck Zürich / Dublin, 1968–1969. Gl.-Wortsch. = R. Schützeichel, Althochdeutscher und altsächsischer Glossenwortschatz, bearb. unter Mitwirkung von zahlreichen Wissenschaftlern des Inlandes und des Auslandes, Bd. 1–12, Tübingen, 2004.

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LMA = Lexikon des Mittelalters, hrsg. von H. Bautier u. a., Bd. 1–10, München, Zürich, 1980–1999. MGH SS 15/1 = Vita sancti Benedicti Anianensis et Indensis abbatis, ed. G.  Waitz, Teil 1, Hannover, 1887, Nachdruck 1992, pp. 200–20. MLW = Mittellateinisches Wörterbuch bis zum ausgehenden 13. Jahrhundert …, hrsg. von der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, Bd. 1 ff., Berlin, 1959 ff. Mnd. Hwb. = A.  Lasch und C.  Borchling, Mittelniederdeutsches Handwörterbuch, fortgeführt von Gerhard Cordes, Bd. 1 ff., Neumünster, 1956 ff. OLD = Oxford Latin Dictionary, hrsg. von P.  G.  W. Glare, Oxford, 1968–1982, reprinted 1992. Schweiz. Id. = Schweizerisches Idiotikon. Wörterbuch der schweizerdeutschen Sprache …, bearb. von F.  Staub und L.  Tobler, Bd. 1 ff., Frauenfeld, 1881 ff. Thür. Wb. = Thüringisches Wörterbuch. Auf Grund der Sammlungen von V. Michels und H. Hucke bearb. von Bd. IV bis Bd. VI unter Leitung von K.  Spangenberg, fortgesetzt unter Leitung von W.  Lösch, weitergeführt von S.  Wiegand an der FriedrichSchiller-Universität Jena, Bd. 1–6, Berlin, 1966–2006. TLL = Thesaurus linguae latinae, Vol. i ff., Lipsiae, 1900 ff. Weitere Editionen und Sekundärliteratur Alles, S., Lampert von Hersfeld und Eberhard von Fulda: Zwei gelehrte Mönche als kritische Repräsentanten ihrer benachbarten Reichsabteien in den Umbrüchen des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts. Eine vergleichende Würdigung von Umfeld, Werk und Bedeutung aus landesgeschichtlicher Perspektive, Dissertation Marburg, Marburg, 2011. Bauer, E., “Anthroponyme im Althochdeutschen. Zum Verhältnis maskuliner und femininer Nomina agentis”, Sprachwissenschaft, 16 (1991), 142–61. Blum, S., “Aus der Werkstatt des Althochdeutschen Wörterbuchs. 37. Ahd. boumolm”, Beiträge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur, 84 (1962), pp. 454–57. Bulitta, B., “Das ‘Althochdeutsche Wörterbuch’ und die althochdeutsche Glossenforschung”, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 138 (2009), pp. 423–57. Bünz, E., “Klösterliche Grundherrschaft in Hessen: Wirtschaftliche Bedingungen monastischen Lebens im frühen und hohen Mittel-

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alter am Beispiel der Benediktinerabtei Fulda”, in Das Kloster Fulda und seine Urkunden: Moderne archivische Erschließung und ihre Perspektiven für die historische Forschung, hrsg. von S.  Zwies, Freiburg im Breisgau, 2014, pp. 185–219. Colby-Hall, A. M.,“Vita Sancti Willelmi”: Fondateur de l’Abbaye de Gellone; Édition et traduction du texte médiéval d’après le manuscrit de l’abbaye de Saint-Guilhem-le-Désert, Montpellier, 2014 (Cahiers d’Arts et traditions rurales). Haye, T., “Solecismorum fetor: Einige philologische Bemerkungen zu Ardo von Aniane”, Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi, 52 (1994), pp. 151–61. Heyne, S., “Ein Fuldaer Legendar des 12. Jahrhunderts”, Deutsches Archiv, 48 (1992), pp. 551–84. Hoffmann, H., “Zum Fuldaer Passionale des 12. Jahrhunderts und zur Vita Wilhelmi confessoris”, Deutsches Archiv für Erforschung des Mittelalters, 58 (2002), pp. 509–19. Katara, P., Die Glossen des codex seminarii Trevirensis R. III. 13. Diss. Helsingfors, 1912. Kettemann, W., Subsidia Anianensia: Überlieferungs- und textgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zur Geschichte Witiza-Benedikts, seines Klosters Aniane und zur sogenannten “anianischen Reform”. Mit kommentierten Editionen der ‘Vita Benedicti Anianensis’, ‘Notitia de servitio monasteriorum’, des ‘Chronicon Moissiacense/Anianense’ sowie zweier Lokaltraditionen aus Aniane, Diss. Duisburg, Essen, 2000; https://nbn-resolving.org/urn:nbn:de:hbz:464-20080509-172902-8 (abgerufen am 8. August 2020). Lubich, G., “Wilhelm I. d. Hl., Gf. v. Toulouse”, in LMA 9 (1998), cols 151–552. Meyer zu Ermgassen, H., Der Codex Eberhardi des Klosters Fulda, Veröffentlichungen der Historischen Kommission für Hessen, Bd. 58,1+2 (Edition), 58,3 (Index) u. 58,4 (Bilder), Marburg, 1995/96, 2007, 2009. Meyers, J., “La figure de Guillaume de Gellone d’après la Vita sancti Willelmi (v. 1125): quelques remarques sur ses modèles hagiographiques”, The Journal of Medieval Latin, 24 (2014), pp. 131–52. Meyers, J., Review “Alice M. Colby-Hall, ed. and trans., “Vita Sancti Willelmi”: Fondateur de l’Abbaye de Gellone; Édition et traduction du texte médiéval d’après le manuscrit de l’abbaye de Saint-Guilhem-leDésert. (Cahiers d’Arts et traditions rurales). Montpellier, France: Arts et traditions rurales, 2014”, Speculum, 92 (2017), pp. 237–39.

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Mikeleitis-Winter, A., “Zum Wortschatz der Nahrung”, in Die Althochdeutsche und altsächsische Glossographie. Ein Handbuch, hrsg. von R. Bergmann und St. Stricker, Berlin, New York, 2009, pp. 1103–23. Plechl, H., “Die Tegernseer Handschrift Clm 19411”, Deutsches Archiv zur Erforschung des Mittelalters, 18 (1962), pp. 418–61. Rädle, F., Studien zu Smaragd von Saint-Mihiel, München, 1974. Rich, A., Illustriertes Wörterbuch der römischen Alterthümer mit steter Berücksichtigung der griechischen. Enthaltend zwei Tausend Holzschnitte nach Denkmälern der alten Kunst und Industrie, aus dem Englischen übersetzt unter der Leitung von Carl Müller, Paris, Leipzig, 1862. Röber, R., “Öfen und Feuerstellen in Handwerk und Gewerbe – mittelalterliche Realität und archäologischer Befund”, in Mittelalterliche Öfen und Feuerungsanlagen: Beiträge des 3. Kolloquiums des Arbeitskreises zur Archäologischen Erforschung des Mittelalterlichen Handwerks, Stuttgart, 2002 (Materialhefte zur Archäologie in Baden-Württemberg, 62), pp. 9–29. Schreiner, K., Sozial- und standesgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu den Benediktinerkonventen im östlichen Schwarzwald, Stuttgart, 1964. Schreiner, K., M. Breitenstein, und G. Melville, Gemeinsam leben: Spiritualität, Lebens- und Verfassungsformen klösterlicher Gemeinschaften in Kirche und Gesellschaft des Mittelalters, Berlin, Münster, 2013 (Vita regularis. Ordnungen und Deutungen religiosen Lebens im Mittelalter, 53). Schulz, A., Essen und Trinken im Mittelalter (1000–1300). Literarische, kunsthistorische und archäologische Quellen, Berlin, Boston, 2011 (Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, 74). Staub, J., “Zum Fuldaer Legendar des 12. Jahrhunderts und dem Magnum Legendarium Bodecense”, Deutsches Archiv zur Erforschung des Mittelalters, 75 (2019), pp. 101–09. Staub, J., und A. Löffler, “sine loco, codices restituti, Cod. 4 (Legendarium)”, e-codices – Virtuelle Handschriftenbibliothek der Schweiz, Freiburg, 2019; https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/de/description/ sl/0004/Staub (online seit 13.6.2019) (abgerufen am 22. März 2020). Steppe, W., Sulpicius Severus im Leidener Glossar. Untersuchungen zum Sprach- und Literaturunterricht der Schule von Canterbury, München, 1999.

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Tiefenbach, H., Altsächsisches Handwörterbuch. A Concise Old Saxon Dictionary, Berlin, New York, 2010. Weinreich, O., Die Suffixablösung bei den Nomina agentis während der althochdeutschen Periode, Berlin, 1971 (Philologische Studien und Quellen, 56).

The Whole and Parts of Aldhelm’s De metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis (Epistola ad Acircium)* Carmen Cardelle de Hartmann (Zürich) Aldhelm’s De metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis (MEPR) is a composite work of 142 chapters in seven sections.1 It includes: I. a short address to Acircius (Aldfrith, king of Northumbria) (ch. 1);2 *

 This paper was written in the memorable spring term of 2020, the first “corona term”. I had the opportunity of reading and discussing De metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis in a seminar with my students Marius Fleischli, Annemarie Hüsgen, Claudio Lorenzi, Claudia Neuhaus, Livia Studer, Johanna Vogelsanger, and Sigrid Weber. From their sharp questions, their ingenious ideas, and their enthusiasm for Aldhelm I have profited more than I can say. I wish also to express my sincere gratitude to my colleague and friend Michael I. Allen, who considerably improved the language and style of this paper. 1  The work is quoted from the critical edition: Aldhelmi De metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis, in Aldhelmi Opera, ed. by R. Ehwald, Berlin, 1919 (MGH auct. ant., 15), pp.  59–204. After quotations I give the number of the chapter, followed by the page and the lines in Ehwald’s edition. Great parts of the work have been translated: Chs. 1 to 5 (the long address to the king including the discussion on the number seven) and the final dedication (ch. 143) by Michael Herren in Aldhelm, The Prose Works, trans. by M. Herren and M. Lapidge, Cambridge, 1979, pp. 34–58; the riddles by Michael Lapidge and the metrical treatises by Neil Wright in Aldhelm, The Poetic Works, trans. by M. Lapidge and J. Rosier, with an appendix by N. Wright, Cambridge, 1985, pp.  59–93 (riddles) and 181–219 (metrical treatises). The riddles have been translated once more by A. M. Juster, Saint Aldhelm’s Riddles, Toronto, 2015. A  complete list of older editions and translations of MEPR and its parts is provided in Aldhelm, Prose Works, p. 22. 2  Acircio aquilonalis imperii sceptra gubernanti (ch. 1, 61, 3–4): circius is the northwest and aquilo the northeast, Acircius is therefore the man from the Northwest ruling the kingdom of the Northeast, a fitting description for Aldfrith, king of Northumbria, born and bred in Ireland. The name was already Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 103–134. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125560 ©

F H G

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II. a discourse on the number seven (chs. 2–4); III. remarks on the varied contents of the work (chs. 5–8); IV. a treatise on the hexameter (De metris, chs. 9–10); V. a corpus of 100 riddles with a poetic preface (Enigmata, chs. 11–111); VI. an account of metrical feet (De pedum regulis, chs. 112–41), and VII. a dedication to the king (Allocutio excusativa ad regem, ch. 142). Its medieval title, De metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis, accounts for the work’s miscellaneous character, whereas the modern label, Epistola ad Acircium, 3 reflects the unifying function of the address to the king. The complete MEPR survives in four manuscripts with fragments of a fifth:4 1) Brussels, KBR, 4433–4438, eighth century (F); 2) Karlsruhe, Badische Landesbibliothek, Aug. perg. 85, second quarter of the ninth century (K); 3) Vaticano, BAV, Pal. lat. 1753, c.  800 (N); 4) Paris, BnF, lat. 2339, first half of the ninth century (P1); and, in isolated parts, 5) St. Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek, Cod.  Sang. 1394 (pp.  121–22 and 125–28) + Zofingen, Stadtbi­ bliothek, Pa 32 (flyleaf), second half of the eighth century (S).5 decoded by William of Malmesbury, Gesta pontificum 5, 196. On this denomination and its source, Gildas, see N. Wright, “Aldhelm, Gildas and Acircius”, in N. Wright, History and Literature in Late Antiquity and the Early Medieval West: Studies in Intertextuality, Aldershot, 1995, no. 14. 3  This title stems, it seems, from John A. Giles, the first scholar to provide an edition of the full work: Epistola ad Acircium, sive liber de septenario, et de metris, aenigmatibus ac pedum regulis, in Sancti Aldhelmi, ex abbate Malmesburiensi episcopi Schireburnensis opera quae extant omnia, ed. by J. A. Giles, Oxford, 1844, pp.  216–329. The dedication to Acircius had been highlighted by Angelo Mai in the title he chose for his partial edition (excluding the riddles): De septenario et de re grammatica et metrica ad Acircium regem, in A. Mai, Classicorum auctorum e Vaticanis codicibus editorum, vol.  5, Roma, 1833, pp. 501–99. 4 There is a further very small fragment, which might stem from a manuscript of MEPR, since it transmits vv.  28–43 and 56–71 from the last riddle, Creatura, and some sentences of De pedum regulis: Miskolc, Zrínyi Ilona Gimnázium, s.n., 8th century, southern England (CLA Supp. no.  1792). See Z.  Mády, “An VIIIth century Aldhelm Fragment in Hungary”, Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 13 (1965), pp.  441–53 (with edition). The text might be related to F. 5  On the textual transmission see M. Lapidge, “Aldhelmus Malmesberiensis abb. et Scireburnensis ep.”, in La trasmissione dei testi latini del Medioevo. Mediaeval Latin Texts and their Transmission (Te.Tra. 4), ed. by P. Chiesa, L. Castaldi, Florence, 2012, pp. 14–38, esp. pp. 19–26 on MEPR.

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In two cases, scribes have rearranged the contents in order to achieve greater homogeneity: F gives the work without the riddles on fols  1r–49v, followed by Servius, De centum metris, and then the riddles on fols  55r–72r; in P1, the riddles appear first on fols  47r–58r, with other parts of MEPR (also the poetic Praefatio to the riddles) on fols  58r–74r. In both manuscripts, MEPR seems to have been considered chiefly as a metrical work, with the riddle collection shunted off. Medieval readers were often more interested in the work’s individual parts than in the whole. The collection of riddles is transmitted on its own in twenty-six manuscripts, in most of which the text has been glossed.6 Whether the copyists had the whole MEPR available or just the riddles is not always clear, but at least two manuscripts plainly resulted from focused selection. Ademar of Chabannes (989–c.1034) copied Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, Voss. lat. oct. 15 (L), which includes the riddles on fols 148r–153v, followed by excerpts of chs. 1–4 under the heading Incipit de metrica arte. Domino glorificando regi Oswaldo Althelmus salutem. Ehwald believed that Ademar copied and excerpted from P1.7 In London, British Library, Royal MS  12 C XXIII, tenth century, from Christ Church, Canterbury (B1), fols  82r–103v, the riddles are directly introduced by chs. 6–8 and parts of ch. 9.8 Ehwald, who collated sixteen manuscripts of the riddles, does not give a stemma, but suggests possible filiations.9 If he has identified them 6 

See the overview of the manuscripts containing glosses to the riddles (including manuscripts of the MEPR and of the riddle collection) in N. P. Stork, Through a Gloss Darkly: Aldhelm’s Riddles in the British Library Ms Royal 12.C.XXIII, Toronto, 1990, pp. 10–26. 7 Ed. Ehwald, p. 48. The name Oswald is probably Ademar’s guess at the identity of Acircius. The excerpts appear in Ed. Ehwald, pp. 205–07. On the manuscript, which seems to be the result of reuniting a series of notebooks, see A. van Els, “A Flexible Unity: Ademar of Chabannes and the Production and Usage of MS  Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, Vossianus Latinus Octavo XV”, Scriptorium 65.1 (2011), pp. 21–66 (it does not discuss Aldhelm’s texts). 8  In ch. 7, one sentence is missing: huius etiam tropi … et reliqua (77,5–9); ch. 9 ends with lucem scandentis confundant (81,7), to which finit am has been added. The text of the riddles and its glosses in this manuscript have been edited by Stork, Through a Glass. 9  In his introduction, Ehwald presents a small selection of common errors, but provides references only to the page and line in Giles’s edition, where the

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correctly, three further manuscripts could also be copies of more complete exemplars: Cambridge, UL, Gg.5.35, written towards the middle of the eleventh century at St  Augustine’s, Canterbury (C), may stem from the same exemplar as B1;10 Bremen, Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, ms.  52 (S2), tenth century, from St  Gall, is considered by Ehwald a copy of S;11 Vatican, BAV, Pal. lat. 1719, from Lorsch, first half of the ninth century (U5) is considered to have the same exemplar as N.12 The transmission of the metrical treatises shows even more clearly that some scribes made a choice among the parts of MEPR: Valenciennes, Bm, ms.  393 (376), written in Saint Amand in the ninth century (A) is closely related to two witnesses of the complete MEPR, N and F, but transmits only De pedum regulis on fols  142v–151v.13 Another manuscript from Saint Amand, Valenciennes, Bm, ms. 395 (378) (A1), probably had the same exemplar as N, F and A, but transmits on fols  89r–101r a divergent array of texts under the heading Incipit de metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis: the complete capitulatio, chs. 1–9, and ch. 10 (De metris) order and the text of the riddles markedly differ. The account of variants in Ehwald’s apparatus is inconsistent and makes aligning filiations difficult. Checking his conclusions is therefore time-consuming and not always possible. 10 Ed. Ehwald, pp.  51–52, Aldhelm’s riddles in fols  394r–407r. On this manuscript see A. G. Rigg and G. R. Wieland, “A Canterbury Classbook of the Mid-Eleventh Century (The Cambridge Songs Manuscript)”, Anglo-Saxon England, 4 (1975), pp. 113–30. 11  The riddle collection is on fols 7r–34v, after glosses on Aldhelm’s Carmen de virginitate. The manuscript is fragmentary, the last verse of the last riddle is missing. Therefore, it could originally have transmitted more sections of MEPR. 12 V. M. Lagorio, “Aldhelm’s Aenigmata in Codex Vaticanus Palatinus la­ tinus 1719”, Manuscripta, 15 (1971), pp. 23–27. 13 The text of De pedum regulis is incomplete, but reaches to unde bernaculus (ch. 133, 185, 6). On the filiation see Ed.  Ehwald, p. 39. On two manuscripts giving De pedum regulis on its own (Napoli, Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emanuele  III, ms.  IV. A. 34, fols  273v–288v, first quarter of the ninth century, from Luxeuil, and Laon, Bm, ms.  464, ninth century) see R. Leotta, “Considerazioni sulla tradizione manoscritta del De pedum regulis di Aldelmo”, Giornale Italiano di Filologia, n.s. 11 (1980), pp.  119–34. There are also two small fragments with text from De metris, see Lapidge, “Aldhelmus”, pp. 19–20.

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until the words sicut poeta prompsit dicens (96, 2).14 It can thus be described as a discontinued copy of MEPR. A further selection from MEPR is given in Brussels, KBR, 9581–95, ninth century, northeastern France (F 3) in fols  21v–44r: the capitulatio up to ch. 11, followed by De metris, De pedum regulis and the Allocutio excusativa ad regem.15 Aldhelm himself perhaps had combined earlier texts to formulate MEPR, but settling the question will require further study of the transmission. In his introduction, Ehwald argues that three distinct manuscripts with the riddles transmit a recension that represents the oldest stage of the text, and he thus selects them as the basis of his edition.16 However, as Michael Lapidge has suggested, that recension could predate the composition of MEPR, since the four manuscripts of the whole work include a recension in which Aldhelm seems to have corrected earlier mistakes.17 This hypothesis is supported by Aldhelm’s assertion in MEPR that the Enigmata were his first poetical composition.18 Of the two metrical treatises, it can only be said that they use divergent sources, which suggests that they were composed at different times.19 An addition in De metris may stem from Aldhelm himself, but both recensions (with and without) appear in the transmission of

14 Ed. Ehwald,

pp. 40–41. these manuscripts, see the edition by Ehwald, pp.  38–41, who considers F 3 a probable descriptus from F and remarks on the proximity of A and A1 to manuscript N and, in a minor degree, to F, transmitting both the whole work. 16 Ed. Ehwald, pp. 43–45. 17  Lapidge, “Aldhelmus”, pp.  21–22. Particularly, metrical errors have been corrected. K. O’Brien O’Keeffe and A. R. P. Journet, “Numerical Taxonomy and the Analysis of Manuscript Relationships”, Manuscripta, 27 (1983), pp. 131–45, attempted to establish stemmatic relationships using statistical methods and shed doubt on the existence of this first recension, but their method is deficient, above all because it is based on a sample of only 147 verses and fails to distinguish adequately different sorts of variation. 18 “… centenas enigmatum propositiones componere nitebatur et velut in quodam gimnasio prima ingenioli rudimenta exercitari cupiens, ut venire possit deinceps ad praestantiorem operis materiam …” (ch. 6, 76, 5–7). 19  See A.  Orchard, “Aldhelm’s Library”, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, ed. by R. Gameson, Cambridge, 2011, pp. 591–605, at p. 603. 15  On

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MEPR. Aldhelm could thus have made the addition in the otherwise common archetype of the four manuscripts.20 In any case, MEPR plainly comprised distinctive parts. The abundance of Aldhelm’s prose — characterized by the use of synonyms, distinctive word-positioning, and extremely long but clearly structured sentences — disguises the threads uniting the parts in a whole, with its recurring themes and parallel stylistic strategies.21 If Aldhelm imposed by his choices a slow, meditative reading, he also took care as the author to guide readers through his expansive work. Its articulation into chapters listed in a capi­ tulatio (found in all the manuscripts) gives preliminary orientation.22 Further, in the text itself Aldhelm gave some hints as to the overall structure. The problems posed by the work as a whole are already evident in its first section. After a greeting, the work seems to commence with a very short entrée (ch. 1). Careful reading, however, shows that the actual preface is much longer (chs. 1–8). In it, the author spins out threads that will be gathered up in the concluding Allocutio (ch. 142) to the king. We shall trace the threads, consider the overarching themes uniting the whole MEPR, and mark out as a capstone the work’s structure. To conclude, we shall assess whether there is an overall meaning, a message that the work as a whole would convey to its dedicatee. 1. The Introduction The analysis of the introduction follows the work’s first nine chapters in order, paraphrasing the key passages and highlighting 20 V. Law, “The Study of Latin Grammar in Eighth-Century Southumbria”, Anglo-Saxon England, 12 (1983), pp.  43–71, on this matter pp.  49–50. Law supposes that the change was made in the hyparchetype of K, P1 and the manuscript known to Boniface, but a change made directly in the archetype after the copying of the hyparchetype of F and N (or their exemplars) is also possible. On the grouping of the manuscripts, see the edition by Ehwald, pp.  35–38. 21 The best study of Aldhelm’s prose is M. Winterbottom, “Aldhelm’s Prose Style and its Origins”, Anglo-Saxon England, 6 (1977), pp. 39–76. 22  The division into chapters is the same in all manuscripts, and only in the riddles is there some variation in the numbering (Ed. Ehwald, pp. 59–60). It seems likely that the account of chapters stems from the author and is not the result of a scribal intervention.

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main points. After a formal address to the king in the form of an epistolary salutatio, Aldhelm reminds Acircius of the time, twenty years prior, when they studied together the mysteries of Holy Writ and Acircius received through the hands of the bishop the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost with Aldhelm as his sponsor.23 As their relationship is based on one of the seven sacraments and on the common study of the Bible, Aldhelm has collected instances of the use of seven — plucking flowers from the fields of scripture — to remind Acircius of the basis on which their friendship and shared learning grew. This first chapter ends with three verbs used to describe vegetative increase: processerint, pullulaverint, viguerint (ch. 1, 62, 16–17). After discussing the uses of seven in the Bible (ch. 2, 62–71) and in secular learning (ch. 3, 71–74), Aldhelm returns to the metaphor of growth: maybe, he says, someone wonders why the discussion of seven has expanded sevenfold and sevenfold. Its roots can be found at the beginning of the letter, from where the saplings of his meagre talent and the shrubs of his words grew with spreading branches (ch. 4, 74, 9–13). The next brief chapter (ch. 5) heralds the discussion of the contents: as a token of his spiritual parenthood, Aldhelm adds some metrical presents to this modest introduction (hac praefatiuncula […] aliquantula metrorum munuscula […] subiunxi, ch. 5, 75, 16–17). The author thus makes ch. 5 into an explicit statement that all prior chapters are part of one large introduction (the diminutive praefatiuncula being clearly a conventional sign of modesty). Therefore, the two chapters dedicated to ‘seven’ are not a separate section of the work, but in effect an excursus within the introduction. The munuscula are introduced in the next chapters: ch. 6 begins by mentioning the metrical character of the riddles; ch. 7 discusses questions related to the riddles; and ch. 8 presents the subject matter of the second metrical treatise, De pedum regulis. The introduction thus comprises chs. 1–8, which feature traditional prefatory elements: the captatio benevolentiae, evoking mutual bonds, and the presentation of the ensuing contents. Ch. 9 23 Aldhelm does not name the sacrament, but it must be confirmation. See  J.  H. Lynch, Christianizing Kinship: Ritual Sponsorship in Anglo-Saxon England, Ithaca (NY), 1998, pp.  112–16; and M.  Lapidge, “The Career of Aldhelm”, Anglo-Saxon England, 36 (2007), pp. 15–69, at p. 25.

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continues the introduction, but in substance, it turns to explaining the length of syllables and the use of elisions. It seems, then, to introduce the first metrical treatise (announced in the work’s overall title as De metris), outside the logic of presenting the work as a whole. The De metris consists of ch. 10, presented in the capi­ tulatio as De metrica alternae interrogationis et responsionis vicissitudine duabus litteris discreta.24 A formal change occurs here from exposition prose to a dialogue. The interpretation of chs. 1–8 as one single section is supported by a stylistic signal: the continuing use of the metaphor of growth, which commences in ch. 1 with the shared basis of Acircius and Aldhelm followed by Aldhelm’s selection of new increments, and ch. 4’s account of ‘seven’. Ch. 8 portrays the accretion of verse based on metrical feet as branches (the feet) growing from a trunk and intertwining their leaves (ch. 8, 77, 19–21).25 Later in the same chapter, the Latin language itself is compared to a forest and its syllables to wooded lands, where metrical rules sprout as shrubs from the root system of words (ch. 8, 78, 4–6). Throughout, an exuberant and prolific nature stands as a cipher, either for the objects of knowledge — the Bible and Latin —, which risk swamping learners, or for mastered understanding, which ever expands as new connections are made. The metaphor is strategically evoked at the beginning and the end of the introduction, and likewise after the lengthy excursus on the number seven which could indeed mislead the readers into thinking that the introduction had ended with ch. 1. 2. Allocutio excusativa ad regem The final section of MEPR, ch. 142, dedicates the work to the king. Aldhelm begins requesting the king’s protection for his work, 24  This is the text in the manuscripts F, K, and N, with some minor variation; F 3 adds prefatione after metrica. I could not consult A1, but to judge from Ehwald’s apparatus it has the same text as F, K, and N. P1 does not transmit the capitulatio. Ehwald oddly suppresses the word metrica in his edition. 25 M. C. Hyer, “Text, Textile, Context: Aldhelm and Wordweaving as Metaphor in Old English” in Textiles, Text, Intertext: Essays in Honour of Gale R. Owen-Crocker, ed. by J. Frederick et  al., London, 2016, pp.  121–38, at p. 122, suspects from the use of contexuntur an allusion to the weaving of a poet’s laurel wreath.

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which the dedicatee should defend with the shield of his metrical and grammatical knowledge from the assaults of envious rivals: suppliciter imploro, ut hoc opusculum […] contra omnes aemulorum catapultas et venenata garrulorum iacula, quae de faretra obliqui livoris plerumque intorquere nituntur, inexpugnabili metrorum pelta et grammaticorum parma protegere digneris (ch. 142, 201,23–202,1). “I suppliantly implore that you deign to protect with the unassailable shield of metres and the buckler of the grammarians this little work […] against all the catapults of rivals and the venomed darts of the garrulous, which they often strive to shoot from the quiver of sidelong malice.” (Aldhelm, The Prose Works, p. 45)

This passage, marked by the use of words for weaponry, is reminiscent of Eph. 6,  11–17, in which Paul exhorts Christians to arm themselves with truth, justice, and faith, here replaced by grammar and metrics. At the same time, the king’s function as leader in war and guardian of peace is conjured, even as his learning is also explicitly highlighted. Aldhelm employs this metaphor as a recurring strand of thought in the Allocutio. After the initial request for protection, Aldhelm proceeds to name the cause of his being envied: he is the first man of Germanic descent who has ventured to write a treatise on Latin metrics, notwithstanding his time-consuming pastoral and administrative duties. This achievement should not prompt critics to turn their weapons on him, since human beings do not earn divine grace, but rather God bestows it. Besides, Aldhelm follows Virgil as a guide for his undertaking, who first adapted Greek models into Latin. The king should accept this offering, because he will profit from Aldhelm’s work by exercising his wit. He should not be loath to winnow out and to examine what Aldhelm has piled up, nor be fastidious about chewing and consuming what Aldhelm has milled and baked for his nourishment.26 Shifting the imagery from the land to the ocean, Aldhelm compares the relentless demands of administration on the king to the relentless pounding inflicted 26  Metaphors comparing learning with nourishment go back to Antiquity and are very frequent in Christian literature. See K.  Lange, “Geistliche Speise. Untersuchungen zur Metaphorik der Bibelhermeneutik”, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 95 (1966), pp. 81–122.

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on rocks by the sea.27 Nevertheless, Acircius should not neglect his studies. Emperor Theodosius should be his guiding model, who did not look down on toiling to copy the works of the grammarian Priscian, thus fulfilling the precept to meditate on divine law night and day, as proclaimed by celestial trumpets: caelestis tubae clangor et supernae salpicis classica concrepuerunt (ch. 142, 203, 27).28 Aldhelm here privileges the wind instruments used in military combat, thus recalling the martial imagery used at the beginning of the Allocutio, which then concludes by proclaiming that the search of eternal salvation and bliss should prevail over all worldly occupations. The Allocutio refers back to the introduction on various levels. It includes motifs that traditionally belong to prefaces: the literary occupation as a suitable labor for the native wit, allusions to models, the painstaking work of the author, and the dedication with its tributary motifs (reference to critics and need for protection).29 Aldhelm had reminded the king in ch. 1 of their shared early education and now exhorts him in the Allocutio to continue it through reading and assimilating the contents of this new work. The king’s confirmation is mentioned at the beginning of the work and in ch. 5 Aldhelm recalls his own role as sponsor and thus as Acircius’ continuing spiritual father. Both details explain how, after the humble (and short!) request for protection in the Allocutio, Aldhelm assumes the role of father and teacher, admonishing his spiritual son to study the work that he has produced for him.30 27  This passage might be influenced by Virgil’s comparison of King La­tinus with a rock in a turbulent see in Aen. 7, 586–90. See  K.  R. Grinda, Enzyklopädie der literarischen Vergleiche. Das Bildinventar von der römischen Antike bis zum Ende des Frühmittelalters, Paderborn et al., 2002, p. 439. 28 “There sounded the blare of the heavenly trumpet and the blast of the supernal bugle” (Aldhelm, Prose Works, p. 47). 29 On the introduction and the Allocutio as a dedication in two parts, see C.  Cardelle de Hartmann, “Grammatik als Gabe – Aldhelm, Bonifatius, Expossitio latinitatis (Anonymus ad Cuimnanum)”, in Literarische Widmungen im Mittelalter und in der Renaissance. Konzepte – Praktiken – Hintergründe, ed. by C.-F. Bieritz, C. C. Brinkmann, and T. Haye, Stuttgart, 2019, pp.  19–50, at pp. 25–28 and 35–50. 30 It has been considered that Aldhelm and Aldfrith might have been related (Lapidge, “Career”, pp.  17–22 on Aldhelm’s possible royal descent, esp. p.  18 on his possible kinship to Aldfrith). However, Aldhelm addresses

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On a stylistic level, there are parallels between the beginning and the ending. Both sections are written in an elaborate Kunst­prosa, whereas the intervening discussions have brief sentences and limit the use of rhetorical figures, synonyms, and rare vocabulary (partly because Aldhelm there quotes his sources at length). Further, in both addresses to the king, Aldhelm uses recurring metaphors as a guiding thread to bind the text together: in the introduction, a rampant, growing nature; in the final address, war and weaponry. The early metaphor of nature even returns as humanized agriculture at the end. The plucking of flowers in the fields of Scripture is mirrored by the heaping up of cereal. In the introduction, nature mostly appears as a forest of trees, growing and expanding, large and even frightening; in the metaphor of the Allocutio, cereals represent a domesticated nature, which man harvests, processes, and eats; the first metaphor represents expanding knowledge, the final one depicts the ordering of knowledge to foster its assimilation. 3. Recurring Themes Numerical Patterns The recurrence of numbers and numerical patterns is an obvious feature of the work and strikes the reader at first encounter. Seven, which represents the sacramental bond between author and king, is mentioned right at outset of ch. 1. The theme is developed in the excursus on ‘seven’ in different contexts (chs.  2–3). The number’s actual meaning is not much discussed. Aldhelm makes typological or allegorical references, but in most cases the relevant biblical passages are just elegantly paraphrased. 31 the king at the beginning of the work in a much humbler tone, and maybe the use of vernaculus, which he did not use often after being elected abbot (Lapidge, “Career”, p. 67) might be explained as self-abasement toward Acircius. Aldhelm takes on the role of father only after he has clearly stated the relationship between him and the king in the introduction, following the example of dedications to a son or a pupil rather than of dedications to emperors or kings (Cardelle de Hartmann, “Grammatik”, pp. 42 and 49). 31  On these references and on Aldhelm’s exegesis, see M. Herren, “Aldhelm the Theologian”, in Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge, ed. by K. O’Brien O’Keeffe and A. Orchard, 2 vols, Toronto, 2005, vol. 1, pp. 68–89, at pp. 71–73. A small correction must

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As Carin Ruff has convincingly shown, numerical structures underlie the metrical treatises, which thus protract the approach taken in chs.  2–3: “The mathematical approach is foreshadowed by the disquisition on the significance of ‘seven’ that Aldhelm prefaced to his metrical treatises, which signals that number is immanent in everything, especially (perhaps) in language.”32

The first metrical treatise, De metris, takes an unusual approach, seemingly quite inadequate if the reader wants to learn metrics to write poetry. Ruff explains it as based on numerical patterns, since Aldhelm characterizes hexameters by type based on the number of syllables and the possible combinations of dactyls and spondees, including some not even used. In the same way, De pedum regulis uses metrical feet as an ordering principle for vocabulary. The treatise has been described as the first metrical dictionary, in which 28 different feet are briefly described and followed by lists of words showing the corresponding prosodic pattern. 33 It could be useful in order to find words suitable for different metrical needs and to learn the syllabic quantities of the listed words. However, since non-dactylic metrical poetry was unusual in Aldhelm’s time, the De pedum regulis would have better served to learn Latin words with prosodic patterns as a mnemonic aid. This point seems to emerge from the occasional clustering of semantically related words, as in the case of the sounds of animals (ch. be made: Aldhelm does not mention Mary as a type of Church, but as a type of Synagogue: “catholici patres  […] allegorice ad sinagogae tipum retulerint, nullatenus tamen sacrosanctae matris personam fuisse historica relatione infitiari noscuntur” (ch.  4, 74, 24–26). This surprising statement can be easily explained as a confusion: Myriam, Moses’s and Aaron’s sister, is considered a type of Synagogue by Origen and Jerome. Aldhelm might refer to the latter’s Commentarii in Prophetas minores. In Sophoniam 2, 527, a work that he quotes in his Prosa de virginitate p. 269 (see M. Lapidge, The Anglo-Saxon Library, Oxford, 2005, p.  179). Jerome makes this typological reference also in his Commentarii in Ezechielem 8,27,88. 32 C. Ruff, “The Place of Metrics in Anglo-Saxon Latin Education: Aldhelm and Bede”, The Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 104 (2005), pp.  149–70, at p. 155. 33  Wright, in Aldhelm, Poetic works, p.  188; and J.  Leonhardt, Dimensio syllabarum. Studien zur lateinischen Prosodie und Verslehre von der Spätantike bis zur frühen Renaissance, Göttingen, 1989, pp. 72–86.

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131, 179,19–180,19), which came to be copied also on its own. Without aiming for completeness, Miroslav Marcovich registered fourteen manuscripts and its use in Vincent of Beauvais’ Speculum naturale. 34 The passage interested medieval readers far more than the metrical treatises themselves, which were superseded by Bede’s clearer and more practical De arte metrica. The collection of the riddles is likewise ordered by verse count. In ch. 7 Aldhelm explains that his model, Symphosius, wrote riddles in the form of metrical tercets, whereas he himself first composed them as quatrains, later pentads, and even six or more verses (ch. 6, 76, 9–15). In the manuscripts of the complete work, the collection of riddles features subheadings, dividing it in three sections: before the first riddle, Incipiunt enigmata quaternis ver­ sibus contexta que grecorum lingua tetrastita [sic] dicuntur;35 before riddle 20 (= ch. 31), haec enigmata quinque versibus decurrunt (with small variations);36 before riddle 29 (= ch. 40), Item senis vel septenis versibus seu pluribus. 37 It is a rough ordering, which has not been consistently kept, as there is one riddle with five verses in the first section (riddle 18 Myrmicoleon). The first modern editors ordered the riddles rigidly after the verse count whereas Ehwald restored the original sequence of the manuscripts. The theme of number also makes itself felt at a micro-level. There are many periphrastic evocations of number. For instance, the number of years elapsed since the king’s confirmation (ch. 1, 61, 8) and the number of riddles (ch. 6, 76, 4–5) are given as numerical circumlocutions. Some of the riddles likewise include numerical allusions or even amount to numerical riddles, for example, 90 Puerpera geminas enixa. The allegorical interpretation of number is an ancient praxis, and Aldhelm could have made much of it, but did not, so the question arises whether the theme of number has a deeper mean34 M. Marcovich,

“Voces animantium and Suetonius”, Živa antika – Anti­ quité vivante, 21 (1971–1972), pp.  399–416 at pp.  401–02 and p.  413. See also the contribution by Patrizia Lendinara to this volume. 35  K, fol. 15va, not in P1, F and N. 36  F, fol.  58v; decurrent in K, fol.  16vb, N, fol.  88r, and P1, fol.  48r (this manuscript omits haec). 37  F, fol.  59v; S., p.  127; N, fol.  88r (also after riddle 28, but in the lower margin and probably written by a second hand); iem in K, fol. 16vb; P1, fol. 48v, omits seu pluribus. This heading can also be read in S., p. 127.

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ing at all. 38 In my opinion, it implicitly justifies the subject and study of metrics. Aldhelm never does so explicitly in the way that many Christian grammarians felt obliged to discuss the suitability of learning grammar, but he manages to convey the impression that metrics figure in God’s plan. 39 As we have seen, Aldhelm announces in ch. 1 that he will only discuss the role of ‘seven’ in the Bible, as he does in ch. 2, yet in ch. 3 he continues with secular subjects, and thus shows that Holy Writ and human learning are grounded in the same earth. The combinatoric base of metrics corresponds with number’s structural role in the Bible and disciplines otherwise used to explain the world. Further, in the poetic preface to his riddles, Aldhelm makes an explicit connection between metrics and the Bible, which he reasserts in the Allocutio. The Sources of Poetry Since the preface to the riddles is a crucial reflection on the sources of poetry—another thematic thread through the work—, it is appropriate to quote the combined acrostich and telestich verses in full: A rbiter, aethereo iugiter qui regmine sceptr A L ucifluumque simul caeli regale tribuna L D isponis moderans aeternis legibus illu D, (H orrida nam multans torsisti membra Vehemot H, E x alta quondam rueret dum luridus arc E), L impida dictanti metrorum carmina praesu L M unera nunc largire, rudis quo pandere reru M V ersibus enigmata queam clandistina fat V: S ic, Deus, indignis tua gratis dona rependi S. C astalidas nimphas non clamo cantibus istu C E xamen neque spargebat mihi nectar in or E; C ynthi sic numquam perlustro cacumina, sed ne C 38 There is much scholarship on this subject. For a good introduction see H.  Meyer, Die Zahlenallegorese im Mittelalter: Methode und Gebrauch, München, 1975. 39  The Christianization of grammar in Late Antiquity is an amply discussed question. For a concise and well documented overview, see E.  Pérez Rodríguez, “La cristianización de la gramática latina (ss. V–IX)”, in Actas del Congreso Internacional Cristianismo y tradición latina, Málaga, 25 a 28 de abril 2000, ed. by A. Alberte González, and C. Macías Villalobos, Madrid, 2001, pp.  49–74.

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I n Parnasso procubui nec somnia vid I. N am mihi versificum poterit Deus addere carme N I nspirans stolidae pia gratis munera ment I; T angit si mentem, mox laudem corda repetun T. M etrica nam Moysen declarant carmina vate M I amdudum cecinisse prisci vexilla trope I L ate per populos illustria, qua nitidus So L E t psalmista canens metrorum cantica voc E N atum divino promit generamine nume N I n caelis prius exortum, quam Lucifer orb I S plendida formatis fudisset lumina saecli S. V erum si fuerint bene haec enigmata vers V E xplosis penitus naevis et rusticitat E R itu dactilico recte decursa nec erro R S eduxit vana specie molimina menti S, I ncipiam potiora, sui Deus arida serv I, B elligero quondam qui vires tradidit Io B, V iscera perpetui si roris repleat haust V. S iccis nam laticum duxisti cautibus amne S O lim, cum cuneus transgresso marmore rubr O D esertum penetrat, cecinit quod carmine Davi D. A rce poli, genitor, servas qui saecula cunct A, S olvere iam scelerum noxas dignare nefanda S     (Praefatio, ch. 11, 97–99). “(Eternal) Judge, You Who with heavenly authority rule perpetually the sceptres (of power) and the resplendent royal court of heaven, controlling it with eternal laws — for in punishment You tortured the disgusting limbs of Behemoth when the ghastly (creature) once fell headlong from the lofty citadel (of heaven) — (You), protector, grant now to me, who am composing bright songs in verse, Your aid, that I may be able, (though) unskilled, to reveal by Your decree the hidden mysteries of things through my verse. Thus, God, do You freely bestow Your gifts on unworthy (recipients). I do not declaim my verses in the direction of the Castalian nymphs, nor has any swarm (of bees) spread nectar in my mouth; by the same token I do not traverse the summits of Apollo, nor do I prostrate myself on Parnassus, nor am I entranced by any poetic vision. For God shall be able to augment the poetic undertaking for me, freely breathing His holy gifts into my obtuse mind: if He should touch my mind, my heart shall at once requite (the gift) with praise. For biblical verses make it clear that the prophet Moses long ago had chanted the glorious praises of an ancient victory far and wide among peoples everywhere, where the bright sun,

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carmen cardelle de hartmann on raising its head from the ocean’s flood, shines forth. And the Psalmist, singing aloud the verses of his songs, announced a Child born through divine procreation which had risen in the skies before the Morning Star had poured its radiant light on the world when the ages were newly formed. But if these (present) Enigmata in verse, after all blemishes and awkwardness have been completely expunged, are to come off well at an hexametrical pace, and if no delusion seduces my mental efforts with empty deception, I shall begin (to sing of) even mightier (themes), if God — Who once strengthened His warrior Job — shall refresh the parched inwards of His servant with a draught of everlasting dew. For You (God) once led streams of water from dry rocks, when the throng (of Israelites), having crossed the Red Sea, entered the desert: David sang of this in a psalm. You, Father, Who protect all ages from the citadel of heaven, deign now to forgive the unspeakable faults of my sins.” (Aldhelm, Poetic Works, p. 70)

The most conspicuous part of the poem is the refusal of ‘profane’ inspiration as a source of poetry in vv.  10–13. The poet refuses Apollo, the Muses, and poetic visions, as well as the inspiration brought by bees. This last point is particularly striking, since in his Carmen de virginitate Aldhelm does indeed relate bees to divine inspiration.40 Where he retells an episode from the Vita Ambrosii of Paulinus of Milan, a swarm of bees goes in and out of the infant Ambrosius’s mouth and finally vanishes heavenward, which is taken as the infusion of a divine gift to the later exegete and preacher.41 In the poetic preface to the riddles, the placement suggests that Aldhelm was not thinking of Ambrose, but of a pagan author. Indeed, at this time he may not yet have known Paulinus’s text (which he only quotes in later works).42 Yet he perhaps knew a similar passage in Pliny’s Naturalis historia about the infant

40 

De virginitate. II. Carmen, vv.  655–66, ed. by R. Ehwald, p. 380. Vita di Cipriano, Vita di Ambrogio, Vita di Agostino, ed. by A. A. R. Bastiaensen, Milano, 1975, pp. 56–58. On this episode, see C. Nicolaye, “Quam te velim, imitatricem esse huius apiculae: Die Biene als Symbol bei Ambrosius”, in Ille operum custos: Kulturgeschichtliche Beiträge zur antiken Bienensymbolik und ihrer Rezeption, ed. by D. Engels and C. Nicolaye, Hildesheim / Zürich / New York, 2008, pp. 165–82, at pp. 166–69. 42  Ehwald pointed to this possibility (ed. Ehwald, p. 98) without suggesting a concrete source. 41 

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Plato, although it is a brief remark in a huge work.43 In vv.  10–13 there is an intertwining of pagan and Christian allusions. Aldhelm refers not only to the beginning of Persius’ satires (which he quotes literally in ch. 9, 78, 10–14), but also to a passage by the Christian poet Paulinus of Nola (Natalicia, ch.  15, 30–33).44 Ernst Robert Curtius highlighted the topical character of Aldhelm’s refusal of the Muses.45 One should remember, however, that Aldhelm borrowed much from Isidore, who interpreted pagan gods both euhemeristically, and sometimes as demons bent on deceiving humankind with the poets’ help.46 Aldhelm’s refusal of pagan practices reflects both God’s victory over the devil (here represented by Behemoth, v. 4) and his own intention to avoid error 43 Plin., nat. hist. 22, 28: Sedere in ore infantis tum etiam Platonis, suavitatem illam praedulcis eloquii portendentes. On Aldhelm’s use of Pliny, see Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, p.  184. There is no indication that Aldhelm might have known other Roman authors relating a similar incident: Cicero, De divinatione, 1,78 and 2, 55 (Plato); Valerius Maximus, 1,6,3 (Plato); Phocas, Vita Vergilii, v.  53–44 (Virgil); Vita Vaccae, Ed. Hosius, p.  335 (Lucan). On these texts, see I. Opelt, “Das Bienenwunder in der Ambrosiusbiographie des Paulinus von Mailand”, Vigiliae Christianae 22 (1968), pp.  38–44, at pp.  41–43; and S.  Herren, “Fueritne mulier pulcherrima specie Melissa, quam Iuppiter in apem convertit: Die Biene in der antiken Mythologie”, in Ille operum custos, pp.  40–59, at p.  51. For a discussion on the bees as carriers of inspiration in the Middle Ages, see C. Cardelle de Hartmann, “Von Dichtern und Bienen: Die Bienenwelt in poetologischen Gleichnissen”, in Imitationen. Systematische Zugänge zu einem kulturellen Prinzip des Mittelalters, ed. by M. Grünbart, G. Schwedler, and J. Sonntag, Paderborn 2021, pp. 141–175. 44  This poem is also quoted in a similar passage: At the beginning of his Carmen de virginitate, Aldhelm also makes a poetic prayer, refusing all pagan sources of inspiration and requesting “words from the Word” (verbum de verbo peto, v. 33), see N.  Wright, “Imitation of the Poems of Paulinus of Nola in Early Anglo-Latin verse”, Peritia, 4  (1985), pp. 134–51, at pp. 141–43. 45  E. R. Curtius, “Die Musen im Mittelalter. Erster Teil: bis 1100”, Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, 59 (1939), pp. 129–88, at p. 145. 46  Etym. 8, 11, 5: “Simulacrorum usus exortus est, cum ex desiderio mortuorum constituerentur imagines vel effigies, tamquam in caelum receptis, pro quibus se in terris daemones colendi supposuerunt, et sibi sacrificari a deceptis et perditis persuaserunt.” Pagan poets contributed to this deceit. See Etym. 8, 11, 2: “In quorum etiam laudibus accesserunt et poetae, et conpositis carminibus in caelum eos sustulerunt.” On the sources of this passage (mainly Augustine’s De civitate Dei), see K. N. MacFarlane, “Isidore of Seville and the Pagan Gods (Origines VIII.11)”, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, n.s. 70 (1980), pp. 3–40.

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(v. 27, doctrinal error or metrical faults). Emily Thornbury has argued that Aldhelm here rejects all inspiration, pagan and Christian, and emphasizes technique as the source of poetry.47 Indeed, when he quotes Persius in ch. 9 (78, 10–15), Aldhelm states that technical skill achieved through the knowledge of metrics is the basis of poetry. But this is only one side of his overall treatment of the sources of poetry in MEPR, since in most instances he combines the mention of poetic work with appeals for divine inspiration. The ingenium, which he also mentions, is a case in point for this conjunction: natural wit, a gift that must be cultivated and exercised.48 In the poetic preface to the riddles, after the initial invocation to God, the poet asserts his mastery of metrical technique and asks God for the capacity to disclose the mysteries of his Creation, that is, for exegetical inspiration (vv.  6–9): the poet contributes the form, while God conveys the contents. Later, he entreats God for a poem (versificum … carmen, v. 14), and the poet’s heart will respond with God’s praise (v. 16). In this second instance, God gives the form and the poet contributes the content. There are, then, two petitions in a chiastic arrangement. After mentioning biblical poetry (to which we shall return in the next section), the poet promises a new and major work, if his first attempt is free from error and fault (vv. 25–29). He again intertwines content and form, and also poetic effort with divine help, to which he refers in the last verses.49 The poem as a whole transmits the message that poetry consists of adequate content and accomplished form, and results from the combination of relentless work and divine gift. 47 E. V. Thornbury, “Aldhelm’s Rejection of the Muses and the Mechanics of Poetic Inspiration in Early Anglo-Saxon England”, Anglo-Saxon England, 36 (2007), pp.  71–92. Interpretations which put the focus (maybe too strongly) on inspiration are M. Salvador-Bello, Isidorean Perceptions of Order: The Exeter Book Riddles and Medieval Latin Enigmata, Morgantown, 2015, pp. 175–77; and Cardelle de Hartmann, “Von Dichtern”. 48  The exposition on ‘seven’ has grown from the poet’s wit, fragilis et graci­ lis ingenii frutices (ch. 4, 74, 11–12); the riddles are prima ingenioli rudimenta (ch. 6, 76, 6); the king has a natural disposition for learning, solertis ingenii gratiam (ch. 142, 203, 5). 49  Such thematic patterning was described by A.  Orchard, The Poetic Art of Aldhelm, Cambridge, 1994, pp.  15–16, as a characteristic feature of Aldhelm’s poetic style.

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Similarly, in the Allocutio, when Aldhelm claims recognition for being the first man of Germanic descent to write on Latin metrics, he defends himself against possible critics by appealing to divine grace — which, as is suggested by the text, has enabled him — and to his recourse to Virgil, a pagan model. Here, the poetic work depends on the knowledge of the Latin language and of Roman authors, both of which are necessary for the writing of the metrical treatises. Across the whole of the MEPR, poetry figures as proceeding from a combination of sources: the author’s native wit, his effort (learning of metrics, careful reading of older authors), and divine assistance. 50 The interlacing of poetic work and divine help, and of pagan and Christian models results in a subtle, implicit defense of reading pagan authors. Metrics and Grammar This leads us back to the point addressed in the chapter on numerical patterns: the justification of dedicating one’s time to metrics and poetry. The underlying numeric patterns in the introduction and the metrical treatises implicitly serve this purpose, as I suggested above. Further, as we have just seen, the occupation with metrics and with poetry is warranted because success in these endeavours is possible only with God’s help. But Aldhelm goes one step further. The relationship between metrics and the Bible is made more explicit in the poetic preface. In vv.  17–24 the poet justifies the petition for divine help in that Moses and David also wrote metrical poetry.51 Since both biblical authors were divinely inspired — in the most emphatic sense, as prophets 50  Aldhelm has this trait in common with most Latin poets, who usually refer to different origins for their poetry. See C.  Cardelle de Hartmann, “Kreative Imitation: Die dramatica series der Roswitha von Gandersheim”, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 50 (2015), pp. 359–78, at pp. 360–64. 51  Jerome repeatedly discussed the metrical character of some biblical passages. See D.  Vitali, “Dichten wie Gott. Metamorphosen eines Topos der alten Bibelforschung”, in Poesía latina medieval (siglos V–XV), ed. by M. C. Díaz y Díaz and J. M. Díaz de Bustamante, Firenze, 2005, pp.  451–70, at pp.  455–58. Aldhelm probably knew as much from Isidore who mentions Moses’s canticle in Deut. 31 as being in dactylic verse (Etym. 1,39,11). Aldhelm refers vv. 17–20 to the canticle in Ex. 15, but he perhaps mixed up both passages or else deduced that both were written in the same form. Isidore mentions David (Etym. 1,39,17) as the inventor of hymns.

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acting as God’s mouthpiece to humanity — it follows that God himself composed and communicated in metrical verse. This is the strongest possible assertion of the dignity and worth of metrics. The proximity of biblical discourse and grammar (of which metrics is a part) is also suggested in the Allocutio, when Aldhelm exhorts the king to follow the example of Theodosius, who copied out the works of Priscian, thus fulfilling the scriptural command to ruminate on God’s law night and day. An ancient strategy for justifying Christian attention to grammar is rooted in its usefulness for reading the Bible and fulfilling liturgical duties. Aldhelm does not discuss this point, but the example of Theodosius aligns grammatical study with biblical study. Hidden Meanings God expressed himself through biblical poetry, and his blessing completes technical mastery and human wit. As a Christian, Aldhelm puts his capacity in the service of God. These considerations seem adequate for a major genre like epic poetry, which had been successfully adapted to Christian themes and needs by poets whom Aldhelm knew well, like Juvencus, Sedulius, and Arator.52 Aldhelm would later attempt his own Christian epic in the Carmen de virginitate, but his first poems were riddles, a genre characterized by the grammarian Pompeius as childish.53 When introducing his riddles in ch. 6, Aldhelm names Symphosius as his model and describes his poetry as written in playful words and having a light subject: Nam Simfosius poeta, versificus metricae artis peritia praeditus, occultas enigmatum propositiones exili materia sumpta ludibundis apicibus legitur cecinisse (VI 75, 21–22), “For we read that the poet Symphosius, a versifier endowed with great metrical skill, made playfully worded poems using trivial materials to impart the veiled message of their enigmatic subjects” (my translation). Nevertheless, Aldhelm implies that riddles are also suitable for more serious purposes. In this same chapter, he remarks that even Aristotle did not spurn composing riddles, but 52 

Orchard, Poetic Art, pp.  161–83. Commentum artis Donati: “Aenigma est, quo ludunt etiam parvuli inter se, quando sibi proponunt quaestiunculas, quas nullus intellegit”, in Grammatici Latini, ed. by H. Keil, Leipzig, 1864, vol. 4, p. 311. 53 Pompeius.

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more important is the model evoked in the next chapter, namely the Bible.54 Characteristic of riddles, Aldhelm says, is the personification of animals and objects and the reification of persons, and these tropes can also be found in the Bible, for which he gives some examples. This parallelism between the riddles and the Bible had been announced in a subtle way in ch. 1, when the mysteries of Holy Writ, which he had studied together with the king, are referred to as allegorica enigmata (ch. 1, 62, 5). By asking for divine help in the poetic preface, Aldhelm shows that he rates his riddles as much more than an instructive pastime. Whereas the request for divine inspiration is conventional in Latin exegesis, hagiography, biblical poetry, prayers, and visions, it is unexpected in a collection of lyric poetry.55 Aldhelm’s request as poet for God’s help to discern the mysteries of creation positions the riddles as an exegesis of nature. Late antique grammarians agree in describing riddles as fuzzy evocations. This tradition is followed by Isidore, who also remarked on the difference between riddles and allegory.56 A connection between riddle and allegory had already been made, however, Augustine, who thought intensely about biblical obscurity as a channel of divine grace, defined riddles in his De trinitate (15, 9, 15), when considering 1 Cor. 13, 12, as a ‘fuzzy allegory’: Aenigma est autem […] obscura allegoria.57 Following Aldhelm’s hints, Kevin Dungey has related his riddles (as well as his prose style) to bib-

54  The reference is to a pseudepigraphic collection of riddle-like questions, which Aldhelm probably knew through Hieronymus, Liber tertius adversus libros Rufini 39,46, in Variae collectiones aenigmatum Merovingicae aetatis ed. by F. Glorie, 2 vols, Turnhout, 1968 (CCSL, 133), vol. 1, p. 371, nn. 5–6. 55 F. Ohly, “Metaphern für die Inspiration”, Euphorion, 87 (1993), pp. 119– 71 has remarked that the request of inspiration seems to be limited to such genres. The exceptions to this rule which he mentions on p. 170 are all much later than Aldhelm. 56 Isid., Etym. 1,37,22: “Inter allegoriam autem et aenigma hoc interest, quod allegoriae vis gemina est et sub res alias aliud figuraliter indicat; aenigma vero sensus tantum obscurus est, et per quasdam imagines adumbratus.” 57 On this passage, see E. Cook, “The Figure of Enigma: Rhetoric, History, Poetry”, Rhetorica, 19, 4 (2001), pp. 349–78.

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lical obscurity.58 A reading of the riddles shows, however, that allegory does not play a meaningful role in them. On the contrary, Aldhelm sometimes gives the basis for an allegorical or at least metaphorical interpretation of his subject without following it up.59 In riddle 18 Myrmicoleon, he even refers explicitly to the tropical meaning of the name, tropica nominibus signans praesagia duplis (v. 3), without further elaborating. Another good instance is riddle 20, Apis: Mirificis formata modis, sine semine creta Dulcia florigeris onero praecordia praedis; Arte mea crocea flavescunt fercula regum. Semper acuta gero crudelis spicula belli Atque carens manibus fabrorum vinco metalla. “Formed in wondrous ways and engendered without seed, I load my sweet inwards with booty from flowers. Through my craft the food of kings grows golden with honey. I always brandish the sharpened arrow-points of fierce warfare and (yet) lacking hands, I surpass the metal-work of smiths.” (Aldhelm, Poetic Works, p. 70)

Aldhelm mentions the characteristics of bees that form the basis of usual metaphors in both pagan and Christian literature (the virginal birth in v. 1, the sampling of nourishment in flowers in v.  2, the sting in v.  4, the dexterity in v.  5) and he uses them himself in other works but not at all here.60 As with Augustine, Paul’s words Videmus nunc per speculum in aenigmate (1 Cor. 13,

58 K. R. Dungey, “Faith in the Darkness: Allegorical Theory and Aldhelm’s Obscurity”, in Allegoresis: The Craft of Allegory in Medieval Literature, ed. by J. S. Russell, New York / London, 1988, pp. 3–26, at pp. 17–20. 59  Apart from the examples given in the text, the following riddles can be mentioned: 26 Gallus, 32 Pugillares (the final verse could suggest a parallel between the letters cancelled by the stylus on the wax tablets and the martyrs), 39 Leo (here again, principally the last verse), 81 Lucifer, and 92 Arca libraria (which is furthermore very similar in content to 85, Caecus natus). See also Salvador-Bello, Isidorean Perceptions, pp. 196–99. 60  For an overview of the use of comparisons with bees in the antique and early medieval literature, see Grinda, Enzyklopädie, pp.  959–91. On Aldhelm, see A. Casiday, “St  Aldhelm’s Bees (De virginitate prosa cc. IV–VI): Some Observations on a Literary Tradition”, Anglo-Saxon England, 33 (2004), pp.  1–22, and Cardelle de Hartmann, “Von Dichtern”.

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12) are surely Aldhelm’s point of departure, but he works from a richer notion of aenigma. The obscurity of his riddles is achieved by literary strategies learned from the model of Symphosius: again, personification and reification; unusual similes and metaphors; cunning ambiguity; and above all oxymorons and paradoxes.61 In Ehwald’s edition, the solution of each riddle is known from its heading, as if to thwart the strategies of obscurity.62 Four manuscripts of the complete MEPR do not give the solutions as headings, though they are listed in the capitulatio. The exception is P1, where the headings very probably represent a scribal intervention, since they are missing in the two closely related manuscripts K and S.  The traditional strategies were fully in play and the reader was meant to work in order to understand. In comparison with his predecessor Symphosius, Aldhelm has been called “bookish”, because he often refers to things and animals that nobody in Britain could know directly, such as a palm (riddle 91) or a basilisk (riddle 88). In the same way, Nicholas Howe has worked out that around 40 riddles incorporate the etymology of a word or explain a Greek or otherwise arcane term.63 Riddle 65, for one, describes a cat quite straightforwardly, but the last verse makes the reader wonder about the solution, because it does not include the usual words felis or catta: Gens exosa mihi 61 For a rhetorical analysis of Aldhelm’s riddles, see C.  Veyrard-Cosme, “Lucifica nigris tunc nuntio regna figuris: Poétique textuelle de l’obscuritas dans les recueils d’énigmes latines du Haut Moyen Âge (viie -viiie siècles)”, in Obscurity in Medieval Texts, ed. by L. Doležalová, J. Rider, and A. Zironi, Krems, 2013, pp. 32–48, at pp. 42–44. 62  Only manuscripts transmitting the riddle collection on its own have such headings. In his reproduction of Ehwald’s edition with some changes and additions, F. Glorie left out the titles (Aenigmata Aldhelmi, denuo ed. Fr. Glorie, in Tatuini Opera omnia. Variae collectiones aenigmatum Merovingicae aetatis. Anonymus de variis nominibus, ed. by M. De Marco and F. Glorie, Turnhout, 1968 (CCSL 133 and 133A), here vol.  1, pp.  359–540). Thinking that this was an authorial practice, some scholars have tried to discern the function of the anticipated solutions: N. Howe, “Aldhelm’s Enigmata and Isidorian Etymology”, Anglo-Saxon England, 14 (1985), pp.  37–59, at pp.  37–38; and R. Boryslawski, “Candida sanctarum sic floret gloria rerum: Aldhelm’s Aenigmata as a Riddle of Interpretation”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 18 (2008), pp.  203–16, at pp. 204–05. 63  Howe, “Aldhelm’s Enigmata”, passim.

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tradebat nomen habendum (v. 9, “A hateful race has given me my name to bear”, Aldhelm, Poetic Works, p.  84, slightly changed). Aldhelm means the rare but self-explanatory muriceps. Such features respond to a didactic impulse of the poems, which is perceptible in other ways too, such as the references to medical uses (for example, in riddle 56 Castor), the descriptions of animals both known and unknown in Britain, and the astronomical rudiments necessary to understand riddles like 58 Vesper sidus or 81 Lucifer.64 Working out the riddles is not just play, but a means of acquiring (and transmitting) knowledge, rooted in a traditional genre that depends on engaging the reader in a process of reflection and recognition within a game of hitherto unnoted relations: “Riddling is therefore an encapsulation of the learning process”, as Michael Lapidge has remarked.65 There is yet a third relevant aspect: the riddles convey deeply Christian messages. Following again Michael Lapidge, who interprets Aldhelm’s riddles as a description of the universe and its hidden structure, the relations among creatures,66 Rafal Boryslawski has suggested that Aldhelm’s riddles should guide the reader to see and seek the signs of the Creator in his creations.67 The recourse to etymology observed by Howe merits closer thought in this context, since premodern etymology is not primarily a linguistic device, but a hermeneutical one, with the word-origin betraying the essence of the thing so named.68 Ori64  M.  L. Cameron, “Aldhelm as Naturalist: A  Re-Examination of Some of his Enigmata”, Peritia, 4  (1985), pp.  117–33, has argued that Aldhelm might be actually referring in some of these riddles to other animals which could be found in Britain and that actual observation is reflected in some of them. One of his instances has been carefully refuted by H.  F. Forbes, “Book-Worm or Entomologist? Aldhelm’s Enigma XXXVI”, Peritia, 19 (2005), pp. 20–29, who shows Aldhelm’s use of his sources. 65 Aldhelm, Poetic Works, p. 62. 66 Aldhelm, Poetic Works, pp.  61–69. Salvador-Bello, Isidorean Perceptions, pp.  162–221, also underlines the character of the riddles as a description of creation, and carefully works out the influence of Books  XI–XX of Isidore’s Etymologies, basically a description of the universe, on the structure of Aldhelm’s riddle collection. 67  Boryslawski, “Candida”, passim. 68  On Isidore’s understanding of etymology and its roots, see M. Amsler, Etymology and Grammatical Discourse in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, Amsterdam, 1989; and T.  Denecker, Ideas on Language in Early Latin

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gins play a fundamental role in describing the world of Isidore of Seville’s Etymologies. A further constant theme in the riddles is the recurring weakness of the apparently strong (44 Ignis, 72 Colossus) and the hidden strength of the seemingly weak (52 Candela, 59 Penna, 93 Scintilla). Such paradox is also the main theme in the Magnificat, Mary’s song of thanks and praise (Luke 1:46–55), sung each day at Vespers.69 A central Christian message is conveyed by Aldhelm’s favourite riddling strategy—paradox—which dominates in the final poem of the collection, Creatura, which tensely balances the opposing qualities within creation. The paradoxes evoke the central mystery of the Christian message: God becoming a helpless child and dying on a cross, which, as Paul explains in 1  Cor. 1:18–33 defies all the wisdom of the world. This underlying message becomes explicit in the ending of Creatura, where creation itself challenges puffy teachers and scholars to understand it: Auscultate mei credentes famina verbi, Pandere quae poterit gnarus vix ore magister Et tamen infitians non retur frivola lector! Sciscitor inflatos, fungar quo nomine, sofos. (80–83) “Pay heed, you who believe the words of my utterance! A learned teacher will scarcely be able to expound them orally; and yet the doubting reader ought not to think them trifles! I ask puffed-up wise men to tell what name I bear” (Aldhelm, Poetic Works, p. 94, slightly changed).

4. Structure and Meaning of the Work In the two first sections of this paper, we considered the two addresses to the king and showed that they are written in similar Kunstprosa and deploy complementary metaphors and resonances. Together, they form a dedication that serves as bookends to the work as a whole. Division paradoxically could serve the purpose of unimpaired transmission, since dedicatory writing was prone to be removed or redeployed. In a similar way, the two metrical treatises are thematically related and united by their form: both are dialogues between teacher and pupil. At the end of ch. 9, Aldhelm Christianity: From Tertullian to Isidore of Seville, Leiden, 2017, pp. 41–44, with further literature. 69  The references to liturgy in Aldhelm’s works are yet to be explored, see also my observation in Cardelle de Hartmann, “Von Dichtern”.

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briefly introduces the riddles as examples of hexametric poetry, but this has not convinced most readers, either medieval or modern. There is a tendency to consider them as interruptions to the metrical treatises, which the rearrangement of content in manuscripts F and P1 sought to ‘correct’. Separate modern editions of parts of MEPR project the same attitude. The ring composition suggests, however, that the riddles are more than mere examples or a former work which has been awkwardly placed in this new arrangement. On the contrary, they form the center of the work, surrounded by the two metrical treatises with the two addresses to the king as bookends. We shall return to this point. MEPR is, of course, also a letter with all its usual features. It begins with a formal salutatio and a captatio benevolentiae. The three ‘inclusions’ are the presents thereby introduced and constitute the epistolary narratio, the heart of the letter. The Allocutio excusativa contains a petitio, requesting the king’s protection, and a peroratio, urging the dedicatee to read the presents and thus cultivate his mind. What is the overall message intended? Aldhelm himself says in both addresses to the king that he has assembled the work so that the king might exercise his wit and deepen his learning. The didactic purpose is straightforward in the two metrical treatises, which could teach metrics and expand the vocabulary, and is perceptible in the riddles, which contain information to expand or complete. One might even go a step further and suppose that the letter might be delivered by a person who could elaborate on it and explain rare words and challenges.70 Even if nobody came with the letter to explain, an attentive reading revealed that not only exegetical studies, but also engaging pagan authors and learning metrics served a Christian purpose. This meaning must have been clear to a contemporary, as it related to the age-old debate about pagan learning and to the contemporary discussion on Irish and Roman education. Aldhelm had acquired his mastery of metrics at the school of Theodore and Hadrian, where he

70 Aldhelm’s choice of vocabulary might prove a challenge even for a learned reader like Aldfrith. On the king’s learning see C. Ireland, “Where was King Aldfrith of Northumbria Educated? An Exploration of Seventh-Century Insular Learning”, Traditio, 70 (2015), pp. 29–74.

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learned the sources.71 Writing from Canterbury to Leuthere (epist. I), Aldhelm explained what he was learning and emphasized metrics, lamenting how rare good teachers of the subject were and rejoicing in the specialized knowledge he could acquire.72 Vivien Law observed that he specifically mentioned details for which no sources have been found, and since some of them relate in fact to Greek metrics, she surmised that they reflected Theodore’s own teaching.73 The letter to Acircius might also subtly advertise the ‘new’ Roman learning to the king, who was himself of Irish descent through his mother, was educated by the Irish, and reigned over a kingdom, Northumbria, where Irish and Roman influence met. In a similar, but more assertive, even belligerent way, Aldhelm had pointed out to Heahfrith, just back from Ireland, the superiority of the education that could now be had in England.74 MEPR is, however, more than a didactic assemblage and advertisement for new learning. We must pay special attention to the riddles, which make the center of a ring composition. Key to interpreting them is Paul’s phrase Videmus nunc per speculum in aenigmate (1 Cor. 13, 12). Aldhelm uses the words to pursue a programme different from Augustine’s. The aenigma is creation, which we are called to decipher through both allegorical interpretation and the discernment of nature’s structures and workings, with the help of human wisdom. The riddle engages the reader as a sleuth of meanings, a tracker of allusions, and a discoverer of real but hidden connections. The journey and the goal is meditation on the meaning of creation. In the same way, the excursus on the uses of seven, tailored for the dedicatee, must be completed by the reader’s own engagement with the number. In the Allocutio, Aldhelm equates De metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis with Priscian and suggests that the reading of MEPR realizes the biblical precept of meditating on divine law. We should take him seriously, since Aldhelm’s long let71  On

the sources of the metrical treatises see Law, “Study”, pp. 43–57. 1, Ed. Ehwald, pp. 475–78, on metrics p. 476, l. 9 – p. 477, l. 11. 73  Law, “Study”, pp. 50–52. 74  Epist. 5, Ed.  Ehwald, pp.  486–93. The letter has been newly edited, accompanied by a study of the glosses, by S.  Gwara, “A Record of AngloSaxon Pedagogy: Aldhelm’s Epistola ad Heahfridum and its Gloss”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 6  (1996), pp. 84–134. 72  Epist.

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ter to King Aldfrith will improve one’s Latin — and thus access to Scripture and the teachings of the Fathers —, reinforce allegorical or typological acuity, help the project of meditating on God’s word and creation and so strengthen one’s understanding of the Christian message. Abstract Aldhelm’s De metris et enigmatibus ac pedum regulis (MEPR) begins and ends as an epistle and combines a treatise on the symbolism of the number seven, two tracts of poetic meter, and a large collection of riddles. Medieval scribes and modern scholarship often have taken or considered those parts separately, but Aldhelm, as shown here, meant his finished work as a single whole. It has an over-arching structure and an integral meaning, grounded in recurring motifs and themes. These are: the number itself as an ordering principle; the interplay of individual labour and transcendent divine favour as tandem sources of poetry; the material implements of grammar and meter; and above all, the central and recurring topos of discoverable meaning, aenigma, exemplified by the poetic riddles. Aldhelm employs those conventional objects to comment on human learning and to underscore a long-standing Christian message. He follows Paul (1  Cor. 13, 12) in viewing all of the elements of creation as riddles to be understood, with the help of human learning (even of pagan origin), so as to grasp God’s message and workings. As a letter to Acircius (Aldfrith, king of Northumbria), MEPR carries a defense of the new learning transmitted by the Canterbury school and, at a deeper level, of all knowledge centered in the linguistic arts, as the best human means to understand both Scripture and creation. The whole is organized as a letter with its conventional parts. At the same time, the different parts are organized with the poetic riddles as the center, surrounded by the two treatises on meter, which are both dialogues between master and disciple. The two addresses to the king in carefully crafted prose encompass the whole as bookends. The resulting work is at once a segmented and focused whole.

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Lange, K., “Geistliche Speise: Untersuchungen zur Metaphorik der Bibelhermeneutik”, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum und deutsche Literatur, 95 (1966), pp.  81–122. Lapidge, M., “Aldhelmus Malmesberiensis abb. et Scireburnensis ep.”, in La trasmissione dei testi latini del Medioevo. Mediaeval Latin Texts and Their Transmission (Te.Tra. 4), ed. by P. Chiesa and L.  Castaldi, Florence, 2012, pp.  14–38. Lapidge, M., “The Career of Aldhelm”, Anglo-Saxon England, 36 (2007), pp.  15–69. Lapidge, M., The Anglo-Saxon Library, Oxford, 2005. Law, V., “The Study of Latin Grammar in Eighth-Century-Southumbria”, Anglo-Saxon England, 12 (1983), pp.  43–71. Leonhardt, J., Dimensio syllabarum: Studien zur lateinischen Prosodie und Verslehre von der Spätantike bis zur frühen Renaissance, Göttingen, 1989. Leotta, R., “Considerazioni sulla tradizione manoscritta del De pedum regulis di Aldelmo”, Giornale Italiano di Filologia, n.s. 11 (1980), pp.  119–34. Lynch, J.  H., Christianizing Kinship: Ritual Sponsorship in AngloSaxon England, Ithaca (NY), 1998. MacFarlane, K.  N., “Isidore of Seville and the Pagan Gods (Origines VIII.11)”, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, n.s. 70 (1980), pp.  3–40. Mády, Z., “An VIIIth century Aldhelm Fragment in Hungary”, Acta Antiqua Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae, 13 (1965), pp.  441–53. Marcovich, M, “Voces animantium and Suetonius”, Živa antika – Antiquité vivante, 21 (1971–1972), pp.  399–416. Meyer, H., Die Zahlenallegorese im Mittelalter: Methode und Gebrauch, München, 1975. Nicolaye, C., “Quam te velim, imitatricem esse huius apiculae: Die Biene als Symbol bei Ambrosius”, in Ille operum custos. Kulturgeschichtliche Beiträge zur antiken Bienensymbolik und ihrer Rezeption, ed. by D. Engels and C. Nicolaye, Hildesheim  / Zürich  / New York, 2008, pp.  165–82. O’Brien O’Keeffe, K., and A. R. P. Journet, “Numerical Taxonomy and the Analysis of Manuscript Relationships”, Manuscripta, 27 (1983), pp.  131–45. Ohly, F., “Metaphern für die Inspiration”, Euphorion, 87 (1993), pp.  119–71. Opelt, I., “Das Bienenwunder in der Ambrosiusbiographie des Paulinus von Mailand”, Vigiliae Christianae, 22 (1968), pp.  38–44.

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Orchard, A., “Aldhelm’s Library”, in The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, ed. by R. Gameson, Cambridge, 2011, pp.  591– 605. Orchard, A., The Poetic Art of Aldhelm, Cambridge, 1994. Pérez Rodríguez, E., “La cristianización de la gramática latina (ss. V–IX)”, in Actas del Congreso Internacional Cristianismo y tradición latina, Málaga, 25 a 28 de abril 2000, ed. by A. Alberte González and C. Macías Villalobos, Madrid, 2001, pp.  49–74. Rigg, A. G., and G. R. Wieland, “A Canterbury Classbook of the Mid-Eleventh Century (The Cambridge Songs Manuscript)”, AngloSaxon England, 4  (1975), pp.  113–30. Ruff, C., “The Place of Metrics in Anglo-Saxon Latin Education: Aldhelm and Bede”, The Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 104 (2005), pp.  149–70. Salvador-Bello, M., Isidorean Perceptions of Order: The Exeter Book Riddles and Medieval Latin Enigmata, Morgantown, 2015. Stork, N. P., Through a Gloss Darkly: Aldhelm’s Riddles in the British Library Ms Royal 12.C.XXIII, Toronto, 1990. Thornbury, E. V., “Aldhelm’s Rejection of the Muses and the Mechanics of Poetic Inspiration in Early Anglo-Saxon England”, AngloSaxon England, 36 (2007), pp.  71–92. van Els, A., “A Flexible Unity: Ademar of Chabannes and the Production and Usage of MS  Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, Vossianus Latinus Octavo XV”, Scriptorium, 65 (2011), pp.  21–66. Veyrard-Cosme, C., “Lucifica nigris tunc nuntio regna figuris: Poétique textuelle de l’obscuritas dans les recueils d’énigmes latines du Haut Moyen Âge (viie -viiie siècles)”, in Obscurity in Medieval Texts, ed.  by L.  Doležalová, J. Rider, and A. Zironi, Krems, 2013, pp.  32–48. Vitali, D., “Dichten wie Gott: Metamorphosen eines Topos der alten Bibelforschung”, in Poesía latina medieval (siglos X–XV), ed. by M. C. Díaz y Díaz and J. M. Díaz de Bustamante, Firenze, 2005, pp.  451–70. Winterbottom, M., “Aldhelm’s Prose Style and its Origins”, AngloSaxon England, 6  (1977), pp.  39–76. Wright, N., “Aldhelm, Gildas and Acircius”, in N. Wright, History and Literature in Late Antiquity and the Early Medieval West: Studies in Intertextuality, Aldershot, 1995, no.  14 (first publication). Wright, N., “Imitation of the Poems of Paulinus of Nola in Early Anglo-Latin Verse”, Peritia, 4  (1985), pp.  134–51; repr. in N.  Wright, History and Literature in Late Antiquity and the Early Medieval West: Studies in Intertextuality, Aldershot, 1995, no.  13.

Pioneer Connoisseurship in Upper Canada: Henry Scadding’s 1901 Bequest of Early Manuscripts to the University of Toronto* Scott Gwara (Columbia, SC) At least forty-four early (pre-1600) manuscripts can be documented in Canada by 1902, and educational institutions held almost half of them: nine at King’s College (Halifax), five at the University of Toronto (discussed herein), three at McGill University, and four others elsewhere.1 Nearly all of these books were acquired by donation rather than purchase, and their former owners qualify as the first collectors of early manuscripts in the *

 I am grateful to Richard Virr (McGill University), Pearce J. Carefoote (Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, University of Toronto), and Timothy Perry (Thomas Fisher) for reading this article in draft and suggesting improvements. I would also like to thank the Bibliographical Society of Canada for the 2014 Bernard Amtmann Fellowship, which enabled me to undertake the primary research on this article. The following discussion augments Pearce Carefoote’s findings in “Medieval Manuscripts at the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library: Past and Present”, Florilegium, 33 (2016), 1–27, at pp. 2–6. 1 Canadian institutions with manuscripts before 1901 included Collège de Montréal (Book of Hours, now Montreal, Sulpician Archives s.n., on which see B.  Dunn-Lardeau, Catalogue raisonné des livres d’heures conservés au Québec, Montreal, 2018, pp. 178–89); St John’s College, Manitoba (Niccolò de Tudeschi, Lectura super quinto Decretalium, now University of Manitoba, Special Collections BX 1749 N52 L45 1438); and probably École Normale Jacques Cartier (Cicero, De finibus bonorum et malorum, now Montreal, Université de Québec à Montréal (UQAM) YPA224, on which see B. Victor and B. Dunn-Lardeau, “Un manuscrit humanistique du De finibus de Cicéron dans les collections des livres rares de l’UQAM”, in Manuscrits du moyen âge et de l’humanisme dans les collections de l’UQAM et de Concordia, ed. by B. Dunn-Lardeau and J. Auberger, special issue of Memini 15 (2011), pp. 59–64). Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 135–167. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125561 ©

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Dominion.2 In the region called Ontario after the Unification of 1867, the University of Toronto had the foremost — and indeed the only — collection. 3 Five early manuscripts were bequeathed in 1901 by the Toronto clergyman Henry Scadding (1813–1901), who, like the honoree of this volume, was a charismatic scholar, teacher, and administrator (Fig. 1). Scadding’s connoisseurship stands out at this date because Canadians acquired pre-1600 manuscripts only belatedly. The first medieval book in the Dominion, a late fifteenth-century Pontifical from Amiens, arrived around 1840 (Montreal, McGill University MS 3) (Fig. 2).4 By contrast, the first one in the New World was a Book of Hours brought to La Plata (Argentina) in 1555,5 while in North America Harvard’s Newe cronycles of Englande and of Fraunce by Robert Fabyan is documented from 1656 (MS Eng 766).6 Scadding owned at least six early manuscripts (one has vanished without trace),7 and as a prominent historian, he could 2 Canada’s first serious connoisseur of early manuscripts was Gerald Ephraim Hart of Montreal (d. 1936); see S. Gwara, “Je me souviens: the forgotten collection of medieval and renaissance manuscripts owned by Gerald E. Hart of Montreal”, in Inter Medium et Opus: Studies on the Transmission of Medieval Ideas in Honor of Frank Coulson, ed. by H. Anderson and D.  Gura, Turnhout, 2020, pp. 255–88. Nine manuscripts at King’s College were donations, five of them from attorney Thomas Beamish Akins (d. 1891). 3  The terminology is useful but anachronistic, as Lower Canada (territory now comprising Quebec and Labrador of the modern Newfoundland-Labrador) was united with Upper Canada (territory now comprising the southern portion of Ontario) in 1841 to form the Province of Canada. 4 B. Dunn-Lardeau and R. Virr, “La redécouverte d’un exemplaire des heures enluminées de 1516 imprimés de 1516 par Gilles Hardouin”, Gutenberg-Jahrbuch, 89 (2014), pp. 144–70, at 159–60. 5  Baltimore, Walters Art Museum MS W.252; see S. de Ricci and W. Wilson, Census of medieval and renaissance manuscripts in the United States and Canada, vol. 1, New York, 1935, p. 796. 6 L. Voigts, “A Handlist of Middle English in Harvard Manuscripts”, Harvard Library Bulletin, 33 (1985), pp. 1–96, at 32–38. According to Seymour de Ricci, this history composed in Middle English was “brought to New England in the early xviith c. and already belonged in 1656 to Samuel Lee, the fatherin-law of Cotton Mather” (Census, vol. 1, p. 954). 7 In Specimens of pioneer typography, being the contents of the Log Shanty Book-Shelf for 1890 (Toronto, 1890, p. 7), Scadding claimed ownership of: “XIV. Century M.S. Bernardinus of Sienna. On the Everlasting Gospel. (In Ætern. Evangel). Manuscript on vellum of the 14th Century. Folio. Black Let-

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Fig. 1. Henry Scadding in a photograph dated c. 1885. Toronto Reference Library, Baldwin Collection, E 9–172 Small. ter.” On page 10 he remarked, “the manuscripts of the monks and others were put together in volumes elaborately bound, as may be seen from the vellum Bernardinus in this collection.” This folio volume of the Quadragesimale de evangelio eterno remains untraced. Scadding also came to own “Alcorani Preces,” described as a “small, thick manuscript on vellum, in delicately written Arabic characters consisting of prayers and other extracts from the Koran” (Scadding, After-Gleanings for the Log-Shanty Book Shelf of 1896, Toronto, 1896, p. 16).

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Fig. 2. The first medieval manuscript in Canada was this fifteenthcentury Pontifical from Amiens, documented in Montreal by 1840. Montreal, McGill University MS 3, fols. 56v–57r.

appreciate being the first collector of them in Ontario.8 Scadding once fantasized, in fact, that Greek and Latin Gospel books in his possession could have belonged to a bookish “pioneer.” This affectation of pioneer connoisseurship derived from an annual showcase at the Canadian Industrial Exposition (CIE). From 1885 Scadding displayed “pioneer” volumes from his own library in his family’s “log shanty,”9 and from 1887 inventories were published under the subtitle, “Contents of the Log Shanty Book-Shelf.” In 1889 8  In reference to his collection of early bibles, which included three manuscripts, he once wrote: “To have been among the first in these parts at least, to assist in passing across from the Old World to the New, the torch of know­ ledge on such a subject as ‘Pioneer Versions of the Bible,’ and on several other special subjects having a charm with studious minds, is an honour which I am proud to claim” (Some Pioneer Bibles, Being the Contents of the Log Shanty Book-Shelf for 1889, Toronto, 1889, p. 3). 9 The Scadding family cabin was moved to the CIE grounds in 1879; see H. Murray, “Pioneer Shakespeare culture: reverend Henry Scadding and his Shakespeare display at the 1892 Toronto Canadian Industrial Exhibition”, in Shakespeare in Canada: A World Elsewhere?, ed. by D. Brydon and I. Makaryk, Toronto, 2002, pp. 47–65, at 47.

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Scadding displayed “Some Pioneer Versions of the Bible” which included the Greek and Latin Gospels mentioned above, as well as a Megillah scroll in Hebrew (Fig. 3).10 Identifying himself as this pioneer collector, he alleged that his manuscripts were “likely to be of popular interest.”11 It may seem implausible that visitors at Toronto’s CIE had any regard for early manuscripts, but the 1877 Caxton celebration in Montreal extolled a dozen specimens loaned by Canadian and American collectors.12 Furthermore, Scadding claimed in 1890 that his pioneer bibles had “pleased” and “instructed” many13 — a reception that encouraged him to display his early printed books that year in “Specimens of Pioneer Typography.”

Fig. 3. “Addenda” from Some Pioneer Bibles, Being the Contents of the Log Shanty Book-Shelf for 1889 (p. 12). University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library D-10 265 no. 12 v. 3.

In defining pioneer connoisseurship, Scadding did not mean to suggest that colonists brought “visible relics” like Greek Gospel 10  While the scroll remains untraced, it was not likely to antedate the eight­eenth century. 11  Scadding, Pioneer bibles, 12. 12 [G. hart,] Condensed catalogue of manuscripts, books and engravings on exhibition at the Caxton Celebration, etc., Montreal, 1877; on the manuscripts in this exhibit, see R. Virr, “‘Behold this treasury of glorious things’: The Montreal Caxton Exhibition of 1877”, Papers of the Bibliographical Society of Canada, 30 (1992), pp. 7–20; and Gwara, “Je me souviens”, pp. 258–65. 13  Scadding, Pioneer typography, p. 3: “It is hoped that an inspection [of Scadding’s ‘specimens of pioneer typography’] will give as much pleasure and prove as instructive to many as did our array of old bibles in 1889.”

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books from the Old Country, even if it was entirely feasible that they did. In later years, for example, Scadding would claim ancestral ownership of two (or three) sixteenth-century printed books: Among the few family possessions in the shape of books hastily gathered up and brought away years ago from the old homestead in the Fatherland were an early quarto Black-Letter Bible and Prayer-Book, and a folio copy of the Paraphrase of Erasmus.14

With “original oaken covers” and “leaves … much worn and tattered,” these three volumes expressed their improbable passage to Upper Canada. Early manuscripts might well have survived a similar migration, and an episode from American history illustrates that early settlers did in fact bring Greek manuscripts with them. By 1817 the Irishman Henry Hamilton Cox15 had given the Library Company of Philadelphia Greek,16 Welsh,17 and Hebrew manuscripts18 that came from his Irish estate.19 Like Henry Cox and others, Canadians could — in theory — have brought exotic manuscript legacies to the New World. Scadding’s pioneer connoisseurship emphasized cultural prestige. He remarked that the “nook allotted to [the log shanty book-shelf] … furnishes … a kind of zero mark by means of which material progress in Western Canada during the past one hundred years may be estimated.”20 The ownership of manuscripts, in other words, tracked the emergence of a native identity based on the 14 

Scadding, Pioneer bibles, p. 3. biography is known largely from J. Futhey and G. Cope, History of Chester County, Pennsylvania, with genealogical and biographical sketches, Philadelphia, 1881, pp. 505–08 (authored by J. lewis). 16 See N. Kavrus-Hoffmann, “Catalogue of Greek medieval and renaissance manuscripts in the collections of the United States of America, part VIII: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the Library Company of Philadelphia”, Manuscripta, 58 (2014), pp. 38–73. 17  See B. Guy, “A Welsh manuscript in America: Library Company of Philadelphia, 8680.O”, National Library of Wales Journal, 36 (2014), pp. 1–26. 18  Derush ha-tanninim by Benjamin ben Nathan; see A catalogue of the books belonging to the Library Company of Philadelphia, vol. 2, Philadelphia, 1835, p. 116, there called a “rabbinical manuscript.” 19 S. Gwara, “Peddling wonderment, selling privilege: launching the market for medieval books in antebellum New York”, Perspectives médiévales, 41 (2020), pp. 1–35, at 4. 20  Scadding, Pioneer typography, p. 4. 15  Cox’s

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proud accumulation of Old World patrimony. Since, for Scadding, the European homeland was British, his early manuscripts documented Canada’s “progress” in British rare book bibliophily. Having “[assisted] in passing across from the Old World to the New, the torch of knowledge on such a subject as ‘Pioneer Versions of the Bible,’”21 Scadding invoked the colonial reception of a civilizing British ideal. His bibles, he thought, would … keep the present generation, and many a generation after us, in vital touch, morally and even politically, with the wise and understanding people of the great nation which in these latter days, has inaugurated this Dominion, and is doing so much to render it more and more completely an integral portion of itself.22

For pioneers whose enterprise had finally yielded the “material” success on display at the CIE, rare book collecting epitomized the intangibles of leisure: curiosity, erudition, and patriotism. As collectibles, early manuscripts were no different from printed books, except that they were more difficult to obtain. According to Scadding’s testimony, promiscuous accumulation characterized rare book collecting in the early days of Upper Canada: Opportunities for securing specimens [of early typography] occurred but rarely in the old pioneer days of this country, but when a stray copy of a book of very early date came into the collector’s way and could be procured for a trifling sum, it was eagerly taken possession of.23

Some of these books, one imagines, were imported by booksellers, while others, brought by immigrant settlers, were just entering second-generation ownership. A few volumes were purchased abroad. Scadding confessed that the pioneer collector “sometimes … ordered from a London catalogue, when the price demanded was not immoderate.”24 If Black-Letter books “occurred but rarely” in pioneer markets, even rarer early manuscripts were doubtless “ordered from a London catalogue.” Scadding’s manuscripts would

21 

Scadding, Pioneer bibles, p. 3. 4. 23  Scadding, Pioneer typography, p. 3. Scadding had managed to obtain at least nineteen incunables by this date (1890). 24  Scadding, Pioneer bibles, p. 3. 22  Ibid.,

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not be adventitious encounters in Toronto bookshops, then, but premeditated acquisitions of meaningful relevance. Self-sufficiency and thrift explain the pioneer’s random domestic purchases of rare printed books, as well as international acquisitions of targeted ones. Under these constraints, manuscripts could only be considered specimens. This cultural limitation meant that economical representative manuscripts would have to embody the superior Old World examples that pioneer Canadians would never see … except for Scadding, who encountered them during his undergraduate years at Cambridge University. Since manuscript specimens were almost certainly obtained from international dealers, they would need to have specific, practical utilities, and Scadding the “pioneer” achieved four implicit collecting objectives in his acquisition of them. First, his Latin and Greek Gospel books in particular rounded out a substantial collection of printed bibles inspired by his father John Scadding’s “Black-Letter Bible and Prayer-Book” (mentioned above). A French devotional compilation may also have exemplified manu­ script antecedents of the prayer book. In exactly the same way, a (print) collection was developed around Scadding’s ancestral “folio copy of the Paraphrase of Erasmus on the Gospel of St John.” 25 Manuscripts associated with these collections extended a youthful obsession, but having handwritten copies antecedent to print represented a widespread collecting strategy at the time. Scadding’s unidentified “Quadragesimale de Evangelio aeterno” was exhibited in 1890 alongside “Specimens of pioneer typography” to “show how closely the Pioneer Printers imitated the handwriting of the skilled scribes of the period” as well their mises-en-page (Fig. 4).26 While Scadding’s collection of “Pioneer Bibles” focused on English translations, it also included Greek and Latin editions profitably elucidated by venerable manuscript sources. A second collecting objective reflected by Scadding’s manuscript acquisitions conveyed the chronological and geographical scope of textual diffusion. In 2002 Heather Murray expressed Scadding’s understanding of reading as a “cultural relay, in which 25 H. Scadding,

Relics of a pioneer anti-obscurantist: Erasmus of Rotterdam, 1476, a.d.  1536, being the contents of the Log Shanty Book-Shelf for 1891 (Toronto, 1891). 26  Scadding, Pioneer typography, p. 7.

a.d. 

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Fig. 4. The sole reference to Scadding’s manuscript of works by Bernardinus of Siena comes from Specimens of Pioneer Typography, Being the Contents of the Log Shanty Book-Shelf for 1890 (p. 7). University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library D-10 265 no. 13 v. 3.

texts, topoi, questions, and wisdom are passed from one historical epoch to another.”27 The pioneer bibliophile cultivated a similar material transmission in the strategic acquisition of representative archetypes that also constituted “cultural relays.” The majority of Scadding’s manuscripts survived in near-original condition, evidence of the prototypes he sought to import. By transplanting these volumes to Ontario, Scadding exemplified the traffic of pan-European books through the British homeland: from Palestine to Greece to Britain to Canada, for example, or from ancient Rome to Renaissance Italy to Britain to Canada. Scadding identified this antiquity as one aspect of pioneer connoisseurship: “I have styled the collection a gathering of ‘Pioneer Bibles,’ because … it consists principally of very early editions of English versions of the Sacred Scripture.”28 Just as these translations and editions were themselves “pioneering” versions of the bible, early manu­ scripts stood out as ancient exemplars of pioneering influence. In addition to “topoi, questions, and wisdom,” therefore, physical books could be “passed from one historical epoch to another.” The intermediary was usually an educated English bibliophile, and a third objective of Scadding’s connoisseurship reflects this vicarious identity. Scadding self-consciously impersonated better-known manuscript “pioneers”: Lord Curzon (d. 1873), a rescuer of Greek manuscripts in the Levant, and the Cambridge scholar Erasmus (d. 1536), who “began the examination and collation of 27  28 

Murray, “Pioneer Shakespeare culture”, p. 63. Scadding, Pioneer bibles, p. 4.

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such existing ancient manuscript copies of the Holy Scriptures.”29 This humanist focus on textual discovery and reconstruction played into Scadding’s Protestantism, and even the “Quadragesimale de Evangelio aeterno” of St Bernardinus expressed the spread of proto-Protestant fulmination. As a homilist, Scadding would have appreciated owning Bernardino’s sermons in an original state, but the manuscript’s origin in Germany conveyed the influence of a Mendicant activist during the Reformation. Contentious homilies identified proto-reformers as much as biblical recensions differentiated Protestant sects. Finally, the pretense of a “pioneer library” enabled Scadding to publicize esoteric or potentially dilettantish acquisitions. On the one hand, he trivialized his books and manuscripts as “gatherings only likely to be considered of importance during a primitive era in the history of a new country.”30 Scadding was just as insecure about the implicit extravagance of rare book ownership as he was about his taste. On the other hand, even manuscripts had pedagogical utilities that grew out of Scadding’s theological training and career as First Classical Master at Upper Canada College. As records of Roman political history, witnesses to textual dissemination, or traces of Christian piety, his manuscripts conveyed pre-modern worship, devotion, and historiography, as well as the Scriptural “corruptions” that the science of Textual Criticism aimed to rectify. Scadding’s utilitarian manuscripts taught these lessons more effectively — and affordably — than any of the grand illuminated volumes displayed at the 1877 Caxton Exhibition. **** Henry Scadding was born in the Devonshire village of Dunkeswell in 1813. He and his mother emigrated to Toronto (then called York) in 1821, following after Henry’s father, John Scadding. A farmer, John served as a clerk to General John Simcoe, the first Lt. Governor of Upper Canada. 31 At this early date Henry 29 

Scadding, Anti-obscurantist, p. 3. “Pioneer literary endeavors in Western Canada”, The Canadian Magazine of Politics, Science, Art and Literature, 2 (1894), pp. 395– 98, at 395. 31  Dictionary of Canadian biography s. v. “Scadding, Henry”, available online at http://www.biographi.ca/en/bio/scadding_henry_13E.html (accessed 11 February 2021). 30 H.  Scadding,

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witnessed the development of Toronto and the province. He made history as the first student at Upper Canada College in 1830, enrolling after a solid Church of England education under John Strachan, later Bishop Strachan, in Toronto. Strachan became a lifelong advocate, and Scadding’s own life closely resembled his patron’s: a respectable but modest family, an educational struggle after the early death of a father (Scadding’s in 1824), tutoring, ordination, and teaching. At Upper Canada College Scadding was taught by five masters, four of whom, including the Principal, had Cambridge degrees. The program was largely classical. 32 As Scadding recalls, “in minds here and there in Upper and Lower Canada and elsewhere there lingers yet the aroma of Horatian, Virgilian, and other classic tinctures dropped into them years ago by Harris and his worthy colleagues.”33 Rev. Dr Joseph H. Harris, the Principal, remarked that the English grammar school education graduated “youths not inferior in classical knowledge to the greater part of those who leave our public schools in England for the universities.”34 Harris outlined the curriculum in 1836: Latin instruction began in First Form, French in Second Form, and “Rudiments of Greek” in Third Form. An early progress report made by Principal Harris documented that the number of hours devoted each week to instruction in the Classics varied from 15 to 19. 35 In this intensive education Scadding gained fluencies in Greek and Latin that enabled him to understand the languages of the manuscripts he acquired. He was also introduced to manuscripts at this time, inasmuch as he learned French from books “economically” bound in vellum fragments. “In this cast-off parchment dress,” he 32  It was modeled on the course of instruction at Elizabeth College, Guernsey; see G. Dickson and G. Adam, A  history of Upper Canada College, 1829– 1892, Toronto, 1893, p. 39 (Scadding’s contribution: “The college, its inception, and first masters”, pp. 23–43). 33  Ibid. p. 25. 34 J.  Harris, Observations on Upper Canada College, Toronto, 1836, pp. 16–17. 35  History of Upper Canada College 55–56. In A boy’s books, then and now (1818 & 1881), Toronto, 1882, Scadding described this classical education by drawing on his own collection of schoolbooks.

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recalled, “Levizac’s grammar, a convenient little dictionary, The Henriade, Telemachus, Gil Blas, Boileau, and other works first became known to us [at the school].”36 Scadding proved to be a prodigy. He graduated in 1833, and Mrs Simcoe underwrote his university education at St John’s College, Cambridge. General Simcoe had died in 1806, but relations between the Simcoes and the Scaddings seem to have continued. Having mastered university and college curricula that broadly emphasized mathematics, classics, theology and moral philosophy, Scadding came home in 1837. 37 In 1838 he began teaching as “First Classical Master” at Upper Canada College, retiring from this post in 1862. In 1847 he became rector of the downtown Gothic Revival Church of the Holy Trinity, close by present-day Scadding Ave. and now overshadowed by the Eaton Centre shopping mall. He stepped down as rector in 1875, at which time he became a canon of St James’ Cathedral.

Fig. 5. The University of Toronto’s medieval copy of the Elegantiae by Lorenzo Valla was burned in 1890. City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 1478 (F. W. Micklethwaite Fonds), Item 37.

36 

Scadding, After-Gleanings, p. 5. “The reception of William Paley’s natural theology in the University of Cambridge”, British Journal for the History of Science, 30 (1997), pp. 321–35. 37 A. Fyfe,

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Upon his death in 1901, Scadding left five manuscripts to the University of Toronto, which had suffered the loss of its library, including a Renaissance copy of Lorenzo Valla’s De elegantiis latinae linguae, in the Great Fire of 1890 (Fig. 5). 38 About 33,000 volumes were incinerated, “including rare and valuable works,”39 which included the Venetian illustrated edition of Dante’s Divine Comedy (Pietro di Piasi, 1491). Librarian William H. Vander Smissen (d. 1929) remarked that “every student and graduate” would remember this Dante.40 Perhaps they would also have recalled the Elegantiae “on vellum and paper.”41 Yet Scadding had already decided in 1889 “to deposit [his] books at a future time in some place of safe-keeping where they may be seen and examined by persons who take an interest in such venerable remains of the past.”42 The University of Toronto was the only viable option. Scadding had no documentable connection to the Anglican seminary founded in 1852 and called the “University of Trinity College.” In all events, negotiations in the year before Scadding’s death made a merger between Trinity College and the university appear inevitable.43 The following examination of early manuscripts in Scadding’s notional pioneer library disregards the lost homily compilation of Bernardino mentioned above and three other manuscripts now at Thomas Fisher Library: 1. MS 03087, Marian prayers in French called Jardin de la Vièrge, c. 1550, probably Scadding’s first manuscript (Fig. 6).44 38 J. Feeley, “A library in crisis: the University of Toronto Library, 1890–1892”, Ontario History, 62 (1970), pp. 220–34. 39  Ibid., 223. In 1892 the university published a list of donors in The benefactors of the University of Toronto after the great fire of 14th February, 1890. Scadding did not subscribe, unless anonymously. 40  Feeley, “Library in crisis”, p. 223. 41  Details on this manuscript are known only from the Condensed catalogue, on which see Virr, “‘Behold this treasury’”, pp. 13–14. 42  Scadding, Pioneer bibles, p. 4. 43  T. Reed, A history of the University of Trinity College, 1852–1952, Toronto, 1952, pp. 90, 107, and 117. 44 It bears the erased inscription, “William Bury, St John’s College Cambridge.” Bury graduated from St John’s in 1833, the year in which Scadding matriculated. Four other Bury manuscripts are known, including a Praemonstratensian Rituale, c. 1450, once belonging to St Michael’s Abbey in Antwerp

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scott gwara 2. MS 03043, Andrea di Domenico Fiocchi (d. 1452), De romanorum magistratibus (Fig. 7).45 3. MS 04120, Michael Ricius (Michele Riccio, d. 1515), De regibus Galliae, Hispaniae, Hierosolymi, Siciliae et Hungariae (Fig. 8).46

These volumes belonged to Scadding’s pioneer library, of course, but because he wrote extensively on his Latin (MS 04008) and Greek (MS 01244) Gospels without ever mentioning these other three manuscripts, the Gospels more fully reflect the pioneer aesthetic he formulated. In 1874–1875 he authored a column for The Canadian Journal of Science, Literature, and History called “Leaves they have Touched.”47 In “Addenda” published in July 1876 he remarked on these two manuscripts, one described as “an ancient MS. copy of the Four Gospels in Greek.”48 This is the late eleventh-century Codex Torontonensis 49 (MS 01244; Gregory-Aland (apparently from Catholic University, sold at Christie’s, 4 June 2008 lot 52) and John Rylands Library MS Fr. 3, a French translation of Regimen sani­ tatis. Two other Bury manuscripts belonged to the Hartford Seminary but remain untraced: a fifteenth-century prayer book and a treatise on the mass (Census, vol. 2, New York, 1937, p. 2250). Jardin de la Vièrge belongs to the hortus conclusus tradition, by which the Virgin is metaphorized as an enclosed garden in reference to Song of Songs 4.12. Prayers on subjects called “flowers” address spiritual longings in thematic books called “gardens.” 45  Fiocchi’s two-volume De potestatibus romanorum circulated in the singlevolume abridgement, De romanorum magistratibus, commonly misattributed to the Roman historian Tiberius Lucius Fenestella (R. Sabbadini, Le scoperte dei codici latini e greci ne’ secoli XIV e XV, Florence, 1905, p. 177). Scadding’s manuscript retains its original binding (compare A.  Hobson, Humanists and bookbinders: the origins and diffusion of the humanistic bookbinding, 1459– 1559, Cambridge, 1989, p. 20 (fig. 14); and F. Macchi et al., Arte della legatura a brera, Biblioteca Nazionale Braidense, Milan, 18 April-22 June 2012, p. 90). 46 Riccio served as a Neapolitan lawyer in the time of Ferdinand I, king of Naples and Jerusalem, and later advised Charles VII of France. De regibus concerned the non-English Angevin dynasts, focusing on Naples from the time of the Angevin conquests. 47 H. Scadding, “Leaves they have touched”, Canadian Journal of Science, Literature and History, n.s. 85 (April 1874), pp. 73–124; 87 (March 1875), pp. 315–47 and pp. 479–502. 48 “Leaves they have touched; being a review of some historical autographs: addenda”, Canadian Journal of Science, Literature and History, n.s. 91 (July 1876), pp. 145–60, at 155. 49  Scadding, “Addenda”, pp. 155–59.

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Fig. 6. Scadding probably bought this late manuscript of Marian prayers from his Cambridge acquaintance, William Bury. University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library MS 03087.

Fig. 7. A history of the Roman magistrates by an alleged Roman historian is just the sort of text that would interest a Classics Master like Scadding. University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library MS 03043.

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Fig. 8. The unkempt script of this manuscript proves its informality. University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library MS 04120.

2321) (Fig. 9), which he had acquired in 1875, upon his retirement from Holy Trinity and appointment as a canon of St James’ (Fig. 10).50 It was the first Greek Gospel book in Canada, and one of only ten Greek Gospel cursives identified in North America in 1911, when it was exhibited by the Upper Canada Bible Society.51 50  E.  Goodspeed reported the remarks of Ernest W. Parsons and Professor J. L. Gilmour that the manuscript had been acquired “from an English dealer more than twenty years ago” — that is, c.  1890 (“The Toronto Gospels”, American Journal of Theology, 15 (1911), pp. 268–71, at 268). 51 Ibid., 268. Goodspeed compared the script to that of Paris, BnF ms grec. 164, and proposed a date of c. 1070. In 1973 Robert Deshman compared the style of the decorative headpieces to those of British Library MS Add. 24381, a copy of the Orationes by Gregory Nazianzus dated either 1079 or 1088 ([R. Deshman], cat. 27 in Illuminated Greek manuscripts from American collections: an exhibition in honor of Kurt Weitzman, ed. by G. Vikan, Prince­ ton, 1973, pp. 116–17; see G. Galavaris, The illustrations of the homilies of Gregory Nazianzus, Princeton, 1969, p. 227, fig. 96). The resemblance is so striking that Scadding’s Gospels and the Gregory may have been decorated in the same workshop. Deshman concluded that Codex Torontonensis was pro-

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Fig. 9. The so-called ‘Codex Torontonensis’ is the first documented Greek manuscript in Canada. University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library MS 01244.

duced in Constantinople, and in 2000 G. Carvallo identified the scribe of Add. 24381 as “Michael” (Μιχαὴλ), resident of the monastery of Christ Panoikteirmon in Constantinople (“Scritture informali, cambio grafico e pratiche librarie a Bisanzio tra i secoli XI e XII”, in I manoscritti greci tra riflessione e dibattito (Atti del V Colloquio Internazionale di Paleografia Greca, Cremona, 4–10 ottobre 1998), ed. by G. Prato, vol. 1, Florence 2000, pp. 221–38, at 235). Michael did not copy Scadding’s manuscript.

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Fig. 10. Scadding’s church, Holy Trinity, now lies in the shadow of Eaton Centre, a shopping mall.

Scadding had many reasons to acquire a Greek Gospel book, most obviously his ambition to own representative examples of the bible in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. 52 Scadding’s pair of Gospel books belong with a Megillah scroll as examples of the bible in the three sacred languages. Less conspicuously, he was a Victorian collector of historical documents, which were thought to convey the character of “the statesman, the businessman, and the literary man.”53 A similar function was alleged for “books which exhibit their autographs and other evidences of former ownership”:54 52  Scadding’s Latin New testament is discussed below, but the Megillah roll he owned (and mentioned in the “Addenda” to “Leaves they have touched”) was not bequeathed to the University of Toronto and remains untraced. 53  Scadding, “Leaves” (April 1874), pp. 73–124, at 73. 54  Ibid., p. 74.

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Here, we say to ourselves, as we are turning over the leaves of the volume — here are pages which their eyes have carefully scanned: here is a matter which has engaged their special attention. Here and there perhaps we discern their underscorings: here and there we have their marginal annotations. 55

This pretense also operated on an inverse principle. The Codex Torontonensis could evoke fictitious ownership, as Scadding alleged: … the imagination can legitimately conceive that [his Latin and Greek Gospels] have each of them come under the eye and been turned over by the hand of many an eminent man, during the four hundred and six hundred years of their respective existences. 56

Such nostalgia typified manuscript ownership in the period because manuscripts were largely unreadable. One had to know Latin, script styles, and abbreviations before tackling unfamiliar, often archaic, genres. While Scadding could read his manuscripts (he offered an excellent philological précis), he still surrendered to the romanticism of conjectural provenance. Since Scadding bought his Greek Gospel book from an English dealer, he hypothesized an English provenance for it. He imagined that his manuscript had belonged to Thomas Becket (d. 1170), or that it had been acquired by a retainer of Hubert Walter (d. 1205), Lord Chancellor and Archbishop of Canterbury, on the Third Crusade.57 In fact, an alternative provenance that Scadding also entertained seems more credible: “some more recent English traveler, some tourist to Mt. Athos — some Curzon bent on exploring the neglected treasures of the twenty-one monasteries of the Holy Mountain — purchased it of a needy abbot there, and brought it to England with other literary spoil.”58 He goes on to cite Lord Curzon’s 1849 account of a visit to the monastery of Pantocratoras: “I looked down into the lower story of the tower, and there I saw the melancholy remains of a once famous library … I was not able to save even a scrap from this general tomb of a whole race of

55 Ibid. 56 

Scadding, “Addenda”, p. 153. p. 158. 58 Ibid. 57  Ibid.,

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books.”59 Ventriloquizing Curzon justified Scadding’s ownership of a manuscript that some might have expected to remain in the Greek homeland. He charged that, “such relics of bygone centuries were not universally appreciated among the monasteries of the East.”60 With evident pride in the conservation of such “relics of bygone history,” Scadding recounted Constantin von Tischendorf’s discovery of the Codex Sinaiticus. Following others who had “gone over the same ground” (the Cambridge scholars Edward Clarke and Joseph Carlyle spring immediately to mind), von Tischendorf was “the latest discoverer of eminence.”61 Scadding was not immune to this cultural history. Terms like “discovery,” “eminence,” and “relic,” the titled owners of manuscripts like “Lord de la Zouche” and “the Emperor of Russia,” and the exotic homes of manuscripts like “Mount Athos,” “monasteries of Egypt, Syria, and the Ægean,” and the “Convent of St Catherine on Mount Sinai” contextualized Scadding’s purchase of a modest Greek Gospel book. While not quite as remote as Mount Athos, Toronto became the scene of a comparable pioneering “discovery,” transmission, and appreciation that conferred a similarly elite status. Scadding’s Gospel book not only established his intellectual and aesthetic adventurism but also affirmed his academic credentials as a textual critic. The science of Textual Criticism entailed collation — comparing manuscript readings to establish authentic texts that had been “corrupted” over centuries of transmission. In theory, the oldest manuscripts preserved reliable texts that had not been altered through generations of copying. By Scadding’s day, Textual Criticism had transformed biblical scholarship. The Cambridge curriculum in the 1830s followed William Paley’s Evidences of Christianity, which particularly emphasized Greek manuscripts of the New Testament: We are able to produce a great number of ancient manuscripts, found in many different countries, and in countries widely distant 59 R. Curzon, Visits to monasteries in the Levant, London, 1849, p. 394. Curzon’s diary was reissued often, but the excerpt Scadding cited had lately circulated in the Universalist Quarterly and General Review for 1871 (“Lost books”, n.s. 8 (April 1871), pp. 243–45, at 245). 60  Scadding, “Addenda”, p. 158. 61 Ibid.

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from each other, all of them anteriour to the art of printing, some certainly seven or eight hundred years old, and some which have been preserved probably above a thousand years.62

In fact, the Cambridge university library claimed its own ancient source, the fifth-century New Testament diglot Codex Bezae, while Trinity College held the ninth-century Codex Augiensis of the Pauline Epistles. These and other witnesses were systematically collated and analyzed, an effort pioneered by Johann Jakob Griesbach. His Novum Testamentum Graece (Halle, 1774–1775) supplied variants from scores of manuscripts. Even more revolutionary was Karl Lachmann’s Novum Testamentum Graece (1831), which abandoned Erasmus’ textus receptus in favor of a text derived wholly from ancient archetypes. The book appeared while Scadding was at Cambridge. In the acquisition of his Greek Gospels, then, Scadding participated in this academic commerce and neoteric study. In his 1876 “Addenda” to “Leaves they have touched,” he established the antiquity of his manuscript by reference to facsimiles in the British Library: London experts assure us that the copy of the Four Gospels before us was written prior to 1200. We might easily conceive it to have been written a century earlier, so closely does it correspond in character with fac-simile specimens which I have seen of MSS. in the British Museum, said to be eleventh century.63

Scadding was simply promoting the textual accuracy of his manuscript. Furthermore, he drew attention to readings and omissions that conform to the so-called Constantinopolitan recension of the Gospels:64

62  I cite from Paley’s collected works published in Cambridge: [W. Paley,] The works of William Paley, D. D., Archdeacon of Carlisle, 6 vols., Cambridge, 1830, vol. 2, pp. 76–77. 63  Scadding, “Addenda”, p. 158. Scadding does not identify these sources. 64 Griesbach identified Western, Alexandrian, and Constantinopolitan recensions of the Greek Gospels in the “Prolegomena” to the second edition of his Gospels (Halle and London, 1796–1806); cf. W. Baird, History of New Testament research, vol. i: from Deism to Tübingen, Minneapolis, 1992, p. 142. The Constantinopolitan version presented a mixed Western and Alexandrian text. On these recensions, see the seminal discussion by K. Lachmann, “Rechen-

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scott gwara Thus it has in Mark V., at v.  1, ἦλθον for ἦλθεν; at v.  2, ἐξελθόντι αὐτῶι, not ἐξελθόντος αὐτοῦ, and ἀπήντησεν, not ὑπήντεσεν; and in v.  5, ὄρεσι καὶ ἐν τοῖς μνήμασι, not μνήμασι καὶ ἐν τοῖς ὄρεσι, &c.65

He likewise noted that Mark concludes with chapter 16, verses 9–20, instead of ending at verse 8, as it does in the earliest manuscripts.66 Similarly, while the manuscript ends with John 21, which some consider interpolated, the omitted opening of chapter 8 has been added in the margins. Scadding held a fascination for such interpolations and how they came to be accepted as orthodox, as revealed in a commonplace book now at the Thomas Fisher Library (Fig. 11): We find the proof of the spuriousness of the words ‘an angel went down and troubled the waters’ — It is proved from the Codex Ephraim that marginal notes were made in the most ancient MS, and that this practice prevailed in the early ages of Christianity; it is likewise remarkable that in this MSS (Codex Ephraim) the disputed or rather spurious text of John v. 4 is written not in the text, but in a marginal scholion. Now, as this text is totally omitted in the Codex Bezae, and the Codex Vaticanus, which are the two most ancient MSS now extant; as it is likewise omitted in the Codex Ephraim (which is inferior in age to the Codex Bezae) but written in the margin as a scholion: is written in more modern MSS. in the text, but marked with an asterick or obelus as suspicious, and in MSS. still more modern is written without any mark, we see the various gradations by which it has acquired its place in our present text, and have proof positive that the verse originally was nothing more than a marginal scholion, and of course spurious.67

Ultimately, Scadding was disappointed that his Gospel Cursive contributed “nothing to the critical apparatus of the New Testaschaft über seine Ausgabe des neuen Testaments”, Theologische Studien und Kritiken, 3 (1830), pp. 817–45. 65  Scadding, “Addenda”, p. 157. 66 Ibid. 67 “Note book on theological matters from the library of the Rev. Henry Scadding”, MS 04351 (c.  1845), p. 179. The text comes from D. Esdaile, trans., A  historico-geographical account of Palestine in the time of Christ … by D. John Frederick Röhr, The Biblical Cabinet, vol. 43, Edinburgh, 1843, p. 202.

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ment,”68 yet later work by Edgar J. Goodspeed confirmed its “considerable proportion of excellent early readings.”69

Fig. 11. Scadding occasionally made remarks on manuscripts in a “Note book on theological matters.” University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, “Note book on theological matters from the library of the Rev. Henry Scadding,” MS 04351, p. 179.

At the same time Scadding bought his Greek Gospels, he also acquired a late Romanesque manuscript, c. 1200, as a Vulgate representation of the Gospels (MS 04008) (Fig. 12). Each Gospel is prefaced by a prologue, and the chapters are divided by ancient capitula rather than Langton chapter numbers (which have been

68 

Scadding, “Addenda”, p. 159. “The Toronto Gospels”, Historical and linguistic studies in literature related to the New Testament, first series: texts, vol. 2, part 2, Chicago, IL, 1911, p. 7. Goodspeed also observed that variants in John 7:53–8:11 added in the margins derive from an identifiable manuscript family. 69 

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Fig. 12. Scadding’s Romanesque Gospel book from southern France has textual corruptions that he wrote about in the “Addenda” to “Leaves they have Touched.” University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library MS 04008 (opening of Luke’s Gospel).

added in the margins).70 Given its thick vellum, axillary membrane, crude decoration, and innumerable copying errors, this manuscript was clearly an inferior production from a provincial center. Scadding seems to have purchased the manuscript from the London firm of A. R. Smith, but the information he relied on in his description of it came from the 1871 advertising of Ellis & Green from The Saturday Review. The English source and the pre1400 date alleged by Ellis & Green led Scadding to speculate on the manuscript’s history, in keeping with his approach to historical autographs: 70 F. Stegmüller, Repertorium biblicum medii aevi, vol. 1, Madrid, 1981: Matthew S590; Mark S607; Luke S620 plus Prephatione Lucas theophilo; John S624. Scadding called them a “short account of the author” (“Addenda”, p. 154).

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… it is within the bounds of possibility that this identical copy of the Four Gospels may have been used by Wycliffe while engaged in his translation of the Scriptures, or its leaves may have been those from which Robert Langlande transcribed the Latin texts, which appear every here and there in the Vision and Creed of Piers Plowman.71

While this attribution strains credulity, a seventeenth-century inscription on fol. 1r documents that it was once deposited at the abbey of St-André at Villeneuve-lès-Avignon: “Monasterii Sancti andree. cong. sti. Mauri” (Fig. 13). An earlier inscription on the same page proves it to have been traded for another book by one “Lady Stephania”: “Hic liber est fratrum minorum \de avinon/ & dedit domina Stephania pro alio libro vidente patre Tobia et fratre ” [Fig. 13]. The name Étiennette/Stefanetta was held by multiple aristocratic women among the noble families of Provence in the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries. However, since the Franciscans settled Avignon in 1227, the best candidates for the donor would be Étiennette Bricardi, first spouse of Raymond II de Baux, Count of Avignon (d. 1321), and Stephanette de Baux de Puy-Richard.72 In respect to Scadding’s focus on the materiality of “cultural relays,” he documented the physical appearance of this early Gospel book, lamenting that it had not survived “in its original cover of oak board” or “limp parchment.”73 “Written in double columns in the usual black letter,” the book conveyed exotic formatting, especially the absence of marked verses and the conspicuous, but idiosyncratic, rubrication — a function of its capitula divisions.74 “Space is economized and labour saved,” he went on to observe, by abbreviations and contractions. While Scadding did not reproduce these contractions (“Deus is ds, est is e, generatio is gnacio,” he stated),75 he noted their use in early printed books, “which closely imitated the manuscripts.”76 In these terms, he expressed the continuity of mise-en-page over centuries of transmission, a material relay that proved conservative. 71 

Scadding, “Addenda”, p. 155. Histoire de la maison des Baux, Paris, 1913, p. 36. 73  Scadding, “Addenda”, p. 153. 74 Ibid. 75  Ibid., p. 154. 76 Ibid. 72 G. Noblemaire,

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Fig. 13. Inscriptions on the first folio of the Gospel Book document that it resided at the abbey of St-André at Villeneuve-lès-Avignon and had been traded by one ‘Domina Stephania’ for another manuscript. University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library MS 04008 (opening of Matthew’s Gospel).

Fig. 14. Scadding copied remarks on the text of the Vulgate from a translation of Gottlieb Planck’s Einleitung in die theologischen Wissenschaften. University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, “Note book on theological matters from the library of the Rev. Henry Scadding,” MS 04351, p. 292.

Scadding identified the text of his manuscript as Jerome’s Vulgate. Since the Vulgate held less philological interest than the Greek New Testament and since no comprehensive critical edition had yet been produced, he did not identify any textual variants. Instead, he noted medieval spellings and homoioteleuton errors. The commonplace book cited above calls attention to Scadding’s interest in such textual corruptions. In it Scadding paraphrased Turner’s English translation of Gottlieb Planck’s Einleitung in die theologischen Wissenschaften (Leipzig, 1794–1795) (Fig. 14): In the middle ages, all learned acquaintance was entirely lost. In consequence of this ignorance, a great number of the grossest philological errors, which had gradually crept into what was called the

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Vulgate, that is, the Latin Version exclusively used in the church, was not observed. Yet the revival of learning in [the] sixteenth century occasioned attention to [the] original languages of [the] bible.77

This observation characterizes MS 04008. After describing contractions and orthography, especially the use of otiose or dropped (habiit for abiit, abuit for habuit, habundanti for abundanti, hulcionis for ultionis, introhibunt for introibunt), Scadding noted “slight corrections and omissions” added in the margins.78 He then detailed two examples of homoioteleuton, saying, “copying slowly and mechanically day after day, the scribe doubtless became listless now and then.”79 He could not have missed innumerable errors in these Gospels, particularly in the rubrics: initial D erroneously substituted for B (fol. 21ra22), giving donus instead of bonus; Q substituted for F (fol. 84vb9), yielding Quit instead of Fuit (Fig. 12). The explicit on fol. 82r reads “vangelium sec\v/ ndum magrchvm.” Some errors are more exotic than others, such as “bum prophetavit” for “bene prophetavit,” the result of misreading bnˉ as bū. Similarly, in Mt 7:1 “Nolite iudicare ut non iudicemini,” cemini has been lined through and the verb erroneously changed to iudicabimini, picked up from the following verse. Curiously, Scadding imagined that the popular audience of “Leaves They Have Touched” could fathom such esoteric minutiae. ***** In 2002 Heather Murray analyzed Scadding’s display of printed and facsimile Shakespeare volumes in the “Log Shanty BookShelf” for 1892.80 She suggested that Scadding describes a reading culture characterized by a deep intricacy of readerly lives and texts, by accidental reading encounters, and by redeployment for present purposes of materials from an earlier

77  “Note book”, MS 04351 (c. 1845), p. 292; see G. Planck, Introduction to sacred philology and interpretation, trans. S. Turner, Edinburgh, 1834, p. 59. 78  Scadding, “Addenda”, p. 155. 79 Ibid. 80  Murray, “Pioneer Shakespeare culture”, pp. 47–65.

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scott gwara time. In other words, the reader is self-cultivating, adventurous, and an agent in the transplantation of cultures.81

These speculations precisely describe Scadding’s acquisition of early manuscripts. He imagined that his Greek and Latin Gospels intersected with the “readerly lives” of Becket or Langland or “many an eminent man.” The “accidental … encounter” of them by Henry Scadding shows the “redeployment” Murray theorized: from a medieval household in England or a monastery of Mount Athos to the Toronto home of a bookish pioneer. Adventurism emerges from collecting manuscript artifacts of the farflung past and reading them. Scadding’s Fiocchi and Ricius, for example, betray a utilitarian redeployment into the hands of a pioneer Classical Master, whose purpose was transparently pedagogical. Acquired and consumed by a historian, these volumes expressed more about history than their contents alone would suggest. They spoke to the transmission of classical learning in the Renaissance, and the physical appearance of them conveyed the format of ancient texts. For Scadding, in fact, the Italian Renaissance evoked the re-birth of Old World culture in the newly confederated Dominion. Tracing the history of Upper Canada was like understanding the Angevin kingdoms of Italy. Yet this “transplantation of cultures” also reflects a particular academic redeployment. Applied to Scadding’s Gospel books, Textual Criticism reveals the manner of cultural exchange by disclosing the verbal discrepancies of handwritten copies. This meta-analysis reflects both a pedagogy, which Scadding learned from his theological training at Cambridge, and a cultural transplantation of manuscript culture made visible by a cutting-edge humanistic science. Aware of a deep textual past absent in the pioneer culture of Upper Canada, Henry Scadding imported both the original sources and the methods of their construal. In acquiring early manuscripts, therefore, Scadding himself laid claim to a pioneer connoisseurship that combined academic scholarship, romantic nationalism, and self-conscious history-making. He could not have guessed, of course, that his bequest of five manuscripts would prove foundational for the University of Toronto, which nowadays boasts world-class medieval collections and premier faculty 81  Ibid.,

p. 63.

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in medieval studies. Michael Herren in particular has extended Scadding’s legacy to new generations of scholars inspired by his own deep learning and intellectual adventurism. Abstract In 1901 the University of Toronto received a bequest of five medieval and Renaissance manuscripts from the estate of Rev. Henry Scadding. These represent the first early manuscripts documented in Ontario and include the first Greek manuscript in Canada. Scadding’s acquisitions are documented in pamphlets he wrote for an annual display of books at the Canadian Industrial Exposition and in the “Addendum” to an article he published in 1875. The evidence yields six reasons for Scadding’s pioneering ownership of manuscripts: 1. To validate progress in Canadian rare book bibliophily; 2. To represent a civilizing British ideal; 3. To illustrate textual diffusion from the Old World to the New; 4. To preserve ancient sources like better-known English collectors did who gathered Greek manuscripts in the Levant; 5. To practice the professional “science” of Textual Criticism; 6. To acquire items relevant to his teaching of classical literature and history at Upper Canada College. Scadding’s reasons for owning manuscripts were broadly academic. He imagined that his Greek Gospel book, now the “Codex Torontonensis,” might yield valuable readings upon collation. For his Vulgate bible, he studied irregular ortho­ graphy and spelling errors as evidence of monastic ignorance. At the same time, Scadding fantasized about the provenance of his manuscripts. He imagined that Thomas Becket may have owned his Greek Gospels, and that John Wyclif may have consulted his Latin Gospel book. In these and similar terms, Scadding engaged in the specious “redeployment … of materials from an earlier time” that Heather Murray observed in his writings on Shakespeare.

Bibliography Manuscripts Baltimore, MD, Walters Art Museum MS W.252. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University, Houghton Library MS Eng 766. London, British Library MS Add. 24381. Manchester, University of Manchester, John Rylands Library MS Fr. 3. Montreal, QC, McGill University, McLennan Library, Rare Books and Special Collections MS 3.

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_____. Sulpician Archives, s.n. _____. Université de Québec à Montréal (UQAM), Livres rare et collections spéciales YPA224. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, ms grec. 164. Toronto, ON, University of Toronto, Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, MS 01244. _____. MS 03087. _____. MS 03043. _____. MS 04008. _____. MS 04120. _____. MS 04351. Winnipeg, MB, University of Manitoba (olim St. John’s College), Special Collections BX 1749 N52 L45 1438. Secondary Sources Baird, W., History of New Testament research, vol. i: from Deism to Tübingen, Minneapolis, 1992. The benefactors of the University of Toronto after the great fire of 14th February, 1890, Toronto, 1892. Carefoote, P., “Medieval Manuscripts at the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library: Past and Present”, Florilegium, 33 (2016), pp. 1–27. Carvallo, G., “Scritture informali, cambio grafico e pratiche librarie a Bisanzio tra i secoli XI e XII”, in I manoscritti greci tra riflessione e dibattito. Atti del V Colloquio Internazionale di Paleografia Greca, Cremona, 4–10 ottobre 1998, ed. by G. Prato, vol. 1, Florence 2000, pp. 221–38. A Catalogue of the books belonging to the Library Company of Philadelphia, vol. 2, Philadelphia, 1835. Curzon, R., Visits to monasteries in the Levant, London, 1849. de Ricci, S. and W. Wilson, Census of medieval and renaissance manu­ scripts in the United States and Canada, vol. 1, New York, 1935. Deshman, R., “Catalogue entry 27”, in Illuminated Greek manuscripts from American collections: an exhibition in honor of Kurt Weitzman, ed. by G. Vikan, Princeton, 1973, pp. 116–17. Dickson, G. and G. Adam, A history of Upper Canada College, 18291892, Toronto, 1893. Dictionary of Canadian Biography. s. v., “Scadding, Henry”. Online at http://www.biographi.ca/en/bio/scadding_henry_13E.html. Ac­ces­ sed 11 February 2021.

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Dunn-Lardeau, B., Catalogue raisonné des livres d’heures conservés au Québec, Montreal, 2018. Dunn-Lardeau, B. and R. Virr, “La redécouverte d’un exemplaire des heures enluminées de 1516 imprimés de 1516 par Gilles Har­ douin”, Gutenberg-Jahrbuch, 89 (2014), pp. 144–70. Esdaile, D., trans., A historico-geographical account of Palestine in the time of Christ … by D. John Frederick Röhr, The Biblical Cabinet 43, Edinburgh, 1843. Feeley, J., “A library in crisis: the University of Toronto Library, 1890–1892”, Ontario History, 62 (1970), pp. 220–34. Futhey, J. and G. Cope, History of Chester County, Pennsylvania, with genealogical and biographical sketches, Philadelphia, 1881. Fyfe, A., “The reception of William Paley’s natural theology in the University of Cambridge”, British Journal for the History of Science, 30 (1997), pp. 321–35. Galavaris, G., The illustrations of the homilies of Gregory Nazianzus, Princeton, 1969. Goodspeed, E., “The Toronto Gospels”, Historical and linguistic studies in literature related to the New Testament, First series: texts, vol. 2, part 2, Chicago, 1911. Goodspeed, E., “The Toronto Gospels”, American Journal of Theology, 15 (1911), pp. 268–71. Griesbach, J., Novum Testamentum Graece, Halle, 1774–1775. Griesbach, J., Novum Testamentum Graece, Second edition, Halle and London, 1796–1806. Guy, B., “A Welsh manuscript in America: Library Company of Phila­ delphia, 8680.O”, National Library of Wales Journal, 36 (2014), pp. 1–26. Gwara, S., “Je me souviens: The forgotten collection of medieval and renaissance manuscripts owned by Gerald E. Hart of Montreal”, in Inter Medium et Opus: Studies on the Transmission of Medieval Ideas in Honor of Frank Coulson, ed. by H. Anderson and D.  Gura, Turnhout, 2020, pp. 255–88. Gwara, S., “Peddling wonderment, selling privilege: launching the market for medieval books in antebellum New York”, Perspectives médiévales, 41 (2020), pp. 1–35. Harris, J., Observations on Upper Canada College, Toronto, 1836. [Hart, G.], Condensed catalogue of manuscripts, books and engravings on exhibition at the Caxton Celebration, etc. Montreal, 1877.

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Hobson, A., Humanists and bookbinders: the origins and diffusion of the humanistic bookbinding, 1459–1559, Cambridge, 1989. Kavrus-Hoffmann, N., “Catalogue of Greek medieval and renaissance manuscripts in the collections of the United States of America, part VIII: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the Library Company of Philadelphia”, Manuscripta, 58 (2014), pp. 38–73. Lachmann, K., “Rechenschaft über seine Ausgabe des neuen Testaments”, Theologische Studien und Kritiken, 3 (1830), pp. 817–45. Lachmann, K., “Lost Books”, Universalist Quarterly and General Review, New Series. Vol. 8. April 1871, pp. 243–45. Macchi, F. et al., Arte della legatura a brera, Milan, Biblioteca Nazionale Braidense. 18 April-22 June 2012. Murray, H., “Pioneer Shakespeare culture: reverend Henry Scadding and his Shakespeare display at the 1892 Toronto Canadian Industrial Exhibition”, in Shakespeare in Canada: A World Elsewhere?, ed. by D. Brydon and I. Makaryk, Toronto, 2002, pp. 47–65. Noblemaire, G., Histoire de la maison des Baux, Paris, 1913. Paley, W., The works of William Paley, D. D., Archdeacon of Carlisle, 6 vols., Cambridge, 1830. Planck, G., Introduction to sacred philology and interpretation, translated by S. Turner, Edinburgh, 1834. Reed, T., A history of the University of Trinity College, 1852–1952, Toronto, 1952. Sabbadini, R., Le scoperte dei codici latini e greci ne’ secoli XIV e XV, Florence, 1905. Scadding, H., “Leaves they have touched”, Canadian Journal of Science, Literature and History, New Series 85 (April 1874), pp. 73–124; 87 (March 1875), pp. 315–47 and 479–502. Scadding, H., “Leaves they have touched; being a review of some historical autographs: addenda”, Canadian Journal of Science, Literature and History, New Series 91 (July 1876), pp. 145–60. Scadding, H., A boy’s books, then and now (1818 & 1881), Toronto, 1882. Scadding, H., Some Pioneer Bibles, being the contents of the Log Shanty Book-Shelf for 1889, Toronto, 1889. Scadding, H., Specimens of pioneer typography, being the contents of the Log Shanty Book-Shelf for 1890, Toronto, 1890. Scadding, H., Relics of a pioneer anti-obscurantist: Erasmus of Rotterdam, a.d. 1476, a.d. 1536, being the contents of the Log Shanty BookShelf for 1891, Toronto, 1891.

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Scadding, H., “The college, its inception, and first masters”, in A history of Upper Canada College, 1829–1892, ed. by G. Dickson and G.  Adam, Toronto, 1893, pp. 23–43. Scadding, H., “Pioneer literary endeavors in Western Canada”, The Canadian Magazine of Politics, Science, Art and Literature, 2 (1894), pp. 395–98. Scadding, H., After-Gleanings for the Log-Shanty Book Shelf of 1896, Toronto, 1896. Stegmüller, F., Repertorium biblicum medii aevi, vol. 1. Madrid, 1981. Victor, B. and B. Dunn-Lardeau, “Un manuscrit humanistique du De finibus de Cicéron dans les collections des livres rares de l’UQAM”, in Manuscrits du moyen âge et de l’humanisme dans les collections de l’UQAM et de Concordia, ed. by B. Dunn-Lardeau and J. Auberger. Special issue of Memini 15 (2011), pp. 59–64. Virr, R., “’Behold this treasury of glorious things’: The Montreal Caxton Exhibition of 1877”, Papers of the Bibliographical Society of Canada, 30 (1992), pp. 7–20. Voigts, L., “A Handlist of Middle English in Harvard Manuscripts”, Harvard Library Bulletin, 33 (1985), pp. 1–96.

Roger Bacon’s Reading of Aethicus Ister in his Opus maius Justin Haynes (Washington, DC) The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister has had a rather liminal existence in the modern academy — falling in something of a no man’s land between disciplines and known only to a few — but Michael Herren’s masterful edition and translation with copious notes has made this unusual work more accessible than ever before to coming generations, and I have no doubt that its importance for medieval literature — to say nothing of its own intrinsic value — will soon become more widely recognized.1 The Cosmography was composed in the first part of the eighth century and purports to be a translation by St Jerome of an ancient pagan Greek text by a certain Aethicus from Scythia (Ister). Throughout the text, “Jerome” inserts his own voice to remark upon his omissions from the translation and to provide commentary.2 The work survives in forty-four copies and fragments. Despite its relative popularity in the Middle Ages, as Herren reports, “it was very little glossed, and it is hard to say how well it was understood by medieval readers, or what its reception may have been.”3 As Herren goes on to note, almost no work has been done so far on the medieval reception of the Cosmography even though the quantity of surviving manuscripts suggests that it would have been accessible to 1 Aethicus Ister, The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister, ed. and trans. by M. Herren, Turnhout, 2011. 2  In keeping with Herren’s useful practice, I distinguish between St Jerome (the historical personage), Ps. Jerome (the author of the Cosmographia), and “Jerome” (the voice of the narrator claiming to be translating and abridging the work of Aethicus). 3 Aethicus, Cosmography, p. xii.

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 169–188. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125562 ©

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many readers. One of those medieval readers was Roger Bacon, who cited Aethicus numerous times in his Opus maius (completed in 1267 or 1268). The following study is intended to offer a tentative first step in reconstructing the medieval reception of Aethicus through an in-depth analysis of how Bacon understood and made use of the Cosmography. Many fundamental questions about the Cosmography still remain today.4 What are we to make of the fictitious time frame of Aethicus’s life? What was Aethicus’s religious profile? If he was supposed to be a pagan, why does he quote the Old Testament? Is the Cosmography meant to be a parody of a Philosophenroman, as Danuta Shanzer has argued, or of a pilgrim’s itinerarium? Is the Cosmography a parody at all or only in certain parts? What is the role of the voice of “Jerome” in the forgery? Bacon made such substantial and detailed use of the Cosmography that it is possible to determine, broadly speaking, how he might have answered some of these questions. Although we could never claim that Bacon was the “ideal reader” envisioned by Ps. Jerome, nevertheless in Bacon we have a witness for a reading far closer in time and culture to Ps. Jerome than ourselves. Bacon thus provides a useful counterweight against which we may balance our own modern biases. 1. Aethicus as Geographical Source Considering that much of the Cosmography is a travel narrative, it might not be surprising that Bacon used it as a source of geographical knowledge, yet Bacon’s citation of Aethicus for scientific fact does not mesh well with modern readings of the Cosmography as a humorous parody or satire.5 The geographical facts extracted from the Cosmography demonstrate just how far Bacon was willing to trust both “Jerome”, whom he believed to be the saint, and the veracity of the Cosmography as a scientific source. Not only does 4 The following list of questions mirrors several asked in D. Shanzer, “The Cosmographia Attributed to Aethicus Ister as Philosophen- or Reisero­ man”, in Insignis Sophiae Arcator: Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Michael Herren on his 65th Birthday, ed. by G. Wieland, C. Ruff, and R. Arthur, Turnhout, 2006, pp. 57–86, at pp. 83–86. 5 P. Dronke, Verse with Prose: The Art and Scope of the Mixed Form, Cambridge, MA, 1994, pp. 14–19; and Shanzer, “The Cosmographia Attributed to Aethicus Ister.”

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Bacon seem to overlook any humor in Aethicus’s journey, but he also repeats even some more fantastical stories as fact. After giving an overall description of the globe and a more detailed account of the peoples and geography of North Africa, the Middle East, and South Asia, Bacon begins his description of the North (in which he includes not only Northern Europe and Asia, but also what we would call Eastern Europe and Central Asia) by invoking Aethicus as his principal source since he was an eyewitness whereas “southern philosophers have little knowledge” about the northern regions; Bacon continues, saying that he would also rely on the account written by his fellow Franciscan, William of Rubruck, in 1253.6 Thus, both Aethicus and William are treated as more credible on the disposition of the North than the ancient Greek and Roman sources, but it is particularly noteworthy that Bacon trusted Aethicus as much or more than a fellow Franciscan whose eyewitness account was written only a decade before Bacon began work on his Opus maius. A likely reason for Bacon’s seemingly great faith in Aethicus as a reliable witness is the authoritative voice of “Jerome” in the Cosmography. For instance, in asserting Aethicus’s trustworthiness over other ancient philosophers, Bacon was following “Jerome” who paused after a rather unbelievable episode in Aethicus’s travels to explain to his readers that “we do not criticize him for this but rather admire him, as we have read some of the statements of the philosophers, but they did not speak of such great matters, nor {was there} such an extensive circumnavigation of the world and its inaccessible islands by the art of navigation.”7 Later “Jerome” again similarly reassures the reader: 6 Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “Unde hic incipiunt regiones aquilonares, de quibus philosophi meridiani parum sciverunt, secundum quod Ethicus astronomus refert in suo libro; sed hic perambulavit omnes has regiones, et mare oceanum septentrionale cum insulis suis navigavit. Volo igitur ipsum sequi, et nihilominus libros de moribus Tartarorum, et praecipue fratrem Willielmum, quem Dominus rex Franciae, Lodovicus, in Syria existens misit ad terram Tartarorum anno Domini 1253, qui frater scripsit Domino regi situm regionum et marium.” Roger Bacon, Opus maius, ed. by J. Bridges, The ‘Opus Majus’ of Roger Bacon, Oxford, 1900, vol. 1, p. 356; trans. by R. Burke, Philadelphia, 1928, vol. 1, p. 374. 7 Aethicus, Cosmography, § 22: “Nos uero nec reprehendimus sed miramur, quia philosophorum argumenta nonnulla legimus, sed nec tanta dixisse, nec

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justin haynes The cosmographer {recorded} all these things about the unknown peoples and the islands of the North which we have not yet found written or read in other books. Here he records many things which will be deemed incredible. However, these matters which we have transcribed from his books we accept without hesitation.8

Although Bacon initially claimed to be basing his account of northern geography principally on the Cosmography, he only cites Aethicus as an expressly geographical source at two points. First, he invokes both Aethicus and Pliny as authorities on the Amazons, but it is Aethicus, in particular, whom he follows, for Bacon repeats the rather sensational story found only in the Cosmogra­ phy that the Amazons nursed baby minotaurs, centaurs, and elephants at their own breasts so that they would imprint on their foster mothers and defend them vigorously in battle.9 In spite of the manifestly (to us) mythical element of this story, Bacon seems to have given credence to Aethicus’s account. Perhaps Bacon was influenced by the comment from “Jerome” just before Aethicus’s description of the Amazons’ unique method of animal husbandry: The philosopher says that he had personally seen their hiding places, huts, caves and grottoes on those islands and swamps, and on this account journeyed as far as this place in order to know with certainty {and} more accurately their {places of} origin, exile, and recovery. He greatly admired some things and describes some other matters {regarding} their expertise that seem incredible to us.10

tantum mundi circuitum et mare oceanum arte nauale insolas inaccessibiles, cum ille Histriam se exortum fuisse scribat et de aquilone parte uicina.” ed. by Herren, pp. 22–23. 8 Aethicus, Cosmography, § 43. “Haec omnia chosmografus de ignotis gentibus uel insolas septentrionales, quae necdum in aliis libris scripta reperimus uel legimus. Hic multa scribit quae incredibile ducetur. Tamen haec quae scripsimus ex eius codicibus sine ambiguitate recipimus.” ed. by Herren, pp. 52–55. 9 Roger Bacon, Opus maius, ed. by Bridges, pp. 361–62. Aethicus, Cos­ mography, § 68d, ed. by Herren, pp. 156–57. See also Herren’s note on the uniqueness of this detail at p. 257, n. 404. 10 Aethicus, Cosmography, § 68d: “Ipse se inquiens philosophus uidisse receptacula ac casulas, antra et speluncas earum in ipsas insolas uel paludes uidisse, et ob hoc illuc usque peraccessisse, ut earum et originem et exilium atque reparationem certatim ueracius sciret. Sed multum admirans non-

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If Bacon accepted the forgery as authentic, then no less a personage than St Jerome seemed to confirm that Aethicus had been an eyewitness to the very details that Bacon repeated — incredible though they may sound. The last remaining quotation expressly drawing on Aethicus as a geographer comes not from his description of the North but when Bacon gives a short summary of the major locations and peoples of eastern, southern, and western Europe, claiming brevity because “nearly all of them are known to all men.”11 Given what Bacon says about the reliability of “southern philosophers” on regions outside of their homeland, it is a little unexpected that he credits Aethicus as one of the most reliable sources for information about the layout of Greece. Here Bacon paraphrases and quotes § 78, 79, and 87 of the Cosmography on Attica which he explains was also called Sicyonia from its ancient king, Sicyon.12 In this case, Bacon claims to follow Aethicus in particular because “in the philosopher Aethicus alone can be found clearly stated the explanation of the word and of the signification of the name.”13 This rather elliptical statement must be referring to the fact that even though the same etymology for “Sicyonia” is given in Isidore (the presumed source for Aethicus), Aethicus alone adds an etymology for the king’s name, “Sicyon,” claiming that the king was so called “because of the length of his feasts and his height.”14 Curiously, Bacon does not repeat Aethicus’s etymology for “Sicyon,” choosing instead merely to refer the reader to that authority. The fact that Bacon noticed the uniqueness of Aethicus’s contribution to this nulla alia scribens illarum peritia, quae nobis incredibile uidentur.” ed. by Herren, pp. 154–57. 11  Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “Nam fere omnes notae sunt omnibus.” ed. by Bridges, vol. 1, p. 374; trans. by Burke, vol. 1, p. 389. 12 Roger Bacon, Opus maius, ed. by Bridges, vol. 1, p. 375; trans. by Burke, vol. 1, p. 390. 13 Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “et apud solum Ethicum philosophum manifeste potest inveniri ratio vocabuli, et quid sit quod per nomen designatur.” ed. by Bridges, vol. 1, p. 375; trans. by Burke, vol. 1, p. 390. 14 Aethicus, Cosmography, § 87: “Regio et aethimologia et nomine ob magnitudinem dapium et regis altitudinem nomen sumpsit et uocabulum.” ed. and trans. by Herren, pp. 186–87. Herren notes the uniqueness of this detail at Cosmography, p. 292, n. 768. Compare Isidore, Etymologies 14.4.15.

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rather arcane matter reveals not only his very close reading of Aethicus but also his careful comparison of Aethicus against other authorities. It also underscores Bacon’s apparently high regard for Aethicus as a source of knowledge. 2. The Apocalyptic Stakes of Interpretation Bacon advocates the study of geography, especially the geography of the North, in part to defend Christendom from the imminent coming of the Antichrist, and it is for this purpose — rather than for the historical trivia discussed above — that Bacon principally cites Aethicus in the geographical part of the Opus maius. Herren has warned that the gravity of the apocalyptic material in the Cosmography potentially undermines any interpretation of the Cos­ mography as purely parody or satire.15 Bacon’s use of precisely this material from the Cosmography demonstrates and reinforces Herren’s point, since Bacon argues that a major reason for reading the Cosmography was nothing less than the preservation of Christendom. Alexander, as Aethicus states, shut up twenty-two kingdoms of the stock of Gog and Magog, destined to come forth in the days of Antichrist. These nations will first devastate the world and then will meet Antichrist. […] Oh how necessary it is for the Church of God that prelates and catholic men should consider these regions, not only for the conversion of the races there, and consolation of Christian captives in the same, but because of the persecution of the Antichrist, so that we may know whence he is to come and when, by studying this matter and many others.16

15 M. Herren, “The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister”, in Fictional Traces: Receptions of the Ancient Novel, ed. by M. Futre Pinheiro and S. Harrison, 2 vols, Groningen, 2011, vol. 1, pp. 33–54, at p. 52. 16  Roger Bacon, Opus maius, “Atque sicut Ethicus scribit, Alexander inclusit viginti duo regna de stirpe Gog et Magog, exitura in diebus Antichristi, qui mundum primo vastabunt et deinde obviabunt Antichristo. […] O quam necessarium est ecclesiae Dei, ut proelati et viri catholici haec loca considerent, non solum propter conversionem gentium in illis locis, et consolationem Christianorum captivorum ibidem, sed propter persecutionem Antichristi, ut sciatur unde venturus sit, et quando, per hanc considerationem et alias multas.” ed. by Bridges, vol. 1, p. 365; trans. by Burke, vol. 1, p. 382.

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Throughout Bacon’s discussion of the apocalyptic ramifications of Alexander’s enclosure of the twenty-two unclean races, Aethicus is his principal named source.17 The longest single quotation from the Cosmography in the whole of the Opus maius concerns this topic. Besides highlighting the seriousness with which Bacon read the Cosmography, this passage also demonstrates the care with which he did so. Moreover, in his Cosmography Aethicus the astronomer says that various races must come forth around the days of Antichrist, and they will call him god of gods who is destined to lay waste the regions of the world. Jerome, moreover, confirms this in the book which he translated on the wise sayings of this philosopher. Moreover, Alexander the Great fought with these nations, but could not conquer them, as this same Aethicus testifies and Jerome recounts, and therefore he lamented and said, “Nations composed of reasonable and wise people have I destroyed, and I have overthrown a famous and noble people and an honest race. Of what advantage or necessity was it, when we have left here hiding in the human species all the demons of hell and phalanxes of adversaries? Oh, that they may never hear or learn of the earth flowing with honey and of the very great glory of the world, lest perchance they rush forth over the whole surface of the earth and snatch away and devour all like bread. O earth, mother of dragons, nurse of scorpions, pit of serpents, den of demons, it had been better for hell to be in thee than to give birth to such races. Woe to fruit-bearing and honey-flowing earth when so many serpents and beasts shall rush forth into it. Woe to the inhabitants of the world, when those races begin to triumph.” If Alexander had not taken measures effective for the time being against these tribes, no race or people could have endured their oppression.18 So writes Jerome. […] For when he was not able to conquer these races, then, as Aethicus writes and Jerome confirms, Alexander offered victims to God, and prayed a whole night and day for God’s mercy and counsel, and by the divine power a great earthquake happened, and opposing mountains came together and approached through the distance of a stadium, so that space was left only for a single chariot, and he himself then erected gates of wonderful size and 17  Bacon discusses this matter at length twice: Opus maius, ed. by Bridges, vol. 1, pp. 302–04 and pp. 363–65. 18 Note that Burke places the closing quotation mark here, incorrectly in my view, as this statement is assigned to Jerome, not Aethicus or (obviously) Alexander.

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justin haynes smeared them with an unknown bitumen, which can be dissolved neither by fire nor iron nor water nor by anything else except a severe earthquake.19

Bacon did not simply transcribe this passage from the Cosmogra­ phy; instead, he merged paraphrases and quotations from several sections of the Cosmography. The first sentence is a close paraphrase of a sentence from § 32 of the Cosmography, while the words of Alexander have been quoted and assembled from two separate speeches of Alexander in § 33 and § 41a.20 The next sentence is a paraphrase of the last sentence of § 40. The remaining portion is a close paraphrase and abridgement of several sentences in § 41a and § 41b except for the very last phrase qualifying the permanence of the bitumen seal; Aethicus gave no such proviso — Bacon 19  Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “Et in Cosmographia sua Ethicus astronomus dicit gentes varias debere exire circa dies Antichristi, et eum vocabunt deum deorum, prius mundi regiones vastaturi. Et Hieronymus hoc confirmat in libro quem transtulit de sapientiis hujus philosophi. Et Alexander magnus cum eis pugnavit, sed superare non potuit, sicut iste Ethicus testatur et refert Hieronymus, ideo ingemuit et ait, ‘Gentes rationabiles et sapientes vastavimus, attrivimus populum inclytum et sublimem ac sinceram gentem. Quid utilitatis aut necessitatis fuit, cum omnes inferorum daemones et adversariorum phalangas hic relinquimus in humana specie latitantes. Item ne quando audiant vel percipiant terram mellifluam et uberrimam mundi gloriam; ne forte irruant in universam superficiem terrae, et quasi panem cuncta decerpant atque deglutiant. O terra, mater draconum, nutrix scorpionum, fovea serpentum, lacus daemonum, facilius fuerat in te infernum esse quam tales gentes parturire. Vae terrae fructiferae et mellifluae, quando ingruent tot serpentes et bestiae in eam. Vae habitatoribus orbis, cum istae coeperint triumphare.’ Contra quos nisi ad tempus posuisset Alexander remedia, nulla gens aut populus oppressionem illorum ferre potuisset, ut scribit Hieronymus. […] Quando enim non potuit vincere has gentes, tunc ut scribit Ethicus et confirmat Hieronymus, Alexander immolavit hostias Deo et deprecatus est tota nocte et die Dei misericordiam et consilium, et divina potentia affuit terrae motus magnus, et convenerunt montes adversus montes, et approximaverunt per stadium unum usque ad spatium unius quadrigae, et ipse tunc erexit portas mirae magnitudinis et linivit eas bitumine incognito, quod nec igne nec ferro nec aqua nec aliqua re dissolvi potest, nisi solo terrae motu violento.” ed. by Bridges, vol. 1, pp. 303–04; trans. by Burke, vol. 1, pp. 322–23 (translation modified). 20 Note that instead of “god of gods” (deum deorum) printed in Bridges’ edition of the Opus maius, Herren’s edition of the Cosmography has “god of days” (deus dierum).

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added it for reasons described below. In joining the disparate passages on Alexander’s enclosure of the twenty-two unclean races, Bacon was also careful to distinguish between the two narrative voices in the Cosmography, “Jerome” and Aethicus. He internalized and repeated the forger’s claim in § 1 that Jerome had translated Aethicus in order to relay Aethicus’s more ancient knowledge to a Christian and Latin speaking audience. This allowed Bacon to capitalize on Jerome’s implicit affirmation of the veracity of Aethicus’s claims about Alexander and the Antichrist, something he exploited by reminding his readers of this at four separate points in the above passage. Bacon increased both the believability and the urgency of Aethicus’s prophecy by juxtaposing it with eyewitness testimony from William of Rubruck. Speaking of the impenetrable gates of Alexander, Bacon said, “[these gates] could be destroyed in no manner except by an earthquake; and now they have been destroyed, for Friar William passed through them with the Tartars.”21 By stressing that the barrier destined to be breached at the time of the Antichrist had already fallen, Bacon seems to have been suggesting that the apocalypse and the destined invasion by the Northern peoples was imminent. Although William did indeed claim to have passed through Alexander’s iron gates, built to keep out barbarous tribes, he did not mention their association with the Antichrist or the apocalypse. It was Bacon who drew the connection between William’s experience and Aethicus’s prediction. It is impossible to overstate how seriously Bacon took Aethicus’s prophecy about the Antichrist. There is no hint in his citations of Aethicus here or elsewhere in the Opus maius that Bacon read Aethicus as anything but a serious philosopher whose words and predictions were sanctioned by St Jerome. Bacon’s serious reading of the Cosmography underscores Herren’s insight that medieval Christian readers would have had difficulty finding levity in the apocalyptic passages of the Cosmography, and although such medieval readings need not rule out the possibility that other 21 Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “nec [portae] potuerunt dirui aliquo modo nisi per terrae motum: et jam dirutae sunt. Nam frater Willielmus transivit per medium earum cum Tartaris.” ed. by Bridges, vol. 1, p. 364; trans. by Burke, vol. 1, p. 381.

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parts of the Cosmography were meant to be humorous, they do challenge modern categorizations of the Cosmography as a purely parodic work. 3. Anachronism and Christian Doctrine “Jerome” tells us that Aethicus was a pagan, yet Aethicus quotes the Hebrew scriptures and also refers to various aspects of Christian doctrine, such as the coming of the Antichrist discussed above, even though it is strongly implied elsewhere that Aethicus lived before Christ.22 How are we meant to interpret such anachronisms? Herren suggests reading Christian anachronisms as manifestations of “logos spermatikos”, and argues that Aethicus’s open quotation of the Hebrew scriptures only makes sense if he was meant to have lived before Christ, since “had Aethicus been privileged to receive the Christian message and remained a gentilis, then he would have been seen as ‘a denier of Christ’, and unworthy of investigation by Hieronymus who already expresses his misgivings.”23 Bacon never explicitly states when Aethicus lived, but it seems clear from the way he deployed many passages from the Cosmog­ raphy that he arrived at a solution similar to that proposed by Herren. One of the prominent threads running through Bacon’s Opus maius is the idea that ancient pagans who lived before Christ had worked out, through pure reason, astrology, or knowledge of the Hebrew scriptures, most of the essential elements of Christian doctrine. This argument is particularly elaborated in part 7.1 of the Opus maius (Philosophia moralis) where Aethicus is one of Bacon’s star witnesses.24 Bacon breaks down his evidence for pagan knowledge of Christian doctrine into nine categories: the trinity, 22  The closest that Ps. Jerome comes to stating that Aethicus lived before Christ occurs at Cosmography, § 72b, ed. by Herren, pp. 162–63. See also Herren’s discussion of the passage at p. 262, n. 465. Nevertheless, there is also some evidence for placing Aethicus after the late first century ce since “Jerome” explicitly states that Aethicus had read Josephus at § 30, pp. 28–29. But, as Herren acknowledges (pp. xvii–xviii), anachronism, whether intentional or not, abounds in the Cosmography. 23  Herren, “The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister”, pp. 44–45, n. 38. 24  Roger Bacon, Opus maius, ed. by Bridges, vol. 2, pp. 223–49; trans. by Burke, vol. 2, pp. 635–59.

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the incarnation, the coming of the Antichrist, future judgment, the creation of the world, the creation of angels and the devil, the immortality of the soul, reward and punishment in heaven and hell, and, finally, the necessity of worshipping God. From a modern perspective, some of the tenets of Christianity for which Bacon adduces pagan authorities, such as the immortality of the soul, are unremarkable given how widely attested such beliefs were among pagan authors, but others, such as the incarnation, may strike modern readers as rather more improbable. Bacon cites Aethicus in eight of these categories; the only category in which Bacon does not cite Aethicus is on the immortality of the soul.25 By comparison, the next most frequently cited authorities, Aristotle and Plato, were summoned to bear witness to only six and five of these concepts, respectively — still rather a larger number than a modern reader might expect. As pointed out above, Ps. Jerome wrote the Cosmography in such a way that Aethicus unquestionably is made to state certain elements of Christian dogma, especially those found in the Hebrew scriptures, so some of Bacon’s citations of Aethicus will come as no surprise, but certain others reflect a reading of the Cosmogra­ phy at odds with modern interpretations. In the latter cases, the reason for the disagreement hinges on whether a reader is meant to take words as spoken by the pagan Aethicus or by the Christian “Jerome” or some other Christian authority. As Shanzer has pointed out, it is often difficult to tell who is meant to be narrating at any given moment since the voice of “Jerome” weaves in and out often without clear boundaries between quotation, summary, and commentary.26 For the sake of establishing a baseline, I will first present a few cases where Bacon’s interpretation aligns with our own. I doubt that any modern readers would dispute Bacon’s interpretation that Aethicus, rather than “Jerome,” was intended to be speaking when he quotes Aethicus on the creation of the world, saying:

25  Unsurprisingly, Aethicus is the only ancient pagan Bacon can muster to mention the Antichrist, though he does also cite the ninth-century Islamic scholar Abu Maʿshar. 26  Shanzer, “The Cosmographia Attributed to Aethicus Ister”, p. 84.

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justin haynes Moreover, Aethicus the philosopher says, “First of all God made all creatures, and with a supreme effort formed a massive whole, and those things which he made out of nothing he amplified in many ways.” 27

Similarly, Bacon cites the “marvel” that Aethicus had “foreknowledge” that there were nine orders of Angels: Moreover, if we wish to wonder further at the words of Aethicus, we can state, as he himself does in his book, that there are nine28 orders of angels; who he also assumed stand in the celestial glory.29

In context, it again seems beyond dispute that Aethicus was intended to be speaking these lines — anachronistic though they be — and Bacon’s parenthetical amazement is a rare instance of surprise that a pagan could know such a thing. Indeed. Nevertheless, Bacon was willing to believe that more remarkably Christian words were spoken in the voice of Aethicus than modern readers of the Cosmography have accepted. For instance, Bacon quotes an extensive passage on the devil from the Cosmog­ raphy, ascribing the words to Aethicus: Another principle concerns the judgment to come. For an article of the Christian faith refers to this, in regard to which the philosopher Aethicus has said, “The devil, who had been established in the beginning and had been the first to fall, will be punished before all wicked men and will be shut up in hell. Since he shone forth first in the order of creation, and was illustrious as a mir27 Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “Et Ethicus philosophus dicit, ‘Primum omnium Deus omnes creaturas aedificavit, et summo opere unam molem insitituit, atque ea quae ex nihilo fecit multipliciter dilatavit.’” Opus maius, ed. by Bridges, vol. 2, p. 235; trans. by Burke, vol. 2, p. 646. Cf. Aethicus, Cosmography, § 3, ed. by Herren, p. 2. 28 Burke printed “twenty.” See the following note for the reason for the change. 29  Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “Et si volumus ulterius admirari verba Ethici, possumus dicere, sicut ipse dicit in libro suo, viginti ordines Angelorum sunt; quos etiam posuit stetisse in gloria coelesti.” Opus maius, ed. by Bridges, vol. 2, p. 236; trans. by Burke, vol. 2, p. 646. Bridges noted that instead of “viginti” other manuscripts have “novem,” but he followed his preferred manuscript and so printed the nonsensical “viginti.” The text of the Cosmography has “novem,” the standard number in Christian angelology. Cf. Aethicus, Cos­ mography, § 4, ed. by Herren, p. 4.

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acle of God’s ways, he will be the first to suffer the penalties in the last terrible judgment to come, such as have been appointed for him from the beginning in the hollow of the lake, and have been reserved for the judgment before the tribunal of the king, in order that the wicked may see the very truculent author of their death.”30

This quotation from § 11 of the Cosmography, in context, is introduced with the following words, “and that which Alcimus says, how the devil”, etc., which in turn had been preceded by a lacuna. It has been observed in modern times that the Alcimus mentioned here must be Alcimus Avitus, the fifth-century author of De Spi­ ritalis historiae gestis, which is directly quoted in the above passage at “creaturae praefulsit in ordine primus” (2.47), and other lines are paraphrased. 31 Thus, today these words are assigned to the real and Christian Avitus, not the fictional and pagan Aethicus. Herren notes that the fact that Alcimus Avitus lived after St Jerome and was probably not known to the author, and that the author likely had conflated the fifth-century Alcimus Avitus with Jerome’s fourth-century correspondent Avitus. 32 It is almost impossible that Bacon connected the Alcimus in the Cosmography to either Alcimus Avitus or Jerome’s correspondent; instead he seems to have interpreted the Cosmography to mean that Alcimus was a pagan contemporary of Aethicus, for he later pairs them together: Aethicus the philosopher and Alcimus in their books teach that the wicked are to suffer in hell with the devil, in order that the impious may see the very savage and furious author of death,

30  Roger

Bacon, Opus maius: “Aliud vero principium est de judicio futuro. Nam in hoc cadit unus articulus fidei Christianae de quo dixit Ethicus philosophus, ‘Diabolus, qui primo conditus fuerat et primus corruerat, ante omnes pessimos homines punietur et in inferno recludetur; qui quia creaturae praefulsit in ordine primus, et viarum Dei claruit in miraculum, idem primus in novissimo judicio terribili venturo poenas patietur, et ei quales ab initio datae sunt in caverna laci, tot ante tribunal regis ipso judicio sunt dilatae, ut cernant impii truculentissimum suae mortis auctorem.’” Opus maius, ed. by Bridges, vol. 2, p. 235; trans. by Burke, vol. 2, p. 645. 31 Aethicus, Cosmography, pp. xvii and xxxvi. 32 Aethicus, Cosmography, p. xvii.

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justin haynes whom they followed into many useless and harmful desires. The just will deserve to see their Lord God, as I explained above. 33

This is not as dramatic a misreading as it might first appear, for the following section (12) in the Cosmography begins by similarly pairing Aethicus and Alcimus, as if the content of their books was coequal. Aethicus in his Cosmography and Alcimus fittingly described all these matters, which I have inscribed sedulously in my codices with my stylus. And all the things that I found in their books to retain for the sake of utility I set down in my work, with all reading to their profit {his} authoritative investigation regarding the ancient enemy or rude and unformed matter. We found that all these questions had been investigated in great depth. 34

“Jerome” makes no mention that one is Christian and lived much later than the other — rather they are cited, as in Bacon, as a pair who collectively wrote remarkable facts about Christian doctrine. A more striking example of Bacon’s desire to assign Christian anachronisms to the voice of Aethicus may be seen in his interpretation of the portion of the Cosmography that immediately follows the above quotation. It would be most natural to assume that, since “Jerome” was clearly speaking just before and no change in speaker was explicitly indicated, “Jerome” was still speaking in the following part of § 12: And let us believe that the artisanship of Christ, who is both the Word of the Father and the first principle “with him who arranges all things,” created all things simultaneously for his praise […] and the Holy Spirit, a most powerful and brilliant condition and 33 Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “Et Aethicus philosophus, et Alchimus, in libris suis docent quod mali passuri sunt in inferno cum diabolo, ut cernant impii truculentissimum ac furibundum mortis auctorem quem secuti fuerunt in desideria multa et inutilia et nociva. Et justi merebuntur videre Dominum Deum suum, sicut expositum est superius.” ed. by Bridges, vol. 2, p. 246; trans. by Burke, vol. 2, pp. 655–56. 34 Aethicus, Cosmography, § 12: “Haec omnia Aethicus in Chosmografia et Alchimus pulchre dixerunt, quae ego in meis codicibus stilo firma tenacitate peraraui. Et omnia quae in eorum libris inueni utilitatis causa retenere in meo labore posui, cunctis legentibus proficiendam auctoritatis indaginem de antiquo hoste uel rude informeque materia. Haec omnia inuenimus nimia altitudine inuestigata.” ed. by Herren, pp. 12–13.

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creation, was enclosed without division and measure by grace that cannot be divided or diminished and is unable to recede. 35

Furthermore, our modern distaste for anachronism would incline us to assign these words, blatantly naming Christ and the Holy Spirit, to a Christian speaker. Nevertheless, because transitions of voice from “Jerome” to Aethicus are often abrupt and Aethicus is also sometimes made to speak in the first person, there is some room for doubt — enough that Herren felt compelled to add a note after “and let us believe” to inform the reader that “Jerome” is still speaking here and to explain that “the inclusion of a creed was a commonplace of late antique and early medieval writings.”36 Bacon, however, felt no such compunction to take these words as those of “Jerome”, for he cited Aethicus as a pagan who had had foreknowledge of the trinity, saying that “Aethicus the philosopher in his book on things divine, human, and natural, which he wrote in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin because of the magnitude of its secrets, maintains that in God are the Father, the Word of the Father, and the Holy Spirit; and that there are three persons, namely the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.”37 The first portion paraphrases the above passage in the Cosmography, assigning the words to Aethicus, but the conclusion that in God there are three persons is Bacon’s inference. Even more remarkably, because Bacon assumed that the section said to have been taken from Alcimus was equally or interchangeably the opinion of the pagan Aethicus, he went on to combine a quotation from Alcimus’ words in Cosmography § 11 with part of the words that Herren would assign to “Jerome” in § 12: 35 Aethicus, Cosmography, § 12: “Et nos Christi fabricam uerbumque patris atque principium ‘cum eo cuncta conponens’ omnia simul creasse in eiusque laudem; creaturam omnium conditam uel factam credamus […] spiritumque sanctum, fortissimam atque rutilantem conditionem ac creaturam, esse conclusam sine diuisione et mensura gratia quam diuidi nec minuere ac retrocedere non potest.” ed. by Herren, pp. 12–13. 36 Aethicus, Cosmography, p. 65, n. 99. 37  Roger Bacon, Opus maius: “Et Ethicus philosophus in libro suo de divinis et humanis et naturalibus, quem Hebraeo sermone, Graeco, et Latino, propter secretorum magnitudinem conscripsit, ponit in Deo Patrem, et Verbum Patris, et Spiritum Sanctum; et quod sunt tres Personae, Pater scilicet et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus.” ed. by Bridges, vol. 2, p. 231; trans. by Burke, vol. 2, p. 642 (translation modified).

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justin haynes And the philosopher Aethicus also in the book already mentioned says, “The just shall deserve to see their Lord Christ and their King and the marks and prints of the nails, and the Word of the Father and the Beginning, creating all things with him.”38

It might be hard for us to reconcile Bacon’s assignment of these words with a supposedly pre-Christian Aethicus, but note that immediately before his quotation of Aethicus, Bacon cited Plato as a pagan who had foreknowledge of Christ’s incarnation, passion, and resurrection. 39 Bacon’s desire to assign so much Christian doctrine to the voice of a pre-Christian Aethicus should give us pause over what indeed the Cosmography’s author may have intended — especially since, as Herren has shown, he clearly meant certain anachronisms to exist in his work.40 Many of the anachronisms that trouble us today in the Cosmography may well have been unintentional or meant as enlightened prophesy. On the other hand, Bacon had an agenda for reading as much of the Cosmography as possible in the voice of Aethicus, and his exegesis of certain passages of the Cosmography is undoubtedly procrustean. 4. The Cosmography and the De vetula Thus far, I have been assuming that Bacon’s reading of the Cos­ mography presented in the Opus maius reflects his sincere interpretation of the text as a genuine pagan prediction of Christianity; however, Bacon’s great interest in the Cosmography, especially his willingness to distort the text to support his own purpose, raises a question about Bacon’s interest in forgeries more generally, for Aethicus first appears in the Opus maius side by side with another medieval Christian forgery purporting to be by a pre-Christian pagan author: the Pseudo-Ovidian philosophic epic, the De vetula.

38  Roger

Bacon, Opus maius: “Sed et Ethicus philosophus libro supradicto ait, ‘Justi merebuntur videre Dominum Jesum Christum Regemque suum et signa et figuras clavorum, Verbumque Patris atque principium, cum eo cuncta componens.’” ed. by Bridges, vol. 2, p. 233; trans. by Burke, vol. 2, p. 644. Cf. Aethicus, Cosmography, § 11 and § 12, ed. by Herren, pp. 12–13. 39 Roger Bacon, Opus maius, ed. by J. Bridges, vol. 2, p. 233; trans. by R.  Burke, vol. 2, p. 644. 40 Aethicus, Cosmography, pp. xvii–xviii.

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Since they have maintained that Jesus Christ is God and man, as the astronomer Aethicus clearly states in his Cosmography, and likewise Alcimus, and moreover, in that book inscribed, Ovidius de vetula, the conclusion is drawn that God is incarnate in Christ, attributing to him, as they do, what is denied to man alone, their contention is that a celestial arrangement could have taken place for a sign of the conception of the Virgin and of the nativity of that Man, so far as he was man. […] We should praise them because they agree with us and confirm our profession.41

The De vetula is an anonymous poem, composed around the middle of the thirteenth century, that purports to have been written by Ovid at the end of his life during his exile near the Black Sea.42 There are a number of striking similarities between the Cos­ mography and the De vetula which are likely the result of direct influence. First, both works present themselves as “found works.” The Cosmography claims to have been found by St Jerome, while the De vetula claims to have been transcribed by the Greek emperor’s protonotary from a copy found in Ovid’s recently excavated grave. Second, both must also be classified as literary forgeries since in both cases the narrator makes definite references to other known genuine works as his own. Such true literary forgeries are relatively rare; most pseudonymous works only became assigned to famous names long after their composition. But the confluence of the first and second features is especially unusual — it is rare that such “found work” forgeries purport to have been written by literary figures as famous and ubiquitous in medieval culture as St Jerome and Ovid. Moreover, both works are written in the first person with frequent autobiographical and philosophical digressions; this is not a particularly unusual feature for the sort of 41 Roger Bacon, Opus Maius: “Et cum posuerunt Dominum Jesum Christum esse Deum et hominem, ut Ethicus astronomus manifeste dicit in Cosmo­ graphia, et Alchimus similiter, necnon et in illo libro qui inscribitur, Ovidius de vetula, Deum incarnari in Christo colligitur, attribuentes ei quod soli homini denegatur, volunt quod dispositio coelestis potuit esse in signum conceptionis Virginis, et nativitatis illius Hominis, in quantum homo. […] Et laudare debemus, quod nobiscum concordant et confirmant nostram professionem.” ed. by Bridges, vol. 1, pp. 267–68; trans. by Burke, vol. 1, pp. 288–89. 42 For text and translation, see Appendix Ovidiana: Latin Poems Ascribed to Ovid in the Middle Ages, ed. and trans. by R.  Hexter, L. Pfuntner, and J.  Haynes, Cambridge, MA, 2020, pp. 134–297.

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genres to which the Cosmography is assigned (Menippean satire, periplous, etc.), but it is positively unique before the fourteenth century for an epic, the formal genre of the De vetula. I have argued elsewhere that Bacon was responsible for composing the De vetula, and certainly Bacon’s interpretation of the Cosmography harmonizes well with the way similar material is presented in the De vetula.43 In the De vetula we may see the imprint of Bacon’s “willful” reading of the Cosmography as displaying pagan foreknowledge of all nine components of Christian doctrine outlined in part 7.1 of the Opus maius (though Bacon only cites Aethicus for eight of these, the ninth, the immortality of the soul, is attested in the other passages of the Cosmography that Bacon quotes). I am aware of no other forgery of similar length and substance that attributes such specific elements of Christian doctrine to a single pre-Christian author, and as we have seen, it is doubtful that even the author of the Cosmography intended as many of these as Bacon read into it. But in the De vetula these nine elements of Christian doctrine are all spelled out in no uncertain terms, and all are unequivocally in the voice of “Ovid.” “Ovid” even theorizes the trinity, the virgin birth, and the coming of the Antichrist! Just as Aethicus does, “Ovid” makes his predictions relying on his knowledge of both ancient Greek philosophy and the Hebrew scriptures. The De vetula, then, looks very much like what Bacon wished the Cosmography to be. Though these remarkable similarities hardly constitute proof that Bacon wrote the De vetula, they are consonant with the idea. If my arguments elsewhere for Bacon’s authorship of the De vetula are accepted, then Bacon’s citations of the De vetula as a pagan authority in the Opus maius are instances of knowingly using a “pious forgery” for the sake of argument. If Bacon did this, then there is reason to think that he could have intentionally misrepresented his quotations of Aethicus or even could have had (unexpressed) doubts about the authenticity of the Cosmography. To my knowledge, no one has previously drawn a connection between the De vetula and the Cosmography, so at the very least the similarities

43 J. Haynes, “Roger Bacon and the Pseudo-Ovidian De vetula”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 32 (2022), forthcoming.

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I have outlined above present a further avenue of research for the medieval reception of the Cosmography. Conclusion All told, Bacon has left us with a remarkably thorough reading of Aethicus. Out of the 113 sections in Herren’s edition, Bacon explicitly cited § 3, 4, 9, 11, 12, 32, 33, 41a, 41b, 68a, 68b, 68d, 78, 79, 87. The breadth of his citations suggests that it is almost impossible that Bacon was working from excerpts of the Cosmog­ raphy, and the fact that he makes copious use of material from the second half of the Cosmography means that he was not working from one of the manuscripts that only contained the “short version” (§ 1–43).44 Bacon took in the work as a whole and it clearly made quite an impression on him — perhaps even inspiring him to create his own response in the form of the De vetula. Though today the juxtapositions, anachronisms, and false information that abound in the Cosmography may make us chortle and look for analogies with parodic genres in an attempt to save the author from what we perceive to be ignorance or bad taste, Bacon’s earnest reading might just be closer to the mark. At the same time, we cannot ignore the fact that Bacon deployed most of his quotations from the Cosmography with a very specific argument in mind — one which may or may not always agree with the original spirit of the text. Abstract This paper uses Roger Bacon’s many citations of the Cosmog­ raphy of Aethicus Ister in his Opus maius to demonstrate how the Cosmography could have been interpreted in the High Middle Ages and how this interpretation might have differed from modern ones. While modern readers tend to see a parody or an imaginative forgery, Bacon seems to have read the Cosmogra­ phy as a text that could provide accurate and valuable information. Bacon not only cited Aethicus as a major authority on the geography of Eastern Europe and Central Asia, but, rather more surprisingly, even as a pagan philosopher who had lived before Christ yet had predicted Christ and the eventual coming of the Antichrist. In contrast, modern readers tend to treat such predictions either as anachronisms (whether intentional 44 Aethicus,

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justin haynes or not) or assign such Christian elements to other voices in the narrative, such as the frame narrator who is identified by the anonymous author as St Jerome. This paper unravels the knotty passages of the Cosmography that led to Bacon’s interpretation and also explores the rather grand role that Bacon envisioned for Aethicus in his Opus maius. The paper ends with a consideration of the connections with another pseudonymous work that Bacon similarly cites as evidence of pagan foreknowledge of Christian doctrine: the Pseudo-Ovidian De vetula.

Bibliography Primary Sources Aethicus Ister, The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister, ed. and trans. by M.  Herren, Turnhout, 2011. Pseudo-Ovid, “De vetula”, in Appendix Ovidiana: Latin poems Ascribed to Ovid in the Middle Ages, ed. and trans. by R.  Hexter, L Pfuntner, and J.  Haynes, Cambridge, MA, 2020, pp. 134– 297. Roger Bacon, Opus maius, ed. by J. Bridges, The ‘Opus Majus’ of Roger Bacon, 3 vols, Oxford, 1900; trans. by R. Burke, 2 vols, Philadelphia, 1928. Secondary Sources Dronke, P., Verse with Prose: The Art and Scope of the Mixed Form, Cambridge, MA, 1994. Haynes, J., “Roger Bacon and the Pseudo-Ovidian De vetula”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 32 (2022), forthcoming. Herren, M., “The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister”, in Fictional Traces: Receptions of the Ancient Novel, ed. by M. Futre Pinheiro and S.  Harrison, 2 vols, Groningen, 2011, vol. 1, pp. 33–54. Shanzer, D., “The Cosmographia Attributed to Aethicus Ister as Phi­ losophen- or Reiseroman”, in Insignis Sophiae Arcator: Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Michael Herren on his 65th Birthday, ed. by G. Wieland, C. Ruff, and R. Arthur, Turnhout, 2006, pp. 57–86.

Poetic Compounds in Late Latin and Early Medieval Latin Verse (300–900) Michael Lapidge (Cambridge) As in any language, so in Latin, there were different registers of expression: for example, colloquial,1 prosaic,2 and poetic. 3 The poetic register was distinct from the prosaic by its recourse to various linguistic features, such as grammatical and syntactical constructions (e.g., the accusativus graecus, poetic plurals, extreme hyperbaton, hypallage, etc.), and especially vocabulary. Perhaps the most characteristic feature of poetic diction is the use of what are called ‘poetic compounds’.4 There are, of course, various types of poetic compounds;5 in what follows, I shall be concerned with one specific type, namely, compounds consisting of bipartite tetrasyllables made up of two disyllables, together constituting a met1 See Colloquial and Literary Latin, ed. by E. Dickey and A. Chahoud, Cambridge, 2010. 2 See Aspects of the Language of Latin Prose, ed. by T. Reinhardt, M.  Lapidge, and J. N. Adams, Oxford, 2005 (Proceedings of the British Academy, 129). 3 See Aspects of the Language of Latin Poetry, ed. by J. N. Adams, and R. G. Mayer, Oxford, 1999 (Proceedings of the British Academy, 99); as well as G. Maurach, Lateinische Dichtersprache, Darmstadt, 1995; and La lingua poetica latina, ed. by A. Lunelli, 2nd ed., Bologna, 1980. 4 H. H. Janssen, “Le caratteristiche della lingua poetica romana”, in Lunelli, La lingua poetica latina, pp. 71–130, at 121: ‘Forse la principale caratteristica della lingua della poesia alta, specialmente di quella ditirambica, è l’uso di composti’. 5 See J.  Marouzeau, Traité de stylistique latine, 4th ed., Paris, 1962, pp. 134–38; J. Perret, “La forme des composés poétiques du latin”, Revue des études latines 30 (1952), pp. 157–67; and the monographs cited below, nn. 11–12.

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 189–234. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125563 ©

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rical choriamb (–ᴗᴗ–). The first of the two elements will typically derive from a noun or adjective (alti-, armi-, auri-, belli-, etc.); the second element will typically be deverbative (-fluus, -loquus, -potens, -sonus, ‑volus, etc., as well as -fer and -ger declined in oblique cases).6 The resulting compound will typically be an adjective, but may on occasion be an adverb or noun. The use of such poetic compounds goes back to the very beginnings of Latin quantitative verse.7 Thus Ennius in his Annales at one point describes sweet-tasting figs dripping juice from their breasts: ‘fici dulciferae lactantes ubere toto’, where it is probable that the adjective dulciferae was coined by Ennius.8 In the Republican period, Cicero in his poetry likewise coined a number of such compounds in the attempt to give an elevated tone to his verse. Thus, in the surviving fragments of his Prognostica we find the line, ‘tristificas certant Neptuno reddere voces’,9 where the poetic compound tristificus is employed as a more refined expression for sadness than the more prosaic adjective tristis. Cicero’s contemporary, Lucretius, could also use poetic compounds for striking effect, as when in Book V of De natura rerum he alludes to the possibility of the universe collapsing with one ‘horrific-sounding’ crash: ‘succidere horrisono posse omnia uicta fragore’ (v. 109). And in the following generation Vergil — whose poetic style was to inform Latin verse for a millennium and more — also coined a 6 In the list which follows, I only list compounds terminating in -fer or -ger (e.g., aliger, belliger, mulcifer, setiger) when they have been used in oblique cases (aligero, belligero, etc.); in the nominative case these words are trisyllabic, not tetrasyllabic. To signalize the use of one of these words in an oblique case, I give the second element of such compounds as -fer(us) and -ger(us), without implying that a form such as aligero derived from a nominative *aligerus rather than aliger (although it is possible that some medieval authors may have assumed it to do so). These words have been well studied by J. C. Arens, “-fer and -ger. Their Extraordinary Preponderance among Compounds in Roman Poetry”, Mnemosyne, 3 (1950), pp. 241–62. 7  See C. C. Coulter, “Compound Adjectives in Early Latin Poetry”, Transactions of the American Philological Association, 47 (1916), pp. 153–72. 8  See O. Skutsch, The Annals of Quintus Ennius, Oxford, 1985, p. 111, with commentary at pp. 605–06: ‘both for metrical reasons and in order to elevate the style the poet instead of dulces uses the compound, in the sense not so much of “bringing” as of “containing” sweetness’. 9  See W. W. Ewbank, The Poems of Cicero, Bristol 1997 [orig. publ. 1933], p. 98, with comm. at p. 220.

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number of striking compounds, such as armisonus (Aen. iii. 544), auricomus (Aen. vi. 141), lucifugus (Georg. iv. 243), noctivagus (Aen. x. 216), turicremus (Aen. iv. 453), etc.10 Such words constitute a significant part of the Latin lexicon, and it is hardly surprising that, as a class, they have been the subject of several important monographs, notably that by Françoise Bader,11 and, more recently, two studies by Thomas Lindner.12 Excellent though these monographs are, their utility for the study of Late Latin and Medieval Latin poetic diction is limited: Françoise Bader does not discuss the use of compounds as a feature of the poetic register; Lindner’s ‘morphological, historical and lexical’ studies of Latin compounds ends in effect with Tertullian in the third century; and although his Glossar treats later (and medieval) Latin verse, he does not provide references to individual occurrences of the words he discusses.13 The aim of the present article is to provide as complete a listing as possible of poetic compounds in all Latin poets from the late third century to the end of the ninth (in effect, from Nemesianus to the Annales of the anonymous ‘Saxon Poet’, called by editors Poeta Saxo). Analysis of the examples recorded in the accompanying list will show that tetrasyllabic poetic compounds with the metrical structure of a choriamb are used principally in hexameters and pentameters, in the following positions.14 In hexameters, typically in the first, second, or (rarely) third foot: in the very first foot, with the final long syllable being placed immediately before the triemi10  On Vergil’s use of poetic compounds, see A. Cordier, Études sur le vocabulaire épique dans l’Enéide, Paris, 1939, pp. 268–310; and E. Colonna, “Composti nominali”, in Enciclopedia virgiliana, ed. by F. della Corte, Rome, 1984, I, pp. 860–67. 11 F. Bader, La formation des composés nominaux du latin, Paris, 1962. 12 T. Lindner, Lateinische Komposita: Ein Glossar vornehmlich zum Wortschatz der Dichtersprache, Innsbruck 1996; and idem, Lateinische Composita: Morphologische, historische und lexikalische Studien, Innsbruck 2002. 13 Thus, in the Glossar, he characterizes words generally as ‘Late Latin’ (‘splat.’) and Medieval Latin (‘mlat.’), but does not supply line-references; the principal focus of his Glossar is on authors earlier than the third century ad. 14 Note that I do not list tetrasyllabic compounds unless they have the structure of a choriamb; thus, I do not list (for example) the word scenifactor (Arat. HA ii. 514: ‘artis amore domum; nam scenifactor uterque’), since the word here is scanned as an epitritus quartus (– – – ᴗ).

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meral (2m) caesura; in the second foot, following a diaeresis after the first foot, and concluding with the final long syllable placed immediately before the strong (3m) penthemimeral caesura; and, more rarely, in the third foot, with the final long syllable placed immediately before the strong (4m) hepthimimeral caesura (e.g., Prud. Hamart. 795: ‘at laevum nemus umbriferum | per amoena virecta’; cf. also Walah. Strab. Carm. v. 23. 157). In very rare cases, the tetrasyllabic compound can be placed in the fifth and sixth feet (such placement of a choriamb has the implication that it must be followed by a monosyllable to conclude the hexameter; examples in Auson. Carm. xxv. 9. 5 9 (‘mox ador atque adoris de polline pultificum far’; cf. also xxv. 15. 3, and xxv. 15. 7); and note an example of pestifer(us) placed the 5th foot, with the final syllable elided and followed by disyllable by Milo of Saint-Amand (VSA iv. 288: ‘ocius audacter, dea quo stat pestifer(a), ito’) — an unusual example of metrical virtuosity by a Medieval Latin poet. In a pentameter, tetrasyllabic compounds are found in the first or second foot preceding the medial caesura, or in the first or second foot following the medial caesura; the fact that a choriambic word ends in a long syllable makes such words readily suitable for placement in a pentameter. It is hoped that the accompanying lists will provide raw material for a thorough analysis of this one aspect of Late Latin and early Medieval Latin poetic diction; but (for reasons of space) detailed analysis cannot be undertaken here, save to make the following observations in passing. Certain tetrasyllabic compounds with the structure of a choriamb, whether or not they originated in verse, were quickly adopted by prose writers, and widely disseminated: agricola, for example, which is attested in Plautus, was taken over by Cato the Elder in his De re rustica, and became the normal (and banal) word for ‘farmer’; likewise omnipotens: although the word is first used by poets (Plautus, Ennius, Lucilius, Lucretius), it, too, was taken over by prose writers, especially in the Christian era, and became a prosaic (and banal) descriptor of the ‘omnipotent’ Christian God.15 Some words were used so often by poets that they 15 For these reasons, I do not record instances of agricola and omnipotens in the following lists. By the same token, I do not list compounds with the second element in -pes, even when declined in oblique cases so as to constitute tetrasyllables (e.g., cornipedes, loripedes, etc.). On omnipotens, there is a useful

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may be presumed to have lost whatever poetic resonance they may once have had: for example, when the compound Christicola was first coined, it may have had the same kind of poetic resonance which (say) caelicola had when coined by Ennius; but through repetition (see the list below) it soon lost this original effect and became banal; likewise with compounds such as altithronus, pestifer(us), sacrilegus, etc. Nevertheless, the lists reveal that certain poets could display considerable ingenuity in coining poetic compounds.16 Among Late Latin poets, the most prolific in this respect were Ausonius (aestifluus, limigena, pultificus, etc.), Cyprianus Gallus (celsiiugus, fraudiger(us), mundificus, etc.), Prudentius (aurifluus, lucisator, Nilicola, etc.), and Sidonius Apollinaris (crinisatus, flammigena, flucticola, etc.). Among Medieval Latin poets, two stand out for their creativity in this respect: Bede (aurivagus, celsithronus, mannifluus, etc.) and Sedulius Scottus (blandiloquax, corvigena, maestificus, etc.). On the other hand, a number of poets seem rarely to have used poetic compounds (or only to have used the most banal of such words), such as Symposius in his Enigmata,17 and Paulinus of Pella in his Eucharisticos, who uses only three banal compounds in a poem of some 600 lines. Some poets, such as Commodian, avoid poetic compounds altogether. In any case, the following lists will illustrate the imaginative range of poetic compounds found in Late Latin and Medieval Latin verse. Under each item, the poets who employ the word are listed in approximate chronological order, so that it is possible to see which poets were the originators, and which the inheritors, of a particular word (but note that what may appear to be a first usage here may in some cases be a word inherited from Classical Latin poetry; such classical usage may be identified by reference to Lindner, Glossar). In Appendix I, I list a number of poetic comstudy by W. Schubert, “Der Begriff omnipotens in der lateinischen Literatur”, Gymnasium, 91 (1984), pp. 369–78 (with discussion of other compounds in -potens). 16  Note that, before determining that a poetic compound was used for the first time by a poet listed here, it would be necessary to establish that the word had not previously been used by a Classical Latin poet (by consulting the lists in Lindner, Glossar). 17 It is interesting to note that the poets who followed Symposius, and modelled their enigmata on his, showed far more flair in coining poetic compounds than their model: Aldhelm, Tatwine, and Hwaetberht.

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pounds consisting of more than four, and sometimes as many as six syllables, but only if the final four syllables of such words constitute a choriamb. In Appendix II, I list such poetic compounds as occur in the Hiberno-Latin Hisperica famina (although, since these compositions are not quantitative, the compounds used are not scanned as choriambs, if indeed they are scanned at all).18 Abstract One of the features which distinguished the language of Latin verse from that of prose was the use of what are called ‘poetic compounds’: by which is meant tetrasyllabic words, usually adjectives or nouns, composed of two equal elements, the first of which is typically denominative, the second deverbative, having in combination the metrical structure of a choriamb (that is, a long syllable followed by two short syllables, and concluded by another long syllable). Poetic compounds in Classical Latin verse have been well studied, but those in early Medieval Latin have not hitherto attracted serious attention. The present article attempts to provide a complete lexicon of all such compounds in Latin verse from (roughly) Nemesianus to the Poeta Saxo; the purpose of the lexicon is to enable students of early Medieval Latin verse to see at a glance which poetic compounds had become commonplace through repetition (and, presumably, devoid of any poetic resonance) and which ones were coined afresh by poets who were genuine poetic innovators.

18  I use the following abbreviations: CCSL = Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina (Turnhout); CSEL = Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (Vienna); MGH, AA = Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Auctores Antiquissimi; MGH, PLAC = Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Poetae Latini Aevi Carolini; PLM = E. Baehrens (ed.), Poetae Latini Minores, 5 vols (Leipzig, 1879–1883); and Lindner, Glossar = T. Lindner, Lateinische Komposita: ein Glossar vornehmlich zum Wortschatz der Dichtersprache, Innsbruck 1996. I realize that in many cases there are more recent and reliable editions than those I have cited (e.g. Michael Herren’s edition of the Carmina of Iohannes Scottus Eriugena, or Paulo Farmhouse Alberto’s edition of the Carmina of Eugenius of Toledo); my intention has not been to compile a comprehensive bibliography of editions of Late Latin and Medieval Latin verse, but to cite editions which have become standard through age and are readily available.

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Abbo.Sangerm.Bella = Abbo of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Bella Parisiacae urbis: ed. by P. von Winterfeld, MGH, PLAC IV/1, pp. 72–121 Aedilw.Abb. = Aediluulf, De abbatibus: ed. by A. Campbell, Oxford, 1967 Aenigm.Lauresham. = Aenigmata Laureshamensia: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC I, pp. 20–23 Alc.Avit.Poem. = Alcimus Avitus, Poema de spiritalis historiae gestis: ed. by R. Peiper, MGH, AA VI/2, pp. 197–294 Alc.Carm. = Alcuin, Carmina: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC I, pp. 169–351 Aldh.CE, Enigm., CDV = Aldhelm, Carmina ecclesiastica, Enigmata, Carmen de uirginitate: ed. by R. Ehwald, MGH, AA XV, pp. 3–32; 97–149; 350–471 resp. Anth.Lat. = Anthologia Latina: ed. by A. Riese, 2 vols, Leipzig, 1894– 1906 Arat.Ep.Flor., Ep.Parth., HA = Arator, Epistula ad Florianum, Historia apostolica, Epistula ad Parthenium: ed. by A. P. McKinlay, CSEL LXXII, pp. 1–5, 10–149, 150–53 resp. Audrad.Mod.Carm. = Audradus Modicus, Carmina: ed. by L. Traube, PLAC III, pp. 67–121 Auson.Carm. = Ausonius, Carmina: ed. by R. P. H. Green, Oxford, 1991 Avian.Fab. = Avianus, Fabulae: ed. PLM V, pp. 35–70 Beda.VCM, VDDI = Bede, Vita metrica S. Cudbercti; Versus de die iudicii: ed. by M. Lapidge, Bede’s Latin Poetry, Oxford, 2019, pp. 186– 312, 158–78 resp. Bened. = Carmen de S. Benedicta: ed. by P. von Winterfeld, MGH, PLAC IV/1, pp. 209–31 Boeth.Cons.Phil. = Boethius, De consolatione Philosophiae [metra]: ed. by L Bieler, CCSL XCIV Bonif.Carm. = Bonifatius, Carmina: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC I, pp. 3–16 Cand.Fuld.VAeig. = Candidus of Fulda, Vita Aeigili: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC II, pp. 94–117 Carm. ad senatorem = [Damasus], Carmen ad senatorem: ed. by R. Peiper, CSEL XXIII, pp. 227–30 Cassian. = Carmen de S. Cassiano: ed. by P. von Winterfeld, MGH, PLAC IV/1, pp. 181–96

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Claud.Carm. = Claudian, Carmina: ed. by T. Birt, MGH, AA X Cl.M.Vict.Aleth. = Claudius Marius Victor, Alethia: ed. by J. Martin, CCSL CXXVIII Coripp.Ioh., Laud.Iust. = Corippus, Iohannis; De laude Iustini: ed. by J.  Partsch, MGH, AA III/2, pp. 1–109, 115–56 resp. Cypr.Gall.Gen., Exod., Lev., Num., Deut., Ies.Naue, Iud. = Cyprianus Gallus, Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numeri, Deuteronium, Iesu Naue, Iudices: ed. by R. Peiper, CSEL XXIII/1, pp. 1–56, 57–103, 104–15, 116–45, 146–56, 157–78, and 179–209 resp. Dam.Epigr. = Damasus, Epigrammata: ed. by A. Ferrua, Epigrammata Damasiana, Rome, 1942 Distich.Cat. = Disticha Catonis: ed. PLM III, pp. 205–36 Dracont.Laud., Satis., Romul., Orest. = Dracontius, De laudibus Dei, Satisfactio, Romulea, Orestes: ed. by F. Vollmer, MGH, AA XIV, pp. 23–113, 114–31, 132–96, 197–226 resp. Ermold.Nig.Hlud., Pipp. = Ermoldus Nigellus, In Honorem Hludowici, In laudem Pippini regis: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC II, pp. 5–79, 79–91 resp. Eugen.Tolet.Carm. = Eugenius of Toledo, Carmina: ed. by F. Vollmer, MGH, AA XIV, pp. 231–82 Fl.Merobaud.Carm. = Flavius Merobaudes, Carmina: ed. by F. Vollmer, MGH, AA XIV, pp. 3–20 Flor.Lugd.Carm. = Florus of Lyon, Carmina: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC II, pp. 507–66 Genesis = [Hilarius?], In Genesin: ed. by R. Peiper, CSEL XXIII, pp. 231–39 Heiric.VSG = Heiric of Auxerre, Vita S. Germani: ed. by L. Traube, MGH, PLAC III, pp. 423–517 Hild.PSD = Hilduin of Saint-Denis, Passio metrica S. Dionysii: ed. by M.  Lapidge, Hilduin of Saint-Denis: The “Passio S. Dionysii” in Prose and Verse, Leiden, 2017, pp. 308–446 Hwætb.Enigm. = Hwætberht (Eusebius), Enigmata: ed. by F. Glorie, CCSL CXXXIII, pp. 211–71 Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. = Iohannis Scottus Eriugena, Carmina: ed. by L.  Traube, MGH, PLAC III, pp. 518–53 Iona = De Iona propheta: ed. by R. Peiper, CSEL XXIII, pp. 221–26 Juv.Euang. = Juvencus, Euangelia: ed. by J. Huemer, CSEL XXIV [Lactant.] Phoen. = [Lactantius], De aue phoenice: ed. PLM III, pp. 253–62

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Milo.VSA, Sobr. = Milo of Saint-Amand, Vita S. Amandi, De sobrietate: ed. by L. Traube, MGH, PLAC III, pp. 561–609, 615–75 resp. Mirac.Nyn. = Miracula S. Nyniae: ed.  by K.  Strecker, MGH, PLAC IV/3, pp. 944–61 Nemes.Ecl., Cyneg. = Nemesianus, Eclogae, Cynegetica: ed. PLM III, pp. 176–90, 190–204 resp. Opt.Porph.Carm. = Optatianus Porphyrius, Carmina: ed. by L. Müller, Leipzig, 1877 Orient.Comm. = Orientius, Commonitorium: ed. by R. Ellis, CSEL XVI, pp. 191–261 Pasch.Radb.Carm. = Paschasius Radbertus, Carmina: ed. L. Traube, MGH, PLAC III, pp. 45–53 Paul.Alb.Carm. = Paulus Albarus, Carmina: ed. by L. Traube, MGH, PLAC III, pp. 122–42 Paul.Nol.Carm. = Paulinus of Nola, Carmina: ed. by W. von Hartel, CSEL XXX Paul.Pell.Euch. = Paulinus of Pella, Eucharisticos: ed. by W. Brandes, CSEL XVI, pp. 265–334 Paul.Petric.VMart. = Paulinus of Périgueux, Vita S. Martini: ed. by M.  Petschenig, CSEL XVI, pp. 19–165 Pentad.Carm. = Pentadius, Carmina: ed. PLM IV, pp. 343–46, 358 Poet.Sax.Ann. = Poeta Saxo, Annales: ed. by P. von Winterfeld, MGH, PLAC IV/1, pp. 7–71 Prud.Cath., Apoth., Hamart., Psych., Contr.Symm., Peristeph., Dittoch. = Prudentius, Liber cathemerinon, Apotheosis, Hamartigenia, Psychomachia, Contra Symmachum, Liber peristephanon, Dittochaeon: ed. by M. P. Cunningham, CCSL CXXVI Quint. = Carmen de S. Quintino: ed. by P. von Winterfeld, MGH, PLAC IV/1, pp. 197–208 Repos.Concub. = Reposianus, De concubitu Martis et Veneris: ed. PLM IV, pp. 348–56 Resurrect.mort. = Carmen ad Flavium Felicem de resurrectione mortuorum: ed. by J. H. Waszink, Bonn, 1937 Rutil.Namat.Redit. = Rutilius Namatianus, De reditu suo: ed. PLM V, pp. 4–30 Sedul.Scot.Carm. = Sedulius Scottus, Carmina: ed. by L. Traube, MGH, PLAC III, pp. 151–237 Ser.Samm.Med. = Serenus Sammonicus, Liber medicinalis: ed. PLM III, pp. 107–58

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Sidon.Carm. = Sidonius Apollinaris, Carmina: ed. by C. Luetjohann, MGH, AA VIII Sodoma = De Sodoma, ed. by R. Peiper, CSEL XXIII, pp. 212–19 Symp.Enigm. = Symposius, Enigmata: ed. by M. Bergamin, Florence, 2005 Tatw.Enigm. = Tatwine, Enigmata: ed. by F. Glorie, CCSL CXXXIII, pp. 67–208 Ven.Fort.Carm., Carm.app., VMart. = Venantius Fortunatus, Carmina, Appendix carminum, Vita S. Martini: ed. by F. Leo, MGH, AA IV/1, pp. 7–270, 271–92, 294–370 resp. VLeudgar. = Vita S. Leudgarii: ed. by L. Traube, MGH, PLAC III, pp. 5–37 VSGall. = Vita S. Galli confessoris: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC II, pp. 428–73 Walah.Strab.Carm. = Walahfrid Strabo, Carmina: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC II, pp. 259–423 Walthar. = Waltharius: ed.  by K.  Strecker, MGH, PLAC VI/1, pp. 24–83 Wandelb.Mart., Mens.nom. = Wandelbert of Prüm, Martyrologium; De mensium duodecim nominibus: ed. by E. Dümmler, MGH, PLAC II, pp. 576–602, 604–18, resp. aequisonus [‘equal-sounding’]: Anth.Lat. 485, 109 aequivocus [‘ambiguous’]: Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 37; iii. 626; iv. 123; Pipp. ii. 169; Cassian. i. 152; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 36; Poet. Sax.Ann. iv. 168, 281 aerisonus [‘resounding with bronze’]: Claud.Carm. xxvi. 234 aestifer(us) [‘hot’]: Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 638; Ven.Fort.Carm. i. 18. 1; Anth.Lat. 646, 4; 808, 62 aestifluus [‘flowing with heat’]: Auson.Carm. xxiv. 138; Anth.Lat. 720, 3 albicolor [‘white’]: Coripp.Laud.Iust. i. 329 albicomus [‘having white foliage’]: Ven.Fort.VMart. iv. 2 albiplumen [‘white-feathered’]: Anth.Lat. 729, 3 aliger(us) [‘winged’]: Claud.Carm. xxxi. 139; Prud.Hamart. 539; Contr.Symm. i. 101; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 731; Arat.HA ii. 8, 1213; Ven. Fort.Carm. viii. 3. 132, VMart. ii. 125; Anth.Lat. 18, 27; Alc.Carm. lxxxix. 25. 3, cxiv. 2. 3; Aedilw.Abb. 175; Milo.VSA ii. 143; Sedul. Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 132, ii. 72. 30

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almificus [‘kindly’]: Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 178; iv. 467; VSGall. 1530, 1693; Flor.Lugd.Carm. v. 179, 180, xxii. 4; VLeudgar. i. 79, ii. 345; Pasch.Radb.Carm. iii. 2; Quint. 28* almigena [‘kindly born’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 1. 48 almiger(us) [‘kindly disposed’]: VSGall. 170, 719, 865, 921 almipater [‘kindly Father’]: Alc.Carm. li. 6. 6 almipotens [‘gently powerful’]: Alc.Carm. lxxxiii. 2. 2, lxxxiv. 8 almisonus [‘kindly sounding’]: Bonif.Carm. i. 344 almivolus [‘benevolent’]: Alc.Carm. lxxxix. 6. 2 alticomus [‘lofty’, ‘heavenly’]: Beda.VCM 541 alticrepus [‘roaring mightily’]: Flor.Lugd.Carm. xxii. 20; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 15 altiiugus [‘lofty-peaked’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxi. 713 altiloquus [‘eloquent’]: Beda.VCM 491; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 44 altipetax [‘seeking the heights’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. iv. 99 altipotens [‘mighty on high’]: VSGall. 1577; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 12. 4, ii. 30. 8, ii. 30. 88, ii. 41. 1 altisonus [‘high-sounding’]: Auson.Carm. viii. 57, xxv. 15. 17; Claud. Carm. xl. 27; Genesis 179; Hild.PSD i. 432, ii. 43 altithronus [‘lofty-thronèd’]: Juv.Euang. praef. 24; ii. 62, iii. 409; Ven.Fort.Carm. x. 6. 1, x. 10. 26, VMart. i. 1, ii. 263, 328, 478, iii. 482; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xiv. 55; Aldh.CE ii.17, ii. 25, iv. 13. 2; CDV praef. 7; CDV 147, 693, 961, 1173, 1289, 1393, 1407, 1695, 1703, 1863; Bonif.Carm. i. 39, 96, 147, 153; v.1; Beda.VCM 131, 621, 723; VDDI 141; Alc. Carm. i. 631, 1133; iii. 34, 60; xxxii. 2; xlvi. 23; lxxxvii. 1, cix. 1. 5, cix. 11. 18; Aedilw.Abb. 762; Mirac. Nyn. 173, 244, 274, 403; Milo.Sobr. ii. 5; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xvii. 27, 93, 132; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 23. 114, v. 65. i. 43, v. 84. 1; VSGall. 231, 957, 1092, 1416, 1692; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 3. 6, i. 16. 20, ii. 7. 118, ii. 10. 21–2, ii. 21. 6, ii. 21. 9, ii. 24. 7–8, ii. 24. 35–6, ii. 25. 32, ii. 28. 31, ii. 28. 36, ii. 29. 2, ii. 32. 13, ii. 32. 41, ii. 38. 1, ii. 41. 117, ii. 47. 6, ii. 53. 25, ii. 56. 29, ii. 72. 1, ii. 82. 4, iii. 7. 29–30; Audrad.Mod.Carm. iii [ii]. 118, 134; VLeudgar. i. 532, ii. 200; Cassian. i. 328; Bened. 75, 119, 166 altitonans [‘High-thundering’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. i. 17; Ermold.Nig. Hlud.praef. 35; i. 614; iv. 767; VSGall. 901; Audrad.Mod.Carm. i. 134 altivagus [‘wandering aloft’]: Anth.Lat. 483, 20 altivolans [‘high-flying’]: Ven.Fort.VMart. ii. 6

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ambigena [‘of doubtful parentage’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xlii. 1 amnicola [‘river-dweller’]: Auson.Carm. xvi. 137 amnigena [‘river-born’]: Auson.Carm. xvi. 116 amplificus [‘abundant’]: VLeudgar. ii. 248 amplifluus [‘abundantly flowing’]: cf.  Lindner, Glossar, p. 19

Walah.Strab.Carm.

iv.

20;

anguicomus [‘having snaky hair’]: Dracont.Romul. x 439 anguifer(us) [‘serpent-bearing’, ‘snake-wreathed’]: Prud.Hamart. 131 anguitenens [‘serpent-bearing’]: Anth.Lat. 761, 13 anteuolans [‘flying before’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xx. 103, 426 antigraphus [‘scribe’, ‘secretary’]: Abbo.Sangerm.Bella iii. 26 archidicus [‘of the principal speaker’]: Cassian. i. 529 archisophus [‘lofty philosopher’]: Anth.Lat. 374, 6 architenens [‘lofty ruler’]: Bonif.Carm. ii. 34; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. ii. 339 arcitenens [‘archer’]: Sidon.Carm. i. 7, xxiii. 266; Coripp.Ioh. i. 458, vi. 522; Anth.Lat. 761, 15; Wandelb.Mens.nom. 331; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 34. 18 armifer(us) [‘weapon-bearing’]: Auson.Carm. xiii. 3. 4; Paul.Alb. Carm. ix. 44 armiger(us) [‘weapon-bearing’]: Auson.Carm. xxiv. 70; Claud.Carm. xvi. 13; Prud.Hamart. 407; Psych. 353; Contr.Symm. i. 69; Rutil. Namat.Redit. i. 564; Coripp.Ioh. i. 95, ii. 358, v. 280, 334, vi. 534, 587, 670, viii. 631; Ven.Fort.VMart. iv. 381; Tatw.Enigm. xxx. 1, xxxii. 1; Hwætb.Enigm. xxx.2; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 5, 72, 334; iv. 14; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 53. 6 armipotens [‘mighty in weapons’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. xxviii. 25, 28; Auson.Carm. xxiv. 28; Claud.Carm. xxviii. 655; Prud.Psych. 502; Dracont.Satis. 299, Orest. 105, 250; Coripp.Ioh. iv. 565, 587, vi. 512, viii. 534; Anth.Lat. 81, 25; 81, 28; 763a, 10; 786b, 7; Alc. Carm. i. 125; Aedilw.Abb. 43; Ermold.Nig.Pipp. ii. 159; Sedul. Scot.Carm. ii. 12. 31, ii. 14. 23, ii. 25. 19–20, ii. 25. 68, ii. 30. 35–6, 47–8, ii. 30. 89–90, ii. 53. 23, ii. 58. 23–4, ii. 61. 14, ii. 67. 2; Walthar. 1328; VLeudgar. i. 156; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 196, 463 armisonus [‘weapon-resounding’]: Claud.Carm. xxxvi. 67; Sidon. Carm. vi. 1; Dracont.Romul. vi. 13; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 512 astrifere [adv., ‘starrily’]: Paul.Alb.Carm. x. 41

poetic compounds in late latin verse

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astrifer(us) [‘starry’]: Juv.Euang. iii. 225; Cael.Sed.CP iii. 221; Dracont.Orest. 243; Boeth.Cons.Phil. iv met. i. 9; Anth.Lat. 583, 1; Aldh.Enigm. xxxv. 4, lxxxvi. 3; CDV 259, 1307, 1770; Beda.VCM 399; Hwætb.Enigm. xl. 4; Mirac.Nyn. 26; Hild.PSD iv. 605; Milo. Sobr. ii. 864, ii. 1045; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 8. 29; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 1. 30, ii. 25. 73–4, ii. 28. 4; Quint. 4* astriger(us) [‘starry’]: Auson.Carm. xix. 42; Claud.Carm. xxvi. 245; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 80, 1012, 1106; Exod. 559; Num. 5; Ies.Naue 403; Paul.Petric.VMart. v. 859, vi. 229; Dracont.Romul. x. 11; Alc. Avit.Poem. i. 325; Boeth.Cons.Phil. iv met. vi. 17; Arat.HA i. 33; Ven.Fort.Carm.app. iii. 40; Anth.Lat. 580, 2; 720, 11; Aedilw. Abb. 685; Heiric.VSG ii. 174; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 8. 18; Sedul. Scot.Carm. ii. 10. 17, ii. 28. 13, ii. 32. 1, ii. 38. 11; VLeudgar. ii. 140; Cassian. i. 1, 84; Bened.praef.secund. 5 astrisonus [‘resounding in the stars’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 117 astrivagus [‘wandering like a star’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 50. 22 auricolor [‘gold-coloured’]: Juv.Euang. i. 356 auricomans [‘golden-haired’]: Auson.Carm. xix. 11 auricomus [‘golden’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 50. 16; Wandelb.Mens. nom. 108; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 2. 18, ii. 20. 18, ii. 81. 9 aurifer(us) [‘golden’]: Auson.Carm. xvi. 465; Claud.Carm. v. 243, viii. 128, xx. 260, xxiv. 61; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 57 aurificus [‘golden’]: Ermold.Nig.Pipp. ii. 16; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 6. 15 aurifluus [‘flowing with gold’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 605 aurigena [‘golden’]: Sidon.Carm. vi. 14 auriger(us) [‘golden’]: Aedilw.Abb. 362, 687, 733; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 396 aurivagus [‘breezy’]: Beda.VCM 42 austrifer(us) [‘southerly’]: Hwætb.Enigm. lviii. 6 bachifer(us) [‘grape-bearing’]: Alc.Carm. lix. 3 bacchigena [‘akin to the grape’(?)]: Anth.Lat. 117, 3 bellifer(us) [‘war-like’]: Claud.Carm. xviii. 438; Sidon.Carm. ix. 74; Alc.Avit.Poem. v. 373 belliger(us) [‘war-like’]: Claud.Carm. xxviii. 621; Prud.Psych. 806; Cypr.Gall.Exod. 671, 1023; Ies.Naue 147; Dracont.Laud. iii. 483, Romul. viii. 47, ix. 32, 71, Orest. 173; Coripp.Ioh. vi. 502; Ven.

202

michael lapidge Fort.Carm. ii. 14. 9, vii. 21. 11, ix. 5. 5; Anth.Lat. 198, 19; 215, 3; 854, 4; Aldh.Enigm. praef. 30; Alc.Carm. vi. 35; Ermold.Nig. Hlud. iii. 142; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 16. 18, ii. 53. 2, ii. 53. 17; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 94, 653

bellipotens [‘mighty in war’]: Claud.Carm. vii. 144, xxviii. 335, xxix. 40; Symp.Enigm. xciv. 1; Dracont.Romul. iv. 42, viii. 318–19, 328, ix. 141, Orest. 27; Anth.Lat. 272, 1; 286, 294; 678, 5; Alc. Carm. i. 1326, 1489; Ermold.Nig.Pipp. ii. 162; Milo.VSA i. 127; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 88. 32; Walthar. 917; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 16. 1, ii. 12. 36, ii. 25. 58, ii. 28. 48, ii. 30. 50, ii. 53. 20, ii. 67. 20 bellisonus [‘battle-resounding’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxvi. 425; Dracont. Orest. 634 blandifluus [‘flattering’]: Dracont.Romul. vi. 76, viii. 13; Ven.Fort. Carm. iii. 12. 39, xi. 10. 10 blandiloquax [‘smooth-talking’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 12. 10 blandiloquus [‘smooth-talking’]: Cypr.Gall.Lev. 187; Sidon.Carm. ix. 262; Paul.Petric.VMart. v. 92; Arat.HA ii. 433; Beda.VCM 697; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. ii. 4; VSGall. 769, 835, 1146 blandisonus [‘gentle-sounding’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 35. 4 caelicola [‘heaven-dweller’]: Auson.Carm. xiv. 12. 2, xviii. 43, xxv. 8. 1; Claud.Carm. ii. 9, xxxvi. 252; Prud.Contr.Symm. i. 170; Paul. Nol.Carm. xviii. 14; Cypr.Gall.Ies.Naue 52; Sodoma 35; Cael.Sed. CP ii. 218; Sidon.Carm. i. 11; Dracont.Laud. ii. 483, Romul. viii. 31; Coripp.Ioh. i. 454; Anth.Lat. 10, 5; 17, 75; 21, 34; 21, 145; 486, 129; 494b, 37; Aldh.CE iii. 16, CDV 140, 2092, 2743, 2899; Bonif. Carm. i. 118, 244; Alc.Carm. i. 693; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. ii. 411; iv. 654, 711; Heiric.VSG ii. 237; Milo.Sobr. ii. 110, ii. 923; Walah. Strab.Carm. iii. 596, 695; VSGall. 378, 895, 1211; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 5. 30, ii. 7. 105, ii. 30. 18, ii. 34. 28, ii. 41. 34; Audrad. Mod.Carm. iii [iv]. 359; Quint. 240; Bened. 441, 533, 588; Abbo. Sangerm.Bella i. 338 caelifluus [‘heavenly-flowing’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxi. 833 caeligena [‘heaven-born’]: Auson.Carm. xiv. 16. 36; Ioh.Scot.Eriug. Carm. ii. 1. 3, viii. 1. 1; Walthar. 867 caelipotens [‘mighty in heaven’]: Prud.Apoth. 660 Cainigena [‘descended from Cain’]: Cl.M.Vict.Aleth. ii. 358 campigena [‘born in a field’]: Cand.Fuld.VAeig. ii. 22 candificus [‘brilliant’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. lxxv. 3

poetic compounds in late latin verse

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caprigena [‘akin to a goat’, ‘goatish’]:19 Auson.Carm. xiii. 80. 2; Paul. Nol.Carm. xxxi. 454; Cypr.Gall.Iud. 527; Anth.Lat. 188, 2 carnifluus [‘abounding in flesh’]: Flor.Lugd.Carm. iv. 107; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 50 castificus [‘purifying’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxviii. 128 causidicus [‘pleading a cause [in court]’]: Auson.Carm. xi. 23. 2; Anth. Lat. 148, 1; 340, 1; 742, 28; Heiric.VSG iii. 449; Milo.Sobr. ii. 977; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xiii. 8 celsicola [‘heaven-dweller’]: Tatw.Enigm. xvii. 1 celsiiugus [‘lofty’]: Cypr.Gall.Gen. 291, 375 celsipotens [‘mighty in heaven’]: VSGall. 598, 905 celsithronus [‘lofty-thronèd’]: Beda.VCM 96, VDDI 48; Alc.Carm. iii. 12. 8, ix.238, xxxiii. 1, li. 6. 6, lxvii. 7, lxxxix. 2. 5, ci. 1. 15; Aedilw.Abb. 464; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 559; Milo.VSA ii. 53; Sedul. Scot.Carm. i. 3. 2, i. 13. 3, i. 20. 8, ii. 12. 54, ii. 26. 13, ii. 28. 58, ii. 63. 15, ii. 74. 2; Quint. 31 celsitonans [‘High-thundering’]: Ermold.Nig.Hlud. ii. 407; Audrad. Mod.Carm. iii [iv]. 314 centicanus [‘chanting a hundredfold’]: Heiric.VSG vi. 134 centifidus [‘hundred-pathed’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 890 Christicola [n.; ‘worshipper of Christ’, ‘Christian’]: Dam.Epigr. lxviii.8; Prud.Cath. iii. 56; Psych. 13, 96, 526; Contr.Symm. i praef. 79, i. 481, ii. 1003; Peristeph. iii. 27, 72, vi. 25, xi. 80, xiii. 82; Paul.Nol.Carm. xix. 331, xxv. 33; Paul.Petric.VMart. i. 306; Alc.Avit.Poem. vi. 428; Coripp.Ioh. viii. 322; Arat.HA ii. 928; Ven.Fort.Carm. i. 11. 6, ii. 8. 12, ii. 14. 2, ii. 16. 1, v. 5. 19, vi. 5. 369, Carm.app. iv. 1; Anth.Lat. 4, 78; Aldh.CE iii. 7; CDV 904, 1051, 2086; Bonif.Carm. i. 113, 296; Alc.Carm. i. 282; Mirac.Nyn. 74; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 53, 190, 199; ii. 66, 192, 358, 362, 366, 446, 498; iii. 45, 118, 321; iv. 4, 156, 352, 356, 592; Hild.PSD iii. 126, 364, iv. 601; Paul.Alb.Carm. ix. 168; Heiric.VSG i. 159, iii praef. 1, iii. 135, iv. 404, v. 286, vi. 194; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 4. 28, viii. 1. 7; Milo.VSA praef. 36; ii. 271, 342; Sobr. i. 546, 610, 680, 813; ii. 55; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xvii. 116, xxi. 17; Walah.Strab. Carm. i. 5. 17, i. 19. 6, iii. 70, v. 23. 75; VSGall. 1423; Flor.Lugd. Carm. v. 77, xxv. 59, xxviii. 98; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 19. 24, ii. 7. 19 The word is not correctly a choriamb (its first syllable is metrically short), but is scanned as a choriamb by Paulinus of Nola (‘caprigenum saetis, dum tegit et stimulet’) and Cyprianus Gallus (‘caprigenam prolem sancta ad donaria sistens’).

204

michael lapidge 64, ii. 14. 16, ii. 15. 14, ii. 16. 8, ii. 18. 6, ii. 24. 48, ii. 25. 24, ii. 28. 9, ii. 67. 6, ii. 69. 4, ii. 72. 9; Audrad.Mod.Carm. iii [iv]. 14, 385; VLeudgar.prol. 14, i. 143, 188, 208, 306; Cassian. i. 123, 559; Quint. 82, 97, 126; Bened. 62, 180, 191, 339; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 93; Poet.Sax.Ann. i. 35, 188, ii. 309, iii. 38, iv. 198, v. 494

Christicolus [adj.; ‘Christ-worshipping’, ‘Christian’]: Ven.Fort.Carm. vii. 1. 19 Christifer(us) [‘Christian’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 2. 14, viii. 1. 10 Christigena [‘born in Christ’, ‘Christian’]: Prud.Hamart. 787; Ioh. Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 4. 46 Christipotens [‘mighty in Christ’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 710 clarificus [‘clear’]: Cael.Sed.CP v. 360; Aldh.CDV 766, 1394, 1689; Aenigm.Lauresham. x. 7; Flor.Lugd.Carm. iii. 212; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 3. 11, ii. 20. 25 claviger(us) [‘key-bearing’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. xviii. 29; Alc.Carm. ci. 2. 5; Hild.PSD iii. 57; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 69. 11 cleronomus [‘heir’]: Abbo.Sangerm.Bella iii. 22 conifer(us) [‘cone-bearing’]: Nemes.Ecl. ii. 86; Claud.Carm. xxxiii. 205, xxxvi. 398; Coripp.Laud.Iust. ii. 322, iii. 172 contiger(us) [‘controlling the rudder’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxiii. 188; cf.  Lindner, Glossar, p. 56 (‘der die Ruderstange hält’) corniger(us) [‘horn-bearing’, ‘antlered’]: Cypr.Gall.Num. 120; Fl.Merobaud.Carm. ii. 6; Dracont.Romul. v. 316; Ven.Fort.VMart. iii. 301; Aldh.Enigm. xxxix. 2, Aldh.Enigm. lxxxviii.5; Beda. VCM 954; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. ii. 591; iii. 591; iv. 505; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 6. 10, ii. 41. 8, ii. 41. 28, ii. 41. 52, ii. 41. 138 cornipeta [‘pushing with the horn’ (?)]: Flor.Lugd.Carm. xxvii. 20; cf.  Lindner, Glossar, p. 58 corvigena [‘raven-like’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 25. 30 cosmographus [‘cosmographer’]: Abbo.Sangerm.Bella iii. 27 criniger(us) [‘hairy’]: Claud.Carm. xxi. 203, xxvi. 481; Cypr.Gall. Num. 688; Deut. 85; Sidon.Carm. xii. 3 crinisatus [‘hairy’]: Sidon.Carm. xxii. 81 cuncticreans [‘All-Creating’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. lv. 2. 1 cunctiparens [‘parent of all’, ‘All-Father’]: Prud.Hamart. 931; Dracont.Laud. ii. 65 cunctipater [‘All-Father’]: Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 174; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 11. 5–6, ii. 48. 16; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 61

poetic compounds in late latin verse

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cunctipotens [‘Almighty’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm.app. ix. 4; Alc.Carm. xlv. 83; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 123; ii. 293; iv. 576; Pipp. ii. 167; Paul.Alb.Carm. viii. 7, xii. 1. 26; Milo.VSA i. 439, ii. 389, iii. 57; Sobr. ii. 426; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 39. 26; Walthar. 472; Flor. Lugd.Carm. xxiv. 23; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 19. 1, ii. 27. 4, ii. 30. 95–6, ii. 7. 35–6; Cassian. i. 248; Bened. 102, 474 deifice [adv.; ‘with divine assistance’]: Paul.Alb.Carm. xii. 1. 54 ditificus [‘wealthy’]: Cypr.Gall.Num. 676 doctiloquax [‘learned-speaking’]: Dracont.Satis. 61; Ven.Fort.Carm. vii. 24 f. 1; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 1. 4 doctiloquus [‘learned-speaking’]: Repos.Concub. 20; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 1139; Iud. 26; Sidon.Carm. xxii. 82, xxiii. 446; Arat.HA ii. 318; Ven.Fort.Carm. iii. 23a. 21, Carm.app. xii. 3, VMart. iv. 514; Anth. Lat. 253, 20; 672, 3; 717, 1; 742, 4; Mirac.Nyn. 492; Ermold.Nig. Pipp. ii. 20; Milo.VSA iii. 116; Walah.Strab.Carm. ii. 105, v. 56. 4; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 1. 22; VLeudgar. i. 63, ii. 379; Quint. 37* doctisonus [‘learned-sounding’]: Sidon.Carm. xv. 180; Arat.HA ii. 446; Alc.Carm. xii. 7 dulcacidus [‘sweetly acidic’]: Ser.Samm.Med. 146, 600, 726 dulcicanus [‘sweetly chanting’]: Heiric.VSG v praef. 31 dulcifer(us) [‘sweet’, ‘pleasant’]: Tatw.Enigm. iv. 1; Alc.Carm. iv. 6. 2, lv. 7. 4 dulcifluus [‘sweetly flowing’]: Dracont.Laud. i. 166; Ven.Fort.Carm. viii. 19. 2; Anth.Lat. 120, 7; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 8. 18; VLeudgar. prol. 3, i. 112, 544 dulciloquus [‘sweet talking’]: Anth.Lat. 664, 2 dulcimodus [‘in a sweet manner’, ‘pleasant’]: Prud.Psych. 664; Flor. Lugd.Carm. xxiii. 18 dulcisonus [‘sweet-sounding’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. xxvii. 4; Cypr.Gall. Iud. 244; Sidon.Carm. vi. 5; Paul.Petric.VMart. iv. 572; Arat. Ep.Parth. 14; Anth.Lat. 106, 2; 493a, 2; 658, 25; Eugen.Tolet. Carm. xxxiii. 17; Beda.VCM 668; Alc.Carm. lix. 29, lxi.3, cix. 1. 13; Aedilw.Abb. 467, 498; Mirac.Nyn. 496; Hild.PSD iv. 506; Paul. Alb.Carm. i. 15, iii. 2; Milo.VSA ii. 395; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 16. 7, v. 23. 198; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 14, ii. 7. 84, ii. 72. 6 ensifer(us) [‘sword-bearing’]: Claud.Carm. v. 393; Dracont.Laud. iii. 484, Romul. viii. 602, x. 579; Coripp.Ioh. vii. 429

206

michael lapidge

ensipotens [‘mighty by sword’]: Coripp.Ioh. v. 281, vii. 420, Laud.Iust. iv. 366; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 38. 27 exacola [‘foreigner’?]: Bened. 168, 207 falcifer(us) [‘sickle-bearing’]: Sidon.Carm. xv. 61; Anth.Lat. 578, 2 falciger(us) [‘sickle-bearing’]: Auson.Carm. xiv. 16. 36 falsidicus [‘false-speaking’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 9. 18, ii. 41. 89, ii. 56. 18 falsiloquax [‘false-speaking’, ‘lying’]: Ven.Fort.VMart. i. 92 falsiloquus [‘false-speaking’, ‘lying’]: Prud.Apoth. 107; Ven.Fort. VMart. ii. 274; Alc.Carm. cv. 5. 6; Flor.Lugd.Carm. vii. 40 famiger(us) [‘fame-bringing’]: Alc.Carm. civ. 6. 2 fasciger(us) [‘bearing the fasces’, i.e. ‘pertaining to a consul’]: Paul. Nol.Carm. xxi. 374 fatidicus [‘prophetic’]: Auson.Carm. xv. 85; Claud.Carm. xxvi. 137, lxxxi. 2; Dracont.Orest. 273; Coripp.Ioh. vi. 164, vii. 516 fatifer(us) [‘fatal’]: Claud.Carm. xxiv. 59; Pentad.Carm. i. 21; Anth. Lat. 234, 22 ferricolor [‘iron-coloured’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. lx. 1 ferrifer(us) [‘iron-bearing’, ‘heavily armed’]: Aldh.CE iv. 7 fetifer(us) [‘fruit-bearing’]: Auson.Carm. xiv. 2. 4; Anth.Lat. 639, 4 flammicomus [‘fiery’]: Prud.Psych. 775; Beda.VCM 780; Milo.VSA i. 390, iv. 372 flammicremus [‘produced by burning flames’]: Ven.Fort.Carm. i. 15. 47 flammifer(us) [‘fiery’]: Claud.Carm. xlvii. 9; Orient.Comm. i. 603; Anth.Lat. 546, 2; 584, 4; 586, 3; 588, 1; Paul.Alb.Carm. xi. 31 flammifluus [‘flowing with flames’]: Anth.Lat. 490, 19 flammigena [‘born of fire’]: Sidon.Carm. xiii. 9 flammiger(us) [‘flaming’]: Claud.Carm. i. 1; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 59; Cael.Sed.CP i. 179; Dracont.Romul. x. 112, 473; Alc.Avit. Poem. vi. 466; Anth.Lat. 394, 8; 812, 9; Aldh.CDV 188, 1350; Bonif.Carm. i. 167; Hwætb.Enigm. xlix. 3; Alc.Carm. i. 589, 630; Aedilw.Abb. 763; Hild.PSD iv. 281; Milo.Sobr. i. 306; Cand.Fuld. VAeig. x. 10, 11; Flor.Lugd.Carm. iv. 197; Wandelb.Mens.nom. 203 flammipotens [‘mighty in flames’]: Dracont.Laud. iii. 397, Romul. vi. 5

poetic compounds in late latin verse

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flammivolus [‘flying in flames’]: Alc.Carm. xliv. 43 flammivomus [‘flame-belching’]: Juv.Euang.praef. 23; Coripp.Ioh. i. 338, vi. 273, viii. 228; Arat.HA ii. 531; Ven.Fort. Carm.app. i. 15; Anth.Lat. 873b, 7; Aldh.CDV 1772; Beda.VCM 37, VDDI 104; Alc.Carm. i. 915, 944, lxxix. 3; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iii. 352; iv. 166; Hild.PSD ii. 351, iv. 229; Milo.VSA i. 205, ii. 175; Cand.Fuld. VAeig. xxv. 29; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 63. 18; Audrad.Mod.Carm. i. 173, iii [iv]. 332, 382; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 378, 437 flavicomus [‘golden-haired’]: Anth.Lat. 494b, 97; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 9. 17 fletifer(us) [‘dripping’]: Auson.Carm. xix. 74 floricomus [‘festooned with flowers’]: Auson.Carm. xxvii. 13. 49; Anth.Lat. 866, 11 florifer(us) [flowery’]: Prud.Psych. 885; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 23. 2; Flor.Lugd.Carm. xxiv. 9; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 6. 21–2, ii. 28. 32, ii. 34. 26; VLeudgar. i. 548 florigena [‘flowery’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 23. 173 floriger(us) [‘flowery’]: Cael.Sed.CP ii. 2; Resurrect.mort. 209; Arat. HA i. 20; Ven.Fort.Carm. ii. 7. 49, iii. 9. 1; Aldh.Enigm. xx.2, CDV 2596; Beda.VDDI 1; Alc.Carm. i. 31, 599, xiv. 6, 12, xxiii. 4, lviii. 4, lxvii. 4, lxxxv. 4. 1, cv. 5. 15; Aedilw.Abb. 77, 182; Mirac. Nyn. 48; Paul.Alb.Carm. ix. 78; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 5. 36; Milo.Sobr. praef. 25, ii. 715; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xx. 6; Flor.Lugd. Carm. xii. 28; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 3. 1, i. 3. 7, i. 14. 8, ii. 6. 2, ii. 6. 31–2, ii. 7. 14, ii. 7. 94, ii. 7. 159, ii. 24. 31–2, ii. 31. 10, ii. 37. 8, ii. 42. 2, ii. 50. 8, ii. 63. 21, ii. 72. 8, ii. 72. 24, ii. 81. 29; VLeudgar. i. 732; Bened. 511; Poet.Sax.Ann. iii. 573 floripotens [‘mighty in flowers’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 81. 32 flucticola [‘wave-dweller’]: Sidon.Carm. x. 1 fluctifragus [‘wave-shattering’]: Iona 39 fluctivagus [‘wave-tossed’, ‘watery’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 46; Cael.Sed. CP v. 395; Dracont.Orest. 43; Coripp.Laud.Iust. ii. 328; Arat. HA ii. 1088; Ven.Fort.Carm. vii. 4. 5, vii. 25. 5, VMart. iv. 1; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xlv. 2; Aldh.Enigm. lxxiii. 7; CDV 5, 423, 815, 1102, 2809; Beda.VCM 691; Alc.Carm. cxxiv. 13; Mirac.Nyn. 30; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 304; iv. 632; Hild.PSD iii. 200; Milo.VSA ii. 207; Milo.Sobr. ii. 563; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xxv. 2; Walah.Strab. Carm. ii. 96; Quint.praef. 48; Bened. 331 foedifragus [‘treaty-breaking’]: Poet.Sax.Ann. iii. 223, 374

208

michael lapidge

folligena [‘produced from a bellows’]: Anth.Lat. 742, 63; Aldh.CDV 2788 fontigena [‘born of a fountain’]: Dracont.Romul. ii. 137 formifluus [‘shape-shifting’]: Heiric.VSG ii praef. 21 Francigena [‘Frankish’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. vii. 1. 3; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 1. 39, ii. 2. 11, ii. 2. 27, ii. 7. 63, ii. 12. 7, ii. 12. 33, ii. 20. 1, ii. 20. 13, ii. 20. 44, ii. 25. 40, 41–2, 58, 70, ii. 28. 6, ii. 28. 65, ii. 30. 73–4, ii. 30. 91–2, ii. 67. 2, ii. 67. 27, ii. 67. 39, ii. 76. 32, ii. 78. 2; Cassian. i. 385; Bened. 154; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 11, ii. 316, 470 fraudiger(us) [‘fraudulent’]: Cypr.Gall.Gen. 114 frondicomus [‘leafy’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 102; Symp.Enigm. lx. 2; Anth. Lat. 286, 196; Milo.VSA iv. 273 frondifer(us) [‘leafy’]: Sidon.Carm. ix. 48; Beda.VCM 675 frondiger(us) [‘leafy’]: Aldh.Enigm. xci. 6; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iii. 370 frondifluus [‘shedding leaves’]: Boeth.Cons.Phil. i met. v. 14 frondisonus [‘like the sound of rustling leaves’}: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xxxiv. 1 frondivagus [‘wandering in leaves’]: Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 376 fructifer(us) [‘fruit-bearing’]: Prud.Hamart. 806; Contr.Symm. ii. 941; Paul.Nol.Carm. xxi. 311; Cl.M.Vict.Aleth. ii. 10; Cael.Sed.CP ii. 182; Arat.HA ii. 64 Aldh.Enigm. lxxxiv. 8, CDV 1396; Alc.Carm. i. 651; Flor.Lugd.Carm. i. 186, xi. 41; Milo.Sobr. i. 124; Sedul. Scot.Carm. ii. 6. 19 frugiferax [‘bountiful in fruit’]: Milo.VSA i. 127 frugifer(us) [‘fruit-bearing’]: Juv.Euang. ii. 312; Auson.Carm. xvi. 371; Claud.Carm. xv. 58, xxxv. 138; Cypr.Gall.Deut. 162; Ven. Fort.Carm. iii. 12. 13, iii. 14. 4; Anth.Lat. 571, 2; Aldh.CE iv. 2. 3, CDV 177; Tatw.Enigm. v. 4 frugiparens [‘crop-bearing’]: Ven.Fort.Carm.app. xxxiv. 12 fumifer(us) [‘smoky’]: Claud.Carm. xlix. 36 fumificus [‘fuming’, ‘smoking’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 1010; Peristeph. iii. 118, xiv. 108; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 252; Boeth.Cons.Phil. i met. iv. 8; Heiric.VSG vi. 439 fumifluus [‘spewing smoke’]: Flor.Lugd.Carm. xxvii. 150 gaudifluus [‘overflowing with joy’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 112, ii. 31. 1

poetic compounds in late latin verse

209

gemmifer(us) [‘gem-bearing’, ‘jewelled’]: Claud.Carm. i. 265; Sidon. Carm. ii. 326; Coripp.Ioh. iii. 325, iv. 496; Anth.Lat. 492, 6; Bonif. Carm. i. 327 gemmiger(us) [‘gem-bearing’, ‘jewelled’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 63. 17 glandifer(us) [‘mast-bearing’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. lxx. 6; Aldh.Enigm. c. 49; Wandelb.Mens.nom. 163 glaucicomans [‘having greyish foliage’]: Juv.Euang. iii. 623 glaucicomus [‘grey-haired’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 6. 12, ii. 21. 5, ii. 32. 12, ii. 33. 19, ii. 71. 3 glaucividus [‘clear-sighted’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 8. 3 glorifice [adv.; ‘gloriously’]: Poet.Sax.Ann. iv. 153 glorificus [‘glorious’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 150, ii. 26. 14, ii. 28. 38, ii. 35. 5, ii. 76. 3; Cassian. i. 555; Bened.praef. 35; Poet.Sax.Ann. iii. 487 Graiugena [‘born in Greece’, ‘Greek’]: Dracont.Romul. viii. 281; Anth. Lat. 861, 1; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 153 grandiloquus [‘speaking grandly’]: Arat.Ep.Flor. 9; Heiric.VSG i. 191; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. viii. 2. 2; Milo.VSA iii. 332 grandisonus [‘loudly resounding’]: Cael.Sed.CP i. 18; Anth.Lat. 493, 6; Tatw.Enigm. x. 2; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 50. 11 gratifice [adv.; ‘gratefully’]: Walthar. 1447 gratificus [‘grateful’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. i. 6; Paul.Nol.Carm. xxi. 346; Paul.Petric.VMart. ii. 724, v. 799; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 386; Hild.PSD iv. 199; Milo.Sobr. ii. 1019, 1094 gratisonus [‘pleasant-sounding’]: Audrad.Mod.Carm. i. 45 herbiger(us) [‘plant-producing’]: Milo.VSA iv. 233, Sobr. ii. 1055 herbipotens [‘skilled in herbs’]: Boeth.Cons.Phil. iv met. iii. 9 hirpigena [leg. hircigena] [‘born of a goat’]: Anth.Lat. 682, 2 horricomus [‘shaggy’]: Heiric.VSG i. 356 horrifer(us) [‘dreadful’]: Aldh.CDV 296; Beda.VCM 268; Hwætb. Enigm. xlii. 1; Aenigm.Lauresham. ii. 8, iii. 3, iv. 2, xii. 6 horrificus [‘horrific’]: Claud.Carm. xxii. 24, xlviii. 44; Prud.Cath. iii. 181; Apoth. 85, 625; Psych. 431; Contr.Symm. i. 225, 451; Cypr. Gall.Exod. 1118; Cl.M.Vict.Aleth. iii. 762; Resurrect.mort. 323; Coripp.Ioh. v. 395, 429, viii. 93; Ven.Fort.Carm. viii. 3. 196, xi. 25. 20, VMart. i. 337, iv. 88, 197; Anth.Lat. 649, 30; Aedilw. Abb. 390; Milo.Sobr. ii. 1014; Flor.Lugd.Carm. iv. 205, xxii. 7; Quint. 342; Bened. 267; Poet.Sax.Ann. iii. 434

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michael lapidge

horrisonus [‘horrific-sounding’]: Claud.Carm. iii. 85; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 661; Exod. 357; Iud. 548, 626; Coripp.Ioh. i. 163; Anth.Lat. 627, 5; 718, 17; Aldh.Enigm. ii. 3; Alc.Carm. i. 547; VSGall. 589; Wandelb.Mens.nom. 244; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 3. 6; Audrad.Mod.Carm. i. 174 hymnidicus [‘hymn-singing’]: Alc.Carm. ix. 237, lxvi. 1. 9, xciii. 2, xcix. 17. 4; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 20. 10; VLeudgar. ii. 486 hymnifer(us) [‘hymn-producing’]: Paul.Alb.Carm. vii. 20 (?) hymnipotens [‘mighty in hymns’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 134 hymnisonus [‘resounding with hymns’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxi. 283, xxv. 200 ignicomus [‘fiery’]: Nemes.Cyneg. 207; Juv.Euang. iii. 1, iv. 151; Aldh. CDV 388; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 82; VSGall. 1533; Flor.Lugd.Carm. iv. 227; VLeudgar. i. 98 ignicremus [‘consuming with fire’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. i. 26. 39; Walthar. 322; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 89 ignifer(us) [‘fiery’]: [Lactant.] Phoen. 54; Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 1028; Paul.Nol.Carm. xxvi. 330; Alc.Avit.Poem. iii. 55; Coripp.Ioh. vi. 488; Ven.Fort.Carm. i. 21. 14, iii. 23a. 2, x. 6. 82; Anth.Lat. 581, 1; 582, 3; 587, 4; Eugen.Tolet.Carm.app. xvi. 2, xx. 31; Beda.VCM 338; Bonif.Carm. i. 309 ignifluus [‘flowing with fire’]: Claud.Carm. vii. 196; Paul.Petric. VMart. iv. 91, v. 292; Anth.Lat. 494b, 127; Milo.VSA ii. 361 ignigena [‘born of fire’]: Heiric.VSG vi. 304 ignipotens [‘mighty in fire’]: Repos.Concub. 159; Dracont.Romul. x. 150, 209, 262; Anth.Lat. 253, 159 ignivagus [‘fiery’]: Coripp.Ioh. iv. 24, vii. 371 ignivomus [‘fire-spewing’]: [Lactant.] Phoen. 54; Claud.Carm. xvii. 275; Coripp.Ioh. vii. 323; Ven.Fort.Carm. ii. 9. 3; Beda.VCM 325, 604; VDDI 82; Alc.Carm. lxxvi. 1. 28; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 23. 88; Bened. praef. 4, [carm.] 113, 147; Poet.Sax.Ann. v. 620 imbrifer(us) [‘shower-bringing’]: Claud.Carm. xvii. 109, lxxiv. 3; Prud.Cath. v. 101; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 98; Boeth.Cons.Phil. iii met. i. 8; Anth.Lat. 237, 5; 547, 1; 553, 2; Alc.Carm. ix. 20; Aenigm.Lauresham. iii. 6; Wandelb.Mens.nom. 250, 340 imbrigena [‘born from the rain’]: Anth.Lat. 136, 4 iugifluus [‘ever-flowing’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxxi. 439 iuredicus or iuridicus [‘judiciary’]: Ven.Fort.Carm. vii. 10. 9; Anth. Lat. 874a, 1

poetic compounds in late latin verse

211

iurisonus [‘legally resounding’]: Anth.Lat. 649, 25 iustificus [‘just’]: Poet.Sax.Ann. v. 139 lacticolor [‘milk-coloured’]: Auson.Carm. xxvii. 14. 54, Ven.Fort. Carm.app. i. 16 laetifer(us) [‘joyous’]: Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xxv. 13 laetificus [‘joyous’]: Auson.Carm. xxv. 15. 3; Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 565; Coripp.Ioh. vii. 11; Anth.Lat. 638, 2; Hwætb.Enigm. xxiv. 4; Alc.Carm. xi. 21; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 88. 30 languificus [‘languid’]: Anth.Lat. 642, 6 lanifer(us) [‘wool-bearing’]: Coripp.Ioh. iii. 164 lanificus [‘wool-spinning’, ‘woolly’]: Auson.Carm. x. 16. 4; Claud. Carm. xx. 382; Anth.Lat. 198, 4; 760a, 78 laniger(us) [‘wool-bearing’]: Juv.Euang. iv. 266; Auson.Carm. xiii. 80. 2, xiv. 8. 15; Claud.Carm. i. 180, x. 183; Orient.Comm. i. 123; Cypr.Gall.Exod. 126, 1288; Avian.Fab. xlii. 4; Dracont.Laud. ii. 455, Romul. vii. 62, ix. 57; Coripp.Laud.Iust. iv. 199; Arat.HA ii. 196; Anth.Lat. 623, 1; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. lxx. 7; Milo.VSA ii. 149; Milo.Sobr. ii. 211; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. v. 10, xiii. 13; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 41. 5 largifluus [‘abundant’, ‘generous’]: Juv.Euang. i. 102; Anth.Lat. 893, 3; Milo.Sobr. i. 292, ii. 26, 668, 1078; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 16. 4; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 12. 9 lauriger(us) [‘laurel-bearing’]: Claud.Carm. vii. 12, viii. 14, xxiv. 21; Prud.Contr.Symm. i. 217; Coripp.Laud.Iust. iii. 203; Alc.Carm. xlv. 2; Flor.Lugd.Carm. xi. 38; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 75. 3 legicrepa [‘law-searcher’ (?)]: Anth.Lat. 483, 6 legifer(us) [‘law-giving’]: Cypr.Gall.Ies.Naue 19; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 77; Cl.M.Vict.Aleth. prec. 106; Sidon.Carm. ii. 166, xxiii. 110; Flor.Lugd.Carm. xxv. 48 legirupus [‘law-breaking’]: Prud.Hamart. 238; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 98 lentigradus [‘slow of pace’]: Cypr.Gall.Gen. 1064 letifer(us) [‘deadly’]: Juv.Euang. i. 270, ii. 634; Auson.Carm. xiii. 106. 2, xxv. 15. 7; Claud.Carm. i. 119, iii. 261, xxxvii. 97; Prud. Hamart. 231; Cypr.Gall.Num. 310; Orient.Comm. i. 154; Dracont. Romul. v. 13, Orest. 171; Coripp.Ioh. i.5, vi. 546, 639, viii. 536; Ven.Fort.VMart. ii. 179, iii. 115; Anth.Lat. 487b, 5; Aldh.Enigm. xxxi. 5; CDV 1938, 2383, 2388, 2697; Tatw.Enigm. xxiii. 1; Heiric.VSG i. 132; Milo.VSA iv. 276; Milo.Sobr. i. 313, 894; ii. 14;

212

michael lapidge Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xii. 27; Flor.Lugd.Carm. v. 185; Abbo.Sangerm. Bella ii. 230

limicola [‘slime-dweller’]: Auson.Carm. xxvii. 14. 36 limigena [‘slime-born’]: Auson.Carm. xvi. 45 litiger(us) [‘pertaining to the trial’]: Anth.Lat. 254, 19 longifluus [‘long-flowing’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xcviii. 3 luciferax [‘abundantly bright’]: Ven.Fort.Carm. ii. 4. 3 lucifer(us) [‘light-bringing’]: Nemes.Ecl. ii. 30, Cyneg. 136; Auson. Carm. xvi. 260; Prud.Psych. 625; Symp.Enigm. xcvi. 1; Sodoma 161; Cypr.Gall.Lev. 90; Dracont.Laud. i. 422, 667; Resurrect.mort. 9; Arat.HA i. 1022; Anth.Lat. 286, 300; 646, 12; 723, 15; 760a, 132; Hwætb.Enigm. xx. 3; Bonif.Carm. i. 259, 300, vii. 16; Alc. Carm. xliv. 42; Audrad.Mod.Carm. i. 139; VLeudgar. i. 18; Abbo. Sangerm.Bella ii. 2 lucificus [‘well-lit’]: Aenigm.Lauresham. xii. 4 lucifluus [‘flowing in light’]: Juv.Euang. iii. 293, iv. 119; Ven.Fort. VMart. ii. 265; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. lxxii. 2; Aldh.Enigm.praef. 2, Enigm. vi. 3; CDV 2451; Beda.VCM 822; Hwætb.Enigm. lviii. 2; Bonif.Carm. i. 48, 338; Alc.Carm. i. 1539; Aenigm.Lauresham. iii. 2; Milo.VSA i. 385; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 18. 10; Flor.Lugd.Carm. v. 6, vi. 18; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 4. 47, ii. 38. 7, ii. 42. 12, ii. 63. 12; Quint. 291; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 400 lucifugus [‘light-shunning’]: Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 440; Anth.Lat. 485, 29; 762, 40 lucigena [‘born of light’]: Poet.Sax.Ann. iv. 364, v. 606 lucisator [‘sower of light’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 1 luctificus [‘lamenting’]: Prud.Hamart. 450; Contr.Symm. ii. 509; Alc. Avit.Poem. v. 710; Coripp.Ioh. vi. 457; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xxii. 1; VLeudgar. i. 148 lustrivagus [‘roaming over the wilds’]: Anth.Lat. 682, 1 luxivagus [‘luxury-seeking’]: Alc.Carm. lix. 26 lymphiger(us) [‘water-bearing’]: Coripp.Ioh. iii. 145 maestificus [‘sad’]: Sedul.Scott.Carm. ii. 7. 11, ii. 7. 131 magnanimus [‘great-souled’]: Walthar. 489, 589; Poet.Sax.Ann. v. 40, 287, 417 magnifice [adv.; ‘magnificently’]: Poet.Sax.Ann. iv. 339, v. 232 magnificus [‘magnificent’]: Juv.Euang. i. 71, 96, iii. 272, 743; Dam. Epigr. xi. 8; Prud.Apoth. 1057; Contr.Symm. ii. 91; Paul.Nol.Carm.

poetic compounds in late latin verse

213

xix. 333; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 597; Exod. 509, 896; Orient.Comm. ii. 134; Cl.M.Vict.Aleth. iii. 340; Sidon.Carm. xxiii. 476; Paul.Pell. Euch. 182; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xxvii. 7; Aldh.CE iv. 6. 15; CDV 1974, 2802; Alc.Carm. i. 264, 497, 561, lxxxix. 5. 4, cx. 4. 3; Aedilw.Abb. 173, 273; Mirac.Nyn. 20; Ermold.Nig.Pipp. i. 2; Hild. PSD i. 355, iv. 677; Heiric.VSG i. 176, i. 444, iii praef. 17; vi. 532; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. vii. 2. 2; Milo.VSA i. 324; ii. 67, 374; iv. 328, 334; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xvi. 11; xvii. 6, 52, 127; Walah.Strab. Carm. iii. 475, iv. 260, v. 66. ii. 1; VSGall. 753, 908, 1141; Flor. Lugd.Carm. ii. 11, iv. 209, v. 92, xiii. 1, 82; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 13. 1, ii. 12. 34, ii. 28. 10; Poet.Sax.Ann. ii. 431, iii. 513, iv. 311, v. 383 magniloquus [‘mighty in speech’, ‘magniloquent’]: Alc.Carm. lii praef. 23; Hild.PSD i. 207 magnipotens [‘mighty’]: Alc.Carm. xlv. 72 maledicus [‘evil-speaking’]:20 Dam.Epigr. lx [B]. 7 maleficus [‘evil’]:21 Cypr.Gall.Exod. 927 maliger(us) [‘bringing evil’]:22 Walthar. 1287 mannifluus [‘flowing in manna’]: Beda.VCM 209 Martigena [‘born of Mars’, ‘warlike’]: Sidon.Carm. ii. 396, iv. 25 mellifer(us) [‘honey-bearing’]: Sidon.Carm. xxiv. 57 mellificus [‘honied’]: Coripp.Ioh. vii. 339 mellifluus [‘flowing with honey’]: Dracont.Romul. ix. 207; Boeth. Cons.Phil. v met. ii. 3; Anth.Lat. 389, 15; Aldh.Enigm. xci. 10; Bonif.Carm. v. 3; Alc.Carm. i. 87, 1410, iii. 6. 4, iii. 18. 11, xvii. 4, lx.8, lxi. 4, lxxxix. 1. 15; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. vii. 1. 14; Milo. VSA praef. 10; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. ii. 26; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 2. 28; VSGall. 201, 967; Flor.Lugd.Carm. xxii. 33, xxiii. 11; Sedul. Scot.Carm. ii. 1. 2, ii. 7. 15, ii. 9. 6, ii. 38. 25, ii. 72. 26; Pasch. Radb.Carm. i. 174; Cassian. i. 73 melliger(us) [‘honey-bearing’]: Aldh.Enigm. xxxii. 1; Alc.Carm. iv. 48 20 The word is not correctly a choriamb (the first syllable is metrically short), but is scanned as a choriamb by Damasus: ‘impia maledicum faleras et tela gerentem’. 21 The word is not correctly a choriamb (the first syllable is metrically short), but is scanned as a choriamb by Cyprianus Gallus: ‘maleficum celare nefas, mors dura necabit’. 22 The word is not correctly a choriamb (the first syllable is metrically short), but is scanned as a choriamb by the Waltharius-poet: ‘primus mali­ geram collectis viribus hastam’. See Strecker’s note ad loc. (p. 76, n. 4).

214

michael lapidge

Memphicola [‘inhabitant of Egypt’]: Flor.Lugd.Carm. iv. 92 millemodus [‘thousandfold’]: Ven.Fort.VMart. iii. 303 millesonus [‘resounding a thousandfold’]: Milo.VSA i. 98 mirifice [adv.; ‘marvellously’]: Poet.Sax.Ann. v. 432 mirificus [‘marvellous’]: Ser.Samm.Med. 856, 874; Prud.Cath. iii. 161; Cypr.Gall.Exod. 1067, 1083; Orient.Comm. i. 375; Paul.Petric. VMart. v. 537; Ven.Fort.Carm. vi. 2. 77, VMart. iv. 518; Anth.Lat. 549, 1; Aldh.Enigm. xx. 1; Alc.Carm. i. 432; Aedilw.Abb. 278, 647, 722; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 402, 422; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 23. 210; VSGall. 1701; Heiric.VSG vi. 277; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 2. 19, ii. 24. 31–2; Cassian. i. 112 mitificus [‘gentle’]: Prud.Hamart. 963; Dittoch. xx. 1; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 1005, 1061; Exod. 258; Num. 298; Aedilw.Abb. 580 miripotens [‘marvellously mighty’]: VSGall. 1420, 1501 mollifluus [‘softly flowing’]: Dracont.Romul. vii. 11 monomachus [‘fighting in single combat’]: Cassian. i. 34 monstrifer(us) [‘monster-producing’]: Claud.Carm. xvii. 307, xx. 4, xxii. 110, xxxvii. 3; Alc.Avit.Poem. v. 623 morbifer(us) [‘disease-bringing’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxviii. 242 morbigena [‘disease-bearing’]: Beda.VCM 863 morigena [‘compliant’?]: Quint. 72 moriger(us) [‘compliant’]: Auson.Carm. x. 2. 3, x. 16. 4; Claud.Carm. li. 1 mortifer(us) [‘death-bringing’, ‘deadly’]: Ser.Samm.Med. 932; Auson. Carm. xvi. 266; Prud.Cath. iii. 108; Apoth. 68; Hamart. 418; Psych. 55, 119; Contr.Symm. i praef. 32; i. 372; Peristeph. iii. 30; Cypr. Gall.Exod. 1299; Cael.Sed.CP i. 52; Paul.Petric.VMart. i. 271; Alc.Avit.Poem. ii. 166; Dracont.Laud. ii. 268, Romul. v. 78, 212, Orest. 510, 893; Anth.Lat. 396, 4; 412, 1; 689c, 22; Alc.Carm. i. 664; Aenigm.Lauresham. ii. 11; Hild.PSD iv. 610; Walah.Strab. Carm. v. 84. 4; Audrad.Mod.Carm. i. 214; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 356 mortificus [‘deadly’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxxiii. 45 multicavus [‘much-pitted’]: Sidon.Carm. xxii. 222 multicolor [‘many-coloured’]: Prud.Peristeph. xi. 124; Anth.Lat. 543, 2; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 32. 6 multicomus [‘hairy’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xix. 418 multifer(us) [‘manifold’]: Tatw.Enigm. xxix. 1

poetic compounds in late latin verse

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multifida [‘many-stringed’]: Anth.Lat. 114, 2 multifidus [‘manifold’]: Claud.Carm. i. 56, x. 103, xxxv. 15, xlix. 59; Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 774, 854; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 478; Beda. VCM 8; Hild.PSD i. 69; Flor.Lugd.Carm. v. 109 multifluus [‘abundantly flowing’]: Juv.Euang. i. 582; Arat.HA ii. 1064; VSGall. 1; Heiric.VSG v. 319 multiforus [‘having many openings’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xviii. 36 multigena [‘various’]: Hwætb.Enigm. xxxiii. 3, xliv. 1, lvi. 7; Hild. PSD i. 466; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 71. 6; Quint. 21* multiiugus [‘many-peaked’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxi. 664, xxvi. 24; Anth. Lat. 485, 52 multiloquax [‘very loquacious’]: Alc.Carm. lxii. 174 multiloquus [‘very loquacious’]: Anth.Lat. 181, 4; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 41. 2 multimodus [‘various’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 64, v. 83; Apoth. 989; Peristeph. iii. 200; Paul.Nol.Carm. x. 9, xxi. 85, xxiii. 30, 101; Cypr. Gall.Gen. 46, 230, 836; Exod. 153, 627, 988, 1204; Lev. 269; Num. 523; Deut. 215; Iud. 278; Sidon.Carm. xi. 86, xxiii. 150; Paul.Pell. Euch. 229; Avian.Fab. xv. 5; Alc.Avit.Poem. iv. 646; Ven.Fort. Carm. ix. 1. 59; Anth.Lat. 485, 172; Alc.Carm. i. 1328; Ermold. Nig.Hlud. iii. 265; iv. 248, 458, 512, 568, 614; VSGall. 536; Milo. VSA i. 43, i. 307, ii. 372, iii. 378; Flor.Lugd.Carm. v. 138; Sedul. Scot.Carm. iii. 4. 12; Poet.Sax.Ann. iii. 288 multisonus [‘resounding everywhere’]: Wandelb.Mens.nom. 91 multivagus [‘much-wandering’]: Claud.Carm. xxxiii. 176; Ven.Fort. VMart. iii. 432 multivolus [‘longing for much’]: Heiric.VSG iv. 446 mundificus [‘cleansed’]: Cypr.Gall.Exod. 386 mundiger(us) [‘world-bearing’]: Anth.Lat. 240, 12 munifice [adv.; ‘generously’]: Paul.Petric.VMart. vi. 189 munificus [‘generous’]: Auson.Carm. xiii. 101. 8; Claud.Carm. xxii. 153; Paul.Nol.Carm. xiv. 135, xxix. 34; Sodoma 126; Distich.Cat. iii. 9; Paul.Petric.VMart. ii. 706, iv. 540, v. 187, v. 846; Ven.Fort. Carm. vii. 16. 55, viii. 18. 5, viii. 19. 1, viii. 20. 1; Anth.Lat. 855b, 2; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iii. 542; VSGall. 697, 1331, 1606; Heiric.VSG iii praef. 13, v. 164, vi. 140; Milo.VSA iv. 504; Poet.Sax.Ann. v. 40, 497 murificus [‘walled’]: Mirac.Nyn. 93

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Musigena [‘born of the Muses’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. vi. 4; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 1. 7, ii. 5. 32, ii. 7. 20, ii. 7. 134 navifragus [‘ship-destroying’]: Auson.Carm. ii. 8. 8, xxvii. 14. 40; Prud.Contr.Symm. i praef. 9; Anth.Lat. 83, 51 naviger(us) [‘ship-bearing’]: Cael.Sed.CP iii. 230; Paul.Pell.Euch. 46; Dracont.Laud. i. 164; Aldh.Enigm. xcii. 4, CDV praef. 31; Beda. VCM 285 nigrifer(us) [‘blackened’]: Hwætb.Enigm. lviii. 1 Nilicola [‘inhabitant of the Nile’]: Prud.Psych. 655 nimbifer(us) [‘cloudy’]: Anth.Lat. 618, 6 nimbivomus [‘cloud-spewing’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. lxxii. 3 nocticola [‘night-dweller’]: Prud.Hamart. 634; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 124 noctifer(us) [‘night-bringing’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. xix. 24 noctigena [‘born of the night’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 56. 15, ii. 70. 6 noctilucus [‘shining at night’]:23 Genesis 84; Cypr.Gall. Exod. 1089; cf.  Lindner, Glossar, p. 124 noctivagus [‘night-wanderer’, ‘denizen of the night’]: Claud.Carm. i. 243, xxxvi. 331; Cypr.Gall.Lev. 200; Coripp.Laud.Iust.praef. 32; Anth.Lat. 588, 3 nubifer(us) [‘cloud-covered’, ‘cloudy’]: Claud.Carm. iii. 334, viii. 442, xxiv. 307; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 432; Paul.Petric.VMart. i. 202; Anth.Lat. 484, 14; 550, 2; Wandelb.Mart. 33; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 3. 7, ii. 37. 4 nubigena [‘cloud-born’]: Claud.Carm. iii. 329; Prud.Hamart. 485; Sidon.Carm. v. 237; Anth.Lat. 621, 1; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 83. 2 nymphigena [‘born of a nymph’]: Anth.Lat. 177, 3 omnicolor [‘all-coloured’]: Prud.Peristeph. xii. 39 omnicreans [‘all-creating’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 1. 3, i. 20. 3, ii. 15. 11, ii. 44. 3–4, ii. 81. 23 omnigena [‘of every kind’]: Juv.Euang. iv. 154; Auson.Carm. xxiv. 34; Claud.Carm. xxxvii. 51; Prud.Contr.Symm. i. 13; ii. 514, 610; Dittoch. xlvii. 2; Paul.Nol.Carm. xviii. 380, xx. 56, xxvii. 65, xxxi. 23 The word is not correctly a choriamb (the third syllable is naturally long), but is scanned as a choriamb by Cyprianus Gallus: ‘et quae noctilucis subduntur fulchra lucernis’.

poetic compounds in late latin verse

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430; Coripp.Ioh. iii. 87; Laud.Iust.(Panegyr.Anast.) 10, iii. 283, iv. 85; Anth.Lat. 719a, 113; 719e, 22; Bonif.Carm. i. 339; Tatw.Enigm. i. 6, iii. 4, v. 5; Aedilw.Abb. 493, 782; Hild.PSD i. 336, iv. 230; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 23. 14, v. 23. 99, v. 42. 16, v. 50. 35, v. 54. 26; Paul.Alb.Carm. i. 9, ii. 15, vii. 11, viii.13, x. 6; Heiric.VSG iv. 199, vi. 396; Milo.Sobr. i. 356; Bened.praef.secund. 1, [carm.] 395, 595; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 331; Poet.Sax.Ann. iii. 30 omnimedens [‘all-healing’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xix. 46 omnimodus [‘of every kind’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxi. 85, 102; Cypr.Gall. Gen. 438; Exod. 304; Hild.PSD ii. 39; Walah.Strab.Carm. iii. 935; Walthar. 1065; VSGall. 359, 870, 1268, 1536; Heiric.VSG ii. 63, v. 109, vi praef. 35, vi. 482; Walthar. 487; Poet.Sax.Ann. ii. 458, iii. 128, iv. 283, v. 54, 398, 646 omniparens [‘all-producing’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 2; Paul.Nol.Carm. xxii. 85, xxiii. 297; Dracont.Laud. iii. 24 omnipater [‘All-Father’]: Prud.Peristeph. iii. 70 omnisonus [‘all-sounding’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxvii. 81 omnitenens [‘all-controlling’]: Aldh.CDV praef. 11; Aedilw.Abb. 818; VSGall. 300 omnituus [‘all-watching’; cf. omnituens, and Lindner, Glossar, p. 132]: Dracont.Laud. i. 500, iii. 23 omnivorax [‘all-consuming’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xiv. 1 orbicola [‘dweller in the world’, ‘human being’]: Cassian. i. 80; Bened. praef. 29, orat. 15, [carm.] 433, 563 orbigena [‘born in the world’, ‘human’]: Cassian. i. 116; Bened.orat. 4 oritonus [‘vocally thundering’]: Milo.VSA ii. 12; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 134 ostricolor [‘purple-coloured’]: Sidon.Carm. iv. 18 ostrifer(us) [‘clad in purple’]: Auson.Carm. xxvii. 24. 81; Walah. Strab.Carm. v. 54. 8 [cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 134] pacifer(us) [‘peaceful’]: Auson.Carm. xxiv. 88; Claud.Carm. xxxiv. 10; Cl.M.Vict.Aleth. ii. 502; Genesis 192; Alc.Avit.Poem. iv. 580; Heiric.VSG iv. 402; Flor.Lugd.Carm. xxv. 33 pacifice [adv.; ‘peacefully’]: Walthar. 1248 pacificus [‘peaceful’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. xii. 16; Juv.Euang. i. 465; Claud.Carm. xxiv. 154; Prud.Cath. v. 156; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 80; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 601, 703, 862; Exod. 173, 264, 1321; Num. 514; Paul.Petric.VMart. v. 127; Dracont.Satis. 170; Alc.Avit.Poem.

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michael lapidge vi. 387; Coripp.Ioh.praef. 2, v. 355, vi. 596; Arat.HA i. 290, 291, 700; Ven.Fort.Carm. iv. 16. 8, vii. 24 f. 1, viii. 3. 307, VMart. ii. 347; Bonif.Carm. i. 111; Alc.Carm. xxiii. 16, lv. 10. 4, lx. 11, lxii. 19, lxix. 117; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 150; ii. 152; iii. 60, 108, 111; Pipp. ii. 191; Milo.VSA iv. 181; Sobr. i. 111, 688; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. viii. 1; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 66. iii. 3; Flor.Lugd.Carm. xi. 39, xxvii. 134; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 19. 1, ii. 7. 52, ii. 25. 17, ii. 58. 26; Pasch.Radb.Carm. i. 132

palmifer(us) [‘palm-bearing’]: Anth.Lat. 320, 13; 760a, 134 palmiger(us) [‘palm-bearing’]: Flor.Lugd.Carm. iii. 155, v. 149 patricola [‘worshipping the father’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 9. 5; cf.  Lindner, Glossar, p. 137 pedisequus [‘following’, ‘a follower’]:24 Cypr.Gall.Exod. 58 pennifer(us) [‘feathered’]: Sidon.Carm. ii. 309 penniger(us) [‘feathered’]: Cypr.Gall.Deut. 242; Hwætb.Enigm. xliii. 1; Paul.Alb.Carm. ii. 13; Milo.Sobr. ii. 760 pennivolus [‘in feathered flight’]: Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 299 pernifer(us) [‘ham-bearing’ (?), leg. pennifer(us)?]: Anth.Lat. 176, 6 pestifer(us) [‘disease-bringing’]: Juv.Euang. i. 404; Claud.Carm. xxxv. 348, xxxvi. 386; Prud.Hamart. 549; Contr.Symm. i. 469; Paul.Nol. Carm. xxv. 88, xxvi. 304, xxxi. 82; Cypr.Gall.Deut. 225, 258; Ies. Naue 554; Cael.Sed.CP v. 86; Aldh.Enigm. lxix. 5, CDV 552, 866, 1432, 2394, 2499, 2749; Beda.VCM 316; Bonif.Carm. i. 216, vii. 20; Alc.Carm. ix. 162; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iii. 578; Hild.PSD iv. 331; Paul.Alb.Carm. x. 22; Heiric.VSG iii. 477, vi. 272, vi. 441; Milo.VSA iv. 288; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xxv. 31; Walah.Strab.Carm. iv. 255; VSGall. 590, 1620; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 36. 14; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 161, ii. 102, 212 Phoebigena [‘born of Phoebus’]: Ser.Samm.Med. 181, 360; Sidon. Carm. ii. 125 pinifer(us) [‘pine-bearing’]: Aldh.Enigm. xciii. 7 pinniger(us) [‘feathered’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 33; Dracont.Laud. i. 262; Coripp.Ioh. v. 337; Ven.Fort.VMart. ii. 326, iii. 289 pinnipotens [‘mighty in feathers’]: Bonif.Carm. i. 198 pinnivolus [‘feathered’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm.app. xx. 21 planctiger(us) [‘mournful’]: Dracont.Orest. 118 24  The word is not correctly a choriamb (the first syllable is short), but is scanned as such by Cyprianus Gallus: ‘pedisequis comitata suis se filia regis’.

poetic compounds in late latin verse

219

plaustriger(us) [‘wielding the plough’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 70. 2 plebicola [‘friend of the people’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. i. 561 plectrifer(us) [‘quill-bearing’]: Dracont.Romul. x. 285, Orest. 86 plectricanus [‘made tuneful by the quill’]: Anth.Lat. 786b, 9 plumiger(us) [‘feathered’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 44; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xxxvii. 5, l. 1; Paul.Alb.Carm. ii. 17 polifer(us) [‘heavenly’]: Paul.Alb.Carm. xii. 1. 1 pomifer(us) [‘apple-bearing’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 76; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 14; Anth.Lat. 179, 3; Alc.Carm. xxiii. 9 pompifer(us) [‘pompous’]: Anth.Lat. 729, 2; Milo.Sobr. i. 369; Cand. Fuld.VAeig. xiv. 32 pontivagus [‘wandering on the sea’]: Anth.Lat. 120, 7 psalmicanus [‘psalm-singing’]: Ermold.Nig.Hlud.praef. 6; Milo.VSA i. 250 psalmidicus [‘psalm-chanting’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ix. 53 psalmographus [‘psalm-writing’]: Ven.Fort.Carm. ix. 2. 101; Ermold. Nig.Pipp. ii. 123; VSGall. 676; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 147 pseudoforum [‘false or secret door’]: Ven.Fort.VMart. iv. 388 pulchrifice [adv., ‘beautifully’]: Paul.Alb.Carm. v. 4, x. 21 pultificus [‘pottage-producing’]: Auson.Carm. xxv. 9. 5 purificus [‘purifying’]: Claud.Carm. xxviii. 328; Anth.Lat. 526, 2 quadricolor [‘four-coloured’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 32. 3 quadrifidus [‘fourfold’]: Juv.Euang. iv. 158; Claud.Carm. i. 268; Cl.M.Vict.Aleth. i. 270; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 56; Paul.Alb.Carm. ix. 53, x. 26; Heiric.VSG iii praef. 30, vi. 385, vi. 654; Milo.VSA i. 35, iv. 19; Milo.Sobr. ii. 20; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 81. 1 quadrifluus [‘flowing in four parts’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 105; Aldh.CE iv. 10. 8; Mirac.Nyn. 156 quadriiugus [‘pertaining to a four-horse team’]: Auson.Carm. ii. 3. 41, xxv. 8. 5; Prud.Psych. 408; Contr.Symm. ii. 557; Paul.Nol. Carm. v. 41; Cypr.Gall.Ies.Naue 390; Anth.Lat. 389, 46; 786b, 5; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 51. 2 raucificus [‘noisy’]: Cassian. i. 554 raucisonus [‘hoarse-sounding’]: Prud.Cath. iv. 38; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 805; Coripp.Ioh. i. 425, v. 32, viii. 512; Paul.Petric.VMart. v. 570; Ven.

220

michael lapidge Fort.VMart. praef. 3, ii. 248; Anth.Lat. 377, 6; Aldh.Enigm. xxii. 2, xxxv. 5, CDV 372, 2786; Paul.Alb.Carm. iv. 5; Walah.Strab. Carm. iv. 287, v. 23. 197; VLeudgar. prol. 35

rectiloquus [‘correct-speaking’]: Alc.Carm. xlii. 6 rectipotens [‘mighty in justice’]: VSGall. 930 regificus [‘regal’]: Claud.Carm. v. 340, viii. 337; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 624; Pipp. i. 38; Milo.Sobr. i. 367 retifer(us) [‘net-bearing’]: Aldh.CE iv. 5. 8 ronchisonus [‘snorting’]: Sidon.Carm. iii. 8 rorifluus [‘dewy’]: Anth.Lat. 483, 14; Aldh.CDV 1907, 2044; Hwætb. Enigm. liii. 5, lvi. 8; Alc.Carm. i. 748; Aedilw.Abb. 707; Walah. Strab.Carm. v. 48. 4 roriger(us) [‘dewy’]: Milo.VSA ii. 88 rubricolor [‘red’]: Tatw.Enigm. xxxv. 1 ruricola [‘country-dweller’, ‘country-dwelling’]: Nemes.Ecl. i. 14, 52; Sidon.Carm. ii. 18; Resurrect.mort. 1; Coripp.Laud.Iust. iv. 218; Ven.Fort.Carm. v. 5. 107, VMart. i. 271; Anth.Lat. 83, 72; 559, 2; Aldh.CDV 23, 83, 2495; Bonif.Carm. i. 142, 298, ii. 31; Alc.Carm. cviii. 2. 4; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iii. 203; Walah.Strab.Carm. i praef. 7; Flor.Lugd.Carm. i. 193; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 586 rurigena [‘born in the country’, ‘country-dweller’]: Bonif.Carm. i. 340, ii. 30 rusticola [‘country-dweller’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. i. 107 sacricola [‘worshipper of sacred things’]: Prud.Psych. 548; Contr. Symm. i praef. 47; i. 617 sacrificus [‘sacred’]: Anth.Lat. 155, 2 sacrilegus [‘sacrilegious’]: Nemes.Cyneg. 21; Dam.Epigr. xli. 3; Claud. Carm. xxxvi. 158; Prud.Apoth. 101, 199; Hamart. 273; Contr. Symm. i praef. 86; Paul.Nol.Carm. xv. 164, xix. 437, 582, xxi. 24, xxv. 132; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 141; Cypr.Gall.Lev. 13; Cl.M.Vict. Aleth. i. 22, 412, iii. 377, 498; Cael.Sed.CP v. 63, 96; Paul.Petric. VMart. i. 15, 196, ii. 256, 439, iii. 382, iv. 185, 228, v. 535; Dracont.Laud. ii. 374, 512, iii. 239, 577, Satis. 153, Romul. ix. 94, x. 137, 293, 429, Orest. 450, 895, 927; Arat.HA i. 190, 303, 450, ii. 7, 457, 689, 747, 1000; Ven.Fort.VMart. i. 108; Anth.Lat. 21, 85; 21, 97; 410, 10; 671, 108; 874b, 3; Mirac.Nyn. 152; Milo.Sobr. i. 392, i. 500; Walah.Strab.Carm. ii. 128, v. 38. 38; Quint. 247; Bened. 516 salvificus [‘bringing salvation’]: Milo.VSA ii. 159

poetic compounds in late latin verse

221

salvifluus [‘flowing in salvation’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 2. 2 sanctificus [‘sacred’]: Juv.Euang. praef. 25; Paul.Nol.Carm. xxxiii. 38; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 535, 612, 789; Exod. 265, 1061, 1328; Lev. 43, 210; Num. 712; Deut. 5, 207; Ies.Naue 568; Paul.Petric.VMart. iv. 365, v. 121; Dracont.Laud.i. 497; Aldh.CE. iv. 10. 3; Beda.VCM 217; VSGall. 618; Heiric.VSG iii praef. 11; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 5. 2; Poet.Sax.Ann. ii. 265 sanctiloquus [‘speaking in a holy manner’]: Prud.Apoth. 1001; Paul. Nol.Carm. xxvi. 228; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 887; Arat.HA ii. 730 sanguivomus [‘spewing blood’]: Abbo.Sangerm.Bella i. 192 sanifer(us) [‘healing’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxiii. 224 sarcocola [‘cultivator of the hoe’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. iv. 359 saxicola [‘stone-worshipper’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xix. 168 saxificus [‘stoney’]: Dracont.Romul. iv. 44; Anth.Lat. 867, 2 saxigena [‘born of stone’]: Prud.Cath. v. 8 sceptrifer(us) [‘sceptre-bearing’]: Claud.Carm. xxix. 130 sceptriger(us) [‘sceptre-wielding’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. iv. 423; Sedul. Scot.Carm. ii. 44. 6, ii. 63. 14; Audrad.Mod.Carm. iii [iv]. 320 Scottigena [‘born in Ireland’, ‘Irish’]: VSGall. 1162, 1227, 1422; Walthar. 1132; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 1. 39, ii. 3. 18, ii. 6. 80, ii. 36. 18, iii. 7. 23–4 sellifer(us) [‘saddle-bearing’]: Anth.Lat. 159, 4 semjanimus [‘half-alive’]: Paul.Petric.VMart. iv. 203 semibovis [‘half-ox’]: Anth.Lat. 761, 62 semideus [‘demigod’]: Claud.Carm. xxi. 47; Prud.Hamart. 99; Contr. Symm. i. 165; Paul.Nol.Carm. vi. 252; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 365; Dracont.Romul. v. 323, viii. 295 semifer(us) [‘half-wild’]: Claud.Carm. vii. 61, xviii. 1, xxxvii. 81; Prud.Hamart. 784; Anth.Lat. 198, 14 seminecis [‘half-dead’]: Cael.Sed.CP iii. 184; Alc.Avit.Poem. iii. 396; Poet.Sax.Ann. iii. 467 semirutus [‘half-ruined’]: Claud.Carm. i. 109, xxxvi. 155; Paul.Nol. Carm. xvi. 94; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 228 semivirus [‘half-human’]: Auson.Carm. xiii. 72. 11; Claud.Carm. xxviii. 634; Prud.Contr.Symm. i. 125; Paul.Nol.Carm. xxxii. 88 septifidus [‘sevenfold’?]: Heiric.VSG iii praef. 9 septifluus [‘flowing in seven channels’]: Heiric.VSG iii praef. 16

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septiforis [‘having seven apertures’]: Alc.Avit.Poem. i. 18 septiformis [‘sevenfold’]: Quint. 43 septigena [‘born of seven’]: Quint. 42 setiger(us) [‘bristly’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xx. 314; Symp.Enigm. xxxvi. 1; Anth.Lat. 286, 123; Aldh.Enigm. xii. 2, xvii. 2, xxxiii. 2, xxxvi. 5, c. 10; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 563 signifer(us) [‘sign-bearing’]: Auson.Carm. xiv. 25. 26; Sidon.Carm. xv. 57; Alc.Avit.Poem. v. 60, vi. 649; Coripp.Ioh. v. 297; Ven.Fort. Carm. vi. 9. 13; Anth.Lat. 678, 1; Alc.Carm. lix. 6; Cand.Fuld. VAeig. xv. 15; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 63. 2; Walthar. 211; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 281 signipotens [‘mighty in signs’?]: Heiric.VSG iii praef. 10 silvicola [‘forest-dweller’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 525; Anth.Lat. 682, 6; 725, 9; Milo.VSA ii. 293; Sobr. ii. 175; Walah.Strab.Carm. i. 9. 17; VSGall. 20 sistrifer(us) [‘rattle-bearing’]: Anth.Lat. 4, 99 soccifer(us) [‘sock-wearing’]: Sidon.Carm. ix. 213; VSGall. 346 solifer(us) [‘sunny’]: Tatw.Enigm. ii. 4 solivagus [‘wandering alone’]: Anth.Lat. 893, 1; Alc.Carm. ix. 106 somnifer(us) [‘sleep-inducing’]: Claud.Carm. xxxiii. 78; Flor.Lugd. Carm. ix. 21 somniger(us) [‘sleep-bringing’]: Dracont.Laud. i. 214, Orest. 805; Alc. Carm. lix. 12, lxi. 22, xcviii. 1. 9 sortilegus [‘prophetic’]: Quint. 89 spicifer(us) [‘sheaf-bearing’]: Sidon.Carm. xvii. 2 spinifer(us) [‘thorny’]: Prud.Cath. v. 31; Apoth. 59 spiniger(us) [‘thorny’]: Prud.Peristeph. xi. 120; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 81. 26 splendifluus [‘streaming in light’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xxxvii. 2; Flor. Lugd.Carm. v. 173; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 178 spumifer(us) [‘foamy’]: Aldh.CE iv. 12. 20; Enigm. xxxvii. 2 squamiger(us) [‘scaly’]: Auson.Carm. xvi. 83; Sodoma 144; Avian. Fab. xiv. 5, xxxviii. 3; Anth.Lat. 21, 223; Aldh.CE iv. 1. 8; Enigm. xxxi. 4; CDV 13, 545, 2399; Milo.VSA i. 178 stellifer(us) [‘starry’]: [Lactant.].Phoen. 112; Boeth.Cons.Phil. i met. v. 1, ii. met. ii. 3, iii met. viii. 17; Coripp.Ioh. i. 232, Laud.Iust. ii. 13; Anth.Lat. 585, 2; Hild.PSD iv. 654; Wandelb.Mart. 255

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stelliger(us) [‘starry’]: Prud.Cath. v. 145; Hamart. 906; Cypr.Gall. Deut. 267; Dracont.Romul. x. 500; Aldh.CE iii. 32; CDV 2, 1445, 2816; Bonif.Carm. i. 290; Aenigm.Lauresham. ix. 3; Alc.Carm. xcvii. 10; Mirac.Nyn. 268; Paul.Alb.Carm. ix. 118; Walah.Strab. Carm. v. 19. 16; Heiric.VSG vi. 567; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 146, ii. 12. 50, ii. 20. 45, ii. 34. 27, ii. 63. 9, iii. 2. 9, iii. 3. 8; Cassian. i. 489 suavisonus [‘sweetly-sounding’]: Anth.Lat. 628, 5 tabifer(us) [‘bringing infection, decay’]: Milo.VSA iii. 397 tabificus [‘decaying’]: Anth.Lat. 636, 1 tabifluus [‘wasting away’]: Prud.Apoth. 891; Ven.Fort.VMart. iv. 430 tardiloquus [‘slow of speech’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. viii. 2. 4 terricrepus [‘thundering horrendously’]: Flor.Lugd.Carm. iv. 216 terrificans [‘terrifying’]: Flor.Lugd.Carm. v. 170 terrificus [‘terrifying’]: Juv. Euang. iv. 157; Claud.Carm. iii. 131, xx. 46, xxxiii. 165, xxxv. 8, xlv. 23, xxxvii. 75; Prud.Hamart. 419; Contr.Symm. i. 379; Paul.Nol.Carm. xxvi. 30; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 689, 1136; Num. 178, 756; Ies.Naue 53, 145, 148; Iud. 55; Sidon.Carm. vii. 327; Paul.Petric.VMart. iv. 504, 621, v. 325; Coripp.Ioh. iv. 540, vi. 564 Ven.Fort.VMart. praef. 4; Anth.Lat. 198, 21; 719a, 128; Aldh.CDV 512, 1824; Bonif.Carm. i. 264, 384; Walah.Strab. Carm. i. 18. 6; Poet.Sax.Ann. iv. 65 terrigena [‘born of the earth’]: Auson.Carm. xxiv. 86; Claud.Carm. xxi. 323, xxvi. 31, xxxv. 167, xxxvi. 351; Prud.Psych. 816; Contr. Symm. i. 189; Peristeph. xiii. 37, xiv. 82; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 596; Cael.Sed.CP ii. 19; Sidon.Carm. ix. 76; Dracont.Laud. i. 241; Coripp.Ioh. i. 455; Ven.Fort.Carm. i. 10. 3; Bonif.Carm. i. 58, 64, 152, 190, 349; Heiric.VSG i. 152, ii praef. 17, v. 89, vi. 358; Ioh. Scot.Eriug.Carm. iv. 1. 59; Milo.VSA praef. 2; i. 30, 256; ii. 12, iii. 98; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xv. 17, xvii. 125; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 23. 157; Flor.Lugd.Carm. iv. 44; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 10. 5, i. 13. 9, ii. 31. 12, ii. 37. 3, ii. 71. 14; Audrad.Mod.Carm. i. 235, 358; Bened. praef. 42, [carm.] 13, 49, 307, 495 terrisonus [‘horrific-sounding’, ‘fearful’]: Claud.Carm. xxi. 109; Sidon. Carm. v. 408 tetragonus [‘quadrangular’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ix. 6; Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 7. 138 Thraecidicus [‘belonging to a Thracian’]: Auson.Carm. xxiii. 115 thyrsiger(us) [‘wand-bearing’ (of Bacchus)]: Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 858

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thyrsitenens [‘holding a wand’ (of Bacchus)]: Anth.Lat. 751, 2 Tibricola [‘dweller near the Tiber’]: Prud.Peristeph. xi. 174 tigrifer(us) [‘tiger-producing’]: Sidon.Carm. ii. 444 tristificus [‘sad’]: Prud.Cath. iv. 76, v. 93; Contr.Symm. ii. 574; Dittoch. xiii. 2; Cypr.Gall.Gen. 485; Deut. 175; Anth.Lat. 893, 73; Eugen. Tolet.Carm. xcvii. 6; Alc.Carm. xi. 11; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 17, ii. 7. 33, ii. 49. 5 Troiugena [‘Trojan’]: Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 571; Dracont.Laud. iii. 433, Romul. v. 111, viii. 231, 261, ix. 63 turicremus [‘incense-burning’]: Sidon.Carm. ii. 88, ix. 210; Ioh.Scot. Eriug.Carm. iv. 2. 18 turifer(us) [‘incense-bearing’]: Claud.Carm. xxxv. 81; Prud.Apoth. 292; VLeudgar. ii. 212 turriger(us) [‘tower-crowned’, ‘towered’]: Claud.Carm. i. 229, xxxiii. 181; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 117; Ven.Fort.VMart. iv. 230; Sedul. Scot.Carm. ii. 53. 10 umbricola [‘shade-dweller’]: Walah.Strab.Carm. iv. 44; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 195 umbrifer(us) [‘shady’]: Prud.Hamart. 239, 795; Coripp.Ioh. vi. 474; Ven.Fort.VMart. ii. 348; Anth.Lat. 240, 13; 483, 26; 808, 65; 808, 101; Beda.VDDI 3; Hwætb.Enigm. xi. 3, liii. 6, lx. 4; Mirac.Nyn. 54; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 486, 514, 548; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xix. 2; Walah.Strab.Carm. iv. 83; VLeudgar.prol. 24; Pasch.Radb.Carm. i. 77 umbrifugus [‘fleeing shadows’]: Wandelb.Mart. 308 umbrivagus [‘wandering in the shade’]: Heiric.VSG vi. 302 undifragus [‘wave-shattering’]: Ven.Fort.Carm. vii. 25. 2, Carm.app. i. 7 undifluus [‘wave-flowing’]: Dracont.Laud. i. 607 undisequus [‘wave-following’]: Iona 56 undisonus [‘wave-resounding’]: Juv.Euang. iii. 390; Auson.Carm. xvi. 367; Cael.Sed.CP i. 62; Dracont.Laud. i. 350; Beda.VCM 145; Hwætb.Enigm. xl. 3; Alc.Carm. iii. 34, 41; Heiric.VSG v. 228; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. i. 5 undivagus [‘wave-wandering’]: Dracont.Orest. 363; Coripp.Ioh. vii. 343, viii. 344, Laud.Iust. i. 110; Ven.Fort.VMart. iii. 485; Anth. Lat. 584, 3; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xxxvii. 3; Alc.Carm. i. 1375; Flor. Lugd.Carm. iv. 217; Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 535

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unguifer(us) [‘nail-bearing’]: Ven.Fort.VMart. i. 497 unguiger(us) [‘nail-bearing’ (?)]: Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iii. 594; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 196 unguirupus [‘destroying by nails’?]: Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 19. 19 unicolor [‘one-coloured’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxiii. 32 unicuba [‘having slept with one man’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxxiii. 130 unigena [‘born of one’, ‘only-begotten’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. v. 47, xxvii. 93; Flor.Lugd.Carm. iii. 33 unimodus [‘in one way’]: Prud.Psych. 768; Hild.PSD ii. 127 univirus [‘belonging to one man’]: Milo.Sobr. ii. 767 univocus [‘one-voiced’]: Milo.Sobr. i. 775 urbicremus [‘city-burning’]: Prud.Hamart. 727 uvifer(us) [‘grape-producing’]: Dracont.Laud. i. 629, Romul. vi. 68; Ven.Fort.Carm. vi. 6. 4, vii. 4. 20; Anth.Lat. 570, 3 vaccipotens [‘rich in cattle’]: Alc.Carm. iv. 7 vaniloquus [‘vain-speaking’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxvii. 407; Anth.Lat. 902, 2; Cand.Fuld.VAeig. xxv. 26 vatidicus [‘prophetic’]: Alc.Carm. iii. 34. 27; Milo.Sobr. i. 12 vativomus [‘prophet-devouring’]: Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. iv. 1. 6 vectifer(us) [‘fitted with a bar’]: Aldh.CDV 456 velivolus [‘speeding along under sail’]: Juv.Euang. ii. 11; Auson.Carm. xxv. 8. 12; Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 801; Dracont.Laud. ii. 190; Coripp.Ioh. i. 206; Alc.Carm. l. 33; Aenigm.Lauresham. iii. 1 ventisonax [‘wind-bag’]: Anth.Lat. 682, 7 ventriloquus [‘speaking from the stomach’]: Cypr.Gall.Lev. 196 verbifluus [‘flowing with words’, ‘eloquent’]: Milo.VSA iii. 12 verbigena [‘born from the Word’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 2; Ven.Fort.VMart. iii. 158; VSGall. 89 verbipotens [‘mighty in words’]: Alc.Carm. xii. 6 vericola [‘worshipper of truth’]: [Dam.].Carm. ad senator. 43; Anth.Lat. 689b, 43 veridicus [‘truth-speaking’, ‘truthful’]: Juv.Euang. ii. 275, 610, iv. 3; Dam.Epigr. xl. 1; Auson.Carm. ii. 3. 35; Paul.Nol.Carm. v. 35, xxxi. 375; Cypr.Gall.Iud. 569; Alc.Avit.Poem. vi. 406; Alc.Carm. i. 712, iii. 34. 15, l. 11; Mirac.Nyn. 140 Hild.PSD iv. 582; Ermold.

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veriloquus [‘truth-speaking’, ‘truthful’]: Beda.VCM 536; Hild.PSD iv. 726 vermifluus [‘crawling with worms’]: Paul.Nol.Carm. xxv. 134 vernigena [‘born in spring-time’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 81. 47 versicola [‘cultivator of verses’]: Sedul.Scot. Carm. ii. 9. 27 versicolor [‘colour-changing’]: Nemes.Ecl. iv. 68; Sidon.Carm. xxiii. 427; Symp.Enigm. lviii. 2; Aldh.Enigm. iii. 1; CDV 227; Tatw. Enigm. ix. 1; Bonif.Carm. i. 333; Alc.Carm. lix. 2 versidicus [‘versifying’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 68. 23 versificus [‘versifying’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. xix. 7; Anth.Lat. 733, 5; Aldh.Enigm. praef. 14; Alc.Carm. i. 1311, 1407; iii. 33. 9; xiv. 15, xxvi. 18, lx. 20; Aedilw.Abb. 648; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. ii. 1. 80, Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 16. 18, ii. 30. 5–6, iii. 8. 6 Vesticola [‘worshipper of Vesta’, ‘Vestal virgin’]: Dracont.Romul. vii. 22 vestifluus [‘with flowing garments’]: Auson.Technop.hist. 24 vinifer(us) [‘wine-producing’]: Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 614; cf. Lindner, Glossar, p. 206 viticomus [‘adorned with vine-leaves’]: Sidon.Carm. iii. 328 vitifer(us) [‘vine-bearing’]: Auson.Carm. xxvii. 24. 84 vitisator [‘cultivator of vines’]: Anth.Lat. 751, 1 vivificus [‘living’, ‘alive’]: Juv.Euang. iv. 796; Paul.Nol.Carm. xviii. 188; Hild.PSD i. 477, ii. 21, 70; Heiric.VSG v. 159; Milo.VSA i. 76, ii. 314, iii. 72, iii. 139, iii. 184, iii. 269, iii. 319, iv. 67; Flor.Lugd. Carm. iv. 20; Audrad.Mod.Carm. iii [iv]. 317 vocifer(us) [‘vocal’]: Ermold.Nig.Hlud. i. 366 vocisonus [‘of resounding voice’]: Abbo.Sangerm.Bella ii. 264 votifer(us) [‘prayerful’]: Anth.Lat. 95, 3; 742, 15; Ioh.Scot.Eriug.Carm. vii. 1. 4 votiger(us) [‘votive’]: Anth.Lat. 742, 59 vulnifer(us) [‘wounding’]: Prud.Psych. 173; Peristeph. iii. 147; Sedul. Scot.Carm. ii. 34. 20 vulnificus [‘wound-causing’]: Claud.Carm. xlv. 2; Prud.Cath. iii. 49; Apoth. 57; Contr.Symm. i praef. 51; Rutil.Namat.Redit. i. 603;

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Cypr.Gall.Exod. 1306; Deut. 248; Resurrect.mort. 59; Aldh.CDV 1327, 1748, 2701; Milo.VSA i. 204, ii. 160, iv. 47; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 9. 2 vulniger(us) [‘wound-causing’]: Walthar. 1389 vulnipotens [‘mighty in wounds’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 16. 10

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Appendix I: Polysyllabic Compounds Terminating in a Choriamb amoenifer(us) [‘pleasure-bringing’]: Ven.Fort.VMart. iv. 4 amorifer(us) [‘love-bearing’]: Dracont.Romul. vi. 110, vii. 15, 58, x. 85, 276; Ven.Fort.Carm. vi. 1. 37 Atlantigena [‘born of Atlas’]: Anth.Lat. 395, 19 Apenninicola [‘dweller in the Appennines’]: Prud.Contr.Symm. ii. 521 Appenninigena [‘born in the Appennines’]: Claud.Carm. xxviii. 505 aristifer(us) [‘bearing ears of corn’]: Prud.Cath. iii. 52 asellifer(us) [‘carrying an ass’]: Anth.Lat. 761, 57 benignificus [‘kindly’]: Hild.PSD ii. 135 colorificus [‘coloured’]: Anth.Lat. 544, 2 Constantinigena [‘of the kin of Constantine’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. iv. 3 colubrimodus [‘snake-like’]: Coripp.Laud.Iust.praef. 4 columnifer(us) [‘endowed with columns’]: Prud.Peristeph. iii. 52 cupressifer(us) [‘cypress-clad’]: Alc.Avit.Poem. iv. 518 delenificus [‘soothing’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 8. 7 draconigena [‘born of a dragon’]: Sidon.Carm. ii. 80 electrifer(us) [‘amber-producing’]: Claud.Carm. xii. 14 Fescenninicola [‘practitioner of Fescennine verses’]: Sidon.Carm. xii. 2 honorificus [‘honourable’]: Auson.Carm. x. 4. 32; Ven.Fort.Carm. ii. 9. 1, vi. 2. 30, vii. 8. 28, viii. 3. 6, Carm.app. xxxiv. 1; Anth.Lat. 117, 1; Beda.VCM 801; Alc.Carm. iii. 34. 22; VSGall. 456, 804, 809, 1022; Milo.VSA iv. 92; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 145, ii. 12. 49 horrorifer(us) [‘horrific’]: Milo.VSA ii. 135 laborifer(us) [‘labour-producing’]: Auson.Carm. viii. 7 medellifer(us) [‘remedy-bringing’]: Opt.Porph.Carm. xxiv. 12; Ven. Fort.VMart. i. 362; Beda.VCM 581; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 31. 22

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odorifer(us) [‘scent-bearing’, ‘fragrant’]: Auson.Carm. xvi. 25; Paul. Nol.Carm. xiv. 97; Sidon.Carm. ii. 52; Dracont.Laud. i. 182, Romul. x. 119; Resurrect.mort. 216; Alc.Avit.Poem. i. 291; Coripp. Laud.Iust. iv. 151; Ven.Fort.Carm. i. 18. 4, iii. 13. 3, iv. 26. 126, viii. 6. 7, ix. 3. 7; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 7. 21 olivifer(us) [‘olive-bearing’]: Prud.Dittoch. xliv. 1; Paul.Nol.Carm. xiv. 77; Arat.HA i. 53; Beda.VCM 707; Milo.VSA praef. 11, iv. 127; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 31. 21, ii. 68. 17 olorifer(us) [‘swan-producing’]: Claud.Carm. xl. 12 paludicola [‘swamp-dweller’]: Anth.Lat. 395, 6 paludifer(us) [‘swampy’]: Anth.Lat. 762, 42 paludigena [‘born in a swamp’ (of papyrus)]: Anth.Lat. 94, 1 paradisicola [‘inhabitant of Paradise’]: Prud.Hamart. 928 paradisigena [‘born of Paradise’, ‘Paradisiacal’]: Paul.Alb.Carm. ix. 50, 78, xi. 3 sagittifer(us) [‘armed with arrows’]: Claud.Carm. xlv. 48; Sidon.Carm. xxii. 22; Alc.Avit.Poem. i. 261; Ven.Fort.Carm. vii. 4. 20; Anth. Lat. 616, 5 sagittipotens [‘mighty in arrows’]: Anth.Lat. 642, 11 salutifer(us) [‘salvation-bringing’]: Ser.Samm.Med. 1; Juv.Euang. iv. 365; Auson.Carm. iv. 1, xiii. 10. 8, xvi. 295; Prud.Cath. iii. 7; Psych. 14; Peristeph. xiii. 91; Paul.Nol.Carm. x. 5, xiv. 17, xvi. 233, xxi. 333, 366, xxiii. 44, xxv. 50, xxvi. 42, 105, xxvii. 434; Orient.Comm. i. 173, 402; Cypr.Gall.Num. 101; Cael.Sed.CP i. 26, iii. 23; Paul.Petric.VMart. vi. 57; Dracont.Laud. i. 210; Alc.Avit. Poem. iv. 225; Arat.HA ii. 104, 320; Ven.Fort.Carm. ii. 3. 23, iii. 22a. 15, iv. 11. 13, v. 8a. 2, x. 6. 69, Carm.app. xv. 1, VMart. i. 443, ii. 43, iv. 55; Anth.Lat. 159, 2; 347, 1; 719e, 8; Aldh.Enigm. xliii. 6; CDV 409, 687, 719, 1083, 2094; Beda.VCM 290, 658, 945; Alc.Carm. i. 190, 202, 314, 1147; xxiii. 5, xlviii. 11; Mirac.Nyn. 8, 95; Ermold.Nig.Hlud. iv. 338; Hild.PSD i. 220, 519, ii. 310; Heiric.VSG i. 372, 429; Milo.VSA ii. 268; iii. 318; Walah.Strab.Carm. v. 84. 10; VSGall. 521, 953, 1177, 1352; Flor.Lugd.Carm. v. 78, vii. 26; Sedul.Scot.Carm. i. 1. 15, ii. 9. 25, ii. 31. 5; Audrad.Mod. Carm. i. 371; VLeudgar. ii. 139; Pasch.Radb.Carm. i. 50; Bened. 182, 225; Poet.Sax.Ann. i. 350, ii. 11 salutiger(us) [‘salvation-bringing’]: Auson.Carm. xiv. 1. 10, xx. 2. 26, xxvii. 21. 4; Prud.Peristeph. xi. 235; Eugen.Tolet.Carm. xcix. 3; Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 31. 8

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Saturnigena [‘born of Saturn’]: Auson.Carm. xiv. 19. 22; Sidon.Carm. ix. 135 serenificus [‘serene’]: Sedul.Scot.Carm. ii. 1. 41, ii. 20. 16 serenifluus [‘serenely flowing’, ‘serene’]: Anth.Lat. 241, 1 sereniger(us) [‘serene’]: Anth.Lat. 389, 4 Sicambrigena [‘born of the Sicambri’, ‘German’]: Cassian. i. 227; Bened. 105 soporifer(us) [‘sleep-inducing’]: Auson.Carm. xxvii. 8. 11; Claud.Carm. xxxvi. 404; Dam.Epigr. xxi. 9; Paul.Nol.Carm. xviii. 356; Anth. Lat. 17, 327; Mirac.Nyn. 214 soporifluus [‘overflowing with sleep’, ‘sleepy’]: Eugen.Tolet.Carm. vii. 7 tridentifer(us) [‘trident-bearing’]: Sidon.Carm. xxii. 158 triumphiger(us) [‘triumph-bringing’]: Dracont.Satis. 22 vaporifer(us) [‘emitting steam’]: Prud.Apoth. 134; Peristeph. xiii. 77; Ven.Fort.Carm. vi. 10. 5 venenifer(us) [‘poisonous’]: Juv.Euang. ii. 631; VSGall. 182; Poet.Sax. Ann. iii. 196 vexillifer(us) [‘standard-bearing’]: Prud.Psych. 419

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Appendix II: The Hisperica famina The Hisperica famina are a collection of verse-like texts composed almost certainly in Ireland, probably in the mid-seventh century. But although they are ‘verse-like’, their verses are in no sense quantitative, and it is clear that the authors of the Hisperica famina had no idea of quantity or metrical scansion. But the authors (whom modern scholars refer to as ‘faminators’) seem nevertheless to have been familiar with Late Latin (quantitative) verse, since their verse-like lines are frequently constructed with a central verb surrounded by two adjective + noun pairs, a type of construction which scholars since the eighteenth century have tended to describe as a ‘golden line’, and which is frequently employed by Late Latin poets such as Caelius Sedulius (see N. Wright, ‘The Hisperica Famina and Caelius Sedulius’, Cambridge Medieval Celtic Studies 4 (Winter 1982), pp. 61–76), whose verse evidently served as a model for the faminators. Perhaps, therefore, the faminators learned from their reading of Late Latin poets such as Caelius Sedulius that the use of poetic compounds was a characteristic feature of Latin verse, and accordingly embellished their own ‘hisperic’ verses with such compounds; from their reading they also learned how to coin such compounds for themselves. In the list which follows, the A-text is quoted from M. W. Herren, The Hisperica Famina: I. The A-Text, Toronto, 1974; the B-, C- and D-texts from F. J. H. Jenkinson, The Hisperica Famina, Cambridge, 1908, pp. 23–30, 35–41, and 43–9 respectively. I mark with an asterisk those words which are not attested outside the Hisperica famina themselves; and note that I do not gloss words which have been glossed earlier in this article. aliger(us): A146, C74 *aquifluus [‘flowing with water’]: B88 armifer(us): A601 armiger(us): A238 astrifer(us): A233, A387, B177 aurifer(us): A65 *beluicinus [‘fleshly’, ‘of the flesh of a whale’]: B211

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*carnifer(us) [‘meaty’]: A300, A605, B202 *clarifer(us) [‘distinguished’]: A127, B29, B217 dulcifer(us): A291, A341, D89 *escifer(us) [‘food-bearing’]: A153, A279, A282, A336, B132, C52 flammigena: A285 flammiger(us): A64, B80 *flammisonus [‘crackling’]: A448, D34, D48 flammivomus: A135, A268, A439, A584 florigena: A243 floriger(us): A8, A52, A83, A566, B25 fluctivagus: A88, A260, A408, B179, D17 frondicomus: A149, A185 frugifer(us): A456, B128, B129 gaudifluus: A3, A302 glaucicomus: A246, A391, A538, A565, D23 honorificus: A339 ignicomus: A362, B61 laniger(us): A161, A196 *laricomus [‘fiery’]: A266, A426 *lignifer(us) [‘wooden’]: A533 lucifer(us): B45 mellifluus: A40 *mellisonus [‘sweet-sounding’]: A113 mirificus: A76, B39, D49 *mollifer(us) [‘soft’]: A347, D45, D146 mortifer(us): A425, A503

poetic compounds in late latin verse multigena: A182, A236, A499, B37, B131 pestifer(us): B154 *plurificus [‘multiple’]: A474, A503, D23 *polygonus [‘polygonal’]: A517 *proprifer(us) [‘one’s own’]: A61, A84, A132 *proprigena [‘one’s own’]: A77 *quadrigonus [‘square’]: A313, A509, A540, A549, A552, A585 *salsugena [‘born of salt’, ‘salty’]: A294, A422, B100 Scottigena [‘Irish’]: A274, A299, B68 setiger(us): A576 *solifluus [‘sunny’]: A139, A373 soporifer(us): A344 umbrifer(us): A361, A447 undisonus: A413, B137, B187, B203 *uricomus [‘fiery’]: A144, A438, A451

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Bibliography Primary Sources W. W. Ewbank, The Poems of Cicero, Bristol 1997. O.  Skutsch, The Annals of Quintus Ennius, Oxford, 1985. Secondary Sources Arens, J. C., ‘-fer and -ger. Their Extraordinary Preponderance among Compounds in Roman Poetry’, Mnemosyne, 3 (1950), pp. 241–62. Aspects of the Language of Latin Poetry, ed. by J. N. Adams and R. G. Mayer, Oxford, 1999 (Proceedings of the British Academy, 99). Aspects of the Language of Latin Prose, ed. by T. Reinhardt, M.  Lapidge, and J. N. Adams, Oxford, 2005 (Proceedings of the British Academy, 129). Bader, F., La formation des composés nominaux du latin, Paris, 1962. Colloquial and Literary Latin, ed. by E. Dickey and A. Chahoud, Cambridge, 2010. Colonna, E., ‘Composti nominali’, in Enciclopedia virgiliana, ed. by F. della Corte, Rome, 1984, I, pp. 860–67. Cordier, A., Études sur le vocabulaire épique dans l’Énéide, Paris, 1939, pp. 268–310. Coulter, C. C., ‘Compound Adjectives in Early Latin Poetry’, Transactions of the American Philological Association, 47 (1916), pp. 153– 72. Janssen, H. H., ‘Le caratteristiche della lingua poetica romana’, in Lunelli, La lingua poetica latina, pp. 71–130. Lindner, T., Lateinische Komposita: Ein Glossar vornehmlich zum Wortschatz der Dichtersprache, Innsbruck 1996. Lindner, T., Lateinische Composita: Morphologische, historische und lexikalische Studien, Innsbruck 2002. La lingua poetica latina, ed. by A. Lunelli, 2nd ed., Bologna, 1980. Marouzeau, J., Traité de stylistique latine, 4th ed., Paris, 1962. Maurach, G., Lateinische Dichtersprache, Darmstadt, 1995. Perret, J., ‘La forme des composés poétiques du latin’, Revue des études latines, 30 (1952), pp. 157–67. Schubert, W., ‘Der Begriff omnipotens in der lateinischen Literatur’, Gymnasium, 91 (1984), pp. 369–78.

Medieval Versifications of Lists of Animal Sounds Patrizia Lendinara (Palermo) In the Middle Ages, there was a series of lists in circulation where the names of animals were paired with the verbs indicating their distinctive sounds. The earliest prose versions of this sort of cata­ logue date from Late Antiquity and one was long attributed to Suetonius. A list that was destined to have great success in the Middle Ages was that included in the Laterculus of Polemius Silvius. It also had an independent circulation and was versified in dactylic hexameters in Basel, Universitätsbibliothek, B XI.8, fol. 41v. There are a number of versifications of lists of Voces animantium such as ‘De cantibus avium’ (AL no. 733) or the ‘Carmen de philomela’ (incipit ‘Dulcis amica veni …’). Such versified lists of the sounds of animals facilitated easy memorisation and were sometimes accompanied by interlinear glosses in the vernacular. In these compositions, the lexicographical concern of the cata­ logues of animal names is still evident, but the verse form tends to dilute the rigid structure of the list. Lines with the names and sounds of animals were also included in longer poems. They not only give proof of the encyclopaedic learning of the authors, but also provide a touchstone by which to judge the voice of man and his behaviour. 1. The Laterculus Catalogues of animal sounds were in circulation in both Greek and Latin. These included different species of animals followed by the verbs for the sounds they make. A list of animal sounds that enjoyed wide circulation was that of the Laterculus of Polemius Silvius. The Laterculus was written at the beginning of 449 in the monastic circle of Lérins. It is presented by the author as a revised Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 235–273. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125564 ©

F H G

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version of a former work.1 The calendar featured a number of lists and tables of different subjects according to its month-by-month presentation (some of which have been lost from the only codex of the Laterculus), starting with a list of emperors and usurpers, followed by one of the provinces of the Roman Empire and then a catalogue of animals.2 Between the months of September and October (according to the summary itself, but, in Brussels, Biblio­ thèque Royale 10615–729, placed between November and Decem­ ber), Polemius copied a list of twenty-five terms followed by their respective sounds, under the title of ‘Voces variae animantium’: Ouis balat. Canis latrat. Lupus ululat. Sus grunnit. Bos mugit. Equus hinnit. Asinus rudit. Vrsus saeuit. Leo fremit. Elefans barrit. 3 Coruus croccit. Merulus frendit. Turtur gemit. Turdus trucilat. Anser clingit. Grus gruuit. Miluus linguit. Apis bobit. Hirundo minurrit. Rana coaxat. Populus strepit. Ignis crepitat. Cursus aquae murmurat. Ferrum stridit. Aes tinnit.4 The sheep bleats, the dog barks, the wolf howls, the pig grunts, the cow moos, the horse whinnies, the donkey brays, the bear rages, the elephant trumpets, the raven croaks, the blackbird chirps, the turtledove moans, the thrush trills, the goose honks, the crane crunks, the kite cries, the bee hums, the swallow chirps, the frog croaks. The crowd roars, the fire crackles, the watercourse murmurs, iron hisses, money clinks

1 The

entire Laterculus, which is however incomplete, is preserved only in Brussels, Bibliothèque Royale 10615–729, dated to the middle of the twelfth century, from St Eucharius-St Matthias in Trier. The edition in Chronica minora saec. iv.v.vi.vii, I, ed. by Th. Mommsen, MGH, AA 9, Berlin, 1892, pp. 511–51 (‘Voces’ at p. 548) has been superseded by Polemii Silvii Laterculus, ed. by D. Paniagua, Rome, 2018 (Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio­ evo, Fonti per la storia dell’Italia medievale, Antiquitates 51). 2 The catalogue of animals (‘Nomina cunctorum spirantium’) includes six different sections with a total of 488 words (the count, based on the edition by Paniagua, includes duplications and a few unrelated entries). See A. Tho­ mas, “Le Laterculus de Polemius Silvius et le vocabulaire zoologique roman”, Romania, 138 (1906), pp. 161–97. 3  Elefans barrit was omitted from Brussels, Bibliothèque Royale 10615– 729, but is included in all the Laterculus lists of animal sounds collated by Paniagua. 4  Polemii Silvii Laterculus, ed. by Paniagua, p. 284. The columnar lay-out of the edition has not been reproduced. All translations are my own.

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The list by Polemius reflects an early stage in the cataloguing of animals. It is not alphabetical; the names of the animals are in the nominative singular and their respective sounds in the third person singular of the present indicative. The two sets (quadru­ peds and birds) are kept apart, with mammals going first, then with a coda of inanimate objects. The voice of the throng pro­ vides the link between animals and the rest. The first group is that of quadrupeds and includes 10 items. The second group (also 10 items) comprises birds, but it also includes a winged insect (the bee) and an amphibian (the frog). At the end, there is a mixed group of voces (5 items), including a few inanimate objects: the crowd, fire, a water course, iron, and brass or money. Some of these items (both animals and objects) were commonplace in the lists that antedate the Laterculus. No specific source for the pas­ sage of the Laterculus has been traced.5 The linguistic processes that characterise these lists of words are clear. The sounds that animals make has undergone a grammaticalization in verbs such 5 

Polemii Silvii Laterculus, ed. by Paniagua, p. 27. According to D. Pania­ gua, “Nuovi e vecchi testimoni manoscritti delle ‘Voces variae animantium’ di Polemio Silvio”, in Formas de acceso al saber en la Antigüedad Tardía y la Alta Edad Media. La transmisión del conocimiento dentro y fuera de la escuela, ed. by D. Paniagua and A. Andrés Sanz, Barcelona / Rome, 2016, pp. 139– 85, at p. 148 and note 26, the section on ‘Voces’ might have been drawn from “un testo preesistente”. M. Marcovich, “Voces animantium and Suetonius”, Živa Antika: Antiquité vivante, 21 (1971), pp. 399–416, classifies the ‘Voces’ of the Laterculus as Class IV.1. I refrain from entering into the topic of the clas­ sification of Polemius’s list, which I deem unproductive. In many instances, the division into classes is not so clear-cut and interpolations, as well as omis­ sions and additions, are quite frequent, owing to the peculiar nature of the list. Polemius’s catalogue, for example, reads bos for the taurus of the other traditions, while Aldhelm (boves mugiunt vel reboant, […] tauri mugiunt) and the Liber glossarum (MU14: “Mugitus vox boum”, MU15: “Mugitus tauro­ rum vox”) have both. The alphabetised list occurs in the De metris, which is part of the Epistola ad Acircium: Aldhelmi Opera, ed. by R. Ehwald, MGH, AA XV, Berlin, 1919, pp. 179–80. The Liber glossarum is now available as a multi-research database, access to which is granted by an open website: http://liber-glossarum.huma-num.fr/index.html. For a recent approach to ani­ mal catalogues and the Liber glossarum, see F. Cinato, “Les listes des gram­ mairiens dans le haut Moyen Âge et le témoignage du Liber glossarum”, in Le pouvoir des listes au Moyen Âge, I.  Écritures de la liste, ed. by C. Angotti, P.  Chastang, V. Debiais, and L. Kendrick, Paris, 2019, pp. 221–55, at 247–54.

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as mugio and hinnio, which are of onomatopoeic origin.6 The pro­ cess is taken to the extreme in the case of the crane (grus gruit).7 Other sections of the Laterculus had an independent circulation, but this ensemble of animals — and not only animals — and their respective sounds was indeed the most successful, as we will see below.8 2. The Early Catalogues The earliest catalogues of animal voices date from the Late An­tiquity and one of them has long been attributed to Suetonius.9 Such catalogues had what Bettini calls a sort of cultural logic: they began with wild animals, then moved to large quadrupeds, and then swine and canids, followed by small animals of the forest.10 Another section was devoted to birds and other winged creatures. Catalogues in both Greek and Latin were in circulation.11 Their function was not only mnemotecnic. Grammarians used examples from animal sounds when discussing the vox articulata and the vox confusa.12 Animal voices provided examples of sounds which were 6 Another fitting example is provided by the verb baelo, which does not occur in Polemius Silvius’s ‘Voces’. 7  Cf. also bubo bubilat which will occur in ‘Iam vernali tempore’ (Carm. Bur. 132), concerning which, see below. For these ‘vocal utterances’, see M. Bet­ tini, Voci: Antropologia sonora del mondo antico, Turin, 2008 and the remarks in the review by M. Fox, Bryn Mawr Classical Review 2008.12.09. 8 See Polemii Silvii Laterculus, ed. by Paniagua, pp. 46–53 and 71–187; for the circulation of the section on ‘Voces’, pp. 129–62. 9  C. Svetoni Tranquilli praeter Caesarum Libros Reliquiae, ed. by A. Reiffer­ scheid, Leipzig, 1860, pp. 247–54. Suetonius, fragm. 161 (‘De naturis ani­ mantium’), incipit “Leonum est fremere uel rugire…”, which has been consid­ ered part of a Suetonian Liber de naturis rerum, is likely drawn from the Liber derivationum of Hugh of Pisa (s.v. ‘Baulare’), who, in turn, had taken it from the Derivationes by Osbern of Gloucester (s.v. ‘Barrire’). See P. Lendinara, “Le Voces Variae Animantium nel medioevo”, in Zoosemiotica 2.0. Forme e politiche dell’animalità, ed. by G. Marrone, Palermo, 2017, pp. 465–78. 10  Bettini, Voci, p. 14. 11  See K.-E. Klenner, Der Tierstimmen-Katalog als literarisches Phänomen, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Münster, Westfälische Wilhelms-Universität, 1958, esp. pp. 16–20, for the Greek catalogues. 12 See Donatus, Ars maior, I,1: Grammatici latini, ed. by H. Keil, 8 vols, Leipzig, 1857–1880, repr. Hildesheim, 1961 (= GL), IV, p. 367,2–3. Similar formulations are found in previous and contemporary grammarians as well as

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not integrated into a functional system such as that of human lan­ guage. A fragment of a Menippean satire by Varro preserves a list of four animals: “mugit bovis, ovis balat, equi hinniunt, gallina pipat”, which might be incomplete,13 to judge from the quotation of Nonius Marcellus: “Varro asinos rudere, canes gannire, pullos pipare, dixit”.14 Latin grammarians were interested in animal sounds as a linguistic problem, and, in their examples, used either the verb for the sound as did Varro or the substantive. Neighing, bleating, and mooing are quoted in the commentary on the Ars minor of Donatus attributed to Sergius: “balatus ovis, hinnitus equi, mugitus bovis” (praef.).15 Priscian, in the Institutiones grammaticae (I,1 ‘De voce’), mentioned the crackle of the flames beside the lowing of the cows: “ut crepitus mugitus et similia”.16 The role of grammarians, as far as this lexicographical field is concerned, is evident in a glossary such as the Liber glossarum, where the lemma vox includes a long list of animal sounds (Liber glossarum, VO167), attributed to Phocas, “Ex regula Foce gramma”.17

in later works. Priscian, Institutiones grammaticae, I.1,1–2 distinguished four categories of sound (GL II, pp. 5,5–6,5). 13  “The cow moos, the sheep bleats, horses whinny, and the chicken clucks”: Fragm. 3: Varron, Satires ménippées, ed. by J.-P. Cèbe, I, Rome, 1972, p. 1. See also Varro frg. 238: Grammaticae Romanae fragmenta, ed. by G. Funaioli, Leipzig, 1907, p. 268 and frg. 265 at 282; and M. Terenti Varronis De lingua Latina quae supersunt, ed. by G. Goetz and F. Schoell, Leipzig, 1910, pp. 228 and 238 respectively. 14  Nonii Marcelli, De compendiosa doctrina libri XX, ed. by W. M. Lindsay, 3 vols, Leipzig, 1903, p. 722,6 [= frg. 451 Funaioli]. See G. Barabino, “Le voces animalium in Nonio Marcello”, Studi Noniani III, Genua, 1975, pp. 7–56, at 46–50. 15  Explanationes in artem Donati I: GL IV, p. 487,8. The commentary on the Ars maior will quote mooing and barking: “mugitus boum, latratum canum et talia” (‘Explanatio litterae’: GL IV, p. 519,16–17). This commentary, which is a compilation of different materials, later than the commentary on the Ars minor, begins at 518,30. 16  GL II, p. 6,2. 17 See A. Grondeux, “L’entrée uox du Liber glossarum. Les sources et leur mise en oeuvre”, in Encyclopédire. Formes de l’ambition encyclopédique dans l’Antiquité et au Moyen Âge, ed. by A. Zucker, Turnhout, 2013, pp. 259–75. It has been shown that the Liber glossarum entry draws the structure from the Ars grammatica (II.1) of Diomedes (GL I, pp. 420,9–10 and 17–21). Diomedes, however, lists just a few animals and sounds.

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It is worth highlighting the catalogue in Isidore’s Differentiae, the more so for Isidore’s role, not only in the field of lexicography and in Spain (where animal poetry became popular in the seventh century), but also in the Carolingian world. The list begins by alluding to a series of differentiae based on animal sounds, which are also compared with the wail of a new-born child. The vagitus is apparently another vox inarticulata, which will come back in later poems, but infans vagit is a known combination.18 The con­ tent is otherwise the same as in the Laterculus, with the addition of the snake19 and the fox, and a few changes or double options for some verbs: Inter uagire et mugire et caetera. Infans uagit, bos mugit, equus hinnit, asinus ragit uel rudit, leo rugit, elefans barrit, sus grun­ nit, ouis balat, serpens sibilat, rana coaxat, coruus crocitat, grus arsat, miluus iugit, 20 canis baubat uel latrat, uulpis gannit.21 Between to wail and to bellow and the others. The babe wails, the cow moos, the horse whinnies, the donkey neighs or brays, the lion roars, the elephant trumpets, the pig grunts, the sheep bleats, the snake hisses, the frog croaks, the raven croaks, the crane crunks, the kite cries, the dog bays or barks, the fox yelps.

A further list, added after gannit in a manuscript, shows a possi­ ble interference of the Laterculus, by supplying lupus, apis, anser, ursus, merulus, hirundo and its last five Polemius items, plus two

18 For vagitus infantis, cf. the commentary on the Ars minor of Donatus, attributed to Sergius (‘Explanatio litterae’: GL IV, p. 487,8). Animal sounds were compared to the speech of young children and their utterances were singled out in relevant discussions. 19 For serpentum sibilus, cf. pseudo-Probus [Deutero-Probus], Instituta artium, 1 (‘De voce’: GL IV, p. 47,9). 20 Note that Isidore has iugo for the cry uttered by the kite (cf. Paul ex Fest. 92 L: “Iugere milvi dicuntur, quum vocem emittunt”), see Liber glossarum, IU129: “Iugit milvus cum clamat”. Even rarer is arso ‘to make a rat­ tling noise’, said of the crane, which will occur again in Aldhelm, Aen. LVII.5: “arsantesque grues”: ed. by Ehwald, p. 123. 21 § 225 [607]: Isidorvs Hispalensis. De Differentiis I, ed. by C. Codoñer, Paris, 1992, p. 194 and note. Cf. A. Peris, “Sobre la serie de voces animantium incluida en las Diferencias de Isidoro de Sevilla”, Veleia, 16 (1999), pp. 291–302, for the relationship with Polemius Silvius’s catalogue.

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exotic animals and the he-goat. Both lists account for all the twenty-five items collected by Polemius: camellus blaterat lupus ulu1at hircus miccat (-ccit) apis bobat anser selingit (scl-) tigris graccat (raccat)22 ursus seuit merolus frendit turdus truculat turtur gemit hirunda 23 minurrit pupus (populus) strepit ignis crepitat cursus aquarum murmurat24 ferrum stridit aes tinnit.25 The camel babbles, the wolf howls, the he-goat bleats, the bee hums, the goose honks, the tiger roars. the bear rages, the blackbird chirps, the thrush trills, the turtledove moans, the swallow chirps, the crowd roars, the fire crackles, the stream of waters murmurs, iron hisses, money clinks.

3. The Circulation of Polemius Silvius’s List A number of manuscripts feature catalogues of animals (and their sounds) that are identical to that of Polemius Silvius. The sec­ tion of the Laterculus on the ‘Voces variae animantium’ enjoyed an independent circulation, likely owing to its lexical interest. The recent editor of the work surmises that both the Laterculus, as it now stands in Brussels, Bibliothèque Royale 10615–729, and the independent lists of the ‘Voces’ descend from the same original.26 According to this view, the passage on animal voices would have been excerpted from a sub-archetype (called Φ). Proof of this is the title which the majority of the lists bear and which is the same as the Laterculus. The list that occurs in the Laterculus has been

22  Cf. Aldhelm tigrides raccant: ed. by Ehwald, p. 180,15, and pseudo-Sue­ tonius tigridum rancare: ed. by Reifferscheid, p. 247,5. 23 In Medieval Latin, both hirundina and hirundella are attested (beside hirundo). 24  The branch λ of the Laterculus ‘Voces’ has cursus aquarum for cursus aquae. 25  Isidorvs Hispalensis. De Differentiis I, ed. by Codoñer, p. 194 in note. The second list was interpolated in the text of the Differentiae in Paris, BnF, lat. 7581 (Fleury?, s. ix3/4 or ex) and was added marginally in Paris, BnF, lat. 2994A-I (Reims? north-eastern France?, s. ix3/4). The oldest manuscript of Isidore’s Differentiae, Città del Vaticano, BAV, Vat. lat. 3321, is dated to the end of the eighth century. 26  Polemii Silvii Laterculus, ed. by Paniagua, pp. 161–62. See also Pania­ gua, “Nuovi e vecchi testimoni manoscritti”, pp. 150 and 157–58.

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studied and catalogued by Benediktson, Peris, and Paniagua.27 Paniagua has offered an exhaustive analysis of the tradition of the ‘Voces variae animantium’ related to the Laterculus. I would add two short catalogues, both embedded in glossaries, though in different ways. The former occurs in Bern, Burgerbibliothek 258 (France — Fleury according to Mostert, Angers according to Bischoff —, s. ix 2), fol. 177va.28 This contains a series of large glossaries: the batch on animal sounds occurs after the Aerarium glossary and is followed by the Amoenum glossary and is headed by the rubric Ars grammatica. “Elefans barrit. Leo rugit. Taurus mugit. Capra miccit. Ovis balat. Anser glancit. Gallina glaccit”.29 Quadrupeds and flying creatures are kept apart. Different sounds are given for both leo and anser; there is taurus instead of bos, and two new entries, capra miccit and gallina glaccit. In glossary III of Oxford, Bodleian Library, Bodley 730, a late twelfth-century English manuscript, there is a batch of glosses (fol. 145rb): “Vulpes gannet. Hirundo minurrit. Rana coxat. Ovis balat. Apes bobat. Pica picatur. Milvus linugit (read linguit), Ser­ pens sibilat. Asinus rudit”. 30 The lemmata do not follow any alpha­ betical order; vulpes, pica and serpens are not in Polemius Silvius. The batch in the glossary of Bodley 730 is a peculiar list, where quadrupeds and birds are mixed up. These items are available in 27 D. T. Benediktson, “Polemius Silvius’ ‘Voces varie animancium’ and Related Catalogues of Animal Sounds”, Mnemosyne, 53 (2000), pp. 71–79; Peris, “Sobre la serie de voces animantium”; Paniagua, “Nuovi e vec­ chi testimoni manoscritti”; and Polemii Silvii Laterculus, ed. by Paniagua, pp. 129–62, esp. pp. 161–62. 28  See https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/it/searchresult/list/one/bbb/02. (ac­ces­sed 20 December 2020). 29  The list was printed in Anecdota Helvetica quae ad grammaticam latinam spectant ex Bibliothecis Turicensi, Einsidlensi, Bernensi, ed. by H. Hagen, Leipzig, 1870 (vol. VIII of GL), p. cxxxx in note. Hagen also quotes two snip­ pets on animal sounds from a glossary in Bern, Burgerbibliothek 16, fol. 53r and 58v, which however is nothing more than a copy of the Liber glossarum. For the voces in a number of entries the Liber glossarum, see Cinato, “Les listes des grammairiens”. 30 W. Ziegler, “Die unveröffentlichten Glossare der HS Oxford, Bodley 730”, AAA: Arbeiten aus Anglistik und Amerikanistik, 6/1 (1981), pp. 127–54, at 141. A new edition and commentary of the glossaries in Bodley 730 in C.  Cataldi, The Bodley Glossaries (forthcoming), the glossaries are additions of a slightly later date.

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the long animal lists (in the third person singular present indica­ tive) circulating in England, besides those depending on Aldhelm, which have a different structure. Just like the list in Bern 258, that in Bodley 730 echoes those of the grammarians for it is like­ wise not alphabetised. 4. A Versification in Dactylic Hexameters In a few cases the link between the list of ‘Voces variae animan­ tium’ and poetry is quite close. 31 Polemius’s catalogue has been reworked in one particular poetic text, 32 which occurs in Basel, Universitätsbibliothek, B XI.8, fol. 41v. 33 The poem is in fact a versification of Polemius in dactylic hexameters. 34 The codex is dated to the fourteenth century and comes from the charterhouse of Basel. The manuscript, which is known as the ‘Basler Lieder­ handschrift’, features German and Latin texts in verse and prose, including works of Konrad of Würzburg and Walther von der Vogelweide, in part supplemented with musical notation. 31  WIC 20980, WIC Erg. 2231a. The poem was printed by W. Wackerna­ gel, Voces variae animantium. Ein Beitrag zur Naturkunde und zur Geschichte der Sprache, Basel, 1869, p. 46 (106 Q); reprinted by Klenner, Der Tierstimmen-Katalog, p. 32, as prose, and edited and analysed by Benediktson, “Polemius Silvius’ ‘Voces varie animancium’”. 32  I am aware that Paniagua does not take into consideration this poem in his edition of the Laterculus: Polemii Silvii Laterculus, p. 51, note 20, a choice with which I agree, but I look to the poem from a different perspective, being interested in this kind of versifications for its prosodical and stylistic fea­ tures. Paniagua, “Nuovi e vecchi testimoni manoscritti”, note 30, p. 151, calls the Basel poem a “prodotto testuale secondario elaborato a partire da questo testo”. 33 For the manuscript, see https://www.e-codices.ch/en/ubb/B-XI-0008 (accessed 20 December 2020). 34 For the hexameter from the twelfth to the fourteenth century, see G. Orlandi, “Caratteri della versificazione dattilica”, in Retorica e poetica tra i secoli XII e XIV. Atti del Convegno internazionale dell’Associazione di studi per il Medioevo e l’Umanesimo latini in onore e memoria di Ezio Franceschini, Trento e Rovereto 3–5 ottobre 1985, ed. by C. Leonardi and E. Menestò, Perugia / Florence, 1988, pp. 151–69; and E. D’Angelo, “The Outer Metric in Joseph of Exeter’s Ylias and Odo of Magdeburg’s Ernestus”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 3 (1993), pp. 113–34. The use and function of the dactylic hexameter have undergone quite a change in the Middle Ages and should be evaluated as far as the performance of compositions is concerned also.

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patrizia lendinara Bos mugit, porcus grunnit, sed rudit asellus. Balat ouis, latratque canis, sed capra caprisat. Sibilat et serpens proprie, [sed] minurrit hirundo. 35 Et garrire solent uolucres communiter omnes. Hinnit equus, rugitque leo, uulpes quoque gannit. Frendet 36 aper, lupus hic ululat, sed rana coaxat. Accipiter pipilat, crocitat corwus, gruit et grus. 37 The cow moos, the pig grunts, while the small donkey brays, the sheep bleats, the dog barks, while the goat capers, 38 and it is of the snake to hiss, whereas the swallow chirps, and all the birds are wont to twitter together. The horse whinnies and the lion roars, the fox yelps as well, the boar rages and here the wolf howls, whereas the frog croaks, the hawk chirps, the raven croaks and the crane crunks.

The lexicographical concern gives way to some technical virtu­ osity with all the limits and shortcomings that characterise sev­ eral of these versifications. The poem lists 18 animals and their sounds. The first group is that of quadrupeds (lines 1–2); line 3 is devoted to the snake and the swallow. After the original inter­ lude of line 4, quadrupeds resume (lines 5–6), with the addition of capra, while the last mammals of Polemius are omitted and just a few birds are mentioned in the last line, which begins with a species unrecorded in the Laterculus, namely the accipiter. 39 The poem, which is preserved only in the Basel manuscript, might be incomplete.40 Animals are in the nominative singular, sounds in 35 

Benediktson, “Polemius Silvius’ ‘Voces varie animancium’”, p. 77, fol­ lows Wackernagel, Voces variae animantium, p. 46, in omitting sed in line 3 because unmetrical. 36 Read frendit. 37  Benediktson, “Polemius Silvius’ ‘Voces varie animancium’”, p. 77. 38  Caprizo ‘to act like a goat’ has more possible meanings. See J.  Stoes­ sel, “Howling like Wolves, Bleating like Lambs: Singers and the Discourse of Animality in the Late Middle Ages”, Viator, 45 (2014), pp. 201–36. 39 The following are missing: ursus, elephas, turtur, turdus, apis, milvus, anser, merulus, as well as the last five items of Polemius Silvius. 40  Benediktson, “Polemius Silvius’ ‘Voces varie animancium’”, p. 77. On fol. 41v, the poem is followed by two holonomastic lines of a different ori­ gin and contents. The lines “Destruit emollit, retringit consolidatque,/ Cla­ rificat, terret, accendit, laetificatque” are quoted by Thomas of Cantimpré, Liber de natura rerum, XIX,vi,7–8, within his description of the seven prop­ erties of fire: “Effectus ignis possunt videri per duos versus: Destruit, emol­

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the third person singular present indicative, with the exception of the all-encompassing volucres ‘birds’.41 The poem draws the majority of the animal names and their sounds from a manuscript of the Laterculus tradition. There are no lines on the inanimate objects and humans, but this is a com­ mon trend in all the medieval versifications on the subject where these are dropped altogether.42 Other differences also have a counterpart in medieval versifications of the voces. Sus has been changed to porcus, probably for metrical reasons, and asinus to asellus. This and other diminutives, unsuited to prose catalogues, are regularly employed in poetry. As for the sound of the lion, rugio is more common than fremo. Both the phrases capra caprisat and sibilat et serpens proprie exploit alliteration and the original “et garrire solent uolucres communiter omnes” (line 4) is strik­ ing for its euphony. A manuscript of the Voces variae animantium of the Laterculus, Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, clm. 7797 (Indersdorf Abbey, Bavaria, s. xii), which is reckoned by Paniagua amongst the deteriores,43 contains an all-animal list under the rubric ‘Proprietate vocum considerata’, copied on to the last folio of the codex (fol. 78v).44 The total of the items is 25, as in the Laterculus’s list with the addition of vulpes — one of the supple­ mentary animals of the Basel poem — gallus, gallina, pavo, and camelus. Thus, there were in circulation a number of catalogues, both homogenised by deleting the last items and enriched by new terms drawn from different traditions and suited to the medi­ lit, restringit, consolidatque./ Clarificat, terret, accendit, laetificatque”. This explains why the word ignis is written in the margin of the folio in the Basel manuscript; the lines occur elsewhere, among others, in Vincent of Beauvais, Speculum doctrinale, Book XV, ch. 43, where they are followed by another pair of verses. 41 See ‘Quis volucrum species’ (AL 733),1; AL 762,5 and 46; ‘Iam vernali tempore’ (Carm. Bur. 132),1b,6; ‘Hic volucres celi’ (Carm. Bur. 133),1; ‘Musa venit carmine’ (Carm. Bur. 145),13; but aves in Ausonius, ‘In hominem vocis absonae’, 6, and Eugenius, carm. XXXIII,21. 42 Also according to Benediktson, “Ut balatus ouis sic est rugire leonis”, the poem might have been longer. 43  Polemii Silvii Laterculus, ed. by Paniagua, pp. 51 and 130, note 87. 44 The list was edited by Peris, “Sobre la serie de voces animantium”, p. 301.

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eval environment in which these texts were in use and of use: the author of the Basel poem might have had one or more of these in hand. 5. ‘Voces variae animantium’ in Verse The poem in Basel, B XI.8 is a good example of slavish and unin­ spired versification of a catalogue, except for the little spark of line 4. The large medieval production of verses on animals, in particular birds, and their sounds (although there are also poems which only exploit their names) is still uncharted, but for some interest in compositions that stand at one of the extremities of the scale of what may be called animal poetry, that is, the one farthest from catalogues, such as the poems of Eugenius of Toledo. As for the versifications at the other end of the scale, which are relevant to the present analysis, they had a compact and synthetic form and were likely aimed at making knowledge (naturalistic, in the medieval sense of the term, and lexicographical) more acces­ sible. While the prose medium would seem more appropriate, the number of catalogue versifications (and the large number of attes­ tations of some of these) vouches for their role as educational tools and as grammatical and rhetorical exercises.45 A close study might disclose compositional techniques aimed at easy memorisation. Moreover, Díaz y Díaz has highlighted the challenge of accom­ modating names and sounds into the verses of a poem.46 Going further, it is likely that the lists of animals were used for metrical exercises: the following analysis seems to confirm this assumption. A few animal sounds are employed in the four distichs by Auso­ nius (carm. LXXII [epigr. no. 80, ed. Green], ‘In hominem vocis absonae’).47 The mime addressed in the poem had been able to imitate the sounds of dogs, horses, and every possible animal,

45  We

still lack an adequate definition of the various functions of prose and verse in the Middle Ages. 46 M. C. Díaz y Díaz, “Sobre las series de voces de animales”, in Latin Script and Letters a.d.  400–900: Festschrift presented to Ludwig Bieler on the Occasion of his 70th Birthday, ed. by J. J. O’Meara and B. Naumann, Leiden, 1976, pp. 148–55, at 148. 47  D. Magni Ausonii opuscula, ed. by K. Schenkl, MGH, AA V,2, Berlin, 1883, p. 216.

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but cannot speak properly.48 Behind the satire of Ausonius it is possible to detect a wink towards the grammarians’ distinctions, which have been somehow subverted: Marcus, exhausted from barking and neighing, cannot produce articulate language.49 Auso­ nius inspired Eugenius of Toledo (carm. XLI ‘De voce hominis absona’ = AL 730), which is clear — and likely suggested — in the title of his poem. The archbishop of Toledo changes the tone of the verses and emphasises the difference between human voice and animal sounds. Man should not pervert his voice and should maintain his vocal purity, because otherwise he will be unable to perform the divine service. 50 With the exception of the panther (in the much repeated two-words combination pardus felit) and the tiger (both in line 5), the animals cited belong to the household, the farm and the surrounding wilderness, possibly including the camel (line 3). The lexicographical interest is evident in another poem by Euge­ nius, ‘De animantibus ambigenis’ (carm. XLII), where he makes use also of Isidore, Etymologiae XII.i.60, but not in his nightin­ gale poems, carm. XXX–XXXIII.51 These four poems had an independent circulation from the other poems of Eugenius, under the title ‘Versus de filomela’ or similar. 52 Both the two distichs 48 Ausonius refers to the dog, a few farm animals, and the raven (which, as well as other birds, can mimic human speech). For his use, in the lines of the epigram, of poets such as Lucan, Silius Italicus, Ovid, and Vergilius see M.  Squillante, “La voce degli animali tra onomatopea e imitazione”, in Ways of Approaching Knowledge in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. by P. F. Alberto and D. Paniagua, Nordhausen, 2012, pp. 144–57, at 153–54. 49 As to R.  P.  H. Green, “The Correspondence of Ausonius”, L’Antiquité Classique 49 (1980), pp. 191–211, at 196, Ausonius had come to know the Ars grammatica of Marius Victorinus. In I.1, Victorinus divided the forms of sounds into articulate and confused, which were exemplified, among others, by the whinny of horses (GL VI, p. 4,21). 50  Eugenii Tolentani episcopi Carmina et Epistulae, ed. by F. Vollmer, MGH, AA XIV, Berlin, 1905, p. 257. On the poem of Eugenius and the poet’s rewriting techniques, see C. Codoñer, “El poema 41 de Eugenio de Toledo”, in Bivium. Homenaje a M. C. Díaz y Díaz, Madrid, 1983, pp. 49–54. 51  Eugenii Tolentani episcopi Carmina et Epistulae, ed. by Vollmer, pp. 258 and 253–54. 52  This is the rubric in Paris, BnF, lat. 8318 (Part III – s. ix med), fol. 67v. See Y.-F. Riou, “Quelques aspects de la tradition manuscrite des Carmina

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(carm. XXX–XXXI) and the poems (carm. XXXII–XXXIII), as well as his carm. XLI, will be influential and their word-combi­ nations will re-emerge in several later poems. Also effective and much-imitated is Eugenius’s reflection on the song of the nightin­ gale, which receives unconditional praise. The bird inherited from Classical literature with all its cortege is now given consideration only for its song and set apart triumphally from all other birds.53 At the same time, Eugenius placed himself on the path of Clas­ sical poetry in the special role accorded to birds and the connec­ tion of their song with poetry and music. The poems by Eugenius were imitated by the ninth-century Córdoba writer Paulus Alba­ rus. Francesco Stella has highlighted how the close relationship between the nightingale and the poet, who praises at the same time the bird and his own song, is made explicit by Paulus Alba­ rus in his carm. I, incipit “Vox, filomela, tua metrorum carmina vincit …”.54 Also Albarus’s carm. IV (‘Item versi alii’) is largely devoted to the excellence of the bird song, after the initial lines on the sounds of the other animals (lines 1–5).55

d’Eugène de Tolède: du Liber Catonianus aux Auctores octo morales”, Revue d’histoire des textes, 2 (1972), pp. 11–44, at 31–33. Riou does not take a stand on who might be the author of carm. XXX–XXXIII, but he concludes by highlighting the importance of its collocation within an anthology of the poet’s Carmina, “le ms. Madrid, Bibl. nat. 10029 (M), où le poème figure, f. 55 v°-56, au cœur de l’anthologie des carmina” (p. 33). 53  There is a vast literature on the subject of the nightingale. See, among others, A. R. Chandler, “The Nightingale in Greek and Latin Poetry”, The Classical Journal, 30 (1934), pp. 78–84; W. Pfeffer,  The Change of Philomel. The Nightingale in Medieval Literature, New York, 1985, and the collection of essays, ed. by V. Gély, J.-L. Haquette, and A. Tomiche, Philomèle. Figures du rossignol dans la tradition littéraire et artistique, Clermont-Ferrand, 2006. See also note 103 below. 54 See F. Stella, “Poesia ispanica di età carolingia: soggettività e scrit­ tura in Paolo Alvaro”, in IV Congresso Internacional de Latim Medieval Hispâ­ nico, ed. by A. A. Nascimento and P. F. Alberto, Lisbon, 2006, pp. 873– 80. Pauli Albari Carmina, ed. by L. Traube, MGH, PLAC III, Berlin, 1896, pp. 126–28. 55 The relationship between carm. XXX–XXXIII of Eugenius of Toledo and ‘Species comice’ of Eugenius Vulgarius (MGH, PLAC IV,1, ed. by P. von Winterfeld, Berlin, 1899, p. 430), which, in the second part (st. 5–19), con­ tains an updated catalogue of animals in well-wrought verses, is, in my opin­ ion, very tenuous.

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Stella has recognized a similarity between Albarus’s carm. IV on the animal sounds and the second poem of the Sylloge Ber­ nensis. This sylloge of didactic poetry, with compositions in differ­ ent metres,56 is preserved by Bern, Burgerbibliothek 358 (Reims, s. x1), fols 38–52. ‘Auri stemmate nexas’, on fol. 38v, alternates holonomastic lines with verses devoted to two animals and others with only a name, accompanied by an adjective, and the particular sound. End-stopped lines prevail, as is common in this kind of poetry. The poem lists birds, insects, and quadrupeds, but also includes fabulous beasts such as the fire-breathing dragon (line 73), the griffin (line 48) and even the siren (line 53). Some ani­ mals are typical of teratological works, such as the cerastes, the horned viper of the desert (line 74). The composition, which also includes a list of precious stones (lines 6–11) and jewels and other precious things (lines 1–5 and 12–21), employs animal catalogues but also other sources. Animal and in particular bird names seem widely used and produced verses of a certain originality in a variety of different genres. Other kinds of composition use animal names, the versus rapportati, such as those beginning with “Bos lepus ales equus homo serpens pavo leo grus …”. To read these short compositions one should link the first word of each line. These hexameters, which are functional to the rapportatio, employ the rhetorical fig­ ure of accumulation, but exploit both horizontal and vertical par­ allelism.57 Two series of versus rapportati accompany the (incom­ plete) drawings of composite animals in the Hortus deliciarum,58 incipit, “Latrans vir cervus equus ales scorpio cattus …” and “Bos 56  MGH,

PLAC IV,1, p. 243. the versus rapportati, see M. Perugi, “L’impronta di Matteo di Ven­ dôme nella diffusione degli schemi di correlazione e pluralità (sec. XI–XVI)”, in Le poetriae del medioevo latino. Modelli, fortuna, commenti, ed. by G. C. Alessio and D. Losappio, Venice, 2018, pp. 165–94, at 169 for the Hortus deliciarum. 58  Herrad von Hohenburg. Hortus deliciarum, Rekonstruktion und Kommentar, ed. by R. Green, M. Evans, Ch. Bischoff, and M. Curschmann, London / Leiden, 1979 (Studies of the Warburg Institute, 36), vol. 2, p. 221 (“Catalogue of miniatures”, 339): “This was a line drawing […] in three parts, one above the other […] 2) composite animal with stag horns; 3) composite animal with peacock tail.” Portions of the twelfth-century manuscript, destroyed in 1870, including the miniatures, had been copied in various sources. On the figures, 57  For

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lepus ales equus homo serpens pavo leo grus …” respectively. 59 The sounds of a few animals are also employed in the captions to two images which occur in combination with those mentioned above in Munich, BSB, clm. 16012, fol. 185v, and which are also composed of versus rapportati.60 The need to read these lines vertically, how­ ever, breaks up the inner logic of the catalogue. 6. Another Versification on Animal Voices A versification that was apparently quite successful (judging by the number of its witnesses) is the poem starting with a wellknown sound, “Ut balatus ovis…”. The earliest codex of this poem, composed in leonine hexameters, is dated to the twelfth century.61 There were two versions in circulation, of which the for­ mer is 13 lines long, the latter longer (16 lines). Ut balatus ouis sic est rugire leonis. ut latrare canis barritus sic elephantis. est hinnitus equi nec non ruditus aselli. ut mugire bouum sic est ululare luporum. sic grunnire suis dabitur saeuire sed ursis. see G. Cames, “A propos de deux monstres dans l’Hortus deliciarum”, Cahiers de civilisation médiévale, 11 (1968), pp. 587–603. 59  WIC 2230; MGH, PLAC V,1, ed. by K. Strecker, Leipzig, 1937, p. 403 (with a note at V,3, p. 682), prints both ‘Bos lepus …’ and ‘Latrans vir …’ from Munich, BSB, clm. 18158 (Tegernsee, s. xi), fol. 63r (which is followed by a blank folio), see Estense Digital Library: https://edl.beniculturali. it/open/1564477. These lines also occur as captions to two illustrations in Munich, BSB, clm. 16012 (Reichersberg, s. xii), fol. 185r [new foliation fol. 121r]: https://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/0006/bsb00065189/images/ index.html?id=00065189&groesser=&fip=193.74.98.30&no=&seite=365 (accessed 20 December 2020). 60 For these captions in verse, incipit “Aspice quod grunnit loquitur quod sibilat hinnit …” and “Vulpes porcus avis ursus leo cornipes anguis …”, see MGH, PLAC V,3, ed. by G. Silagi and B. Bischoff, Munich, 1979, p. 656, and: https://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/0006/bsb00065189/images/index. html?id=00065189&groesser=&fip= 193.74.98.30&no=&seite=366 [new folia­ tion fol. 121v] (accessed 20 December 2020). 61  WIC 19766. D. T. Benediktson, “Ut balatus ouis sic est rugire leonis: Medieval Composition and Modern Editing”, Wiener Studien, 117 (2004), pp. 225–32, does not mention Admont, Stiftsbibliothek 759 (Carinthia, s. xii3/3), fol. 56v, where ‘Ut balatus ovis’ (short version) occurs in combination with ‘Hic volucres celi’.

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sibila das, anguis, sed tu, uulpecula, gannis. grus collata, gruis. pro praeda, milue, lanugis. merulus at frindit, anser litoralia fugit. hinc pupulat pauo, peregrina minurrit hirundo. at turdus truculat, sed aquatica rana coaxat. turturis est gemitus, galli sub domate cantus. cum crocitat coruus, stridet sibi bubo perosus. mellis mater, apes, obscura susurria iactes.62 As the bleat of the sheep so is the roar of the lion, as the bark of the dog, so the trumpeting of the elephant. The whinny is proper of the horse just as the bray of the  donkey, mooing is up to cows, howling to wolves. So, grunting be given to pigs but raging to boars. You, snake, hiss, but you, little fox, yelp. The crane, (when) encountered, crunks. Looking for prey, you,   kite, cry. On the other hand, the blackbird chirps, the goose avoids the  (sea)-shores. From here the peacock screeches, the swallow chirps in   foreign lands and the thrush trills and the frog living in the water croaks. Moaning is up to the turtledove and crowing to the rooster by   the house. While the raven croaks loudly, the hateful owl hoots. You bee, mother of honey, make obscure sighing sounds.

The poem repeats Polemius in setting quadrupeds (lines 1–5) and birds (lines 7–13) apart. Lines 6 and 13 are original. In the first five lines there occur the ten quadrupeds of Polemius. All the sounds (though expressed by the noun of the cry in some cases) are also the same, with the exception of the lion (for which the more common rugire is used). Line 6, which is a sort of ‘inter­ mezzo’, combines the snake (here anguis) and the fox, introduced by Eugenius in animal poetry, which had a wide success in this kind of composition and elsewhere in contemporary literature. As for the flying creatures, all the birds of the Laterculus are present together with the bee. The new birds of the short version are pavo, gallus and bubo.63 The poet employs two diminutives, asellus (AL 62 

Benediktson, “Ut balatus ouis sic est rugire leonis”, pp. 226–27. owl has become perosus, a bird of bad omen. Lucan called him trepidus (Pharsalia VI,689), but included the owl in the episode of the Thessalian 63  The

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762,55) and vulpecula (AL 762,59). Some of the verbs seem to be either variants or corruptions of more common ones, for example, pupulat for paupulat, or truculat for trucilat, trutilat.64 The anser is cited rather for its behaviour and not for its sound, though the result is felicitous. Innovative too is the line on the bee, which con­ cludes the short version of the poem: its sound, which is praised in the last line, is an example of an indistinct sound.65 In both cases, the expanded presentation has verb and direct object. In the first two lines, the poet pairs the sound of the animal (balatus, barritus) with the infinitive of the verb used nominally (rugire, latrare); lines 3 and 11 use the animal sound twice. If this might be seen as an attempt at variation, what looks like a grammatical drill is the wide spectrum of solutions employed for expressing the animal noises. Beside using the noun of a specific cry (for example, balatus, barritus, but also hinnitus, ruditus), the poet employs either the infinitive of the verb used nominally (for example, rugire, latrare, but see also lines 4–5), or the third person singular present indicative (for example, frindit, pupulat, mi­nurrit), the second person singular present indicative (gannis, das, lanugis — for lingit, linguit, linugit of Polemius), the second person singular present subjunctive (iactes), preceded by a vocative. The poet also employs patterns such as turturis est gemitus or mugire est bovum. The lines juxtapose the animal sounds by means of ut … sic … (lines 1–2 and 4), nec non (line 4), sic… sed (line 5), sed (line 6), at (line 8), hinc (line 9), at … sed (line 10), cum (12); all these conjunctions are metrical fillers. The latter version is very different from the former, to begin with line 7. In the first 5 lines witch Erictho. It is worthwhile contrasting its horrific description in AL 762,37 and the impersonal one of no. 58 of the Carmina Burana, which only refers to its nocturnal habits. 64  Paupulo is said of the cry of the peacock in pseudo-Suetonius, ed. by Reifferscheid, p. 251,4; AL 762,26; Carm. Bur. 132,2a,10 (paululat). Trucilo is used of the call of the thrush in Polemius Silvius (see above: turdus trucilat κ; turdus truculat λ), in pseudo-Suetonius, ed.  by Reifferscheid, p. 253,1; AL 762,17; Carm. Bur. 132,2a,13 (truculat). 65 For the bee (and the birds) of no. 23 of the Cambridge Songs (Cam­ bridge, University Library, Gg. 5.35: Canterbury, St Augustine’s, s. xi med), see P. Lendinara, “Un ritmo dei Carmina Cantabrigensia”, in Poetry in Early Medieval Europe. Manuscripts, Language and Music of the Latin Rhythmical Texts, ed. by E. D’Angelo and F. Stella, Florence, 2003, pp. 63–73.

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there are a number of differences: data vox instead of dabitur (line 5), uncare instead of saevire (said of the boar, again in line 5). The short version has more than one overlap with AL 762, but it borrows two-word combinations or half lines, using the same verse more than once (for example, line 10 is made up by part of AL 762,17 and part of AL 762,64).66 The debt to AL 762 is more evident in the longer version, which borrows entire lines from the ‘Carmen de philomela’. As far as the second version is concerned: lines 7 = AL 762,17; line 8 = AL 762,19; line 9 = AL 762,24; line 10 = AL 762,25; line 11 = AL 762,26; line 12 = AL 762,31, line 13 = AL 762,32 (see below in note); line 14 = AL 762,36 (which is a pentameter); line 15 reshapes AL 762,22; line 16 employs AL 762,61 until the cae­ sura adding the last part of AL 762,64. It is interesting to observe how line 11 expands a former pentameter into a hexameter by adding the adverb nimium; also line 9 betrays an effort to turn AL 762,24 into a hexameter. cum turdus truculat tunc sturnus pusicat ore.67 cacabat hinc perdix et gracticat improbus anser. accipitres pipant. miluus lupit oris hyatu. cucurrire solet gallus. gallina gracilat. pullulat et pauo nimium uaga crissat hirundo. psictacus humanas depromit uoce loquelas. atque suo domino uel ‘aue’ sonat, aut modo ‘beue’.68 66 This kind of borrowing was highlighted by Benediktson, “Ut balatus ouis sic est rugire leonis”, p. 228. 67 Cf. sturnorum passitare in pseudo-Suetonius, ed. by Reifferscheid, p. 253,1; AL 762,17 (pusitat). 68  Only two manuscripts of the longer version have line 13; Munich, BSB, clm. 4350, fol. 3v (Augsburg, s. xiv) ends with ‘beve’, while Munich, BSB, clm. 18291, fol. 6v (s. xiv or xv) reads ‘bere’. The line innovates as opposed to the source which has “Atque suo domino ‘chaere’ sonat vel ‘ave’” (AL 762,32) by producing a hexameter. One of the words that the parrot is supposed to utter, according to the literary tradition, is χαῖρε. The words of Isidore, Etymologiae XII.vii.24: “Psitaccus Indiae litoribus gignitur […]. Unde et arti­ culata verba exprimit, ita ut si eam non videris, hominem loqui putes. Ex natura auem salutat dicens: ‘have’, vel χαῖρε. Cetera nomina institutione discit. Hinc est illud: Psittacus a vobis aliorum nomina discam; hoc didici per met dicere: ‘Caesar have’” (the reference is to Martial, Epigr. XIV,73), were repeated in the entries of several glossaries, see e.g. the Scholica Graecarum glossarum, K 5: “Kere autem salve, unde est illud: ‘Kere Caesar anikos’. id

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patrizia lendinara bombilat ore legens munera mellis apis. porro trinnit anas, uaga luxuriando per undas. mus auidus mintrit. rana coaxat aquis. (longer version, ll. 7–16) 69 When the thrush utters its call, the starling then makes   ]sounds with its mouth, the partridge cackles here and the wicked goose honks, hawks chirp, the kite coos with the gaping mouth. the cock is used to crow, the hen squawks, the peacock screeches, the wandering swallow twitters too. The parrot brings out human words with its voice and says out loud to its master either ‘Ave’ or ‘Beve’. The bee hums gathering with its mouth the gifts of honey. Farther on, the roving duck honks sporting in the waves. The greedy mouse squeaks, the frog croaks in the water.

‘Ut balatus ovis’ occurs together with ‘Hic volucres celi’ in Munich, BSB, clm. 4350 (a. 1339) and other codices (see below). 7. Catalogue Poems One poem of the Anthologia Latina, ‘De cantibus avium’ (AL 733),70 opens with the question: “Quis volucrum species numeret, quis nomina discat?” (Who counts the species of birds? Who learns their names?). The reply, quickly given (line 2), is that there are thousands of bird songs, thousands of different voices (“Mille avium cantus, vocum discrimina mille”). After such a chorus of birds, the quadrupeds do not want to be outdone (line 10) and will not be silent (musito, line 11). The second group of animals in lines 12–21 ends up, as usual, with croaking frogs, put at a safe dis­ tance from the storks of lines 7–8, mindful of Aesop’s fable. The poem is best known for line 14, “Nunc cuculus cantans † scottos est ‘ave’ sive ‘salve Caesar invictissime’”: M. L. W. Laistner, “Notes on Greek from the Lectures of a Ninth-Century Monastery Teacher”, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, 7 (1923), pp. 421–56, at 438. Beve might be inter­ preted as a vulgarized form of the Latin imperative bibe ‘drink’, used to pro­ pose a toast. Otherwise, it might be emended to bene ‘well’, the adverb being used to applaud answers. 69  Benediktson, “Ut balatus ouis sic est rugire leonis”, p. 227. 70  Anthologia Latina sive poesis Latinae supplementum, ed. by F. Buecheler and A.  Riese, 2 vols, 2nd ed., Leipzig, 1894–1926 (= AL), p. 218, edited the poem from Città del Vaticano, BAV, Vat. lat. 644 (s. x–xi), fol. 34r: https:// digi.vatlib.it/view/MSS_Vat.Lat.644 (accessed 20 December 2020).

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iter ire perurget” (Now the singing cuckoo impels the Irish to go on pilgrimage), which sparked curiosity and encouraged scholars to look to Ireland for its origin.71 In two manuscripts, ‘De canti­ bus avium’ is combined with the same list of animal voces, incipit “Apes ambizant vel bambizant (sic)…”.72 In Paris, BnF, lat. 8069-I (France, s. x–xi), the list is on fol. 6ra-b, followed by an epigram of Martial (Epigr. I,19), preceded by the rubric ‘Versus Virgilii de nutrice Suetlia’ and the poem (fol. 6rb-va).73 In Wolfenbüttel, Her­ zog August Bibliothek, Aug. 10.3 4° (France, s. x), fol. 86r-v, the list is immediately followed by the poem (fol. 86v). Another catalogue poem, ‘De volucris et iumentis de filomela’ or ‘Carmen de philomela’ (incipit “Dulcis amica veni …”),74 takes its inspiration from the nightingale and displays a knowledge of carm. XXX–XXXIII of Eugenius of Toledo. The poem, which devotes seventy lines to the song of the nightingale and the sounds of other animals, is attested to in several manuscripts and has been variously dated. Díaz y Díaz dates it to the ninth century and highlights that the author had a number of animal catalogues to

71  ‘Irish’ has been emended to socios ‘companions’. M. J. Warren, “A New Latin Analogue to the Cuckoo-motif in The Seafarer and The Husband’s Message”, Medium Aevum, 88/1 (2019), pp. 129–33, maintains the reading scottos. 72  Note that all the animals of the poem — with the exception of the cuculus — are included in the list which repeats Aldhelm’s almost verbatim. The cuckoo and its sound are mentioned by pseudo-Suetonius, ed. by Reiffer­ scheid, p. 252,1–2, AL 762,35, Carm. Bur. 133,16 and 145,12, and in later lists. 73 Paris, BnF, lat. 8069-I preserves a number of poems from the Anthologia latina. The first part of the manuscript, which is composite, was written at the end of the tenth century, and is related to the school of Reims. This list occurs also in Città del Vaticano, BAV, pal. lat. 253 (? Lorsch, s. x ex), fol. 61v, where it bears the same rubric ‘Auguria’ and colophon as Wolfenbüt­ tel, HAB, Aug. 10.3 4°. The list of Paris 8069-I has no rubric and the last items are missing. 74  WIC 4796: AL 762, see P. Klopsch, “Carmen de Philomela”, in Literatur und Sprache im europäischen Mittelalter. Festschrift für Karl Langosch zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. by A. Önnerfors, J. Rathofer and F. Wagner, Darmstadt, 1973, pp. 173–94. The poem was also known as the pseudo-Ovidian ‘De phi­ lomela’. The poem bears OHG glosses in two of its eleventh-century manu­ scripts. There are a number of interlinear glosses in German in the version of Lucca, Biblioteca statale 1388 (L.101), fols 22r–23r. The codex (a. 1470) was purchased in Germany.

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hand.75 Stella suggests that the poem might antedate the Euge­ nian compositions.76 The number of phrases identical to those of the ‘De cantibus avium’ and occurring in the same metrical posi­ tion in the lines of the ‘Carmen de philomela’ suggests a depen­ dence from that poem. Both compositions call for a new analysis, however, also in light of their respective manuscript traditions. In the ‘Carmen de philomela,’ a long list of animal cries fol­ lows a praise of the nightingale (lines 1–8) under the pretext of enumerating the birds and the other animals vanquished by its song. The poet, however, succeeds in breaking up the repetitive­ ness of the lists with a number of verse fillers, helped in this by the elegiac distichs.77 He resorts repeatedly to alliteration, with successful results, the more so considering the topic, such as “sor­ dida sus subiens ruris per gramina grunnit” (line 57). Diminutives such as asellus and volpecula are employed also for the sake of metre. In my opinion, the poem has a playful component, as for example when the poet looks for a justification upon writing such graceless catalogues. This may also place some implied criticism upon the strict catalogue versification. The blame — indeed very light — is passed to the nightingale itself, and the author seems confident that no one will object to such a justification. It was the nightingale that surpasses every bird with its song (line 46), that urged the poet (filomela coegit, line 45) to sing or rather to enumerate the names of all possible birds. In the same vein, the poet pretends to have added the remaining eighteen lines (lines 47–64) sua sponte. These verses begin with large quadrupeds, move to mice, and eventually end up with frogs. The animals give their praise to the Lord and thank Him; all their different sounds receive approval and every animal is accorded the same dignity, even the silent ones (lines 69–70).78 This pious reflection concludes the poem, apparently dismissing the insistence on the difference between articulated voces and not.

75 

Díaz y Díaz, “Sobre las series de voces de animales”, p. 150. Stella, “Poesia ispanica di età carolingia”, p. 876. 77  See also the recent book by L. Ceccarelli, Contributions to the History of the Latin Elegiac Distich, Turnhout, 2018. 78  This is reminiscent of the standpoint of Alcuin, carm. LXI: MGH, PLAC I, ed. by E. Dümmler, Berlin, 1881, pp. 274–75. 76 

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Based on the same principles of versification and sharing the same sources are the poems in hexameters beginning with “En/ Hic/ Hinc/ Sic volucres celi referam sermone fideli …” (WIC 5437, 8153, 8186, 18139), one of which found a place in the Carmina Burana (no. 133).79 In the Carmina Burana, a much renowned col­ lection of poems preserved by a thirteenth-century manuscript, there is more than one composition inspired by the catalogues of ‘Voces variae animantium’, which are quite different in layout, metrics, and poetic flair: ‘Iam vernali tempore’ (no. 132) in nine stanzas, where each pair of stanzas has the same rhyme; ‘Nomina paucarum sunt hic socianda ferarum’ (no. 134), in dactylic hexa­ meters and leonine rhyme; ‘Musa venit carmine’ (no. 145), and ‘Iam ver oritur’ (no. 58) comprising six rhythmic stanzas of vary­ ing length, with a different rhyme for each stanza.80 This song of spring is characterised by set combinations of nouns and adjec­ tives, dictated by euphonic and metrical reasons, but also loaded with intertextual references, for example, “Mergus aquaticus / aquila munificus / bubo noctivagus” (lines 4,1–3). ‘Hic volucres celi’ (no. 133) is the closest to a lexical cata­ logue. The dactylic hexameters have leonine rhymes and the poem is accompanied by vernacular glosses in the manuscripts. The last line provides a self-ironic reading key of the poem as a metrical exercise, “Versu stare nequit carduelis, quique recedit.” (The goldfinch cannot stand in verse, and therefore retires.) (line 22). A playful intent is evident behind this tour-de-force, which succeeds in accommodating 72 birds in twenty-two verses. One line has up to six birds (line 10) and several have five. The poet declares that “Graculus haut deerit” (The jackdaw will not be missing by any means) (line 14, first half line). In the last verses, the poet addresses the birds that seem to participate in some sort of theatrical performance: “Te, vespertilio vel hirundo, non reti­ cebo.” (Bat and swallow, I will not pass you over in silence!) (line 17). The poem was quite successful; there are about fifty known 79 See also Sankt Florian, Augustiner-Chorherrenstift XI.124 (s. xiv), fol. 39v, which begins with the second line, “Accipiter, nisus, capus …” (WIC 270). 80 These poems all belong to the same section of Carmina veris et amoris (nos 56–186): Carmina Burana, I. Text, 2: Die Liebeslieder, ed. by A. Hilka and O. Schumann, Heidelberg, 1941.

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manuscripts and this number is likely to increase.81 The two oldest witnesses of ‘Hic volucres celi’ are Vienna, Österreichische Natio­ nalbibliothek 85 (Lambach, s. xii1), fol. 42r and Stuttgart, WLB, theol. et phil. 2° 210 (Zwiefalten, s. xii1/4), fol. 135r.82 In a number of codices there occurs a succession of short poems with the same contents and similar stylistic features — enumerations by means of asyndetic lines —, where the earlier catalogue of animals are now monothematic and treat birds and quadrupeds apart. There are also catalogues of fishes and trees.83 ‘Hic volucres celi’ occurs in combination with the poem ‘Nomina paucarum sunt hic socianda ferarum’ (Carm. Bur. 134), and, elsewhere, in Admont, Stiftsbibliothek 759, also with ‘Ecce stilo digna ponam campestria ligna’ (WIC 5151).84 It is evident how this kind of poem tends to cluster in the codices, comply­ 81  See

W. Wegstein, “Zur Überlieferung der ‘Versus de volucribus, bestiis, arboribus’”, in Studia Linguistica et Philologica. Festschrift für Klaus Matzel zum sechzigsten Geburtstag überreicht von Schülern, Freunden und Kollegen. ed. by H.-W. Eroms, B. Gajek, and H. Kolb, Heidelberg, 1984 (Germani­ sche Bibliothek. N. F., 3. Reihe: Untersuchungen), pp. 285–94; S. Stricker, “Versus de volucribus, bestiis, arboribus”, in Althochdeutsche und altsächsische Literatur, ed. by R. Bergmann, Berlin / Boston, 2013, pp. 481–94. See also ead., “Die Versus-Sachglossare”, in Die althochdeutsche und altsächsische Glossographie. Ein Handbuch, I, ed. by R. Bergmann and S. Stricker, Berlin / New York, 2009, pp. 683–97. For the Old High German glosses, see Die alt­ hoch­deutschen Glossen, ed. by E. Steinmeyer and E. Sievers, 5 vols, Berlin, 1879–1922, repr. Dublin / Zurich, 1968–1969, III, pp. 20–36. 82  On fols 135r–136r, there are a series of ‘Versus memoriales de animalibus et lignis’, respectively on birds, animals and trees. The lines bear Old High German glosses. These poems follow Ambrose, Hexameron, as in Augsburg, Archiv des Bistums Augsburg 16 (Abbey of Ottobeuren, s. x–xi), fols 78v–81r. 83  See H. Walther, Initia carminum ac versuum Medii Aevi posterioris Latinorum. Alphabetisches Verzeichnis der Versanfänge mittellateinischer Dichtungen, Göttingen, 1959 (= WIC), 7914, 8094, 8179, 8182, 10432, 11931 (fish), 2588, 4009, 5151, 6902, 8093, 9267 (trees), 4744, 5437, 8153, 8153a, 8186, 18139 (birds), and 11925, 11930 (animals in general). I do not refer to the incipi­ tarium of D. Schaller and E. Könsgen on grounds of the chronological distri­ bution of the animal catalogues taken into examination. 84 Admont, Stiftsbibliothek 759 features this sequence of poems: fol. 55r: ‘Nomina volucrum’ [‘Hic volucres celi’]; fols 55v–56r: ‘Nomina ferarum’ [‘Nomina paucarum sunt hic socianda ferarum’]; fol. 56r-v: ‘Nomina ligno­ rum’ [‘Ecce stilo digna ponam campestria ligna’]; and fol. 56v: ‘Ut balatus ovis’.

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ing either with the interests of the compiler or with a didactic aim. This poem is found in a large number of manuscripts and is often accompanied by glosses in German. It features only animal names without recording their sounds. A number of lines are holo­ nomastic; otherwise, the conjunction mostly used is et. There are just a few adjectives (sevus, validus, velox) and an adverb, avide, which routinely refer to the habits of the animals in question. The poem is remarkable, however, for its lexicographical content and its parade of beasts, which opens with the lion, that is, the king — or rather the ‘basileus’ (line 2) — of the animals. Then follow some wild beasts (panthera, tigris, leopardus, rhinoceros, pardus) and other animals from far-away countries, such as the gazelle, the camel, the dromedary, the elephant, the monkey, and the hyena, listed without any apparent order. A fabulous beast is also included: the sp(h)inga ‘sphinx’. The author shows a clear prefer­ ence for wild animals and lists several representatives of North European fauna, including the wild-oxen (uri) and the elk (here alx). Another unusual term is cimex ‘bug’. The melus is probably to be identified with the chameleon, while as far as the dormouse (glis) is concerned, it is followed by its genitive form (glis gliris), which suggests that the poet was echoing a common grammatical drill. The same happens with merops meropis in line 2. This kind of versified list of animal names parallels the cata­ logues embedded in Classical poetry and, sometimes, make up the greater part of poems, such as in Ovid’s Halieuticon. In the case of longer poems, the catalogue may be an occasional stylistic feature, but there are compositions which employ the catalogue through­ out, providing peculiar examples of what I call contextualized lexi­cography.85 The “forte présence des listes et formes énumératives dans les textes médiévaux” has been recently underscored.86 As for the all-catalogue compositions, it is hard to draw a distinc­ tion between the strictly utilitarian ones, which often have a ludic component, and other categories of poems. 85  Lendinara, “Le Voces Variae Animantium nel medioevo”, pp. 465–78. See Squillante, “La voce degli animali tra onomatopea e imitazione”, pp. 150–51, note 17, for the lists of Pliny and Apuleius. 86 C. Angotti, P. Chastang, V. Debiais, and L. Kendrick, “La liste médiévale: une technique matérielle et cognitive”, in Le pouvoir des listes au Moyen Âge. I. Écritures de la liste, ed. by idd., Paris, 2019, pp. 6–13, at 6.

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8. Thirteenth-century Textbooks The thirteenth century saw the composition of grammatical and lexical works in verse, which had some diffusion as textbooks. Catalogues of animals (and their sounds) were embedded in such educational poetry. On the one hand, these lines have become a rhetorical instrument and represent an occasional stylistic feature. On the other hand, they tell us a lot about the sources employed by the authors, including animal catalogues and poems on birds, but also glossaries. Evrard of Bethune’s Graecismus is a grammar in verse composed around 1212.87 The Graecismus is devoted pri­ marily to differentiae. This sort of grammatical teaching, with a large interest in figures and tropes, echoes the contemporary genre of the ars poetriae. The lines on animal sounds (ch. xix ‘De verbis mixtis’) conclude by proclaiming the superiority of human speech. Drensat olor, clangit anser, crocitat quoque coruus, At pardus felit, uultur pulpat, leo rugit, Ast onager mugilat, bos mugit, rana coaxat, Uociferans barrit elephas, gryllusque minurrit, Blatterat ac uespertilio, strittinnit hirundo, Balat ouis, uagit capra, sed gallina gracillat, Frendit aper, uulpes quoque gannit, rudit asellus, Hinnit equus, grunnit porcus, pipat quoque nisus, Sed catulus 88 latrat, hinc murilegusque catellat, Est hominumque loqui, quod dicto89 praeualet omni. (ll. 32–41)90 The swan cries, the goose honks and the raven croaks, but the panther growls, the vulture shrieks, the lion roars, but yet the wild ass brays, the cow moos, the frog croaks, the elephant trumpets loudly and the cricket chirps, the bat babbles, the swallow twitters, 87 The composition of the Graecismus has been postdated to 1180–1200. Anne Grondeux would stick to the date of 1212, see, among others, “Le Grae­ cismus d’Evrard de Béthune et sa glose”, Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi, 50 (1990–1991), pp. 71–101, at 72, note 7. 88  Catulus ‘the young of animals, a whelp’ was regarded by Varro as a diminutive of canis (cf. Varro, L. L. V.99 and IX.74). 89  Dat. sing. of Late Latin dictus. Otherwise, a corruption of dictio, as sub­ ject of the sentence. 90  Eberhardi Bethuniensis Graecismus, ed. by J. Wrobel, Breslau, 1887, p. 182.

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the sheep bleats, the goat squalls but the hen clucks, the boar gnashes its teeth, and the fox yelps, the small donkey  ]brays, the horse whinnies, the pig grunts and the osprey peeps, but the puppy barks, and here the cat mews, and speaking, which prevails over any utterance, is given to  ]men.

Versification is confident as is the case with the other thir­ teenth-century authors. The influence of Polemius is still evident in the re-use of nine quadrupeds and three birds found in the Laterculus. Evrard includes other animals already represented in this kind of catalogue (olor, pardus, vultur, onager, gryllus, vespertilio, capra, gallina, vulpes, nisus)91 and a new entry, the murilegus (this line plays on the name of the dog and the verse of the cat: catulus / catellat). Porcus has substituted sus, and asellus has sup­ planted asinus. Evrard is skillful in re-employing old sounds for the new ani­ mals: the cricket seizes the verb minurio or minurrio ‘to chirp, twitter’, which was said of singing birds; for the bat, he uses blattero, which was typical of frog, ram and camel — I have hence rendered the verb with ‘to babble’ — on the other hand, vagio is the sound of young goats, according to Varro (L. L. VII.104). Except for the last line of the catalogue and the human voice, the animal sounds are all in the third person sing. of the present indicative. On one occasion, the verb for the cry of the vulture precedes the name of the bird. The structure is otherwise regular if not monotonous. Birds go first, but they are allotted only a line, to be resumed later here and there. A bird — specifically a bird of prey — intrudes between the two wild beasts of line 2, and the 91 For olor, see Aldhelm (p. 180,11) and glossaries, and, in poetry, Carm. Bur. 133,10; for vultur, see, beside glossaries and word lists, AL 762,27; Carm. Bur. 58,11; Carm. Bur. 132,2b,5; and Carm. Bur. 133,4; for gryllus, see AL 762,62 and Carm. Bur. 132,3b,9; for vespertilio, see AL 762,39; Carm. Bur. 132,2b,13; and Carm. Bur. 133,17; for capra, see ‘Bos mugit’, 2; for aper, see ‘Bos mugit’, 6; AL 762,52 and Carm. Bur. 132,3a,10; and for vulpes, see ‘De nominibus ferarum’ [Carm. Bur. 134], 9. Onager occurred in lexicographical compilations and glossaries, while gallina was among the examples of gram­ marians (Varro, Fragm. 3), but also occurs in poetry: ‘De cantibus avium’ [AL 733], 11; AL 762,25; and Carm. Bur. 132,2a,11. “At pardus felit” repeats the word-combination of Eugenius of Toledo, carm. XLI,5.

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swallow is joined with the bat, while the osprey comes ingloriously after the pig. The cricket is combined with the elephant, likely in order to match the largest animal with the smallest of the animals in the poem. Lines 32–41 of ch. xix of the Graecismus had an independent circulation.92 To the known witnesses, the lines in Yale, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library 482.57 (Italy, s. xiii in) should be added. A few verses (lines 33–37), largely undecipherable, were copied by a different hand in the lower margin of fol. 2v and written upside down. The contents of this two-folio fragment are medical recipes.93 Verses drawn from the Graecismus continued to circulate for a long time. In Oxford, Bodleian Library, Rawlinson, D 328, fol. 22r-v, there occurs a snippet beginning with “Dren­ sat olor, clangit ancer, crocitat quoque coruus …”. Each line is followed by the verbs quoted and their main tenses, followed by their English equivalents, for example, “Drenso, -as, -vi, -re to cry as a swane […] Cucurro, -is, -ivi for to cry as a cocke”. The manu­ script was the notebook of the merchant of Plymouth, Walter Pollard, and contains grammatical texts, but also proverbial say­ ings, verses, as well as moral and religious works,94 among which the catalogue of birds fulfils a didactic function but also provides some amusement. In San Marino, Ca., Huntington Library, HM 36337 (England, s. xiii in), fol. 56r, there occurs a poem of twelve verses on the voices of animals, incipit “Infans vagit, ovis balat, rugire leones …”.95 These lines, which are followed by some addi­

92  ‘Drensat olor, clingit anser, crocitat corvus …’ WIC 4744; ‘Trensat olor, clangit anser, crocitat quoque corvus …’ WIC 19201; ‘Trensat olor, clingit anser …’ WIC 19371. The independent lines are found in Melk, Stiftsbiblio­ thek 173 (s. xv), fol. 318v; Città del Vaticano, BAV, Vat. lat. 819 (s. xiii–xiv), fol. 285v; Wolfenbüttel, HAB, Cod. Guelf. 542 Helmst (s. xv), fol. 99v. 93  https://brbl-dl.library.yale.edu/vufind/Record/3433100 (accessed 20 December 2020). 94 D. Thomson, A Descriptive Catalogue of Middle English Grammatical Texts, New York / London, 1979, pp. 290–315 (the manuscript is dated to the fif­ teenth century). 95 C. W. Dutschke and R. H. Rouse, Guide to Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts in the Huntington Library, 2 vols, San Marino, Ca., 1989, pp. 709– 12. This composition is not recorded by WIC.

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tional verses,96 conclude by asserting that the speech of human beings is more powerful than all (“est hominumque loqui quod dicto prevalet omni”), hence repeating a verse of the Graecismus (line 40).97 The Graecismus (as well as the Doctrinale by Alexander of Ville­ dieu) was soon to become an auctoritas for grammatical learning and was widely imitated. Animal sounds in versified form are found in the Distigium or Cornutus, a short work which scholars are inclined to attribute to John of Garland. The poem, likely composed when he was magister in Paris (1217?-1229), consists of twenty-one pairs of verses and aims to teach the pupils a series of rare words, many of which are loanwords from Greek. These words (for example, monotalmus: monophthalmus ‘one eyed’), which have been drawn from compilations such as monolingual or bilin­ gual glossaries, are arranged to form short sentences, which are often quite difficult to understand; several lines are marked by a hortatory tone and a moralistic content. Book I of the Distigium is known as the ‘Cornutus antiquus’.98 The work occurs in a number of manuscripts where it is often accompanied by glosses and commentaries. The argument of the pairs of hexameters is not consecutive and the verses on animal sounds come after two lines playing on the words pusio and pullus, heres and (h)erilis. Some lines are asyndetic, but not these: Hinc elephas barrit, onocrocalus hiccine bombit, Hinc onager rudit, ranunculus inde coaxat. (ll. 17–18)99

96 These phrases, which mention a number of animals, bear no relation whatsoever to the poem, and, in my opinion, belong rather to the so-called ‘language of the carvers’, see the first two: “Excaturizat aves, pisces exen­ terat ille/ Ustulat hic porcos, excoriatque boves” (He scalds the birds, evis­ cerates the fishes; this one scorches the pigs, and flays the cows). 97 I was unable to obtain a copy of this poem owing to the COVID-19 restrictions imposed on libraries. 98 T. Hunt, Teaching and Learning Latin in Thirteenth-Century England, 3 vols, Cambridge, 1991, vol. 1, pp. 323–48. Hunt disagrees with attributing the Distigium to John of Garland. 99  Hunt, Teaching and Learning Latin, vol. 1, p. 338. See pp. 338–39 for the Latin commentary on these two lines, and note 110 for the gloss to onocrocalus, gallice butor ‘bittern in French’, which occurs in two manuscripts of the Distigium.

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patrizia lendinara Hence the elephant trumpets, here the bittern booms, hence the wild ass brays, thence the little frog croaks.

The verses have an identical structure and some internal rhymes. Four animals and their voices are mentioned. The diminutive of rana, ranunculus rhymes with onocrocalus of the preceding line. Interestingly, the author includes a bird which rarely occurs in animal catalogues,100 but which had a place in glossaries circula­ ting in England and on the Continent.101 Onocrotalus is a bird name which came to be associated with the bittern, a bird that was frequent in the British countryside. The verb bombire ‘to buzz, hum’ — used of the bees, while bombus was said of the hollow sound of a horn — is allotted to the bittern, which was known for its booming call. Remarkable is the diminutive ranunculus chosen for the sake of rhyme and metre, but nevertheless of Ciceronian ancestry. The English scholar and teacher Alexander Neckam includes a list of animals in his Suppletio defectuum. The poem, dated to 1216, is divided into two sections. The former deals with birds, trees, plants and their virtues.   Emittit uarios turba sonora sonos. Regia clangit auis, uariis minturnit hirundo102 100  The bird occurs only in Carm. Bur. 133,9 and in an alphabetical list in Cambridge, UL, Ll. 1.14 (s. xiv), fol. 46r-v: “onocrotalus bimibulat”: D. T. Benediktson, “Cambridge University Library L1 1 14, F. 46R-V: A Late Medi­ eval Natural Scientist at Work”, Neophilologus, 86 (2002), pp. 171–77, at 172. 101  See, among others, “Onocratalum, auis que sonitum facit in aqua; raere­ dumlae uel felufor”: St Gall, Stiftsbibliothek 913 (s. viii 2), p. 140: B. Bischoff and M. Lapidge, Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School of Theodore and Hadrian, Cambridge, 1994 (Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England, 10), p. 535. Onocrotalus, onocratalus, onocratallus, onocroclus is a loanword from Greek ὀνοκρόταλος, literally ‘donkey-rattler’. The Greek word, however, is only quoted by Pliny and Martianus Capella; onocrotalus occurs, among others, in the Vulgate (in the list of impure birds in Lv. 11:18 and Dt. 14:18). The pelican was rare or absent in England. Since, in a number of glossary entries, the pelican was said to make a sound like a donkey when drinking, the name onocrotalus was transferred to the bittern, a bird of the heron fam­ ily, which is known for the booming call of the male. 102 Neckam attributes the swallow the soft, plaintive note, which Vergil attributes to the nightingale “maestis late loca questibus implet”, Verg. Geo. 4,515. The literature on the myth of Procne and Philomela and the birds they were changed into in Greek and Latin tradition, is large, see T. Privitera,

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 Questibus, at turtur atque columba gemunt. Que uentrem purgat rostro crepitans crotalizat;   Nugatur cuculus,103 laudat alauda diem. Drensat olor, pulpat uultur; coruum crocitare,   Te cupidum prede, milue, lupire ferunt. Plipiat accipiter Iunonis paupulat ales,  Zinziat104 hinc merulus, hinc philomena canit. Grus gruit, at sclingens anser strepit inter olores;   Perdices cacabant, leta tetrissat anas. Soccitat hinc turdus, hinc sturnus passitat; ales   Ticiat hinc nomen a paciendo trahens. (I,48–60)105 The noisy throng bursts forth different sounds, the regal bird screams, the swallow chirps with various complaints, while the turtledove and the pigeon moan. The bird that purges its bowels with the beak rattles  ]rumbling; the cuckoo cajoles and the lark praises the day. The swan cries, the vulture shrieks; people say that the crow  ]croaks and you, kite, eager for prey, cry. The hawk cries, the bird of Juno screeches, here the blackbird emits its cry, here the nightingale sings. The crane crunks, while the honking goose rustles among the   ]swans [or ‘the herbs’?];106 partridges call clucking, the joyful duck quacks. Here the thrush utters its call, here the starling makes its cry;   ]the bird that gets its name from submitting to another’s lust chirps.

Terei puellae: metamorfosi latine, Pisa, 2007. The nightingale (usually with its name philomela, and not luscinia, which occurs in carm. LXI of Alcuin, ‘Hic volucres celi’, and no. 23 of the Cambridge Songs) has a role in the versified bird catalogues to begin with the ninth century. As for minturnio (minurio, minurrio) ‘to chirp, twitter’, see Neckam, “sanguinea respersa nota minturnit hirundo”: De laudibus divinae sapientiae II,789; “minturniens hirundo cruore Terei respersa”: De naturis rerum I,52. 103  The second syllable of cuculus is shortened. 104  Zinzio is said of the thrush in AL 762,13. 105  Alexander Neckam, Suppletio defectuum, Book  I, ed. by Ch. J. McDo­ nough, Florence, 1999, p. 10. The edition is based on Paris, BnF, lat. 11867. 106  Olores sic. May be to emend in (h)olera ‘among the herbs’, as the olor is already mentioned in line 53.

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This is an all-birds versification. Neckam alternates singular with plural, adding some adjectives, beside conjunctions and adverbs. But in one case, there are no more than two animals a line. Neckam breaks the rigid scheme of the verse by placing questibus in the following pentameter (line 50) and anticipating ales in the hexameter (line 59). The specific sounds alternate with verbs and a variety of constructions (for example, corvum crocitare). As with other contemporary compositions, there are commonplace birds and new ones. Neckam echoes the ‘Carmen de philomela’ (line 51 = AL 762,20) and the Graecismus (line 53 has a counterpart in lines 32 and 33 of the Graecismus). Four birds are not called by their name, with a relevant break with tradition; these include the eagle (line 48), the ibis (line 51), the peacock, a bird sacred to Juno (line 55), and the sparrow (line 60). The last verse would be hard to unravel if it were not for De naturis rerum of the same Neckam, where one reads this sort of etymology for passer: “passer avis est libidinosa, unde et a patiendo nomen sortita est” (I,60). Neckam adds to the lines a learned and somehow riddle-like note. As in the Distigium, he might have known about the ibis from glossaries.107 9. A Different Perspective Poems with animal sounds vary considerably from one another. Whereas many are undoubtedly witty, some are satirical and trenchant. This is the case with an epigram of Godfrey of Win­ chester. Godfrey, prior of Saint Swithun’s at Winchester until his death in 1107, is the author of a number of epigrams, in which he imitated Martial with some success.108 Some of his compositions, 107  The habits of this bird were reported in the glossaries which stem from Theodore of Tarsus’s teaching in England, see, among others, “Ibin: qui mit­ tit aquam de ore suo in culum suum ut possit degerere; ideoque medici ipsam artem didicerunt”: bischoff and Lapidge, Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, p. 364 (from Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, M. 79 sup. [Italy, s. xi], fol. 75va). 108  In the Middle Ages, Martial came to be called ‘Martialis cocus’. There has been some misunderstanding between this nickname given to Martial and some lines attributed to ‘Martialis cocus’ occurring in thirteenth and four­ teenth century manuscripts which have been connected to Godfrey, but are not peculiar to manuscripts of the ‘Liber proverbiorum’. See Hunt, Teaching

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for example, the historical epigrams, have also been attributed to authors such as Serlo of Bayeux. The collection of epigrams car­ ries the title ‘Liber proverbiorum’ in Oxford, Bodleian Library, Digby 112 (Winchester or Glastonbury, s. xii in) (“Liber prover­ biorum domini G. prioris incipit”). LXXV. Non esse variandum sermonem Bos mugit, sed balat ovis, variatio nulla;   Tu semper linguam, Faune, tuam varias.109 The cow moos, but the sheep bleats, without a change. You, Faunus, always change your voice.

It is not possible to identify the contemporary personage addressed as Faunus. Martial mentioned altars to Silvanus and trees of Fau­ nus (Epigr. X,92), but no connection to the epigram of Godfrey is evident. In Greece, however, Faunus was a lustful minor deity, spending his time with the nymphs of Mount Tmolus. Godfrey might also have had in mind the treatment of Ovid. In the Fasti, Ovid tells the story of Faunus, who, seeking to make love to the queen of Lydia, Omphale, had inadvertently molested Hercules instead (II,303–58), everything taking place within a ludicrous frame of transvestitism. Godfrey expresses his personal view, which is different from that of the other twelfth- and thirteenth century writers who did not limit themselves to list animal sounds with more or less technical virtuosity, but affirmed man’s super­ iority over animals, by saying that human speech is superior to any other utterance. Godfrey chooses two homely representatives of the animal species employing, for the opening of the epigram, two commonplace phrases. His lines praise the voice of animals (whatever it should be and whatever the animal it belongs to as well) because it does not change. Unlike men, animals are incap­ able of duplicity and disguise. The lesson of Ausonius on the unhappy end of the mime is at hand, but Godfrey also reverses

and Learning Latin, I, pp. 254 (where there is still a reference to Manitius) and 348 with note 165. 109  WIC 2230: The Anglo-Latin Satirical Poets and Epigrammatists of the Twelfth Century, ed. by T. Wright, 2 vols, London, 1872 (RS, 59), II, p. 113. There is a new edition of the epigrams in Der Liber Proverbiorum des Godefrid von Winchester, ed. by H. H. Gerhard, Würzburg, 1974.

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the praise for, whoever, like Faunus — and the frequently-extolled nightingale — excels, for whatever purpose, in vocal virtuosity. Abstract The earliest lists of animal names paired with the verbs indi­ cating their distinctive cries date from Late Antiquity and one of them has long been attributed to Suetonius. A short list, the contents and structure of which was repeated again and again with small variations over a long period of time, is included in the Laterculus of Polemius Silvius. In the case of Basel, Univer­ sitätsbibliothek, B XI.8, the poem on fol. 41v is in fact a ver­ sification of Polemius’s list in dactylic hexameters. The lists of Voces animantium also took the form of poetical compositions such as the ‘De cantibus avium’ (AL no. 733) or the ‘Carmen de philomela’ (incipit ‘Dulcis amica veni …’); lines based on animal names and their sounds also occur within longer poems. The short poetical compositions facilitated easy memorisation and were sometimes accompanied by interlinear glosses in the vernacular.

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The Number Seventy-Two in Early Anglo-Latin Literature* Tristan Major (Doha, Qatar) Symbolic and typological use of numbers is an extremely common feature of medieval exegetical literature. Not only do numbers allow for neat and easily transmittable knowledge, but they also enable and strengthen diverse (and often otherwise unrelated) connections in the complex intellectual networks created for understanding the interactions between God and the humans in the world. The notion of seven days of creation, for example, allows for easy connections between the seven days of the week and the seven ages of the world.1 But the relative simplicity of number symbolism can be a trap for assuming too quickly a relative stability and consistency in medieval discourses on numerology. These discourses are, in fact, rarely stable or consistent. Earlier intellectual traditions are not transmitted homogeneously but instead develop widely across literary periods and even individual authors. *

 This paper is a much-adapted version of a section of my PhD dissertation, which first developed out of a class on the Latin Bible I was fortunate to have taken with Michael Herren at the Centre for Medieval Studies, University of Toronto. Michael also heard an earlier version of the section on Alcuin at the University of British Columbia Medieval Workshop and gave me valuable feedback then. I am grateful to be able to give this paper to him in its final form after he has given me so much impetus and support over the years. 1 The most useful handbooks on number symbolism are: V. F. Hopper, Medieval Number Symbolism: Its Sources, Meaning, and Influence of Thought and Expression, New York, 1938; and H. Meyer, Die Zahlenallegoresse im Mittelalter: Methode und Gebrauch, Munich, 1975. For the seven days of the world, see specifically H. L. C. Tristram, Sex aetates mundi: Die Weltzeitalter bei den Angelsachsen und den Iren, Untersuchungen und Texte, Heidelberg, 1985.

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 275–321. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125565 ©

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Specifically, among early Anglo-Latin authors, symbolism involving the number seventy-two shows a great degree of variation in the ways it is employed, including even the iteration of the traditional number itself. By the early ninth century, Alcuin (the chronologically latest author of this study) had connected the number seventy-two with the number of nations born from the sons of Noah, the number of Christ’s disciples, the number of books of the Bible, and the number of bishops required for the canonical authority to dispose of another bishop. A generation earlier, Bede had also associated the number with the descendants of Noah, Christ’s disciples, the languages of the world, the hours in a three-day period, and the bells on Jewish priestly robes. But among patristic authorities before Bede, many of these numerical connections were either very rare or nonexistent and those that had gained greater currency lacked the same typological force seen in the early Anglo-Latin authors.2 The three most common uses of the number in Late Antiquity stem from the putative, though incorrect, tally of the descendants of Noah’s three sons (Gen. 10); the mention of Christ sending out seventy-two disciples (or seventy in some manuscripts and textual witnesses) in Luke 10; and the apparent number of translators of the Septuagint, which also varied between seventy and seventy-two. In early Anglo-Latin literature, the significance of the number seventy-two seems to have evolved to a greater extent than was imaginable for the authors of Late Antiquity, often vacillating between the inherited authority of Late Antiquity and apparently idiosyncratic innovations that develop out of concerns related to the more immediate cultural contexts and intellectual goals. This innovation, however, can be exaggerated. In the early Anglo-Latin literature there is certainly 2 Only with Isidore did typology involving this number begin in earnest. See T. Major, “The Number Seventy-Two: Biblical and Hellenistic Beginnings to the Early Middle Ages”, Sacris Erudiri, 52 (2013), pp. 7–45, at pp. 37–42. Other essential works on the number seventy-two are A. Borst, Der Turmbau von Babel: Geschichte der Meinungen über Ursprung und Vielfalt der Sprachen und Völker, 4 vols, Stuttgart, 1957–1963, vol. 2, pp. 470–83, 542–51; H. J. Weigand, “The Two and Seventy Languages of the World”, The Germanic Review, 17 (1942), pp. 241–60; and H. Sauer, “Die 72 Völker und Sprachen der Welt: Ein mittelalterlicher Topos in der englischen Literatur”, Anglia, 101 (1983), pp. 29–48; and “Die 72 Völker und Sprachen der Welt: Einige Ergänzungen”, Anglia, 107 (1989), pp. 61–64.

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a tendency to favor the number for typological purposes related to the evangelization of the entire world, but many of the idiosyncratic instances are explicable through reliance on past sources. Even though they form a relatively small sample size, these uses of the number seventy-two in early Anglo-Latin literature reveal the important lesson that the exegetical traditions of the period are not homogenous either in numerology or straightforward acceptance of authoritative sources. 1. The Canterbury Commentaries The Canterbury commentaries, which are the earliest Anglo-Latin texts to employ the number seventy-two, reveal how uncommon sources can produce idiosyncratic uses of the number. And yet their eccentricity is not unexpected considering their origins in the classrooms of Theodore and Hadrian, both of whom had access to literature apparently not otherwise available in early Britain. 3 In the first series of commentaries on the Pentateuch (PentI), the commentator expands a gloss from Jerome’s Prologue to the Pentateuch, where he gives an account of the translation of the Septuagint, by adding further details taken from Epiphanius’s version of the legend: Epiphanius autem refert eos primitus congregatos in stagno qui dicitur Mariam in una insula ibi prope Alexandriam, ibique habuisse triginta sex cellulas binique semper unum librum in una basilica transtulisse et postea in Alexandria in una basilica inter semetipsos contulisse.4

3 See Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School of Theodore and Hadrian, ed. by B. Bischoff and M. Lapidge, Cambridge, 1994; and Archbishop Theodore: Commemorative Studies on his Life and Influence, ed. by M. Lapidge, Cambridge, 1995. 4  Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, PentI 10: “And Epiphanius states that [the translators] were initially gathered on one island in a lake called Mariam, which is near Alexandria, and that the translators, having been put into pairs, occupied thirty-six cells, and in the one building translated one book, and afterwards in Alexandria in one building compared [each other’s work] among themselves.” The source is the Greek version of Epiphanius, Liber de mensuris et ponderibus, PG 43, col. 242C. For the presentation of the textual corruption of the Greek in PentI 10, see Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, pp. 431–32.

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This use of Epiphanius is rare in Anglo-Latin literature,5 but so also is the use of the number seventy-two, as indirect as it is, for the number of translators of the Septuagint, a reckoning that by the time of Augustine had almost entirely been eclipsed by the number seventy.6 A Latin translation of Epiphanius’s text existed by the seventh century and does survive in a later pre-conquest English manuscript, but it is also possible (perhaps probable) that Theodore introduced the Greek text to the Canterbury classroom.7 Beside merely quoting Epiphanius, this comment effectively uses numerology in a manner that is able to emphasize the miraculous peculiarity of the event. Not only are the seventy-two translators mentioned as working in pairs (“binique”) in thirty-six cells (“triginta sex cellulas”), the number one features prominently: there is one island (“una insula”), one single building mentioned twice (“una basilica”), and one book (“unum librum”). The commentator has also much expanded Jerome’s prologue with new information about the number and method of the translators. Importantly, since the number seventy-two itself is not mentioned in this comment, but only derived by multiplying thirty-six by two, its typological potential is lost to emphasize the miraculous nature of the event where all seventy-two translators come up with the one same version. When the number seventy-two is used later in the commentary, the purpose is to make a typological connection, which is again completely unique. The comment on Genesis 7:11 reads, “Omnes fontes abissi magnae: .i. .lxxii. fontes et .lxxii. interpretes et .lxxii. discipuli; dicunt hec paria fuisse.”8 As Lapidge notes, there does 5  See

M. Lapidge, The Anglo-Saxon Library, Oxford, 2006, p. 301. Aristeae ad Philocratem epistula cum ceteris de origine uersionis LXX interpretum testimoniis, ed. by P. Wendland, Leipzig, 1900, pp. 87–166; for one example from Augustine, see De ciuitate Dei libri I–XXII, XVIII.xlii.19–22, ed. by B. Dombart and A. Kalb, 2 vols, Turnhout, 1955 (CCSL, 47–48), vol. 2, p. 638. 7  Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, pp. 212–13. For the manuscript, London, British Library, Royal 13.A.xi, see H. Gneuss and M.  Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A Bibliographical Handlist of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100, Toronto, 2014, no. 483. 8  Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, PentI 76: “All the fountains of the great abyss: that is, seventy-two fountains and seventy-two translators and seventy-two disciples; they say that these were equivalent.” 6 

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not seem to be a precedent for the seventy-two fontes in biblical or patristic literature.9 While the connection to the twelve springs and seventy palm trees of Elim (Ex. 15:27 and Num. 33:9) probably provides the origin of this comment, it is improbable that the biblical text is the ultimate source here. Most patristic comments on these verses claim that there are seventy palm trees.10 One exception can be found in a homily by Origen, surviving only in a Latin translation by Rufinus, that brings the number of palm trees to seventy-two: “Aelim est, ubi sunt duodecim fontes aquarum, et septuaginta duae arbores palmarum.”11 There is unfortunately not enough evidence to argue with any certainty that the Canterbury biblical commentator has misunderstood (or even used) Origen in this instance. But it is easy enough to speculate how confusion may have arisen. The number of fontes in the Canterbury commentary may have simply been mistaken for seventy-two because of the proximity of the fontes to the arbores palmarum in the biblical verse when the notes were composed. Or perhaps the line was originally glossing the springs and palm trees of Exodus 15:27, which is left without comment later in the work, and somehow became attached with slight alteration to the springs of Genesis 7:11. Whatever its source, the seventy-two fontes of the abyss evidently recalled to the commentator the numerical typologies of the seventy-two translators and disciples. Though typology involving the seventy-two translators of the Septuagint is rare in patristic and medieval literature, the earlier comment on the number of the translators must have prompted its inclusion here. And the fact that there is no mention of the seventy-two nations or languages, despite its prominence in patristic literature, is also interesting; it might suggest that this symbolic element of the number had diminished somewhat in importance at Canterbury under Theodore and Hadrian. 9 

Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, p. 451. for only one example, Augustine, Quaestionum in Heptateuchum libri septem, PL 34, col. 617. 11 Origen / Rufinus, Homilien zum Hexateuch in Rufins Übersetzung, XXVII.11.2–3, ed. by W. A. Baehrens, Origenes Werke 7, Leipzig, 1921 (GCS, 30), p. 271: “Elim is where there are twelve springs of water and seventy-two palm trees.” 10  See,

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Similarly, a reference to the number seventy-two in the Canterbury biblical commentaries is found in the first group of comments on the Gospels (Gn–Ex–Evla), where the number is employed merely for historical information. In a note on Matthew 26:53, the commentator states: “Duodecim legiones: .lxxii. milia habent in se.”12 Although Lapidge offers a historical reckoning of the number of soldiers in a legion and cites as a source Vegetius’s Epitome rei militaris, which was known by the Canterbury commentators,13 a more immediate source is Jerome’s Commentaria in Matheum where Jerome glosses Matthew 26:53 as: “typum tantum dixisse sufficiat septuaginta duo milia angelorum (in quot gentes hominum lingua diuisa est) duodecim legionibus fieri.”14 Because Jerome’s commentary is used as a source throughout the Canterbury commentaries, it is likely enough to suggest it as a source used by the commentator (or his teachers).15 It may, therefore, be significant that while Jerome makes a typological connection between the army of angels and languages of the world, the Canterbury commentator is silent on the issue. Perhaps the hyperbolic multiplication to 72,000 nations as dictated by the logic of the typology did not have a strong appeal, despite Jerome’s authority. As with the other two references to the number seventy-two in the Canterbury corpus, so this instance is also unusual. There is 12  Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, Gn-Ex-Evla 25: “Twelve legions are made up of 72,000.” The manuscript here has been emended from .lxxx. The same line appears in the Leiden Glossary of Leiden, Biblio­theek der Rijksuniversiteit, Voss. lat. Q. 69, fol. 39v, which also seems to be a product of the Canterbury school; for the text, see Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, p. 547, no. 18. On the Leiden Glossary and the Canterbury school, see M. Lapidge, “The School of Theodore and Hadrian”, in M. Lapidge, Anglo-Latin Literature, 600–899, London, 1996, pp. 154–56. 13 See C. W. Jones, “Bede and Vegetius”, Classical Review, 46 (1932), pp. 248–49; and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Library, pp. 225 and 335. For the only other putative use of Vegetius in the Canterbury commentaries, see Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, PentI 404 and p. 489. 14 Jerome, Commentariorum in Matheum Libri IV, ed. by D. Hurst and M. Adriaen, Turnhout, 1969 (CCSL, 77), pp. 30–31: “Let it only be sufficient to have spoken of this figure: the 72,000 angels (the language of humans was divided in just as many nations) are made up of twelve legions”; see Major, “Number Seventy-Two”, pp. 31–33. 15  Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, pp. 203–04, which states that Jerome’s commentary was also used in the Leiden Glossary.

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clearly little homogeneity on how the number is to be used, symbolically or typologically, at this early date in Anglo-Latin literary history. 2. Aldhelm Aldhelm of Malmesbury, the most famous student of the Canterbury school and an extensive reader of classical and patristic literature, also uses the number seventy-two in uncustomary ways. In his Carmen de uirginitate, Aldhelm states that Jerome translated seventy-two books of the Bible: Qui fuit interpres et custos virgo pudoris, Ebrea Romanis vertens oracula verbis Nam rudis et priscae legis patefecit abyssum Septuaginta duos recludens bargina biblos, Quos nunc sacratis describit littera cartis.16

Borst states that Aldhelm gives a “strikingly bold continuation” of Cassiodorus’s reckoning of the seventy-one books of the biblical canon, but it is unwarranted to ascribe such originality to Aldhelm in this case.17 Cassiodorus does seem to be the first to provide a numeration of seventy-two biblical books by adding the sanctae Trinitatis unitas to Augustine’s count of seventy-one books, but others after Cassiodorus and before Aldhelm refer to seventy-two

16 Aldhelm, Carmen de Virginitate, lines 1623–7, in Aldhelmi opera, ed. by R.  Ehwald, Berlin, 1919 (MGH Auct. antiq., 15), p. 420: “He [sc. Jerome] was a translator and chaste guardian of modesty, who rendered the Hebrew prophecies into Roman words, and indeed that foreigner opened the depth of the old and new law and disclosed the seventy-two books which his version now sets out on holy pages.” The translation by J. Rossier, in M. Lapidge and J. Rossier, Aldhelm: The Poetic Works, Cambridge, 1985, p. 139, should be used with caution; for details, see T. Major, “Literary Developments of the Tower of Babel in Anglo-Saxon England”, unpublished Ph.D. diss., University of Toronto, 2010, pp. 44–46. Line 1626 is later imitated by Paul Albar, “Septuaginta duos mittens sub bargina biblos,” “sending seventy-two books under a foreigner”; Carmina, XI.145, ed. by L. Traube, Berlin, 1896 (MGH PLAC, 3), p. 136. See A.  Breeze, “The Transmission of Aldhelm’s Writings in Early Medieval Spain”, Anglo-Saxon England, 21 (1992), pp. 5–21; and Borst, Turmbau von Babel, vol. 2, p. 475. 17  Borst, Turmbau von Babel, vol. 2, p. 475: “Das war eine reichlich kühne Fortführung von Cassiodors Rechnung mit 71 Bibelbüchern.”

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biblical books and make the appropriate typological connections.18 Isidore, for example, in his De ecclesiasticis officiis, a work widely read in early England, states that there are seventy-two books,19 and Cassiodorus’s reckoning is also found in the Codex Amiatinus, a biblical manuscript of eighth-century Northumbria, whose likely exemplar, the Codex Grandior, was produced at Cassiodorus’s monastic retreat at Vivarium.20 The connection between Jerome’s translation of the Bible and the notion that there are seventy-two books of the Bible seems to be unique to Aldhelm, and Aldhelm’s reference to seventy-two biblical books, though perhaps not exactly unexpected, may be the first of many others in AngloLatin and Old English literature.21 Aldhelm’s statement on the seventy-two biblical books may have stemmed from his training with Theodore and Hadrian at Canterbury. Although the Canterbury biblical commentaries do not mention seventy-two biblical books, there is a series of encyclopedic notes dealing with the number seventy-two that seem, at least partially, to have their origins in Theodore and Hadri-

18 Cassiodorus, Institutiones, I.13, ed. by R. A. B. Mynors, Oxford, 1937, p. 39. 19 Isidore, De ecclesiasticis officiis, I.xi.7, ed. by C. M. Lawson, Turnhout, 1989 (CCSL, 113), p. 11. 20 For the relevant text of the Codex Amiatinus, see H. J. White, “The Codex Amiatinus and its Birthplace”, in Studies in Biblical and Patristic Criticism, or Studia Biblica et Ecclesiastica, vol. 2, ed. by S. R. Driver, T. K. Cheyne, and W. Sanday, Oxford, 1890, pp. 273–308, at p. 297. For the relationship between the Codex Grandior and the Codex Amiatinus in regard to the number of biblical books, see P. Meyvaert, “Bede, Cassiodorus, and the Codex Amiatinus”, Speculum, 71 (1996), pp. 827–83, at pp. 839–44; and K.  Corsano, “The First Quire of the Codex Amiatinus”, Scriptorium, 41 (1987), pp. 3–34. 21  Notably, Ælfric was fond of numbering the biblical books at seventy-two; for example, Libellus de ueteri testamento et nouo, in The Old English Heptateuch and Libellus de ueteri testamento et nouo, vol. 1, ed. by R. Marsden, Oxford, 2008 (EETS, 330), lines 836–43. See T. N. Hall, “Ælfric and the Epistle to the Laodiceans”, in Apocryphal Texts and Traditions in Anglo-Saxon England, ed. by K. Powell and D. Scragg, Cambridge, 2003, pp. 73–74; T. Major, Undoing Babel: The Tower of Babel in Anglo-Saxon England, Toronto, 2018, pp. 164–65; and T. Major, “Awritten on þreo geþeode: The Concept of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin in Old English and Early Anglo-Latin Literature”, JEGP, 120 (2021), pp. 141–76.

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an’s school.22 The manuscript, London, British Library, Cotton Vespasian B.vi, 104–09, which includes the “Metrical Calendar of York,” various encyclopedic lists, epitomized chronologies and a version of early English royal genealogies, also contains a section of notes on what Simon Keynes has termed “useful knowledge.”23 These notes include a brief line on the seventy-two books of the biblical canon, as well as the seventy-two languages of the world and the seventy-two disciples of Christ: “De nouo et uetere canone libri sunt .lxxii. Sicque et linguarum numero, aeque et discipulorum | Christi, sine numerus [sic] .xii. apostolorum” (106r–v).24 Though the three bifolia, which contain this note, must have been composed after Aldhelm, likely sometime in the early- to midninth century, either in Mercia or under the direction of Wulfred, archbishop of Canterbury (d. 832), 25 there is some indication that this section derives from material introduced to Britain during Theodore’s archiepiscopacy. Particularly, a preceding note on the number seventy-two cites a certain Christianus historicus, who has been identified as the obscure sixth-century Greek author, Cosmas Indicopleustes. The reference in Cotton Vespasian B.vi reflects the similar citation and use of Cosmas Indicopleustes in the Canter-

22 K. Dekker, “Anglo-Saxon Encyclopaedic Notes: Tradition and Function”, in Foundations of Learning: The Transfer of Encyclopaedic Knowledge in the Middle Ages, ed. by R. H. Bremmer Jr. and K. Dekker, Paris, 2007, pp. 279–80. 23 S. Keynes, “Between Bede and the Chronicle: London, BL, Cotton Vespasian B.vi, fols 104–9”, in Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge, ed. by K. O’Brien O’Keeffe and A.  Orchard, 2 vols, Toronto, 2005, vol. 1, pp. 48 and 54–55. 24  The text is edited in B. Walbers, “Number and Measurement in AngloSaxon Christian Culture: Editions and Studies of Numerical Notes in Eight Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, c.  800–c.  1150”, unpublished Ph.D. disseration, University of York, 2012, p. 113: “there are seventy-two books of the New and Old Testament; just as many are there languages and disciples of Christ, not counting the twelve apostles.” 25  For the Canterbury origin, see Keynes, “Between Bede and the Chronicle”, pp. 49–51 and 60–61; for the Mercian origin, see D. Dumville, “The Anglian Collection of Royal Genealogies and Regnal Lists”, Anglo-Saxon England, 5 (1976), repr. in Dumville, Histories and Pseudo-Histories of the Insular Middle Ages, Aldershot, 1990, no. V, pp. 23–50, at. pp. 25–28.

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bury biblical commentaries.26 Unfortunately, further information on the origins of the note on the seventy-two biblical books is lacking. But if it was common knowledge at late-seventh-century Canterbury that there are seventy-two biblical books, Aldhelm’s comment on Jerome’s translation of the Bible may ultimately derive from Theodore or Hadrian, despite the lack of this numeration in any of the texts more closely affiliated with the Canterbury School. Elsewhere, Aldhelm uses the number seventy for symbolism traditionally associated with the number seventy-two. In the opening to his Epistula ad Acircium, Aldhelm provides an extensive account of the numerological significance of the number seven, including two instances where the number seventy is involved: Porro sacrosancta penticostes solemnitas revoluta et reciproca septem ebdomadarum vicissitudine nonne huiuscemodi supputationis laterculum satis competenter adstipulari denoscitur, quando paracletus ex summa caelorum arce, post decem dierum indutias destinatus, iure pignus promissae hereditatis vocatus, apostolorum praecordia supernorum charismatum gratia fecundans defusarum septuaginta linguarum loquela ditavit, quas decies septena bellicosi Hirobaal id est Gedoenis progenies a nefando Abimelech tyrannide potius quam legitima regnandi monarchia subnixo et consangineae germanitatis iura et devotae fraternitatis vincula limphatico ritu rumpente interfecta praefigrasse monstratur? 27 26 

Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, PentI 91: “Christianus Historiographus”. See also Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, p. 210; Keynes, “Between Bede and the Chronicle”, pp. 54–55; Dekkers, “Anglo-Saxon Encyclopaedic Notes”, p. 296; and J.  J. Gallagher, “Encyclopaedic Notes in Cambridge Corpus Christi College, 320”, in Medieval Manuscripts in the Digital Age, ed. by B. Albritton, G. Henley, and E. Treharne, London, 2021, pp. 104–06. 27 Aldhelm, Epistula ad Acircium, in Aldhelmi opera, pp. 67–68; M. Lapidge and M. Herren, Aldhelm: The Prose Works, Ipswich, 1979, pp. 38–39: “Further, is not the sacrosanct feast of Pentecost known to stipulate quite properly a number of this sort, according to a revolving and returning recurrence of seven weeks, when the Paraclete who is rightly called the ‘pledge of our inheritance’ was sent from the highest citadel of heaven after an interval of ten days and enriched the minds of the Apostles with the grace of spiritual gifts from on high and fecundated them with the speech of seventy tongues covering a wide area which the seventyfold progeny of warlike Hirobaal, that is Gideon, who were slain cruelly, with terrible slaughter unheard of in earlier ages, by the impious Abimelech, who employed tyranny rather than the

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Actual numeration of the languages spoken at Pentecost is about as rare as the use of the number seventy instead of seventy-two in the Latin tradition, and Aldhelm’s statement that the disciples spoke in “seventy tongues” at Pentecost deserves some elucidation.28 Primarily, Aldhelm departs from the established tradition by asserting that the disciples (or in this case apostles) spoke seventy languages, not seventy-two — an assertion that differs from one of the main models for this work, the pseudo-Isidorian Liber numerorum.29 It may be suggested that Aldhelm is here employing the Lukan variant of seventy (not seventy-two) disciples, which he might have been aware of through Isidore’s De ortu et obitu patrum — a text that Aldhelm does quote elsewhere in reference to seventy disciples: “Mathias … Unus … fertur de septuaginta fuisse / Discipulis Domini.”30 But it is more likely that, in the Epistula ad Acircium, Aldhelm is simply rounding down the number seventy-two in light of the other numbers given in the earlier part of the passage. The number seven in the septem ebdomadarum, “seven weeks,” that the solemnity of Pentecost revolves around, and the number ten in the decem dierum, “ten days,” that the apostles wait to receive the Holy Spirit, are both multiples of seventy, and facilrightful rule of kingship and broke the laws of brotherhood and the bonds of devoted fraternity upon a craggy peak in the fashion of a mad man, is shown to have prefigured?”. 28 See Weigand, “The Two and Seventy Languages of the World”, p. 257; and Major, “The Number Seventy-two”, pp. 41–42. Before Aldhelm, Pacian, Epistola II. de Symproniani litteris, PL 13, col. 1060A, connects the 120 disciples of Acts 1:15 with the total number of languages of the world and Isidore, De ecclesiasticis officiis, I.xi.7, p. 11, states that seventy-two languages were spoken at Pentecost. 29 According to pseudo-Isidore, Liber numerorum, PL 83, col. 193: “Hic duodenarius numerus sexies multiplicatus facit septuaginta duos discipulos, qui missi sunt ad praedicandum per totum mundum in septuaginta duabus linguis divisum,” “This number twelve, when it is multiplied by six, makes the seventy-two disciples who were sent to preach through the whole world, which was divided into seventy-two languages.” For the Liber numerorum as a model for Epistula ad Acircium, see Lapidge and Herren, Prose Works, p. 32. 30 Aldhelm, Carmina ecclesiastica, in Aldhelmi opera, V, 1–3, p. 32; Lapidge and Rossier, Poetic Works, pp. 57 and 242: “Matthias … is said to have been one of the Lord’s seventy disciples.” Isidore, De ortu et obitu patrum, lxxix, PL 83, col. 153B: “Matthias, de septuaginta discipulis unus,” “Matthias, one of the seventy disciples.”

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itate a connection to seventy, rather than seventy-two, languages. By using the number seventy instead of seventy-two for the number of languages, Aldhelm can easily move into the seventyfold (decies septena) progeny of Gideon (Judges 7:30). 31 Of equal importance, Prudentius, one of Aldhelm’s poetic predecessors and influences, uses the same division of seven and ten in his Apotheosis for his account of the seventy-two names in Luke’s genealogy of Christ and the number of Christ’s disciples: “septenos decies conscendit Christus in ortus / et duo (nam totidem doctores misit in orbem).”32 On account of other various verbal echoes between the two works, Aldhelm must have had a copy of these lines of Prudentius either in front of him or in his memory while he composed this section of the Epistula ad Acircium. Comparison of P rudentius’s A potheosis, 986–1004 and A ldhelm’s E pistula ad Acircium 67.18–68.5 (similarities underlined) Prudentius Aldhelm Prudentius Aldhelm Prudentius Aldhelm Prudentius Aldhelm

Septimus ebdomadi septem ebdomadarum sanguinis heres … germine hereditatis … consanguineae germanitatis sanctiloquus reuoluto sacrosancta penticostes solemnitas revoluta septenos decies decies septena

986 67.19 1000–1 67.22, 68.2–3 1001 67.18–9 1004 68.1

Besides the fact that the number seventy better suits the context, Aldhelm probably did not use Prudentius’s numeration for Luke’s genealogy, simply because it is not true. Despite Prudentius’s claim and the original claim of Irenaeus, who must be behind Prudentius’s source here, 33 Luke lists seventy-seven, not seventy-two names in his genealogy of Christ, which Aldhelm himself 31 K. Dekker, “Pentecost and Linguistic Self-Consciousness in AngloSaxon England: Bede and Ælfric”, JEGP, 104 (2005), pp. 345–72, at p. 347. 32 Prudentius, Apotheosis, lines 1004–05, ed. by M. P. Cunningham, in Carmina, Turnhout, 1966 (CCSL, 126), p. 112: “Christ appeared in the seventy-second generation (for he sent out just as many learned men into the world).” For Aldhelm’s use of Prudentius, see Orchard, Poetic Art of Aldhelm, pp. 171–78. 33 Ireneaus, Contre les Hérésies Livre III: Édition critique, XXII.3.43–9, ed. by A. Rousseau and L. Doutreleau, Paris, 1974 (SC, 211), p. 438.

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notes and extensively comments upon a few lines later. 34 The fact that Aldhelm states that the disciples spoke only seventy languages, instead of the usual seventy-two, indicates that the exact count of the number, particularly in relation to the number of languages spoken in the world and the number of Christ’s disciples, was fluid enough in early Anglo-Latin literature for Aldhelm to deviate from the traditional figure when it better suited his own literary purposes. With that said, it is also evident that Aldhelm’s use of the number is not completely unique. Instead, he is following the sources he had at hand, even if adapting them for his own purposes. 3. Bede Although Bede’s writings borrow heavily from the orthodox tradition of the Latin Church Fathers, it was with a blend of faithfulness to and reappraisal of that very tradition that Bede created a balance between his inherited authorities and his own individual input that allowed him to enjoy such great prestige. 35 While sometimes liberally borrowing from his patristic authorities, he is also known to have scrupulously questioned their conclusions to the extent that he often found himself having to defend his views against accusations, in the words of Paul Meyvaert, “of being an innovator.”36 Among his other innovations, Bede presents further developments in the Latin tradition of the symbolism of the number seventy-two. In fact, Bede’s treatments of this number, which range throughout his corpus, offer not only the most extensive examinations in early Britain, but also even in Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages. 37 In a sense, Bede presents the height 34 Aldhelm, Epistula ad Acircium, 68.16–23; Lapidge and Herren, Prose Works, p. 39. 35 J. Hill, Bede and the Benedictine Reform, Jarrow Lecture, 1998, pp. 2 and 4. 36  Meyvaert, “Bede the Scholar”, in Famulus Christi: Essays in Commemoration of the Thirteenth Centenary of the Birth of the Venerable Bede, ed. by G.  Bonner, London, 1976, pp. 56–58. See also R. Ray, “Who Did Bede Think He Was?”, in Innovation and Tradition in the Writings of Bede, ed. by S. DeGregorio, Morgantown, WV, 2006, pp. 15–17 and 24–26. 37  One exception may be the Irish Book of Lismore recension of the Evernew Tongue, which claims that “there are not only seventy-two languages in the

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of the typological significance of the number seventy-two: for him, there is symbolic value with the seventy-two descendants of Noah, the seventy-two nations and languages of the world, the seventy-two disciples, the seventy-two bells on the priestly robes, and even the seventy-two hours of a three day period. While mention of each of these elements can be found among his predecessors, it is only with Bede that they are given such typological frequency and importance. As with the accounts of the number seventy-two in the Canterbury biblical commentaries and the works of Aldhelm, the number of languages and, especially, nations of the world is downplayed by Bede, while the number of Christ’s disciples is emphasized. 38 For Bede, the number of nations is significant only for its typological value and has no discernible effect on how Bede understood and categorized the world’s ethnic and linguistic diversity. Nevertheless, Bede was very concerned with the correct presentation and lineage of Noah’s descendants, enough to affect his count of the names in Genesis 10. In one of his earliest works, De temporibus (703), he briefly treats the chronology of the world through the six ages, the second of which traditionally begins with the birth of Noah’s sons and the dispersal of nations after the building of the Tower of Babel. While Bede does not discuss the number seventy-two specifically in this section, he does refer to a discrepancy between the Septuagint and Hebrew versions of Genesis that relates to some of his later comments on the number of the seventy-two nations: the name Cainan appears in the Septuagint count of the lineage of Shem, Noah’s eldest son. Although Luke uses the Septuagint for his genealogy of Christ and includes Cainan, Bede, who tended to find greater authority in the hebra-

world but precisely this same number of human races; troops of angels; seats in God’s mansion; wandering stars in the heavens; manners of torment in hell; species of birds, serpents, sea-beasts, fruits and animals of the forest; and kinds of melodies sung by leaves and blossoms of the tree Nathaban in the land of the Hebrews to the south of Mount Zion”; T. Hall, “Biblical and Patristic Learning”, in A Companion to Anglo-Saxon Literature, ed. by P. Pulsiano and E. Treharne, Oxford, 2001, p. 332. The text is edited by W. Stokes, “The Evernew Tongue”, Ériu, 2 (1905), pp. 96–162. 38 See G. Tugene, L’idée de nation chez Bede le Vénérable, Paris, 2001, pp. 308–13.

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ica veritas of Jerome’s Vulgate, 39 is tentative toward the presence of Cainan in the Septuagint’s version of the Table of Nations: “iuxta Hebreos CCXCII, iuxta LXX interpretes DCCCCXLII uel abiecto Cainan ĪLXXII.”40 Following Isidore’s chronicle, Bede then provides a genealogy of Shem’s line from Shem to Abraham that omits Cainan.41 Similarly, in his commentary on the Gospel of Luke (706 × 716), Bede expresses ambivalence towards Luke’s use of the Septuagint on the matter of Cainan over the Hebrew version: Nomen et generatio Cainan iuxta hebraicam ueritatem neque in genesi neque in uerbis dierum inuenitur, sed Arfaxat Sela uel Sale filium nullo interposito genuisse perhibetur … Scito ergo beatum Lucam hanc generationem de septuaginta interpretum editione sumpsisse ubi scriptum est … Sed quid horum sit uerius aut si utrumque uerum esse possit Deus nouerit.42

This last statement, which goes so far as to suggest the possibility that Luke himself was wrong, or at least less correct, is striking. On this point, Bede’s trust in the authority of the hebraica veritas seems to extend even beyond his trust in the Gospel of Luke. But what does this have to do with Bede’s references to the seventy-two nations? The Hebrew and Vulgate versions of Genesis 10, which do not include Cainan, contain seventy-one names; 39  Bede’s most famous defence of the hebraica veritas — an issue he would defend his whole life — can be found in his Epistola ad Pleguinam, ed. by C. W. Jones, Turnhout, 1980 (CCSL, 123C), pp. 617–26. See also D. J. Fleming, “‘The Most Exalted Language’: Anglo-Saxon Perceptions of Hebrew”, unpublished Ph.D. diss. University of Toronto, 2006, pp. 73–79. 40 Bede, De temporibus, XVIII.1–2, ed. by C. W. Jones, Turnhout, 1977 (CCSL, 123B), p. 602: “according to the Hebrew version 292 years, according to the Septuagint 942 years or if Cainan is added 1072.” 41 Isidore, Chronica, ed. by J. C. Martin, Turnhout, 2003 (CCSL, 112), p. 18. 42 Bede, In Lucae euangelium expositio, I.2796–2807, ed. by D. Hurst, Turnhout, 1960 (CCSL, 120), p. 90: “The name and generation of Cainan is not found according to the Hebrew truth in Genesis or Chronicles, but Arphaxad is said to have been the father to Sela or Sale, his son, without any other generation in between … Note therefore that blessed Luke took this generation from the Septuagint, when he wrote this … But which of these is more true, or if each could be true, God knows.” See also Bede, Expositio Actuum Apostolorum, pref. 38–41, in Expositio Actuum Apostolorum et retractatio, ed. by M. L. W. Laistner, Turnhout, 1983 (CCSL, 121), p. 4.

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the Septuagint version, however, which includes Cainan and a certain Elisa, contains seventy-three names. Because of the symbolic importance of the number seventy-two, some biblical exegetes felt the need to reconcile the discrepancies between these different versions and the traditional notion of the world’s seventy-two original nations. Most prominently, Augustine, using the Septuagint count, reconciles the seventy-three names of Genesis 10 with the traditional figure by conflating Heber and Pelag: “Phalech autem propterea commemoratus est, non quod gentem facerit (nam eadem ipsa est eius gens Hebraea eadem lingua), sed propter tempus insigne, quod in diebus eius terra diuisa sit.”43 Likely under the influence of Augustine, Bede, in his own commentary on Genesis, will give another explanation for the discrepancy. But in his earlier commentary on Luke, while rejecting Cainan from the names in the Table of Nations, he does not explain, or even draw attention to, the problems that this rejection of Cainan might have. As will be shown, Bede does not hesitate to mention the seventy-two nations of the world elsewhere without any indication of the problematic origins of this number in Genesis 10 or Augustine’s solution, when it is typologically useful. Ultimately, Bede seems almost willing to admit an error on the part of Luke’s use of Cainan, but then himself uncritically refers to the seventy-two nations of the world. The typological connections that are possible with the number seventy-two are evidently more important for Bede than the problem of the number of names in the Table of Nations. For, even while discussing Luke 10:1, Bede uses the number seventy-two to connect the number of nations in the world typologically to both the number of disciples that Christ sends out to preach, which reveal the figura of the priest, and to the number of hours in a three-day period, which further connects to the number of the Trinity and to the number of hours in Christ’s three-day period in the tomb (three being a multiple of seventy-two): Sicut duodecim apostolos formam episcoporum exhibere simul et praemonstrare nemo qui [sic] dubitet sic et hos septuaginta duos 43 Augustine, De ciuitate Dei, XVI.xi.67–71, vol. 2, p. 514: “but Pelag is mentioned for this reason, not because he founded a nation (for his were the Hebrew people and language themselves), but because of the remarkable time ‘when the world was divided in his days’ [Gen. 10:25].”

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figuram presbiterorum, id est secundi ordinis sacerdotum, gessisse sciendum est. Tametsi primis ecclesiae temporibus ut apostolica scriptura testis est utrique presbiteri utrique uocabantur episcopi quorum unum sapientiae maturitatem aliud industriam curae pastoralis significat. Bene autem septuaginta duo mittuntur siue quia totidem mundi gentibus euangelium praedicandum erat ut quo modo duodecim primo propter duodecim tribus Israhel ita et hi propter exteras gentes distinarentur inbuendas seu quod ipso praedicantium numero totus orbis per euangelium summae et indiuiduae trinitatis illustrandus intimabatur sicut solem hunc constat triduanum suae lucis ambitum mundo per septuaginta duas horas adflare solitum … Sed et multis sanctae scripturae locis per tres dies mysterium trinitatis ostenditur praecipue quia dominus tertia die resurrexit a mortuis. Sed et in ueteri testamento populus ad montem Sinai perueniens die tertia legem accepit idem fluuium Iordanen quo baptismi gratia commendata est tertia quam adierat die transiuit.44

Each element is connected and woven together with the others solely on the basis of the numerical similarities that stem from the number seventy-two. The twelve apostles, who relate to the twelve tribes of Israel, and seventy-two disciples who preach to the same number of nations are given meaning as figures of the bishops and priests of a contemporary ecclesiastical structure. Likewise, Bede 44 Bede, In Lucae euangelium, III.1872–96, pp. 213–14: “Just as no one doubts that the twelve apostles present and at the same time reveal the form of bishops, so it should be known that these seventy-two bore the figure of priests, that is priests of the second order, even though in the early days of the Church, as the apostolic writing is a witness, both bishops and priests were referred to by the same terminology: of these, the one signifies maturity of wisdom, and the other pastoral care. And truly the seventy-two are sent out either because the gospel was to be preached to the same number of nations of the world so that, just as twelve were originally to instruct the twelve tribes of Israel, these disciples were so designated to instruct foreign nations; or because, with that same number of preachers, the whole world, which was to be enlightened through the gospel of the highest and inseparable Trinity, was described just as this sun certainly is accustomed to give the world a three-day circuit of its light through seventy-two hours … But also in many passages of sacred Scripture is the mystery of the Trinity displayed through three days, especially when the Lord resurrected from the dead on the third day. And also in the Old Testament, the people came to mount Sinai and received the law on the third day, and that same people crossed the river Jordan, where the grace of baptism was given, on the third day of their arrival.”

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is able to make a subtle transition from the seventy-two hours of a three-day period — an element he borrows from Augustine45 — to a discussion of the Trinity, the three days Jesus spent in the tomb, and the giving of the law and the crossing of the Jordan. But because Jesus, having died in the afternoon of the first day, does not actually spend seventy-two hours in the tomb, the specific numerological connection is avoided. What is more important is that seventy-two is the product of three and twenty-four, and that three has numerological significance. In a sense, Bede’s monastic rumination has taken him from the total number of hours in a three-day period to numerological significance of a three day period. He then moves on to the connection between the resurrection of Jesus on the third day and the crossing of the Jordan not only through a baptismal connection, but also through the use of the word transiuit. Since Bede is well aware that the word pascha means both “a crossing-over,” and “Easter,” he can bring the typological connection between the resurrection, baptism and the crossing of the Jordan even closer by means of a pun.46 45 Augustine, Quaestiones evangeliorum, II.xiv.2–4, ed. A. Mutzenbecher, Turnhout, 1980 (CCSL, 44B), p. 58: “Sicut uiginti quattuor horis totus orbis peragitur atque lustratur, ita ministerium inlustrandi orbis per euangelium trinitatis in septuaginta duobus discipulis intimatur” (“just as the entire globe is travelled around and illuminated [by the sun] in twenty-four hours, so the ministry of illuminating the globe is imitated in the seventy-two disciples through the gospel of the Trinity”). Elsewhere, Bede discusses the seventy-two-hour period in De temporum ratione, V.13–18, ed. by C. W. Jones, Turnhout, 1977 (CCSL, 123B), pp. 283–84; and De tabernaculo, III.763–72, ed. by D. Hurst, Turnhout, 1969 (CCSL, 119A), p. 112. An opaque discussion on three twenty-four-hour periods that does not use the number seventy-two appears in Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School, PentI.23. 46  The interlingual relationship between pascha and transitus was common knowledge among Christian authors of Late Antiquity; see M. Thiel, Grundlagen und Gestalt der Hebräischkenntnisse des frühen Mittelalters, Spoleto, 1973 (Biblioteca degli Studi Medievali, 4), pp. 380–81. Bede himself gives the etymology pascha id est transitus, or pascha transitus dicitur, no less than seven times throughout his works (De temporum ratione, LXI.14; Historia ecclesiastica, V.21; Homiliae, II.1.80, II.2.80, II.5.7; In Ezram et Neemiam, II.714; In Lucae euangelium, VI.22.403–4; and In Marci euangelium, IV.14.367–9). For other examples of Bede’s use of etymologies, see Fleming, “‘The Most Exalted Language’”, pp. 142–61; and T. Major, “Words, Wit, and Wordplay in the Latin Works of the Venerable Bede”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 22 (2012), pp. 185–219.

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In this passage on Luke, it is also clear that Bede has not given much consideration to the problems behind the number seventy-two in the Table of Nations. First, he is not concerned whether the absence of the name Cainan will affect the total, but rather without question states that there are seventy-two nations. Secondly, Borst takes issue with Bede’s phrase, exterae gentes, which seems to create a distinction between the twelve tribes of Israel and the seventy-two “foreign nations.” If Israel is not included in the count of seventy-two — a point which is supported by the word exterae, the total number of nations in the world would come to seventy-three. This reasoning leads Borst to wonder if Bede is here invoking Augustine’s reckoning of seventy-three names in the Table of Nations.47 But again, it does not seem as though Bede is much concerned with the problems behind the number of nations in the world in this specific passage. He is more concerned with numerical typology that is based foremost on the number of Christ’s disciples. Bede takes it for granted that there are seventy-two nations and allows this reckoning to be confirmed through a spiritual reading full of typological connections. The omission of Cainan and the typologies surrounding the number seventy-two are, at least in his commentary on Luke, two distinct issues for Bede. Closer to the end of Bede’s career, in his De temporum ratione (725), a later revision and expansion of De temporibus, he again discusses the presence of Cainan in the Septuagint’s Table of Nations. He notes that Luke follows the Septuagint and adds Cainan but that while the Greek chronographers, by whom he means Eusebius,48 condemn the addition of Cainan, they fail to correct their own reckoning of years. Again, as a great defender of the hebraica veritas, Bede rejects both the reckoning of the Gospel of Luke and the Greek chronographers for not agreeing completely with the Hebrew: MDCXCIII. Arfaxat an. XXXV genuit Sale. Hic LXX interpretes una generatione plus quam Hebraica Veritas posuere, dicentes quod Arfaxat cum esset annorum CXXXV, genuerit Cainan, qui, cum CXXX annorum fuerit, ipse genuerit Sale. Quorum trans47 

Borst, Turmbau von Babel, vol. 2, p. 477. Bede, Epistola ad Pleguinam, III.39–42, p. 618.

48  See

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A few lines later, Bede refers the reader to Arnobius’s reckoning of the seventy-two languages that arise from Noah’s descendants, which he quotes verbatim.50 This reproduction of Arnobius’s account raises an interesting issue, since Arnobius’s figures are atypical and do not represent the descendants of Noah in any biblical version of the Table of Nations. In the one instance, Bede is extremely careful to defend the hebraica veritas even to the minutest detail, but in the other, he sees no problem referring the reader to an account that conforms to neither the standard authorities nor Bede’s own reckonings elsewhere. Is it possible that Bede recognizes that the distinction Arnobius makes between languages and patriae generationum allows him to avoid dealing with the problem that it is difficult to reach seventy-two names without the presence of Cainan? In any case, by quoting Arnobius’s line: 49 Bede,

De temporum ratione, LXVI.160–73, p. 468: “In the year 1693 [from the beginning of the world], Arphaxad, who was thirty-five years old, begat Sale. Here the Septuagint gives one generation more than the Hebrew Truth, by saying that when Arphaxad was 135 years old, he begat Cainan, who in turn begat Sale when he was 130 years old. Luke the Evangelist seems to have followed this translation in this passage. But although the Greek chronographers condemned this series of generations on account of the authority of the Hebrew when they omitted the one generation of Cainan, and although they did not take care to condemn, on account of the authority of the Septuagint, the number of years in the generations, which they considered to be in accordance with the Hebrew, they followed their own authority and gave to this age a sum of years, indeed, 130 years lower, according to the Septuagint, but gave a sum 650 years greater according to the Hebrew Truth, that is a total of 942.” Similar lines are repeated in Bede, In principium Genesis, III.769–83, pp. 163–64. 50 Bede, De temporum ratione, LXVI.185–206, pp. 468–69; and Arnobius, Commentarii in Psalmos, CIV.60–76, ed. by K.-D. Daur, Turnhout, 1990 (CCSL, 25), p. 159.

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“fiunt ergo omnes simul linguae LXX duae, patriae autem generationum mille,”51 Bede can disassociate the traditional number of languages in the world from its customarily ascribed source, the Table of Nations, and thereby need not worry about reconciling the absence of Cainan with the accepted number of languages. In his commentary on Genesis (709 × 731), Bede can no longer avoid dealing directly with the problem of the number of names in the Table of Nations. 52 Like Augustine, who puts forth a case for bringing the seventy-three names of the Septuagint’s Table of Nations down to seventy-two, Bede puts forth a case for bringing the seventy-one names of the Hebrew Table up to seventy-two. After spending what amounts to no fewer than ten pages in the CCSL edition on a detailed commentary on Genesis 10, Bede summarizes the problem by stating: Inuenitur numero septuaginta et unum — quattuordecim uidelicet de Iafeth, triginta unum de Cham, uiginti sex de Sem. Ex quibus totidem gentium linguas et nationes mundum implesse creduntur — uel potius septuaginta duo, ut clarior fama habet. 53

This last phrase, uel potius septuaginta duo, ut clarior fama habet, represents a deviation from Bede’s predecessors. A similar phrase appears in both Augustine’s treatment of the subject: “uel potius ut ratio declaratura est, septuaginta duas,”54 as well as Isidore’s, with minor variation: “vel potius, ut ratio declarat, septuaginta duae.”55 But unlike Augustine or Isidore, Bede does not use the word ratio, which has implications of rational calculation, but the 51 Bede, De temporum ratione, LXVI.201–3, p. 469: “therefore, all of the languages together come to seventy-two, but provinces of the generations come to a thousand.” 52 For a summary and discussion of opinions on the dates of the various parts of In principium Genesis, see C. B. Kendall, Bede: On Genesis, Liverpool, 2008, pp. 45–53, and 323–26. Kendall suggests that Books 3–4, which are most pertinent here, date between 722–25. 53 Bede, In principium Genesis, III.340–44: “there is found a count of seventy-one [names] — namely, fourteen from Japheth, thirty-one from Ham, twenty-six from Sem. From these just as many languages and nations of peoples are believed to have filled the world — or rather [there is found] seventy-two, as clearer account holds.” 54 Augustine, De ciuitate Dei, XVI.vi.46, vol. 2, p. 507. 55 Isidore, Etymologiarum sive origium libri XX, IX.ii.2, ed. by W. M. Lindsay, Oxford, 1911, n.p.

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more dubious term fama.56 This deliberate alteration suggests that Bede might have found Augustine’s argument unconvincing or, more likely, irrelevant because it is based on the Septuagint and not the Hebrew. Furthermore, a similar use of the word fama in Bede’s preface to the Historia ecclesiastica, is informative: “siqua in his quae scripsimus aliter quam se ueritas habet posita reppererit, non hoc nobis inputet, qui, quod uera lex historiae est, simpliciter ea quae fama uulgante collegimus ad instructionem posteritatis litteris mandare studuimus.”57 While this sentence has been the subject of much discussion, Walter Goffart has argued that with the word simpliciter Bede is making a distinction between unbending doctrine and issues that, while not historically accurate, are nevertheless useful for instructing the laity “non-theologically.” Although theology, strictly speaking, does not necessarily deal with historical fact, Goffart argues that historical accuracy is not the most important characteristic of proper instruction for Bede. Bede’s amendment of ratio to fama in his commentary on Genesis, even with the inclusion of the adjective clarior, may reflect a belief that a count of seventy-two nations and languages does not reflect historical reality, but rather an “account” that is more helpful than historical truth. This reservation reflected in the word fama probably stems from reluctance on Bede’s part to accept any interpretation of an Old Testament text that is not supported by the hebraica veritas. The shift from ratio to fama may also be explained by Bede’s reluctance to use Augustine’s argument to resolve the discrepancy between the number of names in the Table of Nations and the 56 See Oxford Latin Dictionary, ed. by P. G. W. Glare et al., 2 vols, 2nd ed., Oxford, 2012, s. v. “ratio,” 1 and 4. 57 Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, pref., ed. by B.  Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors, Oxford, 1969, p. 6: “if the reader finds anything other than what is true written down in these pages that I have composed, may he not blame me, who was eager to put into writing in a non-theological manner those things which I have gathered from popular account, according to the inherent limitation of historical discourse, for the instruction of posterity” (emphasis mine). I have applied W. Goffart’s suggestions for the phrases simpliciter and uera lex historiae in my translation; W. Goffart, “Bede’s uera lex historiae Explained”, Anglo-Saxon England, 34 (2005), pp. 111–16, at 114–15. For a different interpretation, see R. Ray, “Bede’s Vera lex historiae”, Speculum, 55 (1980), pp. 11–41.

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received tradition. Because Bede sees Jerome’s translation of the Hebrew to be more authoritative than Augustine’s Septuagint, Bede must tackle the discrepancy in Genesis by means of the Hebrew text alone — Bede solves this, as Borst says in “scheinbar banalen, in Wahrheit genialen Gedanken”:58 aliquis fuerit eorum [sc. descendants in the Table of Nations] de quo postmodum duae nationes et populi nascerentur, nisi forte duo esse Assur et duos creasse populos intellegendi sunt — unus qui de terra Sennaar egressus Niniuem aedificauit et alter filius Sem (et sic numerus septuaginta duarum nationum adimpleatur). 59

While the second solution, that because the name Assur is mentioned twice in the Table of Nations, two Assurs might have created two different nations, is admittedly not on par with Bede’s exegetical finesse, the first solution, that one of the names in the Table produced an unnamed nation, has some support in late antique traditions that separated the names of the Table from contemporary nations.60 There is undoubtedly some flexibility for counting the total number of nations in the world as greater than seventy-two, even if the number of languages seem to remain static at seventy-two (which admittedly still fails to address the problem of the seventy-one, instead of seventy-two, names in the Table of Nations). Perhaps more pertinent is that Bede’s reckoning simply concedes to common sense; there were many gentes known to the early British who did not have an eponymous founder named in the Table of Nations, including the Angles and the Saxons themselves. Japheth’s lineage traditionally formed the European part of the world,61 but out of the fourteen (or fifteen) names mentioned 58 

Borst, Turmbau von Babel, vol. 2, p. 479. In principium Genesis, III.345–49, p. 152: “there might be one of these [descendants in the Table of Nations] from whom two nations and peoples were afterwards born, unless perhaps two Assurs should be understood to exist and to have created two peoples — the first Assur who came out of the land of Sinar and built Nineveh, and the second the son of Sem (and so the number of the seventy-two nations may be filled).” 60 See Major, “The Number Seventy-Two: Biblical and Hellenistic Beginnings”, pp. 26–28 and 34–37. 61 See Major, Undoing Babel, passim; and B. Braude, “The Sons of Noah and the Construction of Ethnic and Geographical Identities in the Medieval and Early Modern Periods”, The William and Mary Quarterly, 3rd ser., 54, 59 Bede,

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in his lineage, not one can even remotely be connected to any of the peoples living in Britain. It should also be noted that Bede’s use of the perfect infinitive, “quibus totidem gentium linguas et nationes mundum implesse creduntur,” suggests that the Table of Nations presents the original account of diversity, not one that remained unchanging. The proliferation of nations in the world is not at odds with the biblical account, which does not claim to describe later historical developments. Evidently, Bede understood this number symbolism to be important enough to preserve, and he brings the seventy-one names of the Vulgate into agreement with the traditional number of seventy-two, even if this number is not supported in full by the hebraica veritas. The rationale for this move is made apparent in the following section where Bede connects it to the number of Christ’s disciples: Neque ab re uidetur quod Dominus ideo septuaginta duos ad praedicandum discipulos miserit, quod tot essent gentes et linguae quibus uerbum praedicationis erat committendum … Ita postmodum septuaginta duos designaret doctores ad insinuandam gentium uniuersarum saluationem, quae eodem essent numero comprehensae.62

Again, it is clear that Bede’s desire for the typological connection between the Table of Nations and Luke 10 will not allow him to part with the tradition of the seventy-two nations and languages of the world; in this case, the hebraica veritas must be forced into accordance with tradition. The focus on typology based on the seventy-two disciples is also evident in De tabernaculo (c. 721–25), a commentary contemporary (1997), pp. 103–42, at pp. 111–15; and Bede’s own comments on the matter, In principium Genesis, II.5.929–31, p. 99: “Sem etenim filii maxime Asiam, Cham liberi Africam, Iapheth posteri Europam possedere,” “for indeed, the sons of Sem possessed mainly Asia, the children of Ham Africa, and the descendants of Japheth Europe.” 62 Bede, In principium Genesis, III.349–56, p. 152: “It does not seem unrelated that the Lord, for that reason, sent out seventy-two disciples to preach, because there were just as many nations and languages to which the word of preaching was to be conveyed … Thus, he later would choose seventy-two learned men for bringing salvation to all peoples which come to a total of that same number.”

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with the commentary on Genesis, which does not even mention the seventy-two nations and languages of the world. As with the commentary on Genesis, Bede again focuses on the seventy-two disciples, who are at the center of his longest discussion on the typological importance of the number seventy-two: Quod si Iosephi uerbis intendere uoluerimus quibus dicit mala in tunica pontificis septuaginta duo fuisse et eiusdem numeri tintinnabula, congruit hoc figuris mysteriorum ut sicut in umero ac pectore apostolicum ferre numerum iussus est ita etiam discipulorum septuaginta duorum circa pedes numerum assignatum habet. Constat enim quod sicut duodenarius apostolorum numerus episcopalis gradum dignitatis inchoauit sic discipuli septuaguinta duo qui et ipsi ad praedicandum uerbum sunt missi a domino gradum sacerdotii minoris qui nunc presbiteratus uocatur sua electione signarunt. Vnde et apte horum numerus in ultima parte sacerdotalis habitus ille in prima figuratus est. Decebat enim ut qui maiores gradu in corpore summi sacerdotis, hoc est in ecclesia Christi, erant futuri sublimiorem in habitu typici pontificis locum typice haberent. Verum si quis ipsos etiam numeros utriusque ordinis mystice uelit interpretari, duodecim gemmas Aaron in pectore praeferebat ut significaret tempus instare futurum quo fides sanctae trinitatis in omnibus quadrati orbis partibus generi humano praedicaretur uel certe sicut et supra docuimus duodecim gemmas, id est ter quaternas, gestabat ut omnes ammoneret doctores opera iustitiae quae quattuor uirtutibus principaliter comprehenduntur simul cum fide ueritatis quae in trinitate est et ipsos habere semper et suis habenda commendare discipulis. Portabat et septuaginta duo tintinnabula aurea cum totidem malis punicis ut ostenderet mystice quod eadem fides et operatio iustitiae uniuersum esset mundum ab errorum tenebris ad ueram lucem perductura. Tres namque dies ac noctes habent horas septuaginta duas, et quia sol iste uisibilis omnes mundi partes in septuaginta duabus horis supra infraque lustrando tribus uicibus circuit apte hic numerus tintinnabulorum et malorum diuersi coloris tunicae pontificis inditus est ad docendum figurate quod sol iustitiae Christus orbem esset illuminaturus uniuersum eique donum praebiturus et uerae fidei quae est in agnitione et confessione sanctae trinitatis et bonae operationis quae in uariarum est flore ac splendore uirtutum.63 63 Bede, De tabernaculo, III.737–72, pp. 111–12: “But if we desire to apply this to the words of Josephus, in which he says that the fruits [sc. pomegranates] on the tunic of the priest, along with the bells, were seventy-two, this is in accordance with the spiritual sense: just as it was commanded that the

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Considering the references to “omnibus quadrati orbis partibus,” “all parts of the four-cornered globe,” and “omnes mundi partes,” “all parts of the world,” it is particularly surprising that Bede does not choose to include the number of nations and languages of the world. Bede’s reference to the earth as “quadrati,” which allows for connections with the number twelve, further emphasized in the note “id est ter quaternas,” may explain why the number seventy-two is not mentioned. In any case, the absence of the number of nations suggests that, for Bede, the total reckoning of nations and languages in the world was not the most important element behind the number, but rather the number of disciples who are sent ad praedicandum uerbum, a major theme throughout Bede’s apostolic number be born on the shoulder and breast, so also that assigned number is understood to be around the feet of the seventy-two apostles. For it is fitting that just as the number of apostles, which is twelve, represents the grade of episcopal dignity, so the seventy-two disciples, who were sent themselves by the Lord to preach the word, signify the grade of the lesser priest who now is called presbyter according to his election. For this reason and suitability, the number [of the apostles] is presented on the upper part of the priestly habit, the number [of disciples] on the lower. For it was appropriate that those who would be greater in rank in the body of the high priest, that is in the Church of Christ, should figuratively hold the higher place on the habit of the figurative priest. But if anyone desires that those numbers of both orders be interpreted mystically, [it is that the high priest] carried the twelve gems of Aaron on his breast to signify that the time to come was close at hand when the faith of the Holy Trinity would be preached to humankind in all parts of the four-cornered globe, or indeed, just as we mentioned above, [the priest] carried the twelve gems, that is three fours in order to admonish that all scholars should always keep and remind their students to keep the works of justice which are understood principally in the four virtues together with the faith of truth which is in the Trinity. [The priest] carried the seventy-two golden bells with just as many pomegranates to reveal mysteriously that the same faith and work of justice would lead the whole world from the darkness of errors to the true light. For three days and three nights contain seventy-two hours, and because that visible sun circulates in three turns all parts of the world in seventy-two hours illuminating above and below, suitably was this number of bells and pomegranates of diverse color put onto the tunic of the priest in order to teach figuratively that the sun of justice, Christ, would illuminate all the globe and give to it the gift of true faith, which is in knowledge and confession of the Holy Trinity, and the good work which is in the flower and splendour of diverse virtues.” For the reference to Josephus and Jerome’s role in the development of this tradition, see Major, “The Number Seventy-Two”, pp. 31–32.

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works.64 Some doubt could be placed on the notion that there are seventy-two names in the Table of Nations, but no doubt could be placed on the number of Christ’s disciples. Furthermore, the symbolism of the seventy-two pomegranates may be connected to what he says on pomegranates in the related commentary De templo: “malogranata eandem ipsam typice insinuant unitatem quae et innumeros per orbem populos in una fidei catholicae regula cohibet.”65 In both commentaries the pomegranates (seventy-two or not) seem to signify the spread of the Gospel through a world of countless people. After the commentaries on Genesis and the Tabernacle, Bede addresses the seventy-two nations for a final time in his Retractatio in Actus Apostolorum (c. 725–31).66 While discussing God’s promise to Abraham that in his seed all the familiae of the earth will be blessed, Bede writes: “familiis siue cognationibus septuaginta et duabus, in quas post diluuium in constructione turris diuisum esse genus humanum legimus.”67 In his first commentary on Acts, Bede makes no mention of the number in the equivalent section, but simply states: “Semen quidem Abrahae Christus est in cuius fide nominis omnibus terrae familiis, Iudaeis uidelicet et gentibus, est benedictio promissa.”68 The addition in the Retractatio suggests 64 A search in the Brepols databases revealed that the phrase “ad praedicandum uerbum” appears no fewer than seven times in Bede’s corpus; and Boolean searches of the forms of uerbum and praedico gave a figure of over 250. 65 Bede, De templo, II.458–60, ed. by D. Hurst, Turnhout, 1969 (CCSL, 119A), p. 203: “pomegranates figuratively signify that very same unity which holds together countless people throughout the world in the one rule of catholic faith.” 66  For the date, see M. L. W. Laistner, introduction to Bedae Venerabilis expositio Actuum Apostolorum et retractatio, Cambridge, MA, 1939, pp. xiii– xvii. 67 Bede, Retractatio Actuum Apostolorum, III.116–8, p. 122: “seventy-two ‘families’ or ‘kinsmen’ in which we read that humankind was divided after the flood in the construction of the tower.” Bede connects the descendants of Noah with the word familiae in In Lucae euangelium, III.851–4, but does not give a numeration of the descendants. See also E. G. Stanley, “The Familia in Anglo-Saxon Society: ‘Household’, rather than ‘Family, Home Life’ as now Understood”, Anglia, 126 (2008), pp. 37–64. 68 Bede, Expositio Actuum Apostolorum, III.63–5, p. 25: “certainly, the seed of Abraham is Christ; in the faith of his name was the blessing promised to

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that despite the troubles and inconsistencies regarding the proper reckoning that Bede faced in his other works, he still was free to include the number when it suited him. Bede does not bother to make the usual typological connections that he does elsewhere; his scrutiny of tradition has silently receded into the common confirmation of the dispersal of seventy-two nations at Babel. Evidently, in the case of the number seventy-two, Bede is able to use the number symbolism appropriately, but is also able to question its putative origin in accordance with his preference for the hebraica veritas. As Ansgar Willmes states, in Bede “zeigt sich eine Zwischenform zwischen Rezeptivität und Selbständigkeit.”69 Bede’s Zwischenform is no less evident in his comments involving the number seventy-two, which range from skepticism of received tradition to new typological combinations fully dependent on that same tradition. His treatment of the number seventy-two reveals a complex exegetical and theological adaptation of authoritative sources, which not only confirms Bede as both very innovative and conservative, but also points to a more nuanced understanding of the dynamic ways traditional exegesis was received in the early Middle Ages. 4. Alcuin Compared to Bede’s extended comments on the number seventy-two, the treatment of the subject is less frequent in the works of Alcuin of York (c. 735–804). His Quaestiones in Genesim (c. 796) was the most popular commentary on Genesis in the Carolingian period; Michael Fox notes that its fifty-two surviving manuscripts more than double the twenty-two of Bede’s commentary.70 This all the ‘families’ of the earth, that is, both Jews and gentiles.” See Tugene, L’idée de nation, pp. 307–08 and 311, who discusses the significance of Bede’s interpretation of the blessing of Abraham for Bede’s theology of an ethnically and linguistically diverse world. 69 A. Willmes, “Bedas Bibelauslegung”, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte, 44 (1962), pp. 281–314, at p. 291. 70 M. Fox, “Alcuin the Exegete: The Evidence of the Quaestiones in Genesim”, in The Study of the Bible in the Carolingian Era, ed. by C. Chazelle and B.  Van Name Edwards, Turnhout, 2003, p. 43. While Bullough, Alcuin, p. 261, thinks the work dates before 790, Fox, “Alcuin the Exegete”, p. 40, n. 6, suggests that the Quaestiones is Alcuin’s first exegetical work and dates it around 796. Likewise, A. Kleinclausz, Alcuin, Paris, 1948 (Annales de

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work, which was originally written for one of Alcuin’s students, a priest named Sigwulf, who would later become the abbot of Ferrières, is a simple question and answer text that treats the exegetical problems of Genesis at a cursory level.71 While Alcuin includes much original thought and weaves a variety of sources in the first sections of the commentary (1–82, 93–94), he gradually becomes more reliant on Augustine’s Quaestiones in Heptateuchum and Jerome’s Hebraicae quaestiones in Genesim (83–92, 95–281) — in sections 192–281, Alcuin makes almost no editorial changes, and copies his two sources almost verbatim.72 But at section 141, Alcuin uses neither Augustine nor Jerome, and gives an independent reckoning of each of the descendants of Noah: Quot gentes singuli eorum procrearunt? — Resp. De Japhet nati sunt filii quindecim, de Cham triginta, de Sem viginti septem: simul septuaginta duo, de quibus ortae sunt gentes septuaginta duae, inter quas misit Dominus discipulos septuaginta duos.73

Because of the apparent originality of this section of the Quaestiones, it is tempting to search for a source for such specific inforl’Unversité de Lyon, III.15), p. 206, dates the work to Alcuin’s time as Abbot of Saint Martin of Tours (796–804). For Alcuin’s indebtedness to Bede’s In principium Genesis, see K. O’Brien O’Keeffe, “The Use of Bede’s Writings on Genesis in Alcuin’s Interrogationes”, Sacris Erudiri, 23 (1978), pp. 463–83; and J. W. Houghton, “(Re)Sounding Brass: Alcuin’s New Castings in the Questions and Answers on Genesis”, Proceedings of the PMR Conference, 16–17 (1994), pp. 149–61. 71  See Alcuin, Epistola 80, in Epistolae Karolini aevi, vol. 2, ed. by E. Dümmler, Berlin, 1895 (MGH Epp., 4), p. 122: “Hae [sc. quaestiones in Genesim] etiam maxime historicae sunt et simplici responsione contentae,” “these questions are mainly historical and satisfied with a simple response.” 72  O’Brien O’Keeffe, “The Use of Bede’s Writings on Genesis in Alcuin’s Interrogationes”, pp. 468–69. 73 Alcuin, Interrogationes et responsiones in Genesin, PL 100, col. 532: “How many individual nations were born of these [sons]? — Answer: From Japheth fifteen sons were born, from Ham thirty, from Shem twenty-seven: altogether seventy-two, from which the seventy-two nations arose, among which the Lord sent seventy-two disciples.” Migne notes that the manuscript reading of Ham’s triginta is “XXXVI,” a variant that does not appear in London, Lambeth Palace Library, 148, fols 120–50, W. P. Stoneman, “A Critical Edition of Ælfric’s Translation of Alcuin’s Interrogationes Sigwulfi presbiteri and of the Related Texts De creatore et creatura and De sex etatibus huius seculi”, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Toronto, 1982, p. 199.

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mation. In this numeration of the descendants of Noah, Alcuin completely ignores each of Bede’s counts. But since Bede’s initial numeration follows the unusual count of Arnobius, and the later numeration in his commentary on Genesis is far too ambiguous for Alcuin’s purposes in the Quaestiones, this disregard is understandable. It is possible that Alcuin was influenced by a question-and-answer text of the same nature. The oldest surviving text of the Ioca monachorum, Schlettstadt, Stadtbibliothek, 1093, which was written in half-uncial around 700, states: “De tres filios Noe. Inde exortae sunt lxx et ii generationes.”74 This manuscript, however, does not contain the specific reckonings of the descendants, and Alcuin’s reliance on it or another question-and-answer text is inconclusive. The most likely sources for Alcuin’s numeration, outside of a deliberate miscount of the Bible, are Isidore’s Chronica and Quaestiones in Vetus Testamentum (but, incidentally, not the Etymologiae), which provide the same figures as Alcuin.75 The subtleties behind the number of names in the Table of Nations that Bede carefully recorded are ignored, and Alcuin’s more popular treatment would set the standard numeration of the descendants of Noah for the rest of the Carolingian era and most of the subsequent pre-conquest English period.76 Aside from this commentary on Genesis, Alcuin elsewhere uses the number seventy-two, not for the number of descendants of Noah but rather for the number of books in the Bible. Perhaps under the influence of Cassiodorus, the scribe of the Codex Amiatinus, or Aldhelm, whom Alcuin was familiar with, he gives a count of seventy-two biblical books in a prefatory poem for a Bible: Sunt numero pariter deni duo septies atque, De quibus et nulli iam dubitare licet. In Christi nobis numerus venerabilis iste Mistice discipulis namque sacratus adest.77 74 M. Förster,

“Das älteste mittellateinische Gesprächbüchlein”, Roma­ nische Forschungen, 27 (1910), pp. 342–48, at p. 347, no. 22: “From the three sons of Noah: hence arose the seventy-two generations.” 75 Isidore, Chronica, p. 18; and Quaestiones in Vetus Testamentum, PL 83, col. 237. See also Isidore, Etymologiarum sive originum libri XX, IX.ii.2. 76 For the number seventy-two among Carolingian authors, see Borst, Turmbau von Babel, vol. 2, pp. 483–541. 77 Alcuin, Carmen 69, lines 21–24, in Alcuini carmina, ed. by E. Dümmler, Berlin, 1881 (MGH PLAC, 1), p. 288: “Altogether in number, there are seven-

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Whereas this sort of oblique expression of numeral figures or ending hexametric clauses with disyllabic conjunctions is not unusual in Alcuin’s poetry,78 the phrase “deni duo septies atque” is particularly difficult to render. The closest it can be translated literally into English is: “ten apiece times seven plus two,” which circuitously equals seventy-two.79 Perhaps aware of the ambiguity of this phrase, Alcuin makes sure to clarify it immediately by comparing the number of biblical books to the better-known number of Christ’s disciples. Although the exact number is not stated here, Alcuin specifies it elsewhere as seventy-two. He mentions that the number of disciples is seventy-two in his commentary on Genesis (see above), as well as in his Epistola 136, where he simply quotes Luke 10:1: “designavit Dominus et alios septuaginta duos.”80 Despite the awkwardness of the phrasing “deni duo septies atque,” Alcuin plainly understood the biblical canon to consist of seventy-two books, which in turn correspond typologically (mistice) to the number of Christ’s disciples. But it is also the awkwardness of this phrasing that may attest to the ability for his audience to recognize the allusion. If Alcuin could assume knowledge of the symbolism of the number seventy-two in this poem, he might be able to assume knowledge of the symbolism in his canonical letters, where the number appears in an argument based on canon law. Twice Alcuin refers to the necessity for the presence of seventy-two bishops at a synod for the condemnation of another bishop. In his Epistola 245 (801–02), Alcuin complains to his two disciples, Candidus / Witto and Nathanael / Fridugis, about his poetic rival, Bishop Theodulf of Orléans, who refused ecclesiastical sanctuary ty-two, of which no one may now doubt. That number is venerable to us, for it is typologically sanctified in the disciples of Christ.” 78 See, for example, Alcuin, The Bishops, Kings, and Saints of York, lines 215: “bis ternis … annis”; 499: “ter ternis … annis”; 503: “annos … ter denos … et octo”; 766: “sex denos … annos”; and 50: “ut foret auxilio patriae pavor hostibus atque”; 112: “invidus imperii vitae simul illius atque”; 1548: “quae Victorinus scripsere Boethius atque”; ed. by P. Godman, Oxford, 1982, pp. 22, 42, 64; and 8, 12, 124. 79  Alcuin discusses the significance of each of these numbers in his Epistola 81, pp. 124.17–25 (for 10), 124.32–125.2 (for 7), and 125.20–24 (for 2). I am grateful to an anonymous reader for this observation. 80 Alcuin, Epistola 136, p. 209: “the Lord chose seventy-two others.”

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to a criminal sent from the Church of St Martin of Tours.81 After quoting a canon of the Council of Orléans (511) that commands the necessity to respect and protect criminals that seek sanctuary, Alcuin pugnaciously accuses Theodulf himself of acting against a canon that was confirmed by seventy-two bishops: “O Aurelianensis pontifex [sc. Theodulf] contra Aurelianensem synodum facere audet, in qua fuerunt episcopi, ut legitur, septuaginta duo.”82 This numerological reference, of course, must have had some weight beyond a mere statement of historical fact. Firstly, Alcuin, like most medieval scholars, had a predilection for number symbolism; in fact, only a few lines earlier in this same letter, he draws attention to the significance of the number eight as the tally of men who pillage Nineveh.83 Secondly, Dümmler notes that the first Council of Orléans that Alcuin cites actually had only thirty-two bishops in attendance, not seventy-two as Alcuin claims.84 With this discrepancy between number and historical reality, it is possible, since there can be much variation in the subscription lists to early medieval councils, that Alcuin had actually seen a copy of the council’s acta that mentions the presence of seventy-two

81  For

the poetic rivalry between Alcuin and Theodulf, see D. Schaller, “Vortrags- und Zirkulardichtung am Hof Karls des Großen”, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 6 (1969), pp. 14–36; D. Schaller, “Poetic Rivalries at the Court of Charlemagne”, in Classical Influences on European Culture a.d.  500–1500, ed. by R. R. Bolgar, Cambridge, 1971, pp. 151–57; and A. Orchard, “Wish You Were Here: Alcuin’s Courtly Poetry and the Boys Back Home”, in Courts and Regions in Medieval Europe, ed. by S. R. Jones, R. Marks and A. J. Minnis, York, 2000, pp. 35–39. For the rivalry over the issue of sanctuary, see L. Wallach, Alcuin and Charlemagne: Studies in Carolingian History and Literature, Ithaca, NY, 1959, pp. 99–140; and R. Meens, “Sanctuary, Penance, and Dispute Settlement, under Charlemagne: The Conflict between Alcuin and Theodulf of Orléans over a Sinful Cleric”, Speculum, 82 (2007), pp. 277–300. 82 Alcuin, Epistola 245, p. 395: “O the bishop of Orléans [sc. Theodulf] dares to act against a synod of Orléans in which there were seventy-two bishops, as we read.” 83 Alcuin, Epistola 245, p. 394. 84 Alcuin, Epistola 245, p. 395, n. 3. For the canons of the Council of Orléans, see Concilia Galliae A. 511–A. 695, ed. by C. de Clerq, Turnhout, 1963 (CCSL, 148A), pp. 4–19.

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bishops.85 Thirdly, following his first reference to a past Council of Orléans, Alcuin further emphasizes the disgraceful actions of Theodulf by quoting a canon from another “synodo Aurelianensi.”86 Alcuin does not bother to distinguish between the councils of Orléans, but as Dümmler notes, the council quoted in the latter instance is the 549 Council of Orléans, which had in attendance seventy-one ecclesiastics.87 The number of ecclesiastics at this later council may be the source of confusion for Alcuin’s earlier statement regarding the presence of seventy-two bishops. For, although the number of attendees at the 549 Council included other clergy besides bishops, it was later understood that seventy-one bishops were present at a council held at Orléans. For example, in a number of eleventh- and early-twelfth-century legal collections (those of Deusdedit, the A version of Anselm of Lucca, and the Collectio XIII librorum), the fifth canon of the Council of Clermont (535) gives the inscription: “ex concilio Aurelianensi episcoporum LXXI.”88 Michael Elliot has also added to this speculation with his observation that the north French version of the Collectio vetus Gallica gives a tally of seventy-two bishops in attendance.89 It is no great stretch to imagine that Alcuin was either familiar with a document that gave the number seventy-two, was misled into 85 According to Wallach, Alcuin and Charlemagne, pp. 129, and 132, Alcuin was using a copy of the Collectio codicis Laureshamensis, which exists in Vatican, Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, Palatinus Latinus 574; unfortunately, the text has not been edited and I have been unable to consult the manuscript. For the Collectio codicis Laureshamensis, see F. Maassen, Geschichte der Quellen und der Literatur des canonischen Rechts im Abendlande bis zum Ausgange des Mittelalters, vol. 1, Graz, 1870, pp. 585–91. 86 Alcuin, Epistola 245, p. 395. 87 Dümmler, Epistolae Karolini aevi, p. 395, n. 4; and Concilia Galliae A. 511–A. 695, p. 147: “8 metropolitanos et 2 delegatos … 42 episcopos et 19 delegatos.” 88 References are from the database in the CD-ROM by L. FowlerMagerl, Clavis Canonum: Selected Canon Law Collections before 1140: Access with Data Processing, Hannover, 2005 (MGH Hilfsmittel, 21): “from the Council of Orléans of seventy-one bishops.” 89 M. D. Elliot, “Canon Law Collections in England ca. 600–1066: The Manuscript Evidence”, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Toronto, 2013, p. 427, citing H. Mordek, Kirchenrecht und Reform im Frankenreich: Die Collectio vetus Gallica die älteste systematische Kanonessammlung des fränkischen Gallien: Studien und Edition, Berlin, 1975, Title 63, c. 18, p. 594.

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thinking the number to be seventy-two, or that he deliberately rounded up an attendance list of seventy-one for greater symbolic effect. In any case, Alcuin’s claim that seventy-two bishops at a synod of Orléans had legislated in favor of church sanctuary was certainly thought to be efficient ammunition against Theodulf, especially since this legislation occurred in Theodulf’s own diocese. More to the point, Alcuin likely had in mind a specific rule of traditional canon law in his accusation against Theodulf. In his Epistola 179, written two years before the incident of the escaped convict (August 799), Alcuin refers to the canonical value of the number seventy-two: “Memini me legisse quondam, si rite recordor, in canonibus beati Silvestri non minus septuaginta duobus testibus pontificem accusandum esse.”90 The canon Alcuin recalls is from the Constitutum Silvestri, a sixth-century forgery under Pope Symmachus, attributed to the fourth-century Pope Sylvester,91 which states outright that “non damnabitur praesul nisi in LXXII.”92 While the number seventy-two had some significance in the judicial history of the early medieval church, likely on account of its association with the seventy-two disciples, the popularity of the number in canonical texts is more likely attributed to the Constitutum Silvestri.93 It is not, however, until after the ninth century that the number gains stronger canonical significance through the inclusion of the Constitutum Silvestri in the extremely influential pseudo-Isidorian collection of forged decretals, which were 90 Alcuin, Epistola 179, p. 297: “if I remember correctly, I recall once reading in the canons of saint Sylvester that a bishop could not be accused by fewer than seventy-two witnesses.” 91 For the Symmachian forgeries, see W. T. Townsend, “The So-Called Symmachian Forgeries”, The Journal of Religion, 13.2 (1933), pp. 165–74, and esp. pp. 169–70 for the Constitutum Silvestri; and J. Richards, The Pope and the Papacy in the Early Middle Ages, 476–753, London, 1979, p. 82. Alcuin, incidentally, also refers to the Constitutum Silvestri in Epistola 245, p. 396. 92  Das Konzil Silvesters mit 284 Bischöfen, 109–10, ed. by E. Wirbelauer, Zwei Päpste in Rom: Der Konflikt zwischen Laurentius und Symmachus (498– 514): Studien und Texte, Munich, 1993 (Quellen und Forschungen zur antiken Welt, 16), p. 236: “a bishop will not be condemned by fewer than seventy-two.” 93  Major, “The Number Seventy-Two”, pp. 42–44. See also S. Kuttner, “Cardinalis: The History of a Canonical Concept”, Traditio, 3 (1945), pp. 129– 214, at pp. 202–03.

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intended to protect bishops from the power of archbishops, provincial synods, or secular rulers by making the legal procedures for deposing bishops immensely impractical and, essentially, impossible.94 After appearing in the pseudo-Isidorian decretals, this canon became widespread in numerous other canonical collections. But, in the case of Alcuin, the pseudo-Isidorian decretals, which were composed only after his death, cannot provide the source of the canon in the Constitutum Silvestri. He seems rather to have read it via some other collection, possibly while on the continent, or even in England. Excerpts of the Constitutum Silvestri can be found in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 265 (pp. 201–02), an Anglo-Saxon manuscript which proves that at least selections of the Constitutum Silvestri were known by the eleventh century in England.95 Alternatively, a more promising lead may be found in Cologne, Erzbischöfliche Diözesan- und Dombibliothek, Codex 213, an early eighth-century Northumbrian manuscript that made its way to Cologne before 800. Cologne 213 contains the Collectio canonum Sanblasiana, an Italian canon-law collection that includes the entire Constitutum Silvestri.96 Although at this point the extent of Alcuin’s involvement in the provenance of this manuscript can only be speculative, it is not inconceivable that Cologne 213 was read by Alcuin, who was himself from Northumbria and part of Charlemagne’s court in Aachen. Elliot has also made a case in favor of Brussels, Bibliothèque royale, MS 8654–72 (1324) as Alcuin’s immediate source, since it was present at Charlemagne’s court and contains creedal texts ascribed to Alcuin.97 Until further study is able to clarify the issue, it is clear from Alcuin’s 94 H. Fuhrmann, “The Pseudo-Isidorean Forgeries”, in Papal Letters in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by W. Hartmann and K. Pennington, Washington, DC, 2001 (History of Medieval Canon Law, 2), p. 142. The relevant canon in the Pseudo-Isidorian decretals can be found in P. Hinschius, Decretales Pseudo-Isidorianae et capitula Angilramni, Leipzig, 1863, vol. 2, p. 449. 95 N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts containing Anglo-Saxon, Oxford, 1957, no. 53; and Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 73. The canon in question, however, does not appear in CCCC 265. 96 See Wirbelauer, Zwei Päpste in Rom, pp. 122–28 (Collectio canonum Sanblasiana) and 180–81 (Cologne, 213); and Gneuss and Lapidge, AngloSaxon Manuscripts, no. 836. 97  Elliot, “Canon Law Collections in England”, pp. 428–29. For the manuscript, see Gneuss and Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts, no. 808.

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quotation of the Constitutum Silvestri, which he claims to have quoted from memory, that Alcuin was well read in the literature of canon law, so much so that he actually anticipates the legal concerns over episcopal status that would vex future generations of Carolingian canonists. Alcuin’s canonical allusions to the number seventy-two are not to be passed over lightly, even if he is incorrect with the actual number of bishops presiding at that council of Orléans. For Alcuin the number seventy-two not only had value in the exegetical discourses of his predecessors as well as in his own commentary on Genesis, but it also played a role in his oblique poetic reference to the number of biblical books, and in the canonical issues expressed in some of his epistolary works. Instead of simply parroting his predecessors, Alcuin displays an idiosyncratic treatment of the number seventy-two that adapts past sources to produce new and dynamic uses of the number. 6. Question-and-Answer Texts A final group of texts that employs the number seventy-two in early Anglo-Latin literature are the question-and-answer texts usually used for monastic teaching and one of the most important literary genres of the Middle Ages.98 As has just been discussed, Alcuin’s Quaestiones in Genesim uses a question-and-answer format in order to comment on a biblical text. But along with these more systematic biblical commentaries, a series of lesser authoritative texts, usually anonymous, such as the Ioca monachorum, proliferated in Europe after the seventh century.99 As Robert E. McNally complains, these texts are “divorced from the true spirit and method of the patristic tradition”;100 their subject matter was not 98 See C. D. Wright, The Irish Tradition in Old English Literature, Cambridge, 1993, pp. 60–63, for the Irish predilection for question-and-answer texts. 99 F. Brunhölzl, Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, vol. 1: Von Cassiodor bis zum Ausklang der karolingischen Erneuerung, Munich, 1975, p. 147; and M. Bayless, “The Collectanea and Medieval Dialogues and Riddles”, in Collectanea Pseudo-Bedae, ed. by M. Bayless and M. Lapidge, Dublin, 1998 (Scriptores Latini Hiberniae, 14), pp. 13–24. 100  R. E. McNally, The Bible in the Early Middle Ages, Westminister, MD, 1959, p. 38.

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confined to biblical commentary, but rather to any sort of knowledge of the world, sometime conventional but often esoteric.101 The Collectanea pseudo-Bedae, originally printed in Johann Herwagen’s 1563 edition of the complete works of Bede, is an enigmatic collection of various texts, many of which follow a question-and-answer format.102 Whereas the actual author, date and origin of the Collectanea are unknown, scholars have detected Irish, English and continental elements. The certified Anglo-Latin elements — a series of Aldhelm’s riddles — allow Lapidge to suggest that the text, or parts of the text, may have been composed in Northumbria during the lifetime of Bede, although the evidence is scant and of an indefinite nature.103 In the Collectanea, there are a few lines that deal with the number of biblical books and of the languages of the world. For the biblical books, the text reads: “Veteris Testamenti sunt libri quinquaginta quinque, Noui autem uiginti septem.”104 Although this number of New Testament books (twenty-seven) accords with the Christian tradition of Late Antiquity, the reckoning of Old Testament books here (fifty-five) would make a total of eighty-two biblical books — ten more than that which is found in Cassiodorus, Isidore, Aldhelm and Alcuin, among others. It is very possible that the number fifty-five of the Collectanea is due to scribal error, perhaps even by Herwagen. In contrast, one other question-and-answer text of later pre-conquest England, the Prose Solomon and Saturn, uses the number seventy-two to connect the total number of biblical books to the other usual typological numbers.105 The failure of the Collectanea to make 101 See D. Shanzer, “Laughter and Humour in the Early Medieval Latin West”, in Humour, History and Politics in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. by G. Halsall, Cambridge, 2002, pp. 26–27; and Brunhölzl, Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, pp. 147–48. Many of the texts of the Ioca monachorum are edited by W. Suchier, Das mittellateinische Gespräch Adrian und Epictitus nebst verwandten Texten (Joca monachorum), Tübingen, 1995, pp. 108–38. 102 M. Lapidge, “The Origin of the Collectanea”, in Collectanea Pseudo-Bedae, p. 1. 103  Lapidge, “The Origin of the Collectanea”, pp. 4–5. 104  Bayless and Lapidge, Collectanea Pseudo-Bedae, p. 62: “there are fiftyfive books of the Old Testament and twenty-seven of the New.” 105  J. E. Cross and T. D. Hill, The Prose Solomon and Saturn and Adrian and Ritheus: Edited from the British Library Manuscripts with Commentary, Toronto, 1982, § 58, p. 34.

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such typologies can likely be explained by the idiosyncratic reckoning of the books of the Old Testament. Later in the Collectanea, however, the number seventy-two is used for the familiar element of the seventy-two languages of the world. Among a series of short questions and answers that deal either with characters or places in Genesis or the quantity of certain things (years, birds, serpents, and provinces), there appears the line: “Quot linguae? Septuaginta duae.”106 As Bayless notes, further parallels to this question can be found in many of the Ioca monachorum texts, where “because of this unambiguous scriptural source, the number of languages cited in the trivia-dialogues varies much less than other subjects of inquiry.”107 The value of the Collectanea for tracing traditional uses of the number seventy-two is, therefore, limited to an awareness of its symbolic potential, which is found to be significant enough to include briefly in an encyclopedic context. Among other Anglo-Latin question-and-answer texts, expanded discussions on the descendants of Noah’s sons also give the number seventy-two. For example, a note in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 448, an eleventh-century manuscript from Winchester, borrows and alters Alcuin’s question and answer on the sons of Noah: “Quot sunt linguae in mundo? lxxii. Cur non plures uel pauciores? Propter tres filios Noe: Sem, Cham, et Iafeth. Sem habuit filios xxti viitem, Cham xxxta, Iafeth uero xv. His simul iunctis fiunt lxxii” (89r).108 Like the Collectanea pseudo-Bedae, these 106  Bayless and Lapidge, Collectanea Pseudo-Bedae, p. 138: “How many languages are there? Seventy-two.” See also Borst, Turmbau von Babel, vol. 2, pp. 507–08. 107  Bayless and Lapidge, Collectanea Pseudo-Bedae, p. 232. See the edition by C. D. Wright and R. Wright, “Additions to the Bobbio Missal: De dies malus and Joca monachorum (fols 6r–8v)”, in The Bobbio Missal: Liturgy and Religious Culture in Merovingian Gaul, ed. by Y. Hen and R. Meens, Cambridge, 2004, pp. 79–139, at no. 29: “Quod linguas sunt? LXXII” (“How many languages are there? seventy-two”). 108 Quoted from H. Sauer, “Die 72 Völker und Sprachen der Welt”, pp. 40–41: “How many languages are in the world? Seventy-two. Why are there not more or less? Because of the three sons of Noah: Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Shem had twenty-seven sons, Ham thirty, and Japheth fifteen. Altogether these come to seventy-two.” See also Sauer, “Die 72 Völker und Sprachen der Welt: einige Ergänzungen”, p. 61; and Borst, Turmbau von Babel, vol. 2, p. 548. The same text can be found in the tenth-century Hyde Register, British Library, Stowe 944, fol. 61v; W. de Gray Birch, Liber Vitae:

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lines affirm an interest in the seventy-two languages of the world, but curiously do not mention the number of nations in the world, despite its reliance on both Alcuin and Genesis 10. Apparently, the reckoning of the descendants of Noah’s sons in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 448 intends to give information the world’s multilingualism but not multiculturalism. 7. Conclusion This final example from Corpus Christi College 448, a rather late example, epitomizes, in a sense, Anglo-Latin treatments of the number seventy-two. For one, limitation on the world’s ethnic diversity to seventy-two has been abandoned. One cannot really speak of the seventy-two nations of the world, at least from an early English perspective. Languages, on the contrary, could still be limited to seventy-two. But even here linguistic limitations tied to the symbolism of the number were not the most prevalent feature among Anglo-Latin authors. Though the seventy-two languages of the world were certainly mentioned, Anglo-Latin (and later Old English) authors tended to use this numerological symbolism for other purposes, usually for typology involving Christ’s disciples. Aldhelm, for example, while providing reference to the seventy-two books of the Bible and seventy languages spoken by the apostles at Pentecost, does not use the number seventy-two for the number of Noah’s descendants or the number of nations and languages of the world. Likewise, the biblical commentaries of Theodore and Hadrian’s school at Canterbury do not mention the seventy-two nations or languages of the world, even though seventy-two disciples are typologically associated with the translators of the Septuagint, and the mysterious seventy-two fontes of Genesis. While Bede is the first Anglo-Latin author to mention the seventy-two nations and languages, he most often does so merely to fill out the typologies involving the number of Christ’s disciples. Alcuin gives some attention to the number seventy-two as the number of Noah’s descendants and as the number of biblical books, both of which gain typological significance alongside the number of Christ’s disciples; and he discusses the number in a Register and Martyrology of New Minster and Hyde Abbey, Winchester, London, 1892, p. 168.

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canonical context that probably finds its roots in the seventy-two disciples, not in the Table of Nations. All of these Anglo-Latin authors from the seventh to ninth century complicate notions of a standard numerological tradition. Each author and text examined here presents idiosyncratic features that defy typical usage, and yet paradoxically remain faithful to some aspect of their sources. The history of the symbolism of this number, therefore, shows how nuanced the reception of intellectual, literary traditions in early medieval Britain must be. It is certainly an error to regard any feature of the great exegetical and hermeneutic traditions as stable. Interpretation and use of the number seventy-two shifted and developed throughout the Anglo-Latin period as it would continue to shift and develop in the subsequent medieval periods. Abstract The symbolism of the number seventy-two is commonly used among Latin Christian authors of Late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages. The earliest Anglo-Latin authors inherit the traditional symbolism of their late antique predecessors, but they adapt it according to their own purposes. The biblical commentaries of the Canterbury School, Aldhelm, Bede, Alcuin and some anonymous question-and-answer texts all employ the number seventy-two for symbolic and typological reasons relevant to wider ideological frameworks in place. Whereas the traditional notion of seventy-two original nations and languages is commonplace, early Anglo-Latin authors found greater valence in the seventy-two disciples of Christ. Their uses are atypical to the larger tradition, but they nevertheless show great reliance on source material, which in turn complicates a straightforward narrative of simple exegetical traditions developed from the most authoritative patristic writers.

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“Element by element”: Glosses, Loan Translations, and Lexical Enrichment in Old English* Haruko Momma (New York) Those of us who work in the vineyard of medieval studies are all aware how much we owe to Professor Michael W. Herren for his lifelong dedication to our field. The Journal of Medieval Latin (JMLat), which he founded in 1991 with other prominent scholars, offers an invaluable forum for specialists in medieval languages and literatures. At the time of the journal’s inauguration, as Professor Herren explains in his essay “Twenty Years of JMLat — Some Personal Reflections,” scholars in the English-speaking parts of the world were feeling the disadvantage, especially compared to medievalists in the German- or the French-speaking areas, for they did not have an equivalent of Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch or Archivum Latinitatis Medii Aevi. As Professor Herren points out in this retrospective essay, “the entire field of Medieval Latin was meagerly represented in English-language publications,” even though there was “a very large body of Latin literature that had been written in England and Ireland between the sixth and the sixteenth century.” JMLat was also a boon for those of us who were affiliated with the Centre for Medieval Studies and the University of Toronto at large, because of the journal’s strong ties with “the Greater Toronto Area.”1 More recently, Professor Herren has been spearheading the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary Project, in collaboration with Professor Hans Sauer in Germany and Professor David W. Porter in the United *   I would like to thank Benedick Turner and the anonymous readers of this essay. 1  M. W. Herren, “Twenty Years of JMLat — Some Personal Reflections”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 20 (2010), pp. v–ix, at p. vi.

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 323–345. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125566 ©

F H G

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States.2 This project involves talented graduate students at the Centre for Medieval Studies. With his typical generosity, Professor Herren has been making the results of this team-based scholarship available as each section is completed by providing a link to the official website of the Dictionary of Old English (DOE) project, thus also creating a link between Latin and the vernacular in the study of pre-Conquest England. 3 In writing this short piece, I am indebted to Professor Herren’s work, which has made us aware of the importance of the dynamic interaction between Latin and the vernacular in various literary products from early medieval England, and especially glosses and glossaries. Thanks to the systematic categorization of the DOE Corpus, we know that approximately 25% of the extant literature belongs to glosses and glossaries, that is, according to the DOE’s classificatory system, C-texts and D-texts, respectively.4 In recent years, scholars have conducted various studies in glosses and glossaries to explore such semantic fields as the names for plants, animals, and people.5 The exploration of these concrete nouns can tell us about material culture in Anglo-Saxon England, along with linguistic exchange between the insular and continental textual traditions. In this essay, I will shift the focus slightly to consider Old English words that either denote more abstract concepts or connote figurative ideas through semantically extended usage. 2 For this project, see M. W. Herren and H. Sauer, “Towards a New Edition of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: A Sample”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 26 (2016), pp. 125–98. 3  The Épinal-Erfurt Glossary Project: https://doe.utoronto.ca/epinalerfurt/index.html (accessed 25 September 2020). 4  Dictionary of Old English Web Corpus, compiled by A. di P. Healy with J. P. Wilkin and X. Xiang, Toronto, Dictionary of Old English Project, 2009. I am indebted to Ms. Xiang, the former Systems Analyst at the Dictionary of Old English project, for this valuable information. 5 For instance, H. Sauer, “Archbishops, Lords, and Concubines: Words for People and their Word-Formation Patterns in Early English (Épinal-Erfurt Glossary and Ælfric’s Glossary) — A Sketch”, in Intertexts: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Culture Presented to Paul E. Szarmach, ed. by V. Blanton and H.  Scheck, Tempe, AZ, 2008, pp. 381–409; H. Sauer, “Language and Culture: How Anglo-Saxon Glossators Adapted Latin Words and their World”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 18 (2008), pp. 437–68; and E. V. Thornbury, “Strange Hybrids: Ælfric, Vergil and the Lynx in Anglo-Saxon England”, Notes and Queries, 56 (2009), pp. 163–66.

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1. Element by Element: Coining New Words Through Glossing The starting point for my discussion is a certain label used in the DOE called “element by element.” It is applied to Old English words found in C-texts and D-texts. There are close to 550 instances in which the DOE: A to I identifies a word or a use of a word as such.6 The label seems to imply that the compounds so marked have not quite reached the status of full-fledged words. Some of them are certainly ephemeral hapax legomena endeavoring to capture the meanings of Latin words by rendering their individual morphemes more or less into their Old English counterparts. One such example is found in the entry for the hapax legomenon brycg-wyrcende used to gloss pontifex (‘pontiff, priest’) as part of the Old English gloss of Latin “pontifex id est pons populi ad cæleste regnum” (‘pontifex, that is, people’s bridge to the celestial kingdom’): “brycgwyrcende þæt is brycge folces to heofnæ ric” (‘brycgwyrcende, that is, people’s bridge to the heavenly kingdom’) (DOE s. v.). This compound is made of two elements both denoting concrete ideas: the noun brycg (‘bridge’) and a participial form of the verb wyrcan (‘to make’) — hence, literally, ‘a bridge-making person,’ but here used metaphorically to refer to an ecclesiastical position. As will be discussed in the next section, this type of gloss is akin to loan translation, to which linguists may also apply the term “calque.” And yet, this particular word formation seems somewhat strained. As ingenious as this calque-like compound may be, the idea of a bridge maker applied to an ecclesiastical position may not have comported well with the thought-habit of Old English speakers, at least given the fact that other compound nouns beginning with brycg (‘bridge’) recorded in the DOE generally do not use brycg in a metaphorical sense: for example, brycg-(ge)weorc means ‘(obligatory) work of bridge construction or maintenance’ (s. v.); and brycg-bot is a legal term referring to ‘(obligatory) bridge construction or maintenance’ (s. v.). And we may recall that brycg-weard (‘guardian, defender of a bridge’, s. v.) is a hapax legomenon that the poet of The Battle of Maldon uses for those duty-bound English warriors who defended the causeway 6  Dictionary of Old English: A to I online, ed. A. Cameron, A. C. Amos, A. di P. Healey et al., Toronto, 2018 (accessed 25 September 2020).

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against the Viking invaders (85a). The word brycg itself, which occurs approximately 150 times in the corpus, is given the usage notes “freq[uent] in charters” and “also freq[uent] as a place-name element in c. 150 occ[urrences],” indicating that the simplex brycg, too, was used largely in its primary sense, that is, something material that connects two geographical points, often with a body of water underneath. In the group of compounds labelled as element-by-element glosses in the DOE, examples like brycg-wyrcende — that is, compounds whose first elements are lexical words (such as nouns or adjectives) — are relatively few: for instance, fȳr-bǣre (‘fire-bearing, fiery’), which is an “element-by-element gloss of ignifer” (s. v.); goldmæstling, which, according to the DOE, is “an element-by-element rendering of auricalcum, for orichalcum […] ‘copper alloy, brass, bronze’, with folk-etymological association of the first element with aurum ‘gold’” (s. v.). More often than not, element-by-element glosses are compounds each consisting of an adverb or a prefix followed by a verb or a derivative of a verb. The DOE: A to I has independent entries for prefixes/adverbs used for element-by-element glosses, including a-būtan~ (e.g. abūtan~ferian for circumferre ‘to carry [something] about’); aweg~ (e.g., aweg~gangan for abire ‘to go way’); beforan~ (e.g. beforan~scēawian for prospicere ‘to foresee’); betwēoh~ (e.g., betwēoh~ceorfan for intercidere ‘to cut through, divide [something]’); binnan~ (e.g., binnan~gān for introire ‘to go in, enter [into a place]’); efen~ (e.g., efen~herian for collaudare ‘to praise together / glorify [God]’); efne~ (e.g., efne~cuman for convenire ‘to meet, assemble’); eft~ (e.g., eft~cōlian for refrigescere ‘grow cold’); foran~ (e.g., foran~settan for praeponere ‘to give precedence to [something] over [something else]’); fore~ (e.g., fore~writen for suprascriptus ‘written before / above’); forþ~ (e.g., forþ~lūtan for procidere ‘to fall forward’); fram~ (e.g., fram~bēon for abesse ‘to be absent’); in~ (e.g. in~wendan for immutare ‘to change’); innan~ (e.g., innan~ge·sewen for introspectus ‘examined closely’). On the above list, the hyphen signifies that the connection between the first morpheme (an adverb or prefix) and the following verb or derivative of a verb is tentative or at least less than what would be indicated by the regular hyphen () in the dictionary. Or to quote from the entries for the prefixes/adverbs listed above, the hyphen is used for “quasi-compounds,” where the

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first morpheme “may be taken as either adverb or prefix.” For instance, the verb fore~bēodan is a hapax legomenon found in the Lindisfarne Gospels as an “element-by-element gloss of praedicare ‘to preach, proclaim’” in Matthew 24:14. As far as praedicare in this passage is concerned, however, this particular gloss is an outlier, as all other glosses in this context apply “forms of bodian” (‘to preach, proclaim’) (s. v.). In contrast, the DOE treats forebēodan or for-bēodan (‘to forbid, prevent’) as a regular compound, as it occurs approximately 400 times in the corpus, including in prose and verse texts. The status of element-by-element glosses may not, however, be absolute. Some of these so-called quasi-compounds seem to appeal to our lexical “instinct,” especially when they resonate with the development of similar lexemes in later periods. To take compounds beginning with fore~ as an example once again, many of its quasi-compounds are, indeed, results of rather forced combinations of morphemes: for example, fore~slæpan is a single occurring gloss of “obdormire in phrase obdormire in domino ‘to fall asleep in the Lord, pass away, die’” (s. v.). A sizable number of element-by-element compound nouns also begin with fore-, and some of them seem as far-fetched as brycg-wyrcende (‘pontiff, priest’): for instance, fore-gydd is a hapax legomenon used as a gloss of proverbium ‘parable, riddle’ (s. v.); likewise, fore-ceorfend (from the verb ceorfan ‘to cut’) is a hapax legomenon used as a “gloss of praecisor ‘incisor, front tooth’” (s. v.). And yet many other examples of element-by-element glosses seem to “make sense,” at least from our perspective, and in some cases they anticipate compounds that were to be coined in later periods. For example, fore~deman, according to the DOE, is an “element-by-element gloss of praejudicare ‘to prejudge’, and here specifically ‘to determine in advance’” (s. v.). In Old English, fore~deman is a hapax legomenon, and a similar verb cannot be found in the Middle English Dictionary (MED), even though it has a large entry for the simplex demen (‘to judge’), with “258 quotations in 17 senses.”7 Interestingly, the third edition of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED3) 7  Middle English Dictionary, ed. by R. E. Lewis et al., Ann Arbor, 1952– 2001; online edition in Middle English Compendium, ed. by F. McSparran et al., Ann Arbor, 2000–2018 (https://quod.lib.umich.edu/m/middle-english-dictionary) (accessed 23 August 2020).

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lists the verb foredeem as an obsolete word used during the early modern period, with the first and last citations dated to 1542 and 1660, respectively; it is defined as ‘to form a judgement of beforehand’.8 Likewise, the verb fore~gyrdan is defined by the DOE as “element-by-element glosses of praecingere ‘to gird about.’” This compound verb, which occurs five times in the Old English corpus, consists of the two morphemes fore~ (for prae-) and gyrdan ‘to gird, encircle, bind’ (for cingere) (s. v.). According to the MED, no evidence has been found for the existence of a similar compound from the later medieval period, whereas OED3 lists the compound verb fore-gird under the entry “fore-, prefix,” with a citation from 1610 (s. v.). This word consists of two morphemes, fore- (“with the sense ‘in front’”) and gird (‘to surround’) — a construct basically identical with the Old English fore~gyrdan. Another example that seems to suggest a somewhat open boundary between regular compounds and element-by-element glosses is fore-duru (‘forecourt, vestibule, porch’), which the DOE lists as a regular compound, even though the word occurs only twice in the Old English corpus, both times as glosses of vestibulum (once with introitus, s. v.). One of the reasons that fore-duru is not classified as an element-by-element compound may well be the fact that OED3 has an independent entry for fore-door (‘a door in the front of a building, a front-door’). Not unlike foredeem (whose first occurrence was 1542), the first occurrence of fore-door is from the early modern period (1581), and a similarly constructed word is not found in the MED, although here as elsewhere, we may not preclude the possibility that this word existed during the Middle English period but was not recorded in writing or at least was not written down often enough to have any of the records coming down to us. Unlike foredeem, however, fore-door is not obsolete, as OED3 presents it as “[n]ow rare” (s. v.). As these examples illustrate, lexical formation in Old English is a process both dynamic and plastic, especially when it involves bilingual interaction. A word may emerge from a seemingly forced yoking of two or more morphemes corresponding with those of the source lexeme; but such a quasi-word may eventually become recognized as an 8  Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford, 2000- (https://www.oed.com) (accessed 25 September 2020).

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acceptable loan-translation once it has shed its foreign-ness after many years — or centuries — of circulation. Once again, it is also possible that a given word either falls into disuse for some time but is revived (or reinvented) in a later period or goes out of favor for some period during which it falls out of use at least in writing. 2. Loan Translations: What They Can Tell Us about Old English Lexicology Unlike “element-by-element gloss,” which is a specifically lexicographical label, “loan translation” is a concept commonly used in historical linguistics, translation studies, and comparative studies of languages, whether diachronic or synchronic. Since loan translations are often referred to as calques, it may be useful at this point to take a quick look at a general definition of this term; I am here quoting from David Crystal’s A Dictionary of Linguistics and Phonetics: calque (n.) (from French calquer, ‘to trace’) A term […] to refer to a type of borrowing, where the morphemic constituents of the borrowed word or phrase are translated item by item into equivalent morphemes in the new language. Such ‘loan translations’ are illustrated in English power politics from German Machtpolitik, Superman from Übermensch.9

This generally accepted definition of the term gives us a convenient entry point for our investigation in two ways. First, ‘calques’ or ‘loan translations’ are item-by-item renditions of morphemic constituents of words in the source language and as such they use the same type of strategy as did element-by-element glosses. Second, both of the examples provided by Crystal here are taken from German, a language that has retained the productivity of compounding. In contrast, English, though genealogically Germanic, has lost this function to some degree after the Norman Conquest followed by the influx of loanwords, typically from French; and as such Old English calques may not be easily distinguished from other compounds, which comprise a significant portion of this lexicon. In the following, therefore, I will begin my discussion of calques by turning to cases so identified in the 9 D. Crystal, A  Dictionary of Linguistics and Phonetics, 6th ed., Malden, MA, 2008, s. v.

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DOE and consider their relationship with other Old English words including element-by-element glosses and regular compounds. This investigation will demonstrate that the lexical creativity of Old English speakers was such that these categories of words fall on a wide lexical spectrum, so that it may not always be easy to distinguish calques from other lexemes informed by Latin. In the DOE, the term “calque” is used in the definitions of various words and at times phrases, but unlike “element-by-element gloss,” it is used much more sparingly, occurring thirty-three times in thirty entries in the A to I publication. One of the differences between calques and element-by-element glosses in the DOE is that the former category is theoretically not limited to C-texts and D-texts (i.e., glosses and glossaries). For instance, the noun gehweorf is a hapax that occurs in a prose medical text (i.e., a B-text); and it is defined as “probably a calque on Latin vertebra ‘joint of the spine,’” as it is used in the phrase “gehweorf þæra bana on þæm sweoran,” which the DOE translate as “the turning (? i.e. point of rotation) of the bones in the neck” (s. v.). This word ultimately derives from the verb hweorfan (‘to turn’), just as vertebra derives from the verb vertere (‘to turn’). Another example of a calque in a prose text is the phrase “se cwacienda dæg,” which the DOE interprets as “a calque on the Latin locution dies tremendus ‘the day to be trembled at / terrible day (of Judgement).” The citation quoted under this sense comes from an anonymous rogationtide homily, in which the horror of Doomsday is expressed through a repetition of noun phrases ending with dæg (‘day’), with its effects often augmented by alliteration (s. v. cwacian, A.5.a): þæt is yrres dæg and æfstes dæg and þæt is susle dæg and þæt is se bitera bifigenda dæg and se cwacienda dæg and se forhtigenda domesdæg. That is the day of anger and the day of envy, and that is the day of misery, and that is the bitter day of fear and the day to be trembled at, and the horrifying Day of Judgement.

Being renditions from the Latin, Old English calques as they are so defined in the DOE are typically learned words or technical terms, for which there might not have existed corresponding concepts in this target language. A good example of such a type of loan translation is probably the two similar renditions of the term interjectio (‘interjection’) in Ælfric’s Grammar: betwux-alegednes and

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betwux-aworpennes. The DOE identifies both of these compounds as calques: the former literally means ‘between-placed-ness’ (from betwux and a-lecgan); and the latter, ‘between-thrown-ness’ (from betwux and a-weorpan; cf. a-worpennes ‘casting out’). Each word is a hapax, although it occurs in multiple manuscripts (s. v.). In the previous section, we saw that the element-by-element gloss fore~deman (‘to prejudge, determine in advance’), though classified as a ‘verbal … quasi-compound’ (s. v.), seemed to “make sense” to us probably because of our familiarity with both elements, and that OED3 provides a number of citations for the verb foredeem (‘to form a judgement of beforehand’) from the early modern period. A similar case may be detected among the words identified as calques in the DOE: hunig-flōwende. This is a compound adjective coined through the process of item-by-item rendition of the Latin mellifluus: ‘mellifluous’ or, literally, ‘honey-flowing’ (from the verb flōwan ‘to flow’). Perhaps, due in part to our use of this loanword, this compound seems “familiar” to us. It occurs twice in the corpus, and one of them, not surprisingly, comes from a C-text (as a gloss to Aldhelm, s. v.). Interestingly, the other example comes from Guthlac B, an A-text:

Swylce on sumeres tid

stincað on stowum

staþelum fæste

wynnum æfter wongum

wyrta geblowene,

hunigflowende,

swa þæs halgan wæs

ondlongne dæg

oþ æfen forð

oroð up hlæden.

(Guthlac B, 1273b–78a)10

Just as in summer time, blossoming herbs, firmly rooted and flowing with honey, are fragrant everywhere in the field, so was the breath of the holy man filled with plea­ sant smell for the entire day, all the way to the evening.

As the DOE duly notes (s. v.), this Old English passage corresponds to its source text, Felix’s Vita Guthlaci, which uses the word mellifluus: “velut melliflui floris odoratus de ore ipsius processisse sentiebatur, ita ut totam domum, qua sederet, nectareus 10 The text is taken from The Exeter Book, ed. by G. P. Krapp and E. v. K. Dobbie, New York, 1936.

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odor inflaret” (‘there seemed to proceed from his mouth the odour of sweet-smelling flowers, so that the scent of nectar filled the whole building in which he sat’).11 OED3 lists ‘honey-flowing’ as a compound under the entry for honey and quotes these two examples as its earliest occurrences. The first citation after the Old English period is not until the late sixteenth century; according to OED3, honey-flowing is still in use today (s. v.), and its accompanying citations show that the word often conveys a figurative sense related to human breath or speech. As can be seen from these examples, calques, even those so identified in the DOE, come in a wide spectrum concerning not only the degree of their word-like-ness but also their distribution in the corpus. As a result, it may not always be easy to draw an exact line between element-by-element glosses on one hand and calques found exclusively in C-texts and/or D-texts on the other: for instance, the adjective ān-legere is defined as “a calque of unicuba” (‘lying with one husband’). This compound, which consists of ān (‘one’) and leger (‘lair, bed’ < licgan ‘to lie, lie down’), is a hapax legomenon occurring in a D-text: “unicuba anlegere wifman” (‘unicuba woman lying with one husband’) (s. v.). Since this Latin word ultimately derives from unus (‘one’) and cubare (‘to lie down’), the principle of formation for ān-legere is very much reminiscent of element-by-element glosses. In like manner, it may not always be easy to make distinctions between calques on one hand and poetic and learned compounds found in A-texts and B-texts, respectively, on the other. To put it differently, those Old English writers who had knowledge of Latin, be they poets or prose writers, may well have come up with new words or phrases by way of item-by-item renditions, while translating from the Latin or, even, simply trying to express certain concepts they knew from Latin words. In part because the DOE (rightly) uses the label ‘calque’ sparingly, I will mainly use the term ‘loan translation’ in the following so that we may consider the dynamic interaction between Latin and Old English in broader contexts.

11  Felix’s Life of Saint Guthlac: Introduction, Text, Translation and Notes, ed. by B. Colgave, Cambridge, 1956, pp. 156–59.

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At this point, I would like to point to a certain phenomenon observed in the vernacular of pre-Conquest England, since it shows a somewhat curious gap: on one hand, the very fact that the Old English corpus has come down to us means that this 1000-yearold vernacular as we know it is a product of literary activities conducted mostly by scholars with (at least some) knowledge of Latin; on the other hand, Old English vocabulary generally has a much lower proportion of loanwords than does the vocabulary of later medieval English. Could this mean that those who wrote in Old English, regardless of the genres of their work, scarcely reflected their bilingual knowledge in lexical aspects of their composition? By starting with this and various other questions raised so far in this essay, I am going to take a new — though related — approach to Old English word formation in the next section. But before we move on, I would like to place our investigation itself in a historical context, because we are, I believe, engaging in a type of work that may fall somewhat outside the main focus of Old English studies. It is well known that the field of medieval English studies has many of its beginnings in the new philology of the nineteenth century. And it is also well known that this type of language study at the time was characterized by its departure from the intellectual legacy of the previous centuries, when there was so much emphasis on classical learning, with Latin functioning as its foundation. Because of this new emphasis, often propelled by the fervor of nationalism, English philologists of the nineteenth century tended to privilege native over foreign, Germanic over non-Germanic, oral over written, and the like. And such a mindset may well have influenced the direction of English word study, which grew rapidly during the second half of the nineteenth century.12 We may in fact even detect such a tendency, however subtle, in James A. H. Murray’s “Preface” to the first volume of the New English Dictionary, where he contrasts a given language’s innate lexical creativity with the presumed constraints placed on such creativity by the demands of “a literary language”: A literary language, with its more accessible store of words already in use and sufficient for all ordinary requirements, its 12  See further H. Momma, From Philology to English Studies: Language and Culture in the Nineteenth Century, Cambridge, 2013, esp. pp. 95–136.

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haruko momma more permanent memories and traditions, its constant appeals to an authoritative precedent […] is hostile to word-creation. The new word is apt to die almost as soon as born, ashamed of its own newness, ashamed of the italics or inverted commas which apologize for its very existence, or question its legitimacy. But such is not the case with language in its natural state, where words are estimated simply as they serve their purpose of communicating the thought or feeling of the moment, and where memory, and tradition, and precedent are only contributories to the fulfilment of this function. The unwritten dialects, and to some extent, even slang, and colloquial speech, approach in character to language in its natural state, aiming only at being expressive.13

Originally a specialist in the dialect of the Southern counties of Scotland (with some hidden romantic bent), Murray valued the productive power of language in “its natural state” — oral, dialectal, colloquial, and so on.14 While these are all important characteristics of numerous words that have come into existence throughout the history of English, our examination of loan translations and other item-by-item renditions from Latin to Old English has made us aware that, at least during the relatively early stage of EnglishLatin contact, glossators and, possibly, also translators, poets, and scribes may have contributed to the production of new words by interacting with Latin in many different ways. More often than not, the result of such an endeavor was a word or phrase doomed to disappear “almost as soon as born,” to use Murray’s expression, “ashamed of its own newness.” But sometimes, a word coined in such a way may have stayed on — though its legitimacy was at first questionable — until it has at length shaken off whatever may have been the equivalent of italics or inverted commas in the pre-print era, to become a regular part of English vocabulary. As will be shown in the next section, further explorations of element-by-element glosses, loan translations, and other types of item-by-item rendition from Latin may therefore give us an insight into linguistic productivity in pre-Conquest England.

13 J. A. H. Murray, “Preface to Volume I”, in A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles, ed. by J. A. H. Murray, Oxford, 1888–1928, vol. 1, pp. v–xiv, at p. viii. 14 J. A. H. Murray, The Dialect of the Southern Counties of Scotland: Its Pronunciation, Grammar and Historical Relations, London, 1873.

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3. A Big Picture Begins with One (ān) Item In the previous two sections, we saw how loan translations and element-by-element glosses, as they are so identified in the DOE, offer us rich and complex material to explore. While many of such neologisms were idiosyncratic or ephemeral, some of them at least seemed to make sense to us, and some others even had similar forms either revived or reinvented in writing in later periods, hence making us aware of the blurry line between “made-up” lexemes and “full-fledged” words, especially when they were products of language contact. Such blurriness does not, of course, concern loan translations and element-by-element glosses alone; rather, it applies to all types of words. Since such a study can potentially involve the entire Old English corpus, including not only C-texts and D-texts but also A-texts and B-texts, I am going to use a certain group of compounds to conduct a case study: that is, those beginning with ān (‘one’). I believe that this word group is both unique and typical: unique, because, as a numeral, ān has many implications of one-ness (DOE s. v.); and typical, because this word is productive as a morpheme. Some of the derivatives of ān are high-frequency words, such as nān (‘none’, ne + ān) and ǣnig (‘any’, ān + the suffix -ig); its weak masculine form āna is frequently used as an adverb meaning ‘alone.’ The numeral ān therefore seems to have been a convenient item for glossing Latin words denoting or connoting such ideas as singularity, sameness, similarity, union, concord, isolation, and exclusiveness (s. v.). And ān may also be used as a morpheme for various compounds in poems and prose texts to express nuanced or abstract ideas. The purpose of this section is therefore to show how the process of word making involving an- was both dynamic and complex, so that we may corroborate the view developed earlier, that this strategy for lexical formation involving bilingualism cannot be assigned to only one category, method, or text-type: for instance, the distinction between element-by-element glosses and loan translations occurring in C-texts and D-texts is not absolute; loan translations in B-texts may occur so often that they are virtually indistinguishable from regular compounds; and glossators who came up with ephemeral lexemes by rendering individual Latin morphemes to Old English may have found a kindred spirit in vernacular poets

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who were skilled in combining different words in unexpected ways to yield compounds that are both rare in form and subtle in meaning. In case of C-texts and D-texts, as we saw in the last section through the example of ān-legere (for unicuba ‘lying with one husband’), the numeral ān is a convenient item for glossing Latin words that begins with uni-. To give another example, ān-hīwe (‘monochrome’) is a gloss for uniformis (“[once] with simplex”), which occurs twice in the corpus and both times “in glosses to Aldhelm” (s. v.); and not unlike ān-legere, there seems to be no afterlife for this ingenious formation. In like manner, ān-cynn, a compound adjective defined as ‘only’ in the DOE, is a gloss of unicus, which occurs four times and always in psalter glosses (s. v.); once again, this compound, as elegant as it may seem, enjoyed no “afterlife.” Another set of ān-compounds that are used to render a Latin word beginning with uni- has a longer life and perhaps an easier recognition. The Latin word in question is unicornus (along with its derivatives), and it was often glossed as ān-hyrned or ān-hyrnede (‘one-horned’). This loan translation occurs twenty-five times in the corpus, “mainly in psalter glosses”; but it also occurs in Ælfric’s Glossary: “unicornis anhyrned deor” (‘unicornis one-horned animal’) (DOE, s. v.). This time, its descendant is recorded both in the MED (s. v. on-horned) and in OED3 (s. v. one-horned); and this compound adjective, according to the latter, has remained in use to this day. In addition, there are three similar forms of Old English adjectives with this formation, all of which once again have a close association with psalter glosses: ān-hyrne (21 occ.); ān-horn or ān-horna (6 occ.); and ān-hornede (1 occ.). It probably goes without saying that Old English glossators were creative and resourceful. Sometimes, the best “solution” to glossing a puzzling Latin word was therefore to make up a word out of a brief explanation. For instance, the hapax ān-ecge (‘having one edge’) occurs in the Antwerp Glossary as part of a gloss for machaera. In the entry (s. v.), the DOE quotes Isidore’s account of this word in his Etymologiae: “machaera autem est gladius longus ex una parte acutus” (‘a machaera is a long sword sharp on one side’). Isidore’s explanation here is a full sentence consisting of nine words. In contrast, the Old English glossator (that is, who-

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ever came up with this rendition first) had a simpler “solution” to this culturally unfamiliar word: “machera anecge sweord” (‘machaera one-edged sword’; see also ān-ecgede in the DOE). A “solution” of lesser quality, perhaps, is found in the same glossary, where the Latin word sipla is rendered to the phrase “anhealfruh tæppet.” The DOE suggests that the gloss may correspond with Isidore’s account in his Etymologiae: “sipla tapeta ex una parte villosa” (‘sipla a carpet rough on one side’). This ān-compound, also a hapax, is made up of three free morphemes, that is, ān-healf-rūh, and hence sipla is glossed, somewhat cryptically, as a ‘one-siderough carpet’ (s. v.). Glossators were also masters of bricolage who ‘found’ materials to assemble new products that would serve their specific purposes within the constraints of space. So when they were rendering Latin words whose morphological makeups and semantic ranges were close enough to existing vernacular words, they probably did not hesitate to use them. For instance, Old English ānnes is a compound consisting of ān (‘one’) and the suffix -nes, occurring approximately 225 times in various types of texts including verse and prose. When used in glosses, it often corresponds with such Latin words as unicus and unitas to express the idea of unity. The formation of this Old English word is close enough to the formation of either of these Latin words, and as such ānnes seems like a good “match” for rendering these or other synonymous Latin words. We may also notice that this Old English word, whose frequent occurrence would place it among the group of such common words as ceald (‘cold’), dēor (‘animal’), and hebban (‘to lift’), is actually found “freq[uently] in glosses.” Would it be possible, then, that this (presumably) native word had come to be associated, in the minds of learned Old English speakers, with such Latin words as unicus and unitas in terms of both denotations and connotations? As the DOE points out, ānnes is frequently used in theological contexts to refer to, for instance, ‘the undivided unity of the Trinity’ (sense 1.b.i.), ‘the unity of Christ’s person in his divine and human natures’ (1.b.ii.), and “the unity of belief within the church” (1.b.iii.); it is also used to signify “concord, harmony, especially within the Christian community” (2.a.). I would like to spend the rest of this section on a discussion of an interesting case involving another set of ān-compounds, this

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time those associated with the noun weald (‘power’). The DOE defines ān-weald as ‘sole rule, monarchy, absolute power’. It occurs five times, and all of the occurrences are found in C- and D-texts and used as “element-by-element glosses of monarchia” (s. v.). The DOE also has an entry for ān-wealda (‘sole ruler’), which consists of the numeral ān and a derivative of weald to denote a (masculine) person. This compound occurs twice in the corpus, both times in D-texts, as glosses of monarcha.15 Of these two ān-compounds, only ān-weald is identified as a case of element-by-element word formation, but both words correspond with the morphological constituents of the Latin words in the target language (i.e., monarch-); to take modern English monarch as an example, this word derives ultimately from the combination of Greek μονο(‘one’) and ἄρχειν (‘to rule’) (OED3, s. v.). So far, the compounds ān-weald and ān-wealda seem to present a typical case of item-byitem renditions of highly learned Latin words, although they do point to another fascinating topic: that is, the treatment of Latin words of Greek origin in C-texts and D-texts — a topic, indeed, that has been explored by Professor Herren in many of his works including the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary project. At this point, I would like to direct our attention to the interesting notes that the DOE attaches to the entries for ān-weald and ān-wealda. In the case of the former, the note reads: Some of the occurrences spelled an-, given s. v. anweald ‘power’, may belong here” (s. v.).

To expand this note, ān-weald presumably has only five occurrences in the corpus, all used as element-by-element glosses, but there is a possibility that more examples are found among the occurrences currently assigned to an-weald (‘power’). This compound, like ān-weald, has weald (‘power’) as its second element; but its first element is not the numeral ān (with the long vowel ā) but, instead, the stressed prefix an- (with the short vowel a; DOE, s. v.). While ān-weald and an-weald are two different words with two different phonological values, they are mostly indistinguishable in the manuscripts, because the scribes did not make distinctions between long and short vowels. As for ān-wealda, the DOE provides a sim15  Or at least intended as such; see further the note on the second citation in the DOE entry for ān-wealda.

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ilar note to the effect that this compound, even though it is supposed to have only two occurrences (both in D-texts), may also have more occurrences, which have been assigned to an-wealda (‘ruler’). Once again, ān-wealda and an-wealda are two different words with two different phonological values; but they are mostly homographic in the manuscripts where the letter stands for either the long vowel ā or the short vowel a.16 This apparent indeterminacy may seem rather odd at first, because these two pairs of homographs presumably have different meanings. And yet, as the DOE implies, the semantic distinction between the two words in each pair may not always be clear, in part because of their shared second element, -weald(a). To take an-weald (with the short a) as an example, this compound is a high-frequency word with approximately 1100 occurrences, having a complex semantic field. This compound is also found in a wide range of texts, but the DOE also notes that it is used “freq[uently] in Alfredian translations” (s. v.). This distribution is of some interest to us, because the notions conveyed by this word — such as power, authority, rule, and dominion — was probably of much concern for King Alfred of Wessex (r. 871–99) and his circle.17 Seeing how Alfred endeavored to build a unity among the English-speaking people and, probably in this line of thinking, enhanced the use of the compound angelcynn in various texts produced around that time (‘English people’, DOE, s. v.), and how he assembled a team of learned scholars for his translation project, would it be possible, we may ask, that readers of Alfredian texts, when they encountered a word spelled as in the manuscripts, understood it as an-weald (‘power, rule’) but in some contexts associated it with its homograph ān-weald (‘sole rule, absolute power’) or, perhaps even in some other contexts, interpreted it as ān-weald? In order to illustrate this point, I would like to turn to the Old English Boethius, a free prose translation of Boethius’s Consolation 16  This issue may also be applied to other pairs of compounds, one beginning with the prefix an- and the other with the numeral ān: e.g., an-mōd (‘resolute’) and ān-mōd (‘unanimous’) (s. v. ān-mōd). 17  B. A. E. Yorke, “Alfred”, in The Wiley Blackwell Encyclopedia of AngloSaxon England, ed. by M. Lapidge, J. Blair, S. Keynes, and D. G. Scragg, 2nd ed., Malden, MA, 2014, pp. 29–30.

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of Philosophy, which is generally attributed to Alfred. The passage to be discussed here comes from Chapter 17 of the B-text, which contains an added portion in which the interlocutor, presumably the mind (mōd) of Boethius, speaks more like a person in a position of authority responsible for attending to the needs of his people. This added portion is probably most famous for the earliest-known reference to the so-called three estates or orders, as the interlocutor divides his people into three groups: “prayermen” (gebedmen), “army-men” (fyrdmen) and “work-men” (weorcmen).18 But the interlocutor concludes this short political treatise by placing it in a larger philosophical framework (I have here used bold face to mark the word an-weald occurring in this passage): ic wilnode andweorces þone anweald mid to reccenne, þæt mine cræftas and anweald ne wurden forgiten and forholene, forþam ælc cræft and ælc anweald bið sona forealdod and forswugod, gif he bið buton wisdome.19

The following is the translation of the passage taken from Malcolm Godden and Susan Irvine’s standard edition; once again, I have marked in bold the words corresponding with an-weald in the original: I desired material in order to exercise rule, so that my skills and authority should not be forgotten and hidden, for every skill and every power will be immediately overtaken by age and silenced if it is without wisdom.20

This clear and elegant translation shows how the author of the Old English Boethius explains the nature of power to be exercised by an ideal ruler by repeating the word an-weald, each time emphasizing different aspects of this abstract compound noun. And if we were to superimpose the meanings of the homograph ān-weald onto these three occurrences of an-weald, we might perhaps be able to perceive through this word-play a larger picture of Alfredian political philosophy. Below I have conducted a small exper18 See, for example, G. Duby, The Three Orders: Feudal Society Imagined, trans. by A. Goldhammer, Chicago, 1980, esp. pp. 99–104. 19  The Old English Boethius: An Edition of the Old English Versions of Boethius’s ‘De Consolatione Philosophiae’, ed. by M. Godden and S. Irvine, 2 vols, Oxford, 2009, vol. 1, p. 277. 20  Old English Boethius, vol. 2, p. 26.

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iment by substituting the meanings of ān-weald for the meanings of an-weald as they are interpreted in Godden and Irvine’s translation (here again marked in bold): I desired material in order to exercise sole/unifying rule, so that my skills and single/united authority should not be forgotten and hidden, for every skill and every singular/consolidated power will be immediately overtaken by age and silenced if it is without wisdom.

Such a message might well have been perceived in Alfred’s realm and further handed down to his posterity, if we were to seek such an indication in the subsequent history of Alfred’s kingdom especially during the reign of his grandson, Æthelstan, who endeavored to corroborate the unity of the angelcynn and gave himself the title of King of the English (927–39).21 Conclusion: A Multi-Layered Word-Hoard In this essay, we began with an exploration of element-by-element glosses in C-texts and D-texts and gradually expanded the scope of our investigation to loan translations and other inventive compounds found in the entire corpus, so that the Old English wordhoard now looks like a treasure trove graced not only by kennings and other poetic words but also by creative element-by-element translations and other morphology-based renditions of Latin words and phrases. We may also recognize how vernacular homilists, hagiographers, philosophers, and historians looked to Latin not only for their contents but also for their linguistic expressiveness. In the previous section, we saw how methods of bilingual word-making were found not only in glosses and glossaries but also in many different types of prose texts. Such intellectual tendencies seem to make sense, because at the time those who had access to the technology of writing also had access, to a greater or lesser degree, to Latin learning. Furthermore, as indicated by the example of the poet of Guthlac B, who echoed the Latin word mellifluus in his hagiographical verse, this type of word-making was by no means limited to glossators and prose writers but was also available to many scopas who used the traditional verse form, 21 S. Miller, “Æthelstan”, in The Wiley Blackwell Encyclopedia of AngloSaxon England, pp. 17–18.

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since many of them probably had knowledge of Latin, though, once again, in varying degrees. Sometimes Old English poets might have gestured towards Latin words or concepts conveyed in Latin words not as directly as did the poet of Guthac B with the word mellifluus in his Latin source but more subtly and faintly, like an echo of an echo to be heard through the alliterative meter. I would like to conclude this essay with one such example taken from a poem for which there was, almost certainly, no Latin source: Beowulf. The poem has an occurrence of the compound an-wealda (‘ruler’), which, as we recall from the previous section, is homographic with element-by-element gloss ān-wealda (‘sole ruler’), so that these two words may not be distinguished from each other in the manuscripts (s. v. ān-wealda). Of these homophones, ān-wealda occurs only twice in the corpus and both times in D-texts, whereas an-wealda occurs nine times and is “disproportionately freq[uent] in poetry.” The Beowulf passage that contains the word an-weald reads as follows (once again, I have marked the word in bold): Þær him aglæca

ætgræpe wearð;

hwæþre he gemunde gimfæste gife

mægenes strenge,

ðe him god sealde,

ond him to anwaldan frofre ond fultum;

are gelyfde,

ðy he þone feond ofercwom.

  (Beowulf, ll. 1269–73)

We assume, with previous editors, translators, and critics, that anwaldan in this passage is the dative of an-wealda (that is, beginning with the short a). Klaeber, for instance, interprets this word here as ‘ruler, God’.22 R. M. Liuzza in his standard scholarly translation of the poem uses ‘Almighty’ — a synonym for ‘God’ but with an emphasis on his wielding power; cf. wealdan ‘to have power over’ — for anwaldan in this passage and has rendered this fight between Beowulf and Grendel as follows: “There the great beast began to seize him, / but he remembered his mighty strength, / the ample gifts which God had given him, / and 22  Klaeber’s Beowulf, ed. R. D. Fulk, R. E. Bjork, and J. D. Niles, 4th ed., Toronto, 2008, p. 350.

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trusted the Almighty for mercy, / favor and support; thus he overcame the fiend.”23 The passage makes perfect sense with anwaldan interpreted as an-wealda (i.e., with the short a); and this should probably remain our primary interpretation. But if we were to be prompted by the word spelled as anwaldan in the manuscript and call to mind its homograph, ān-wealda (which has the same metrical value as an-wealda), the passage seems to come to place greater emphasis on the poem’s depiction of the protagonist as a pagan who nonetheless believed in one god as a sovereign ruler of fate. Though set in the heroic age, Beowulf is not, as it was once believed, a product of a pre-Christian bard with some superficial alterations introduced by “monkish” scribes; rather, the poem is a creation of a Christian poet who was knowledgeable of, and sympathetic towards, heroic legends but was still critical of the religious practice of the by-gone era. In interpreting anwaldan in this passage still as the near poetic word an-wealda (‘ruler’), but recognizing the sense of its homograph ān-wealda (‘sole ruler’) lying underneath, we may be seeing the world of Beowulf through the lens of the audience of the manuscript, which is dated to around the year 1000. In fact, virtually the entire literature of Old English as it has come down to us was filtered through the Christian worldview constructed via the medium of Latin, and as such, it may well have developed a multifaceted word-hoard in its linguistic system. Thus every time we step into this rich depository of lexical treasure, we recognize layers of meaning and nuance kept within individual items but at the same time perceive certain creative energies running through all types of words in all types of texts, whether they be secular or religious, learned or traditional, native or foreign. Abstract This essay considers the question of loan translations in Old English by examining the label “element by element” used more than 500 times in the Dictionary of Old English: A to I to describe certain words or uses of words in glosses and glossaries (that is, C-texts and D-texts, respectively, in its classificatory system). Element-by-element glosses are compounds, whose morphemes are renditions of their counterparts in the 23  Beowulf: A New Verse Translation, trans. by R. M. Liuzza, Peterborough, ON, 2000, p. 92.

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haruko momma Latin lemmata and, as such, their status as full-fledged words have been deemed questionable by editors of the DOE. This essay shows how the methods of formation as well as the quality of such glossed words vary from one example to the next and suggests that some of these glosses are comparable with learned words in prose pieces (that is, B-texts) or kennings and other elaborate compounds in poems (that is, A-texts). The ultimate purpose of this essay is to argue that the so-called Old English word-hoard is by no means limited to traditional poetic expressions, but that an important part of this robust lexicon comes from item-by-item renditions of Latin words and other expressions coined by bilingual writers who reflected their knowledge of Latin in their vernacular works.

Bibliography Primary Sources Beowulf: A New Verse Translation, trans. by R. M. Liuzza, Peterborough, ON, 2000. The Exeter Book, ed. by G. P. Krapp and E. v. K. Dobbie, New York, 1936. Felix’s Life of Saint Guthlac: Introduction, Text, Translation and Notes, ed. by B. Colgave, Cambridge, 1956. Klaeber’s Beowulf, ed. by R. D. Fulk, R. E. Bjork, and J. D. Niles, 4th ed., Toronto, 2008 The Old English Boethius: An Edition of the Old English Versions of Boethius’s ‘De Consolatione Philosophiae’, ed. by M. Godden and S.  Irvine, 2 vols, Oxford, 2009. Secondary Sources Duby, G., The Three Orders: Feudal Society Imagined, trans. by A.  Goldhammer, Chicago, 1980. Herren, M. W., “Twenty Years of JMLat — Some Personal Reflections”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 20 (2010), pp. v–ix. Herren, M. W., and H. Sauer, “Towards a New Edition of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: A Sample”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 26 (2016), pp. 125–98. Miller, S., “Æthelstan”, in The Wiley Blackwell Encyclopedia of AngloSaxon England, ed. by M. Lapidge, J. Blair, S. Keynes, and D. G. Scragg, 2nd ed., Malden, MA, 2014, pp. 17–18.

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Momma, H., From Philology to English Studies: Language and Culture in the Nineteenth Century, Cambridge, 2013. Murray, J. A. H., The Dialect of the Southern Counties of Scotland: Its Pronunciation, Grammar and Historical Relations, London, 1873. Murray, J. A. H., “Preface to Volume I”, in A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles, ed. by J. A. H. Murray, Oxford, 1888–1928, vol. 1, pp. v–xiv. Sauer, H., “Archbishops, Lords, and Concubines: Words for People and their Word-Formation Patterns in Early English (Épinal-Erfurt Glossary and Ælfric’s Glossary) — A Sketch”, in Intertexts: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Culture Presented to Paul E. Szarmach, ed. by V. Blanton and H. Scheck, Tempe, AZ, 2008, pp. 381–409. Sauer, H. “Language and Culture: How Anglo-Saxon Glossators Adapted Latin Words and their World”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 18 (2008), pp. 437–68. Thornbury, E. V. “Strange Hybrids: Ælfric, Vergil and the Lynx in Anglo-Saxon England”, Notes and Queries, 56 (2009), pp. 163–66. Yorke, B. A. E., “Alfred”, in The Wiley Blackwell Encyclopedia of Anglo-Saxon England, ed. by M. Lapidge, J. Blair, S. Keynes, and D. G. Scragg, 2nd ed., Malden, MA, 2014, pp. 29–30.

A Future for the Beholder’s Eye Joseph Falaky Nagy (Cambridge, MA) In a short but characteristically insightful article, “The Sighting of the Host in Táin Bó Fraích and the Hisperica Famina”, Michael Herren points out a parallel between a scene in a heroic saga in early medieval Irish, “The Cattle-Raid of Fráech” (Tain Bó Fraích, hereafter TBF) and a scene in the first of the “Hisperic” Latin poems included in his edition and translation of the Hisperica Famina.1 The latter is a collection of verses written in a lexically esoteric style, referred to as “Hisperic”, that alternates between the learned and the playful. The anonymous poems contained therein are usually ascribed by modern scholars to Irish or Irish-schooled authors. In the relevant scene from the saga, the legendary hero Fráech is approaching the home of the king and queen of his province, Connacht, on a mission to woo their daughter Findabair. The watchman (dercaid) of the royal court is indeed suitably impressed and exclaims: “I see a full host approaching the fort”, he says. “Ever since Ailill and Medb became king and queen, there has never come to them, nor will ever come to them, a host that is fairer or more splendid”. Therewith the people come forth from the fort of Crúachain to look at them. They crowd each other in the fort [as they strain to see the approaching party], so that sixteen people died while watching them.2 1 M. Herren, “The Sighting of the Host in Táin Bó Fraích and the Hisperica Famina”, Peritia, 5 (1986), pp. 397–99; and The Hisperica Famina: A New Critical Edition with English Translation and Philological Commentary, ed. and trans. by M. Herren, Toronto, 1974, pp. 64–73. 2  Táin Bó Froích, lines 30–32 and 37–38: “’Dírimm ad-chiu-sa’, olse, ‘don dún inna lín. Ó gabais Ailill ocus Medb flaith, nicos-tánic riam ocus nicos-

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 347–353. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125567 ©

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In the Hiberno-Latin poem in which Herren detects the parallel — like other poems of its virtuosic kind, earlier than or perhaps roughly contemporary with TBF (late first millennium ce) — the approaching party is not one of hero and retinue but scholars (arcatores) like the poet himself, who with his verses is both experimenting with perspective and showing off his Latin vocabulary and learning in general. The difference in the professions of those approaching in these two scenes is, however, not conceptually insuperable. Describing the scholars or students coming into view as fearless arcatores, a pun on arcus “bow” and arca “(book-)box”, is in line with a conceit frequently to be encountered in this and other Hisperic poems: the affinity between warriors and possessors/seekers of knowledge, between boasting about martial prowess and boasting about intellectual acumen, and between combat waged with weapons and combat waged with words and ideas. 3 Here too in the Hisperic poem, as in the Irish text (in the scene beginning with the passage quoted above), the viewer — though the author of the poem and not a dercaid within the story — is enthralled by what he sees and the feats of those he views — feats, however, of a verbal and intellectual kind. Most important for establishing the analog that Herren uncovers, and for the purposes of this paper, the Hisperic poet, like the watchman in the saga, elevates the spectacle unfolding before him to the level of a unique event and experience: This elegant assemblage of scholars is dazzling, — / now for leagues of lapsed time / we have not seen a phalanx equal to it, / nor through future regions of the temporal sphere / shall we behold a throng to match its refulgent reputation.4 ticfa dírimm bes choímsiu na bes áiniu.’ … La sodain do-tíagat int shlúaig a dún Chrúachan dia ndécsin. Immus-múchat in doíni issin dún co-n-apthatar sé fir déc oca ndécsin”, ed. and trans. by W. Meid, in The Romance of Froech and Findabair or The Driving of Froech’s Cattle: Táin Bó Froích, Innsbruck, 2015, pp. 41–42. The translations are mine. 3 See Herren, Hisperica Famina, p. 116; and A. Orchard, “The Hisperica famina as Literature”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 10 (2000), pp. 1–45 at pp. 20–25. 4  Hisperica Famina, lines 44–48: “Hic comptus arcatorum exomicat coetus, / cui dudum per lapsa temporum stadia / parem non creuimus phalangem, / nec futura temporalis globi per pagula / equiperatam fulgidi rumoris speculabimur cateruam”, ed. and trans. by Herren, pp. 66–67.

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Having set out the analogous relationship between the two texts, Herren goes on to make a more general point. It is a conclusion that can serve as a caution to scholars who might be too eager to reduce the complex relationship between two of the major preoccupations of Irish literati of the early Middle Ages — namely, Irish vernacular saga and learned Latin culture — to a matter of compulsive borrowing from the latter into the former: In pointing out these parallels, it is not my intention to suggest a relationship of dependence, in either direction, between the two texts. It is likely that we have to do with a locus communis — a constituent of the watchman motif in Irish (and other) sagas. 5

A good example of a recurrent storytelling device that some have argued is native to Celtic narrative traditions, or even part of their Indo-European heritage, while others would see it as a borrowing from Classical literature, the “watchman motif” has attracted a good deal of scholarly attention and discussion over the last several decades.6 In this modest addendum to Herren’s observation, beyond contributing to that discussion, I am arguing that the composer of the Irish saga in question is at least as inventive as the experimenting authors of Hisperic poetry. As I hope to show, he takes both the subjective stance and the temporal claim with which he invests the dercaid’s statement and extends them even further in a later episode of the saga. Normally, the dercaid, or whoever assumes the task of offering the description of what he or she sees in narrative instances of the “watchman motif”, engages in a dialogue with someone to whom the watcher delivers the ekphrasis. The recipient is a knowledgeable figure who is able to identify the individual(s) or party being described. This is not the case in the scene from TBF that Herren highlights in his article. True, as soon as the dercaid has his say, “with that” (la sodain) the people inside the royal fort or court come out to look for themselves, as if the dercaid’s description had been an alert addressed to them, or at least as if they had overheard him (or heard the sound, including the music, made 5 

Herren, “The Sighting of the Host”, p. 399. for example, R. O’Connor, “Was Classical Imitation Necessary for the Writing of Large-Scale Irish Sagas? Reflections on Táin bó Cúailnge and the ‘Watchman Device’”, in Classical Literature and Learning in Medieval Irish Narrative, ed. by R. O’Connor, Suffolk, 2014, pp. 165–95. 6 See,

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by the visitors). But they are no more informed than the watchman about the identity and mission of the people who have come. Finally, after further observation of the strangers and their activities as described in the text, the people of the fort send emissaries to them, who find out their identity. The visitors are then let into the fort, and the story proceeds. Were we the readers/hearers of this story privy to what is in effect the dercaid’s thinking aloud — to his apostrophizing in a situation in which we do not know whom if anyone he is addressing? And in saying what he says about the new arrivals, that their like has never been seen and never will be seen at Crúachain again, is he basing this blanket statement (not at all a necessary feature of the “watchman motif”) on his impression of the moment or his experience as a veteran dercaid? And, we might ask, is the narrator with his wider knowledge of “before” and “after” ventriloquizing through the watchman? The personalizing or internalizing of the observer’s observation, as well as its being set in a temporal framework that includes a future long after the present of the story, are elements from this scene that are reworked into a later one that is all the more redolent of literary artistry. Fráech the visiting hero and the princess Findabair do meet, and their romance blossoms, but there is at first strenuous opposition from the girl’s royal parents, particularly her father Ailill. To rid himself of the unwanted guest and suitor, he sends him on a seemingly easy mission to fetch some berries from a rowan tree on the far side of a pool in which Fráech was swimming, near the royal fort. Slyly assuring the hero that there is nothing dangerous about swimming in the lake, Ailill intends for Fráech to be attacked and killed by a monster that Ailill knows is lurking in the dark water. Eager to show off his swimming skill and to comply with the request of the man whose daughter he wishes to win, the suitor Fráech easily reaches the tree and breaks off a branch full of the ripe fruit to bring to Ailill. As the hero is swimming back across the pool, the narrative turns its focus to Findabair, who is monitoring the scene unfolding in the water: The statement of Findabair afterwards (íarum) was that, whatever she would see that was beautiful, Fráech as she saw him in the

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dark pond was even more beautiful: a body so white, such beautiful hair, so shapely a face, eyes so blue, and he a tender young warrior without fault or defect, with a face slender underneath and broad above; a man straight and flawless, and the branch with red rowan berries between his neck and fair face. So Findabair would say: “I have not seen anything (with) half or a third of his form’s beauty”.7

And so we have something here that at least this longtime reader of early medieval Irish literature has never come across in it elsewhere: a report of how a character in a story, after the relevant narrative incident took place, would long remember and describe to others her impression of someone or something she saw during that incident. Just as Findabair had never seen anything so gorgeous before she witnessed the naked Fráech’s fetching of the rowan berries in the water, so, clearly, she never saw anything comparable to it again in the rest of her narrative life, and would say so to anyone who asked. The finite verbal form for “say” in this passage, employed to quote Findabair, is in the iterative imperfect tense, implying a repeated action. This narrative aside excerpted above, in effect a parenthetical statement of a henceforth repeated statement, switches our attention from the hero to the heroine of the story. The passage highlights the deeply personal impression made by what is in effect a very stylized presentation of masculine beauty witnessed by Findabair and propels her into a future beyond the immediate orbit of characters and incidents within which that vision is granted her by the storyteller.8 7  Táin Bó Froích, lines 181–86: “Ba hed íarum aithesc Findabrach, nach álaind ad-chid, ba háildiu lee Fróech do acsin tar dublind, in corp do rogili ocus in folt do roáilli, ind agad do chumtachtai, int shúil do roglassi, os é móethóclach cen locht cen anim, co n-agaid fhochail forlethain, os é díriuch dianim, in chráeb cosna cáeraib derggaib eter in mbrágit ocus in n-agid ngil. Is ed as-bered Findabair: ‘Nicon-acca ní ro sháised leth nó trian dia chruth’.” ed. by Meid, in The Romance of Froech, p. 45. 8  The author in a forthcoming work will compare the relationship between the experiences of Findabair in TBF and her further adventures in “The Cattle Raid of Cúailnge” (Táin Bó Cúailnge), another saga of the “cattle-raid” (táin) genre, where she is still the manipulated daughter of Ailill and Medb but seemingly unconnected to Fráech. who also makes an appearance in this text (much more “epic” in scope than TBF).

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Subsequent to Findabair’s female gaze upon Fráech in the water and his presenting the berries to her father, the latter sends him back into the water to fetch more. This is when the monster of the deep hostilely intercepts the hero — an emergency situation in which Findabair shows remarkable dedication and presence of mind, quickly stripping and jumping into the water to deliver a sword to Fráech. Both young lovers survive the trial, Fráech with considerable difficulty on account of the grievous wound he receives from the monster. After further plotting on the part of the parents and counter-plotting on the part of Fráech and Findabair, Ailill and Medb finally give their blessing to the union. But the saga continues, with a very different set of circumstances, among which Fráech will approach another fort, again to find a female who is the object of his quest — no longer Findabair, whom and whose future with Fráech the storyteller completely drops, but a stolen wife of the hero’s, of whom we had heard nothing in the first part of the saga. Coming this time to recover and not to woo, Fráech is warned about a fearsome serpent (nathir) that guards the fort. In a completely surprising turn in the story, the serpent becomes a docile pet of Fráech’s sidekick when the fort is attacked, and the seizing of it and the recovery of the hero’s wife (along with his children and his cattle) turns out to be a relatively simple matter.9 It is probably a coincidence, but a curious one, that in the Hisperic poem Michael Herren brought into play with TBF, there is a monstrous snake waiting in the wings to snatch the glorious troop of arcatores approaching the poetic narrator, who will forever glory in his vision of their performance of “wily [viperous?] syllogisms of erudition”.10 But nearby there lurks a fearful serpent, / which will wound this band with its deadly strike, / unless they beseech the ruler of the vast universe / to release the flourishing troop from mortal peril.11 9 

Táin Bó Froích, lines 187–351, ed. by Meid, The Romance of Froech, pp. 45–50. 10  Hisperica Famina, line 6: “uipereosque litteraturae plasmant syllogismos”, ed. and trans. by Herren, pp. 64–65. 11  Hisperica Famina, lines 49–52: “Sed presto horrendus asstat chelidrus, / qui talem uipereo ictu sauciabit turbam, / nisi uasti exigerint rectorem poli / qui florigerum agmen reguloso soluerit discrimine”, ed. and trans. by Herren, pp. 66–69.

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Who is this horrendus chelidrus threatening the scholarly heroes of the past and the future as observed by the watchman-poet? A distant cousin of the monsters of TBF, the first of whom almost takes the life of the leader of the band that proved so eminently watchable earlier on in that story? Or is it, as Michael Herren slyly hints, the poet himself, who, when stripped of his Hisperic largerthan-life dimensions, may well just be the schoolteacher welcoming new students from afar to his school, and who will shortly teach them what it means to be truly “viperous”?12 Abstract In a 1986 article that appeared in Peritia, Michael W. Herren pointed out a distinctive parallel in the ‘watchman motif’ as employed in a Hisperic poem and in the early medieval Irish heroic saga “Cattle-Raid of Fráech.” Whether the parallel points to a borrowing or to a common fund of literary convention and innovation in the closely intertwined Latin and vernacular strands of Irish literary tradition, this contribution explores some other features of the “Cattle-Raid” text, having to do with the perspective of a main character as well as the twists and turns that the narrative takes—features, I argue, stemming from a reflexive sophistication rivalling that of the authors of Hisperic poetry.

Bibliography Primary Sources The Hisperica Famina: A New Critical Edition with English Translation and Philological Commentary, ed. and trans. by M. Herren, Toronto, 1974. Táin Bó Froích, ed. and trans. by W. MEID, in The Romance of Froech and Findabair or The Driving of Froech’s Cattle: Táin Bó Froích, Innsbruck, 2015. Secondary Sources Herren, M., “The Sighting of the Host in Táin Bó Fraích and the Hisperica Famina”, Peritia, 5 (1986), pp. 397–99. O’Connor, R. “Was Classical Imitation Necessary for the Writing of Large-Scale Irish Sagas? Reflections on Táin bó Cúailnge and the 12 

Herren, Hisperica Famina, p. 132 (commentary on line 49).

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joseph falaky nagy ‘Watchman Device’”, in Classical Literature and Learning in Medieval Irish Narrative, ed. by R. O’Connor, Suffolk, 2014, pp. 165– 95.

Orchard, A., “The Hisperica famina as Literature”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 10 (2000), pp. 1–45.

The Practice of “Alignment” in Medieval Ireland* Sinéad O’Sullivan (Belfast) Alignment with and synchronisation of biblical, historical, mythical, and historico-mythical narratives constitute a crucial historiographical practice ubiquitous in the late antique and medieval periods.1 The practice of “alignment” underpinned medieval Irish constructions of their past and present.2 By the term “alignment”, *

 My thanks to Michael Clarke for his many helpful suggestions and insights, as well as to the comments of an anonymous reader. 1 The practice was inherited from antiquity. For the Greek and Roman historiographical tradition, the foundational study is D. Feeney, Caesar’s Calendar: Ancient Time and the Beginnings of History, Berkeley, 2007. The practice of “alignment” will be examined as a constituent of Carolingian historiographical tradition and intellectual culture in my next book, currently in preparation and provisionally entitled: Glosses, Virgil, and the Psalms: The Practice of Alignment in the Carolingian World. 2  Scholars such as Michael Clarke and Elizabeth Boyle have recognised the importance of this method. See M. Clarke, “The Leabhar Gabhála and Carolingian Origin Legends”, in Early Medieval Ireland and Europe: Chronology, Contacts, Scholarship: Festschrift for Dáibhí Ó Crόinín, ed. by P. Moran and I.  Warntjes, Turnhout, 2015 (Studia Traditionis Theologiae, 14), pp. 441– 79; idem, “Demonology, Allegory and Translation: The Furies and the Morrígan”, in Classical Literature and Learning in Medieval Irish Narrative, ed. by R.  O’Connor, Cambridge, 2014 (Studies in Celtic History, 34), pp. 101–22; and idem, “The Extended Prologue of Togail Troí: From Adam to the Wars of Troy”, Ériu, 64 (2014), pp. 23–106. In these works, Clarke foregrounds the projects of “translation and correlation” systematically deployed by the Irish literati. In M. Clarke, “The Poems on World-Kingship in the Book of Uí Mhaine”, in The Book of Uí Mhaine, ed. E. Boyle (forthcoming), he notes that synchronism was “central to Irish intellectual life” and functioned as one of the “key historiographical sub-sciences.” E. Boyle, History and Salvation in Medieval Ireland, London, 2021, p. 134, refers to the “scholastic process of synchronism”. E. Boyle, “Biblical History in the Book of Ballymote”, in Book of Ballymote, ed. by R. Ó hUiginn, Dublin, 2018 (Codices Hibernenses Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 355–384. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125568 ©

F H G

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I denote several interrelated practices, many of which are well known and have long and complex histories: for example, synchronisation of two or more histories to underscore agreement in respect of time, that is, the co-ordination of different histories (this sometimes involved the synchronisation of different systems of time reckoning, as is the case in Eusebius’s Chronicon which recorded a range of chronological systems together with significant events from the sacred and secular pasts);3 intermeshing of different histories, as is illustrated by the interweaving of Assyrian, Irish, and Trojan history; placement of a particular past onto a universal framework, as is exemplified by the association of the Irish past with salvation history or with the succession of world empires;4 the integration of a specific past into the timeline of another, as is demonstrated by the provision of a Trojan ancestry for the Franks. In short, the practice of “alignment” (hereafter: alignment) consisted of establishing connections, correspondences, and coincidences. It cohered with Christian typology that created parallels between the Old and New Testaments. For the evolution of the practice, Eusebius’s Chronicon was key. What is striking is the format of his chronological tables with their “parallel columns of vertically numbered lists synchronised with each other and aligned with two universal standards — years since Abraham and the Alexandrian system of numbered Olympiads”.5 Eusebius’s tabular format was deployed to coordinate events

Eximii, II), pp. 51–75, outlines synchronisms between the histories of Ireland and the Assyrian Empire. In her blog entitled “Ireland’s Ancient East: Empires of the Mind in Medieval Irish Literature”, at https://blogafragments. wordpress.com/2018/01/, Boyle discusses the practice of synchronism. For information on the book of Ballymote, see D. Ó Corráin, Clavis Litterarum Hibernensium: Medieval Irish Books and Texts (c. 400-c. 1600), 3 vols, Turnhout, 2017, vol. 2, pp. 1071–74. 3 M. MacCarron, Bede and Time: Computus, Theology and History in the Early Medieval World, London, 2020, p. 65, has observed, that in Eusebius different chronologies were, at times, synchronised to mark major events. 4  See the recent study of Boyle, History and Salvation, which argues that salvation history was the fundamental framework underpinning medieval Irish historiography. 5 A. A. Mosshammer, The Chronicle of Eusebius and Greek Chronographic Tradition, London, 1979, p. 15.

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and persons. In short, in Eusebius’s Chronicon, “history is visually synchronised”.6 For the origins of the practice, we need to look to the ancient Greeks, who endeavoured to map both Greeks and non-Greeks onto a pan-Hellenic and global framework, and to the Romans, who followed suit as part of a process of Roman Hellenisation. Greek historians and chronographers correlated key events in the different city states and established epochal markers such as the Trojan War and the first Olympiad. Panhellenic temporal markers would shape Roman and medieval historical thinking. The practice of alignment was infused with Panhellenic ideals, Roman universalism, and the concept of translatio imperii. After Eusebius’s universal history, it provided a means of organising historical information into a Christian chronography. The reworking of Eusebius by his Latin continuators underscores the fact that the Eusebian project soon acquired fresh materials and new perspectives. The most important revision, the Eusebius-Jerome enterprise, provided a model for subsequent peoples, including the Irish, to map themselves onto world history. Above all, the practice of alignment was no antiquarian flourish. It was a fundamental method that affords insight into what shaped historical understanding in the medieval West. In recent years, numerous studies have enhanced our appreciation of how the learned elites constructed the past. To this end, attention has been drawn to the importance of biblical history, ethnogenetic narratives, origin myths, and world chronicles, as well as to the Rome-centeredness of medieval conceptions of the past and to the influence of classical, biblical, and late antique historiographical traditions.7 In this paper, attention is focused on the practice of alignment underpinning medieval Irish historical understanding. 6 R.  McKitterick,

“Glossaries and Other Innovations in Carolingian Book Production”, in Turning Over a New Leaf: Change and Development in the Medieval Book, ed. by E. Kwakkel, R. McKitterick and R. Thomson, Leiden, 2012, pp. 21–76, at p. 35. 7  Boyle, History and Salvation, pp. 17–18 and 22, has underscored the influence of Augustine, Eusebius and Orosius on medieval Irish historiography and the role of various historical and chronological schemes (for example, the six ages of the world and the scheme of the succession of world empires). She has also noted that “many Irish ecclesiasts, jurists, poets and historians chose to draw more heavily from the Old Testament, a choice that lent a par-

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The most noteworthy feature of the practice was the benchmark, against which information of all kinds could be correlated and calibrated. The benchmark could be many things: an epochal or momentous event (like the Fall of Troy), an important person (such as Aeneas) or key place (like Jerusalem). Benchmarks were not just significant historical events, persons, or places. They served as coordinates around which to structure historical narratives. The practice of alignment animated medieval Irish and continental sources. For instance, Irish scholarly elites, following classical and late antique precedent, assiduously mapped their history onto world history. Like their continental counterparts, they drew inspiration from Assyrian pseudo-history, biblical chronology, and Trojan myth. Why, one may ask, did they seek to align themselves with the Assyrians, Israelites, Trojans, Greeks, and Romans? What was the effect of their deployment of the practice of alignment? I argue that the practice enabled the learned elites in medieval Ireland to establish their international credentials, portray Ireland and its kings as part of a larger community of ancient empires and kingdoms, ground themselves in history par excellence (for example, the history of the Bible), proclaim themselves as key participants in salvation history, and establish themselves as players on the world stage. The use of the practice allowed the Irish historiographi to convey greatness on Irish kings and to infuse the story of medieval Ireland with a providential and universal hue. Moreover, it enabled Irish scholars to stock their libraries with texts exhibiting an Irish perspective on world history. As we shall see, the practice of alignment reached impressive heights in medieval Ireland where scholars aligned the history of the island, especially its mythical past, with biblical, classical, and ancient world history. In doing so, they synchronised across secular and sacred borders. Irish learned communities studiously integrated Ireland, its inhabitants and kings, both legendary and historical, into a universal timeline. The “chronological anchoring” of Ireland, its pagan and Christian pasts, was an enduring feature of medieval Irish historiography.8 The Irish learned elite grafted Ireticular character to early medieval Ireland’s laws, literature and perception of history.” (p. 22). 8 I borrow the phrase “chronological anchoring” from Boyle, “Biblical History”, p. 53. My thanks to Elizabeth Boyle for sending me a pre-print version of her paper.

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land onto classical and late antique temporal frameworks, deploying canonical markers (like the Fall of Troy), dating systems (such as the Greek Olympiad system), and beginnings (like Adam, the first man; Abraham; the first patriarch; Ninus, the first king of the first world empire; the Argo, the first ship to sail the seas).9 The efforts of Irish scholars are evidenced by pseudohistorical origin tales, synchronisation projects, and vernacular re-workings of classical legends, as well as by the use of comparative mythology.10 They are reflected in all kinds of sources, including genealogies, poems, prose narratives, chronicles, prefatory works, synchronistic tracts and vernacular sagas. Such efforts are vividly demonstrated by sources emanating from the so-called long eleventh century when scholars interconnected all kinds of histories: for example, Assyrian, Hebrew, Irish, Roman, and Trojan. By the eleventh century, the learned class in medieval Ireland not only had Eusebius to draw upon. They could also draw inspiration from a rich 9 

Boyle, “Biblical History”, underscores the importance of the Assyrian king, Ninus, son of Belus, in medieval Irish works. Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, pp. 30, 44–45 and 94, highlights the reference to the Argonautic expedition in the prologue of a Middle Irish adaptation of the Trojan War known as Togail Troí. In the prologue, the Argo, the ship used by Jason and his crew, the Argonauts, on their quest to retrieve the Golden Fleece, is mentioned. Michael Clarke has kindly informed me that the Argo is also mentioned in a later section of Togail Troí. Feeney, Caesar’s Calendar, pp. 118–19, shows that in Roman tradition, the “primacy” and “firstness” of the vessel were celebrated by poets such as the Latin poet Catullus. The ship appears in medieval collections focused on time and chronology, for instance, in an eleventh-century Anglo-Saxon manuscript: London, British Library, Cotton Tiberius B.v. fol. 40v. 10  Clarke, “Demonology, Allegory and Translation: The Furies and the Morrígan”, pp. 101–22, demonstrates that efforts were made to establish equivalences between Gaelic and classical mythology. Such efforts are examples of “cross-cultural translation” and “comparative mythology”. For instance, in the vernacular tale Táin Bó Cúailnge (“The Cattle Raid of Cooley”), which survives in different recensions, Allecto and the Morrígan are paired, that is, one of the Furies from classical mythology and an Irish war goddess. Similarly, in the Middle Irish adaptation of Statius’s Thebaid, another Irish phantom, Badb, appears as the equivalent of Tisiphone, another one of the Furies. B. Jaski, “The Irish Origin Legend: Seven Unexplored Sources”, in ‘Lebor gabála Érenn:’ Textual History and Pseudohistory, Dublin, 2009 (Irish Texts Society, Subsidiary Series, 20), pp. 48–75, at pp. 68–72, furnishes a summary of some of the major synchronistic works.

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Frankish historiographical tradition, which appears to have left an imprint on Irish sources.11 Moreover, the efforts of the learned elites in medieval Ireland to connect with the wider world accords with accounts of the origin of the Irish language.12 The learned Irish literati were acquainted with Panhellenic chronological markers such as the first Olympiad and with the concept of translatio imperii, as is evidenced by the tract Prima etas mundi in the Book of Ballymote. Elizabeth Boyle has noted that the text beginning Prima etas mundi lists the Assyrians, Medes, Persians, and Greeks. The text uses key events such as the Olympic games and restoration of the temple as chronological markers. In this text, Boyle has pointed out that the Assyrian empire is a “central chronological anchor for world history”.13 The Assyrians were also the first to conquer the kingdom of Israel. Moreover, Irish scholars calibrated significant events and persons in the prehistory and settlement of Ireland with Troy, as is illustrated by the eleventh-century writer Gilla Cóemáin in his poem Annálad anall uile (“All the annal-writing heretofore”) and by the twelfth-century figure Gilla in Chomded in his poem A Rí richid, réidig dam (“O King of heaven, clarify to me”).14 Michael Clarke 11  Clarke, “The Leabhar Gabhála and Carolingian Origin Legends”, pp. 441–79. 12 See especially the prologue of the O’Mulconry’s Glossary: P. Moran, “Irish Vernacular Origin Stories: Language, Literacy, Literature”, in Anfangsgeschichten/Origin stories. Der Beginn volkssprachiger Schriftlichkeit in komparatistischer Perspektive/The Rise of Vernacular Literacy in a Comparative Perspective, ed. by N. Kössinger, E. Krotz, S. Müller and P. Rychterová, Munich, 2018 (MittelalterStudien, 31), pp. 259–73 and De Origine Scoticae Linguae (O’Mulconry’s Glossary): An Early Irish Linguistic Tract, ed. by P. Moran, Turnhout, 2019 (CC, Lexica Latina Medii Aevi). See also M. W. Herren, “Literary and Glossarial Evidence for the Study of Classical Mythology in Ireland a.d.  600–800”, in Text and Gloss: Studies in Insular Learning and Literature Presented to Joseph Donovan Pheifer, ed. by H. Conrad-O’Briain, A. M. D’Arcy, and J. Scattergood, Dublin, 1999, pp. 55–61, at p. 66, for the efforts “to connect the Irish language to classical (and Hebrew) roots.” 13  Boyle, “Biblical History”, pp. 60–61. The tract is infused with the concept of the succession of empires and the historiographical method of alignment. It aligns, for instance, Irish kings with other world leaders. See B.  MacCarthy, The Codex Palatino-Vaticanus, No. 830 (Texts, Translations and Indices), Dublin, 1892 (Todd Lecture Series, 3), pp. 282–83. 14 See Ó Corráin, Clavis Litterarum Hibernensium, vol. 3, pp. 1577 and 1584.

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highlights the importance of these poems, which form part of a larger scholarly project to internationalise Ireland’s past and to establish parallelisms between Irish and world history. He shows that in the case of Gilla Cóemáin’s work, the histories of the Irish, Greeks, Romans, Assyrians and Hebrews constitute a “single interlaced structure.”15 Both Clarke and Helen Fulton observe that Gilla Cóemáin synchronised the Fall of Troy, one of the central demarcation points in Graeco-Roman historiographical tradition, with the battle of Mag Tuired (Moytura), a crucial demarcation point in Irish mythology signalling the displacement of the Fir Bolg, ancient inhabitants of Ireland, by the Tuatha Dé Danann, a supernatural race.16 Fulton also notes that in A Rí richid, réidig dam the Fall of Troy is linked with the descendants of Míl, the mythical progenitor of the final settlers of Ireland.17 Irish scholars not only drew correspondences between the Irish mythical past and Panhellenic markers. Their works were steeped in Roman and Christian universalism, as is illustrated by the “poems on world-kingship” ascribed to the eleventh-century Irish poet Flann Mainistrech in the Book of Uí Mhaine (“the Book of Hy Many”).18 Clarke underscores the Eusebian-influenced concept of the sequence of world empires in these poems. He discerns that the succession of world empires culminates in the empire of the Romans, who, we are told, will remain in kingship until the end of the world. Interestingly, the final poem brings the reader up to the eighth-century Byzantine emperor, Leo III, who is treated as 15 M. Clarke, “An Irish Achilles and a Greek Cú Chulainn”, in Ulidia 2: Proceedings of the Second International Conference on the Ulster Cycle of Tales, ed. by R. Ó hUiginn and B. Ó Catháin, Maynooth, 2009, pp. 238–51, at pp. 200–01. 16  Clarke, “An Irish Achilles”, pp. 200–01; and H. Fulton, “History and Historia: Uses of the Troy Story in Medieval Ireland and Wales”, in Classical Literature and Learning in Medieval Irish Narrative, ed. by R. O’Connor, Cambridge, 2014 (Studies in Celtic History, 34), pp. 40–57. 17  Fulton, “History and Historia”, p. 51. 18  Clarke, “The Poems on World-Kingship in the Book of Uí Mhaine”, (forthcoming), notes that “whether or not the poem was composed by Flann Mainistrech…we are dealing with an example of Irish historical learning from the ‘long eleventh century,’ the period in which the fir léigind of the monastic schools collaborated with or rivalled each other in systematizing and co-ordinating the data on the Irish and international past.”

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emperor of the Romans. The poem, then, connects to the idea of Roman auctoritas and underscores the continuity of the Roman empire. The works mentioned above are just the tip of the iceberg. A myriad of sources attests to the profound influence of the chronicle of Eusebius-Jerome on medieval Irish intellectual culture. We have already ascertained that Irish scholars drew on Eusebian benchmarks (like Troy and the first Olympiad) and Eusebian-Orosian themes (such as Rome as the pivot of universalism). They also employed Eusebian synchronisms, as is illustrated by the correlation of Ninus and Abraham, and also Eusebian format, as is exemplified by the synchronistic tables in Oxford, Bodleian Library, Laud misc. 610 (saec. xv), which line up in separate columns the kings of Assyria, Judaea, and Ireland.19 What appears to be the relatively early circulation of the world histories of EusebiusJerome and Orosius in medieval Ireland resonates with the influence of these works on Irish historiographical tradition.20 The prominence of the Eusebian model reminds us that for the medieval Irish literati, their conceptions of the past were shaped, to a remarkable degree, by a well-established historiographical method, reflecting the influence of classical and late antique traditions. At this point, it is worth digressing briefly to contemplate some of the contexts in which the historiographical practice of alignment flourished in medieval Ireland. Since the method was manifestly mobilised by the Irish learned elites in the “long eleventh 19 K. Meyer,

“The Laud Synchronisms”, Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, 9  (1913), pp. 471–85, at pp. 474–76. For discussion of the synchronisms, see J. MacNeill, “On the Reconstruction and Date of the Laud Synchronisms”, Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, 10 (1915), pp. 81–96; D. N. Dumville, “Kingship, Genealogies and Regnal Lists”, in Early Medieval Kingship, ed. by P. H. Sawyer and I. N. Wood, Leeds, 1979, pp. 72–104; D. E. Thornton, Kings, Chronologies and Genealogies: Studies in the Political History of Medieval Ireland and Wales, Oxford, 2003 (Prosopographica et Genealogica, 10), p. 60; and Clarke, “The Poems on World-Kingship in the Book of Uí Mhaine”. 20  According to Michael Herren, both Eusebius-Jerome and Orosius’s world histories were in circulation in Ireland before c.  800. He also notes that the chronicle of Eusebius was known to the Irish annalists. M. W. Herren, “Classical and Secular Learning among the Irish before the Carolingian Renaissance”, Florilegium, 3  (1981), pp. 118–57, at p. 133; and idem, “Literary and Glossarial Evidence”, pp. 55–61.

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century,” it is important to ask who they were and what influenced them. From early on, learned culture in Ireland was, as Elva Johnston underlines, complex, drawing on vernacular and Latin, oral and written traditions, with influences from inside and outside Ireland.21 Johnston observes the value of recalling that in medieval Ireland the “literate traditions of the monastery were infused with the traditional learning of native culture” and also that early medieval Irish scholarly networks crystallised in monastic centres, which in turn were greatly indebted to late antique culture and ideas of romanitas.22 The intellectual eco-system of early medieval Ireland provided the perfect seedbed for appropriation of the historiographical practice of alignment. It furnished the culture and resources that passed down to the scholars from the “long eleventh century”, enabling them to create the written record of their past and to construct their aligned and synchronised schemes. It was in the so-called long eleventh century, as Clarke has observed, that the “fir léigind of the monastic schools collaborated with or rivalled each other in systematizing and co-ordinating the data on the Irish and international past.”23 The political arena provides a further context for the adoption of the method. From its inception, the practice of alignment focused considerable attention on world kingships and empires. Such an emphasis resonated with dynastic culture in the medieval Latin West, a culture shaped by the works of the learned elites. 21 E. Johnston, Literacy and Identity in Early Medieval Ireland, Woodbridge, 2013 (Studies in Celtic History, 33), p. 28, notes that the “Latin island and the vernacular island were one and the same, even if their literary incarnations varied.” 22  Johnston, Literacy and Identity, pp. 26, 27 and 132. Johnston outlines a central problem that emerges when examining the literary heritage of medieval Ireland — namely the existence of two often opposing positions that can be called the “nativist” and “anti-nativist” models. These models have frequently obscured reality. She sums them up as follows: “On the one hand there is an Ireland of Hiberno-Latin writers, respected scholars of international repute such as Columbanus, Virgilius of Salzburg, Dicuil, Sedulius Scottus, Eriugena and others; it is the home of computists, exegetes, canonists and geographers; it is a land of Latin learning. On the other hand, it is seen as an island dominated by ancient Indo-European ways, steeped in pagan traditions transmitted by semi-druidic poets and judges. Its culture is little concerned with the world beyond insular shores.” (p. 27). 23  Clarke, “The Poems on World-Kingship in the Book of Uí Mhaine”.

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Ireland was no exception. While political life in medieval Ireland remained complex, diverse, and without an “overarching power,” the island shows signs of political consolidation in the Viking and post-Viking ages.24 Boyle has suggested that the interest in ancient empires, in particular that of the Assyrians, and the promotion of a “discourse of empire” was “partly a response to the arrival of another gens, the Scandinavians, on the island of Ireland, and their incorporation into the political, economic and ecclesiastical landscape.”25 These political developments find a counterpart in the intellectual arena.26 The ambitious and aggrandising aspirations of Ireland’s dynastic elites accord with the endeavours of scholars to internationalise Ireland’s past, to draw correspondences between Irish and world history, to align Irish kings with the authorities of antiquity, and to bestow on Ireland a history comparable to that of the Hebraic and Graeco-Roman pasts.27 Such endeavours, for instance, are illustrated by the impressive synthesising efforts of Irish scholars, especially from the “long eleventh century,” who sought to integrate Ireland into the illustrious narratives of biblical and classical history. A whole range of texts and Gaelic manuscripts dating to the eleventh and twelfth centuries attest to the vigour with which the learned elite laboured to put Ireland onto a

24 C. Downham, Medieval Ireland, Cambridge, 2018, pp. 60 and 113, argues for the centralisation of power into the “hands of provincial over-kings and the greater churches,” noting the “inability of any single royal dynasty to establish overarching power in Ireland”. See Johnston, Literacy and Identity, pp. 73–74, for discussion of the growing consolidation of power. For the highly complex nature of political life in early medieval Ireland: E. Bhreathnach, Ireland in the Medieval World ad  400–1000: Landscape, Kingship and Religion, Dublin, 2014. 25  Boyle, History and Salvation, pp. 19 and 149. 26  Downham, Medieval Ireland, p. 113, observes that the “notion of a unified Ireland that was developed from an early time by the kings of Uí Néill would…have a lasting place in Irish political discourse”. 27  An example of the intertwining of political and cultural life is evidenced by the works of Flann Mainistrech, some of whose poems paid attention to the history of the Uí Néill dynasty. See F. J. Byrne, “Ireland and her Neighbours, c. 1014–c. 1072”, in A New History of Ireland I: Prehistoric and Early Ireland, ed. by D. Ó Cróinín, Oxford, 2005, pp. 862–98; and also J. MacNeill, “Poems by Flann Mainistrech on the Dynasties of Ailech, Mide and Brega”, Archivium Hibernicum, 2 (1913), pp. 37–99.

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universal map.28 An example is the fully fleshed out pseudohistorical Irish origin legend known as Lebor Gabála Érenn (“The Book of the Taking of Ireland”). In circulation by the eleventh century and indebted to earlier traditions, this work prominently plots the prehistory of Ireland onto the grid of the Judaeo-Christian past.29 Clarke notes that the classical world view, together with the biblical, is also a key feature of the narrative. 30 Turning now to manuscripts, another example is furnished by the eleventh- or twelfth-century manuscript, Lebor na hUidre (“The Book of the Dun Cow”), that collects all kinds of works, including saga narratives, a translation-adaptation in Gaelic of the Historia Brittonum called Lebor Bretnach, and the Middle Irish chronicle entitled Sex aetates mundi. 31 28 M. Ní Mhaonaigh, “Universal History and the Book of Ballymote”, in Book of Ballymote, ed. by R. Ó hUiginn, Dublin, 2018 (Codices Hibernenses Eximii, II), pp. 33–49, lists a number of important Gaelic manuscripts (for example, Lebor na hUidre; Oxford, Bodleian Library, Rawlinson B 502; the so-called Book of Leinster). 29 For instance, Auraicept na nÉces (“The Scholars’ Primer”), which provides a pseudo-historical account of the invention of the Irish language by Fénius Farsaid, the ancestor of the Irish, at the Tower of Babel. This text, as Moran, “Irish Vernacular Origin Stories”, p. 9, notes, has a “core dating perhaps to the late seventh century and an accumulation of commentary added from the ninth century onwards”. Lebor Gabála Érenn shares reference points and figures in common with Auraicept na nÉces (like Fénius Farsaid and the Tower of Babel). For discussion of Lebor Gabála Érenn, see R. M. Scowcroft, “Leabhar Gabhála. Part I: The Growth of the Text”, Ériu, 38 (1987), pp. 81–142; idem, “Leabhar Gabhála. Part II: The Growth of the Tradition”, Ériu, 39 (1988), pp. 1–66; J. Carey, “The Irish National Origin-Legend: Synthetic Pseudohistory”, Cambridge, 1994 (Quiggin Pamphlets on the Sources of Mediaeval Gaelic History, 1); and idem, “Lebor Gabála and the Legendary History of Ireland”, in Medieval Celtic Literature and Society, ed. by H. Fulton, Dublin, 2005, pp. 32–48. For information on Leabhar Gabhála, see Ó Corráin, Clavis Litterarum Hibernensium, vol. 3, pp. 1531–39. 30  Clarke, “An Irish Achilles”, p. 199; and D. Ó Cróinín, “Ireland, 400–800”, in A New History of Ireland I: Prehistoric and Early Ireland, ed. by D. Ó Cróinín, Oxford, 2005, pp. 182–233, at p. 185. 31 See M. Clarke, “The Lore of the Monstrous Races in the Developing Text of the Irish Sex Aetates Mundi”, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies, 63 (Summer, 2012), pp. 15–49, for discussion of the Sex aetates mundi and Lebor Gabála Érenn, both of which share an interest in ancestry. For information on Lebor na hUidre, see Ó Corráin, Clavis Litterarum Hibernensium, vol. 2, pp. 1054–59. Incidentally, John Carey has argued convincingly that the man-

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By all accounts, the eleventh and twelfth centuries in Ireland witnessed what Bart Jaski refers to as an “upsurge of interest in world history and chronology.”32 Such an upsurge is attested by poems (for example, those of Flann Mainistrech, Gilla Cóemáin and Gilla in Chomded), histories and chronicles (the Gaelic translation of the Historia Brittonum and the circulation of Sex aetates mundi), and vernacular adaptations of classical works and vernacular tales. 33 Ralph O’Connor remarks that by the end of the twelfth century, the following classical texts circulated in Middle Irish versions: Virgil’s Aeneid, Statius’s Thebaid, Lucan’s Bellum Civile, and Pseudo-Dares Phrygius’s De excidio Troiae historia. 34 Many of these translation-adaptation exercises were certainly underway by the eleventh century and hardly any of them, excerpt perhaps Scéla Alaxandair, are likely to predate the eleventh century. 35 The vernacular tale Scéla Alaxandair maic Pilip ac gabáil ríghi ocus imperichta in domain (“The history of Alexander the great son of Philip assuming the kingship and the emperorship of the world”) may date to the tenth or eleventh century. 36 Like the synchronistic poetry, the efforts in textual translation drew on the practice uscript may have contained Lebor Gabála: J. Carey, “The LU copy of Lebor Gabala”, in ‘Lebor gabála Érenn’: Textual History and Pseudohistory, Dublin, 2009 (Irish Texts Society, Subsidiary Series, 20), pp. 21–32. I am grateful to Michael Clarke for this reference. 32 B. Jaski, “We are of the Greeks in our Origin: New Perspectives on the Irish Origin Legend”, Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies, 46 (2003), pp. 1–53, at p. 5. 33  For information on Flann Mainistrech, see Ó Corráin, Clavis Litterarum Hibernensium 3, pp. 1568–69. 34  Michael Clarke has kindly informed me that the extract from Togail Troí published by D. Ó hAodha as “The Irish Version of Statius’ Achilleid” is not a version of Statius at all: D. Ó hAodha, “The Irish Version of Statius’ Achilleid”, Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy: Archaeology, Culture, History, Literature, 79 (1979), pp. 83–138. 35 R. O’Connor, “Irish Narrative Literature and the Classical Tradition, 900–1300”, in Classical Literature and Learning in Medieval Irish Narrative, pp. 1–22, at p. 4. See also E. Poppe, “Imtheachta Aeniasa and its Place in Medieval Irish Textual History”, in Classical Literature and Learning in Medieval Irish Narrative, pp. 25–39, for discussion of the medieval Irish “translation” of Virgil’s Aeneid. 36  Fulton, “History and Historia”, p. 43. See also Ó Corráin, Clavis Litterarum Hibernensium, vol. 3, pp. 1664–65.

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of alignment that was a feature of intellectual culture in medieval Ireland in the “long eleventh century.” The literary outputs of the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries, moreover, had a rich Nachleben. In a number of cases, they continued to be copied and redacted by scribes in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. For example, Lebor Gabála Érenn appears, in whole or in part, in the fourteenth-century manuscripts known as the Book of Ballymote and the Book of Uí Mhaine. Not only, then, in the central Middle Ages, but also in the later medieval period did scholars endeavour to situate Irish history in a universal context. 37 To these ends, the Irish learned elites prized the practice of alignment. The Bible contained a key set of co-ordinates, namely cardinal events (like the emergence of different languages at the Tower of Babel and the exile of the Israelites), figures (such as Adam, Abraham, Noah, and Moses) and genealogies (Adam to Noah and Noah’s family tree). It furnished templates for Irish origin legends, as is evidenced by the pseudohistorical tales circulating around the Scythian king Fénius Farsaid, his son, Nél, who married Scota, the Pharaoh’s daughter, and Nél’s son, Goídel Glas, the eponymous ancestor of the Gaels. 38 The story of Fénius Farsaid is integrated into that of the Tower of Babel in Lebor Gabála Érenn and in Auraicept na nÉces (“The Scholars’ Primer”), a work which provides a mythical account of the invention of the Irish language. In the prose tract Adam primus pater fuit in the Book of Ballymote, Fénius Farsaid is portrayed as a descendant of one of the three sons of Noah. He serves as the lynchpin for the origins of the Irish who, through him, are linked with Noah. 39 And through Noah, a descendant of Adam, the Irish are rooted in the

37 

Downham, Medieval Ireland, p. 163, notes the Irish interest in universal history. 38  Crucially important in the Old Testament was the “narrative of origins and the succession of events in the life of the people of Israel.” This narrative underpinned “later Jewish and Christian identities and their subsequent histories.” See J. van Seters, “Historiography in Ancient Israel”, in A Companion to Western Historical Thought, ed. by L. Kramer and S. Maza, Oxford, 2002, pp. 15–34, at p. 32. 39  MacCarthy, The Codex Palatino-Vaticanus, pp. 286–89. For a graphic representation, see the drawing of Noah’s ark in the Book of Ballymote: Dublin, Royal Irish Academy, MS 23 P 12, fol. [i] v.

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Genesis story.40 In the prologue to the Middle Irish account of the Trojan War known as Togail Troí (“The destruction of Troy”), the genealogical tree of Noah once again sets the scene, this time for the alignment of the histories of Assyria, Troy, and Ireland. Genealogy was axial. Donnchadh Ó Corráin has demonstrated that it was a prominent feature of medieval Irish historiography and that for Irish genealogists the Bible was an important model. According to Ó Corráin, in medieval Ireland, the historiography of the society “expressed itself, to a significant degree, in genealogy and dynastic legend.”41 Johnston remarks that Irish genealogies furnish “an interactive map of the human island, creating active links between peoples, institutions and individuals.”42 Crucially, biblical genealogy did not function in isolation. Classical genealogy also proved pivotal. Indeed, biblical and classical models often worked in tandem. Medieval Irish scholars regularly synchronised events in Irish pseudohistory with significant moments from Old Testament and classical history. One area in which this is especially evident is in the stories of the ancestors of the Irish. In what became the prominent tradition of Gaelic ancestry, the histories of the Irish, Israelites, and Trojans were made to intersect.43 The Irish learned elites were not the first to exploit the potential of a connection with the Hebrew and Trojan pasts. Such links were robustly mustered by Frankish scholars.44 Drawing from a similar wellspring, the Irish 40 See J. Carey, “The Ancestry of Fénius Farsaid”, Celtica, 21 (1990), pp. 104–12, for discussion of the ancestry of Fénius Farsaid and the model on which Fénius was based. 41 D. Ó Corráin, “Creating the Past: The Early Irish Genealogical Tradition”, Peritia, 12 (1998), pp. 177–208, at p. 177. Ó Corráin, “Creating the Past”, p. 205, discusses the origin legends of the dynasties of Leinster and of the Eoghanacht. 42  Johnston, Literacy and Identity, p. 79. 43 A different tradition appears to locate the ancestors of the Irish in Greece, a tradition that according to Bart Jaski was overshadowed by that of Lebor Gabála Érenn. Jaski, “Greeks”, pp. 1–53; and P. Moran, “Greek Dialectology and the Irish Origin Story”, in Early Medieval Ireland and Europe, pp. 481–512. 44 Considerable work has been done on the emergence of the correlation between the Franks and the Israelites. For the classic study, see M. Garrison, “The Franks as the New Israel? Education for an Identity from Pippin to

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literati entwined the myth of the wanderings of the Israelites in the wilderness with the expansion of peoples westwards after the Fall of Troy and the travels of the proto-Irish. These connections are found in works such as the Middle Irish collection of poems known as Saltair na Rann (“Psalter of Quatrains”) and in Lebor Gabála Érenn. In the former, Clarke underscores the “sense of parallelism between Irish and Hebrew journeys,” in which the story of Goídel Glas in Egypt is enmeshed with the captivity of the Israelites.45 In the latter, the descendants of Goídel Glas travel from Egypt to various lands until they reach Spain whence the sons of Míl begin the final settlement of Ireland. In such migration tales, Clarke identifies a pattern in the nascent origin legends of medieval Europe characterised by “the westward wanderings of fugitives from the classical heartlands of the eastern Mediterranean or western Asia.”46 This pattern he explores in pseudohistorical narratives such as Lebor Gabála Érenn, Liber historiae Francorum, and Historia Brittonum, highlighting the parallels between the journeys of the Goídil (“Irish”), Franks, and British, as well as the “implicit parallelism with Roman origins.”47 These ethnogenetic narratives, which in the case of the Franks and British included a Trojan ancestry, foregrounded the origines of various peoples in the “eastern extremity of the world of Graeco-Roman antiquity.”48 Moreover, Clarke and John Carey underscore a striking coincidence in Frankish and Irish migration myths: according to Lebor Gabála Érenn, the proto-Irish sojourned in the Maeotian marshes, an area where according to the Liber historiae Francorum a group Charlemagne”, in The Uses of the Past in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by Y. Hen and M. Innes, Cambridge, 2004, pp. 114–61. 45  Clarke, “Leabhar Gabhála”, p. 445. 46  Clarke, “Leabhar Gabhála”, p. 441. 47  Clarke, “Leabhar Gabhála”, p. 466. 48  Clarke, “Leabhar Gabhála”, pp. 466–67. A key source for the British Trojan ancestry was Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae. See J. Crick, The “Historia Regum Britannie” of Geoffrey of Monmouth III: A Summary Catalogue of the Manuscripts, Cambridge, 1989; eadem, The “Historia Regum Britannie” of Geoffrey of Monmouth IV: Dissemination and Reception in the Later Middle Ages, Cambridge, 1991; and F. Clark, “Dares Phrygius”, in Catalogus Translationum et Commentariorum: Mediaeval and Renaissance Latin Translations and Commentaries 11, ed. by G. Dinkova-Bruun, Toronto, 2016, pp. 237–306, at p. 246.

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of Trojan refugees, namely, the ancestors of the Franks, resided.49 Clarke observes that the eleventh-century poet Gilla Cóemáin in Annálad anall uile also places the Goídil at one point in the Maeotian marshes.50 In this case, through topography the Irish learned elite appear to connect with Frankish historiographical tradition. Moreover, it should be noted that the Maeotian swamps are used as a key co-ordinate in Orosius and in medieval maps.51 Margaret Tedford observes that Orosius places the beginning of Europe “from the Riphean Mountains, the Tanais River, and the Palus Meotis.” For Orosius, these landmarks serve as demarcation points between the continents of Europe and Asia.52 The Maeotian marshes were at the heart of the classical and medieval constructions of the world. No surprise, then, that they should appear in medieval pseudohistorical narratives, in which we find the proto-Franks and proto-Irish. Given the prominence of the Maeotian marshes in Frankish historiographical tradition, it would appear that the Irish literati were establishing a correspondence with their 49 

Carey, “The Irish National Origin-Legend: Synthetic Pseudohistory”, p. 15; and Clarke, “Leabhar Gabhála”, p. 467. 50  Clarke, “Leabhar Gabhála”, p. 467; and P. J. Smith, Three Historical Poems Ascribed to Gilla Cóemáin: A Critical Edition of the Work of an Eleventh-Century Irish Scholar, Münster, 2007, p. 187. 51 L. S. Chekin, Northern Eurasia in Medieval Cartography: Inventory, Texts, Translation and Commentary, Turnhout, 2006, p. 75, demonstrates that the Maeotian swamp features alongside other prominent waters in some T-O maps dating from the ninth to the twelfth centuries. Margaret Tedford highlights the significance of the Meotides paludes in an eleventh-century Anglo-Saxon map. For reference to Chekin on this topic, see M. Tedford, “The AngloSaxon Cotton Map in Context” (unpublished doctoral thesis, Queen’s University, Belfast, 2018), pp. 122–23. 52 Orosius, Historiarum contra paganos libri VII, I.ii, ed. K. Zangemeister, Leipzig, 1889, p. 5. Tedford, “The Anglo-Saxon Cotton Map in Context”, pp. 57 and 102, discusses the role of water in establishing boundaries in medieval maps. The location of the Riphean mountains is ambiguous. Likewise, the area known as the Maeotian marshes sometimes denoted the swamps near the Tanais river, sometimes the Sea of Azov, known as the Maeotian Lake. See Tedford, “The Anglo-Saxon Cotton Map in Context”, pp. 122 and 203, for confusion regarding this area and the different interpretations of the Maeotian swamp in the eleventh-century Cotton and “Ripoll” maps. In the former, the Meotides paludes refers to a “stretch of land to the east of the River Tanais”. In the latter, it is a sea coloured in green that stretches from the Riphean Mountains to the Euxine Sea.

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Frankish counterparts, who had long established their Trojan credentials. In their interest in Troy, medieval Irish scholars shared much with their Frankish and British counterparts. Like their neighbours, medieval Irish poets, writers, and historians celebrated the pivotal importance of all things Trojan: its history, heroes, wars, and the wanderings of its post-war diaspora. Two vernacular adaptations, already mentioned above, attest to the lively interest in Troy in the Gaelic speaking world, namely Togail Troí and Lebor Bretnach. The first of these, based on the De excidio Troiae historia ascribed to Dares Phrygius, forms part of a rich medieval reception of a purportedly eye-witness account of the Trojan War.53 Togail Troí is attested by manuscripts dating from the late twelfth to the fifteenth centuries. 54 Lebor Bretnach, an eleventh-century translation-adaptation of the so-called “Nennian” recension of the Historia Brittonum, furnishes a pseudo-history of the settlement of Britain by Trojan refugees, among whom was Brutus, descendant of Aeneas.55 Cross-cultural overlap between Irish, British, and Frankish historiographical traditions is further witnessed by the emergence of Trojan genealogies. One such, cir53 For the work of pseudo-Dares Phrygius, see L. Faivre d’Arcier, Histoire et géographie d’un mythe: La circulation des manuscrits du “De excidio Troiae” de Darès le Phrygien (viiie-xve siècles), Paris, 2006; and Clark, “Dares Phrygius”, pp. 237–306 for the role played by this “spurious” text in medieval and early modern learned culture. 54  For an extensive examination and edition of the prologue, see Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, pp. 23–106; and also B. Miles, Heroic Saga and Classical Epic in Medieval Ireland, Cambridge, 2011 (Studies in Celtic History, 30), pp. 52–55. 55 Though there is debate about the origin and authorship of Lebor Bretnach, it is interesting to note that in some witnesses the work is ascribed to Gilla Cóemáin. Thomas Clancy, who argued for the Scottish provenance of the work, suggested that Gilla Cóemáin may have been the recipient of the work. For scholarly debate on Lebor Bretnach, see R. Thurneysen, “Zu Nemnius (Nennius)”, Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, 20 (1936), pp. 97–137; D. N. Dumville, “The Textual History of Lebor Bretnach: A Preliminary Study”, Éigse: A Journal of Irish studies, 16:4 (1975–1976), pp. 255–73; and T. O. Clancy, “Scotland, the ‘Nennian’ Recension of the Historia Brittonum, and the Lebor Bretnach”, in Kings, Clerics and Chronicles in Scotland 500–1297: Essays in Honour of Marjorie Ogilvie Anderson on the Occasion of the Ninetieth Birthday, ed. by S. Taylor, Dublin, 2000, pp. 87–107. The ascriptions are discussed by Smith, Three Historical Poems, pp. 29, 41–42.

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culating in Carolingian manuscripts and again in twelfth-century England where, as Frederic Clark demonstrates, it constituted an important coda to Dares, includes members of the Trojan royal family (Dardanus, Erichthonius, Tros, Ilus, Assaracus, Laomedon, Priam, Capys and Anchises).56 Significantly, the prologue to Togail Troí also traces a Trojan patrilineage from Dardanus to Laomedon.57 Trojan history served as a compass by which to navigate the expanse of Irish pseudohistory. In the prologue to Togail Troí, Irish mythical history is mapped not only onto a biblical template, but also onto an Assyrian and Trojan landscape. For example, the first sack of Troy (that is, by Hercules) is co-ordinated with the reign of the Assyrian monarch Mithraeus and the arrival of the sons of Míl in Ireland.58 The prologue thus connects a significant Trojan event with the Milesian settlement of Ireland, that is, with the final settlement of the island, which heralded the displacement of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The second and more famous sacking of Troy (that is, by Agamemnon), is aligned with the descendants of Éremón, the son of Míl, who, we are told, were “in kingship over Ireland at the time of the last sack.”59 For these synchronisms, Clarke identifies close parallels with a tract known as the Lecan Synchronisms found in the Book of Lecan, where correspondences are established between the Irish, biblical, Assyr-

56 

Clark, “Dares Phrygius”, pp. 265–72. S. Ottaviano, “La tradizione delle opere di Virgilio tra IX e XI sec.” (unpublished doctoral thesis, Scuola Normale Superiore, Pisa, 2014), pp. 303–04, identified this genealogy in four Carolingian glossed Virgil manuscripts, in a ninth-century compendium for the study of Virgil and Sedulius (Laon, Bibliothèque municipale Suzanne Martinet, Ms 468), and in the so-called First Vatican Mythographer, an early medieval mythographic compilation. A ninth-century glossed Virgil manuscript now at Wolfenbüttel can be added to the list of manuscripts transmitting the genealogy. See Sinéad O’Sullivan, “Glossing Vergil in the Early Medieval West: A Case Study of Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 70 Gud. lat.”, in Studies on Late Antique and Medieval Germanic Glossography and Lexicography in Honour of Patrizia Lendinara, ed. by C. Di Sciacca, C. Giliberto, C. Rizzo, and L. Teresi, Pisa, 2018, pp. 547–64. 57  Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, pp. 38–47, furnishes an edition of the prologue. 58  Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, pp. 41 and 53. 59  Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, pp. 41 and 94.

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ian, and Trojan pasts.60 Interestingly, the material in the Lecan Synchronisms attests once again to the influence of Eusebius-Jerome. Clarke remarks that the tract is organised “following the numbered sequence of Assyrian kings from Eusebius-Jerome and correlating them with the usual notable events in the histories of the Irish as well as of Classical peoples and the Hebrews.”61 Assyrian pseudohistory, too, provided Irish scholars with models. Assyrian regnal lists, in particular, were held in great esteem. As the first kings of the first world empire, alignment with the kings of Assyria served to legitimise Ireland’s legendary figures. The importance of Assyria is documented by Boyle who foregrounds the prominence of the Assyrian kings in a number of works in the Book of Ballymote, for example, in the tract Adam primus pater fuit and in a late Middle Irish poem that starts with the Assyrian king Ninus, son of Belus. In Adam primus pater fuit, biblical genealogy furnishes the foundation onto which Assyrian and Irish history are mapped. The canonical Eusebian synchronism between Ninus and the birth of Abraham appears in both the tract and poem. Adam primus pater fuit employs the theme of the succession of world empires beginning with that of the Assyrians and culminating with the Roman empire. Kings, patriarchs, and emperors (like Ninus, Abraham, and Augustus) appear side by side with Irish mythical figures (such as Partholón and Cú Chulainn) and the central cast of Christianity (Adam, Christ, and Mary).62 Adam primus pater fuit is immediately followed by a late Middle Irish poem, which draws upon the tales of Irish prehistory encapsulated in works such as Lebor Gabála Érenn. The poem “aligns the reigns of Assyrian kings” with Ireland’s prehistory.63 It provides a veritable who’s who of Ireland’s mythical past. The poem pullulates 60  Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, pp. 90–92, spotlights the synchronisms between the prologue of Togail Troí and the Lecan Synchronisms. For instance, both accounts include references to Ninus, Semiramis, Ninias, Peleg, Arphaxad, Partholón, Éremón and Míl. 61  Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, p. 91; and Jaski, “The Irish Origin Legend”, pp. 68–72. 62  MacCarthy, The Codex Palatino-Vaticanus, pp. 286–309, edits and translates Adam primus pater fuit. 63  Boyle, “Biblical History”, pp. 69–75, provides an edition and translation of the poem that improves upon the edition and translation of MacCarthy, The Codex Palatino-Vaticanus, pp. 310–17.

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with Ireland’s legendary settlers (for example, Partholón, Nemed, the Fir Bolg, the Tuatha Dé Danann, and Míl), synchronising each person or group, as Boyle shows, with the kings of Assyria. Thus, one reads that the mythical Nemed, leader of a group that settled in Ireland, operated at the same time as the Assyrian king Manchaleus, and that the sons of Míl arrived in Ireland during the reign of the Assyrian king Mithreus.64 The high status of Assyria is conspicuous in other sources as well. In the prologue to Togail Troí, Clarke notices that the foundational synchronism between Ninus, son of Belus, and Abraham, is observed.65 In this work, significant figures from Ireland’s mythical past are synchronised with the reigns of Assyrian kings, as is illustrated by the arrival of Partholón in Ireland who is aligned with the reign of the Assyrian king Ninias.66 Further indication of the prestige of Assyrian pseudohistory is furnished by the Laud Synchronisms, where the kings of Assyria, Judaea, and Ireland are synchronised in parallel columns, thus connecting Irish history to biblical prototypes and Assyrian history, as well as to the theme of world empires.67 It is clear that world kingships were a prominent feature of medieval Irish historiography. We have already seen the Eusebian theme of the succession of world empires in the “poems on world-kingship” ascribed to the eleventh-century writer Flann Mainistrech, and in tracts such as Adam primus pater fuit and Prima etas mundi in the book of Ballymote. Irish chronicles also regularly put Ireland onto a map of world empires.68 For example, 64  Boyle, “Biblical History”, pp. 73 and 75; and MacCarthy, The Codex Palatino-Vaticanus, pp. 313 and 317. 65  Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, pp. 39 and 90. 66  Clarke, “The Extended Prologue”, pp. 40–41. 67  See n. 19, above. 68 Scholarly literature on the Irish chronicles is extensive. Discussion of the origins of the Irish chronicles is found in N. Evans, The Present and the Past in Medieval Irish Chronicles, Woodbridge, 2010 (Studies in Celtic history, 27), pp. 3–4. For an overview of scholarship on Irish chronicles, see D. N. Dumville, “A Millennium of Gaelic Chronicling: Proceedings of the First International Conference on the Medieval Chronicle”, in The Medieval Chronicle, Vol. 1, ed. E. Kooper, Amsterdam, 1999, pp. 103–15. M. Clarke and M. Ní Mhaonaigh, “The Ages of the World and the Ages of Man: Irish and European Learning in the Twelfth Century”, Speculum, 95 (2020), pp. 467–500, note the use of synchronisation in the annals.

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in the so-called “Annals of Tigernach” the defeat of Antony and Cleopatra by Octavian is aligned with the reign of Conchobar mac Nessa, a legendary king of Ulster.69 Here it is useful to recall that the defeat of Antony and Cleopatra marked an important moment in Roman history, signalling the incorporation of Ptolemaic Egypt into the Roman world and the rise of Augustus, the first Roman emperor. In Eusebius-Jerome’s chronicle, the conquest of Egypt that followed the battle of Actium was pivotal. It heralded the end of the Alexandrian column. After Actium only two columns remained in the Eusebian chronicle: that of the Romans and Jews. Evidently, co-ordination of Irish pseudo-history with the story of Antony and Cleopatra connected the Irish mythical past to monumental events in the history of the Roman world. The alignment served to boost Ireland’s prestige through association with the Roman empire. Another such example is furnished by the Laud Synchronisms where parallel lists are provided of the Roman emperors, the popes, and the kings of Ireland.70 An illuminating instance of the efforts of Irish scholars to map Ireland onto a world stage and one that encapsulates the vitality of the practice of alignment is the eleventh-century chronological poem Annálad anall uile by Gilla Cóemáin.71 In the poem, the reigns of Ireland’s legendary kings and figures are synchronised with the reigns of those who ruled over world empires starting with the Assyrian kings (e.g. we are told that in the era of the Assyrian king Tautanes the Goídil settled in the Maeotian marshes).72 The early part of the poem furnishes the standard alignment between Ireland’s mythical past and the history of world empires, deploying foundational synchronisms such as that of Ninus-Abraham. The poem is suffused with a biblical hue and integrates Ireland’s legendary figures (like Partholón, Míl, and Conchobor), mythical settlers (such as Fir Bolg), and historical kings (like the 69  Clarke, “Leabhar Gabhála”, pp. 442–43, translates the passage. For synchronisms in Irish chronicles, see Clarke, “The Poems on World-Kingship in the Book of Uí Mhaine”. 70  Meyer, “Laud Synchronisms”, pp. 476–78. 71  Smith, Three Historical Poems, pp. 180–203. Clarke, “The Poems on World-Kingship in the Book of Uí Mhaine”, outlines some of the synchronisms in the poem. 72  Smith, Three Historical Poems, p. 187.

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eleventh-century kings, Donnchad mac Briain and Díarmait mac Maíl na mBó) into a universal and Irish landscape populated by Abraham, David, Ninus, Solomon, Nebuchadnezzar, Alexander the Great, Mary, Christ, Patrick, Brigit, Colum Cille, and Gregory the Great.73 The landscape itself is significant, embracing Scythia, Egypt, the Maeotian marshes, Troy, Jerusalem, and Iona, as well as Irish royal sites (Emain Macha and Tara). The poem draws on Graeco-Roman and Judaeo-Christian historical markers (like the sacking of Troy, building of the Temple by Solomon, and the birth of Christ). These benchmarks appear side-by-side with momentous events in Ireland’s legendary and historical past (such as the mythical battle of Mag Tuired between the Fir Bolg and the Tuatha Dé Danann, and the battle of Tara between the Gaelic Irish and the Norse Vikings in the tenth century). Such events are also found alongside other battles (like the battle of Issus, a Macedonian victory in the fourth century bce between Alexander the Great and Darius III, last king of the Achaemenid Empire, and the battle of Stamford Bridge in 1066 in which King Harold Godwinson defeated the Norwegian invaders). Annálad anall uile not only embeds Irish prehistory and history into a universal narrative of secular and sacred co-ordinates, comprising significant events and peoples that run from the beginning of the world to the eleventh century. It also re-orients the classical, Mediterranean-based focus of Eusebian world history to spotlight the prominence of Ireland from its pre-historic heritage to the dynamic politics of pre-Norman Irish history. Such efforts were part of a drive to universalise Irish history that appears to have gained momentum in the “long eleventh century”. A reflection of these enterprises is to be found in an important group of Gaelic manuscripts produced in the eleventh and twelfth century, which, as Máire Ní Mhaonaigh explains, are comparable with another group of manuscripts dating to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Ní Mhaonaigh highlights the universal and local character of these codices, as is illustrated by the range of works in them. One such is the earliest extant ver-

73  Smith, Three Historical Poems, pp. 200–03, lists the dates on which these figures died according to the annalistic record: Donnchadh mac Bríain in 1063/1064 and Díarmait mac Maíl na mBó in 1072.

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nacular Irish vellum manuscript, Lebor na hUidre.74 It includes materials “from the era of Noah to the present, via pivotal events of pre-Christian Ireland, as well as the conversion period and the so-called age of saints.”75 Another is the fourteenth-century manuscript known as the Book of Ballymote that transmits “genealogies, origin legends, king-lists, saga narratives and dindshenchas (place-name lore).”76 In these manuscripts, as well as in a myriad of other sources produced in medieval Ireland, the Irish literati manifested an interest in internationalising their past. Like their Roman predecessors, who had earlier recast the epochal markers of Panhellenic history for their own purposes, the medieval Irish learned elites embraced the practice of alignment. Above all, the medieval Irish literati connected Ireland with prestigious pasts. They made Irish events synchronous with biblical and classical events. They synchronised across secular and sacred borders and connected their world to foundational events, including the Fall of Troy — an historical landmark, synchronistic hook, and literary centrepiece. They achieved a sense of connection or synchronism through the deployment of benchmarks. When envisaging their prehistory and history, the medieval Irish literati deployed key reference points in time (such as the Fall of Troy, the Tower of Babel, Ninus, Moses, Christ). Benchmarks enabled them to plot pivotal events on the same temporal axis, to create and correlate canonical moments, and to promote claims to power and privilege. Troy with its archetypal war was a key marker for Greek and Roman historians. Trojan history was intimately connected to Rome in Roman historiographical and literary tradition. The association between Troy and Rome was especially promoted in the Augustan age. Trojan history had also been actively deployed in Frankish historiographical tradition, which appears to have left 74 

Lebor na hUidre, ed. R. Ó hUiginn, Dublin, 2015 (Codices Hibernenses Eximii, 1). 75  Ní Mhaonaigh, “Universal History”. 76  Ní Mhaonaigh, “Universal History”. Ó Corráin, “Creating the Past”, pp. 178–79, discusses many of these manuscripts, drawing attention to the “industry and intelligence of scribes of the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries” without whom much of the record for medieval Ireland would have been lost.

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an imprint on Irish pseudo-historical narratives. In Irish sources, connections between Trojan and Irish history evoked a link with Rome, especially with imperial Rome. Biblical genealogies, too, were crucial. So, also, was Israelite historiography, with its lists of kings and landmark events (like the wanderings of the Israelites in the desert) that provided a model of human history directed by the divine. Cumulatively, Israelite history furnished images, models, and a vision of history that influenced the medieval Irish worldview. And the land of Israel, with its iconic sites, provided a constant source of inspiration for medieval Irish scholars. The motif of the land of Israel was rich in landmarks and epochal events that provided geographical and historical benchmarks for medieval Irish historians. Moreover, the learned elite in medieval Ireland enthusiastically established correspondences between Irish and world history. Here the intertwining of Assyrian and Irish royal history was important. Regarded as the first world empire, Assyria provided a key model of kingship and power. Association between Irish history and that of Assyria enabled integration of Ireland into a larger history of world kingdoms. Through alignment with Assyria, the Irish could present their kings as part of a league of empires. In short, the practice of alignment provided the medieval Irish literati with the tools to forge a past for themselves. It enabled them to co-ordinate Irish history with venerable histories (classical, biblical, and world history). Above all, it allowed them to enhance the prominence and prestige of Ireland by adjusting the lens to an Irish setting. Abstract This paper draws attention to a key practice underpinning historical understanding in the medieval West — the practice of “alignment”. In short, this practice consisted of establishing connections and correspondences between events, persons, or places, often through the use of benchmarks or synchronistic hooks. Benchmarks were not just significant historical events, persons, or places. They also served as coordinates around which historical narratives could be structured. A constituent of ancient historiographical tradition, benchmarks animated late antique and medieval historiographical culture. For the origins of the practice of alignment, we need to look to ancient Greece, where Greek historians correlated key events in the different city states. For its evolution, Eusebius, with his innovative columnar format, was crucial. The practice of

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alignment, a Hellenic and Eusebian inheritance, left its mark on Irish sources. In fact, the medieval Irish literati made full use of the practice, making Irish events synchronous with biblical and classical events, synchronising across secular and sacred borders, drawing extensively on Old Testament models, and connecting their world to foundational pasts. The practice of alignment provided the learned elites in medieval Ireland with the tools to create a Gaelic past forged from classical and late antique historiographical traditions. The practice appears to have enjoyed a floruit in Ireland in the “long eleventh century”. In their use of the practice, the Irish literati sought to portray Ireland and its kings as part of a larger community of ancient empires and kingdoms, ground Irish history in the history of the Bible, proclaim themselves key participants in salvation history, and establish themselves as players on the world stage.

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Patrick and Social Identity at the End of Roman Britain Jennifer Reid (Winnipeg) 1. Patrick and Ireland in the Roman World This exploration of social identity in the writings of Patrick, Ireland’s legendary patron saint, owes a debt to the theoretical and speculative turn in Roman frontier studies, which, since the early 1990s, has prompted a re-evaluation of the relationships between peoples living within the boundaries of the Roman Empire and those at or just beyond its margins. This turn has been driven by the rapid pace of innovation in investigative technologies and the development of improved scientific and critical methodologies within a multidisciplinary field of inquiry. The Roman frontier has, as a consequence, been realigned through new scholarly approaches that prioritize the complexity of sociocultural interactions and identities instantiated and enacted within an imperial context more conceptually defined as a spatiotemporal proposition with localizable iterations across multiple zones of contact.1 In accordance with these shifts, the Irish archeological Discovery Programme’s Late Iron Age and Roman Ireland (LIARI) Project, led by Jacqueline Cahill Wilson, reopened the question of Roman contact and influence in Ireland. The LIARI Project concluded in 2015 with positive outcomes, confirming the depth of Ireland’s involvement with the Roman world — and especially Roman Britain — between the first to fifth centuries ce, creating new oppor1 See

R. Hingley, “Introduction: Imperial Limits and the Crossing of Frontiers”, in Romans and Barbarians Beyond the Frontiers: Archeology, Ideol­ ogy and Identities in the North, ed. by S. Sánchez and A. Guglielmi, Oxford, 2017, pp. 1–7.

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 385–417. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125569 ©

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tunities for the reconsideration of the social and cultural contours of this space during this period.2 An important result of the LIARI Project is that the archeological record supports both theoretical and practical characterization of Ireland as a contiguous, dynamic, transmarine Roman frontier zone reflective of “new ways of being and new ways of doing”. 3 The extant record is an index of non-homogeneity among individuals and groups, comprised of locals and non-locals, who participated by varying degrees in the adoption, adaptation, and dissemination of aspects of Roman identity, even to the point that “Romano-Irish” may be a viable descriptor for certain segments of the population and their outputs.4 The work of the project has established beyond doubt that direct Roman contact, or, at minimum, awareness of Roman culture, is materially registered all over the island. Evidence ranges from influence on building and enclosure styles, stamped ingots and coins representative of economic exchange, gift-giving, and possible payment for service in the Roman military, to the use of Roman domestic items, jewellery, ritual practices (including shrines and burial), technology, and the manufacture of Roman-style goods, all of which exhibit a continuity that extends into the early medieval period.5 The question of a permanent or semi-permanent Roman trading or military presence is still open.6 One explanation for the ubiquity of Roman finds and influence in Ireland is that it represents the use of “soft 2  For a summative exploration of the work of the LIARI Project, its background, methodology, outcomes, and relevant bibliography, see J. Cahill Wilson, “Et tu, Hibernia? Frontier Zones and Culture Contact — Ireland in a Roman World”, in Romans and Barbarians, pp. 48–69. 3  Cahill Wilson, “Et tu, Hibernia?”, p. 63 (author’s emphasis). 4  Cahill Wilson, “Et tu, Hibernia?”, p. 63. 5 See the summary of finds and distribution in Cahill Wilson, “Et tu, Hibernia?”, pp. 52–56. Trade and travel are important vectors: on trade, see J.  M. Wooding, Communication and Commerce along the Western Sea Lanes, ad  400–800, BAR International Series 654, Oxford, 1996; on maritime travel in the Roman North Atlantic, see J. Ellis Jones, The Maritime Landscape of Roman Britain: Water Transport on the Coasts and Rivers of Britannia, BAR British Series 556, Oxford, 2012. 6  Cahill Wilson, “Et tu, Hibernia?”, p. 56; see also E. Johnston, “Ireland in Late Antiquity: A Forgotten Frontier?”, Studies in Late Antiquity, 1  (2017), pp. 107–23, at p. 117.

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power” as part of a frontier management strategy involving local Irish leaders: Roman frontiers were porous, and while Ireland’s transmarine location required no wall, it did require attention.7 Ireland had been on the map, as it were, as a Roman economic interest since Antiquity, with an increase in activity indicated for the fourth and fifth centuries; the Irish had, moreover, established colonies in Roman Britain, suggestive of these close ties in the later period.8 A similar depth and variety of evidence, however, does not apply to the textual record. Aside from a small catalogue of texts, most of which are attributable to authors implicated in the Pelagian heresy of the late fourth and early fifth centuries, there are no texts of any sustained length written by an Irish or Romano-British author,9 with the exception of the so-called Epistola

7 E. Johnston, “Religious Change and Frontier Management”, Eolas: The Journal of the American Society of Irish Medieval Studies, 11 (2018), pp. 104–19, at pp. 108–11; see also the brief discussion in Johnston, “Ireland in Late Antiquity”, p. 117. 8  Roman references to Ireland have been collected in P. Freeman, Ireland and the Classical World, Austin, 2001, pp. 28–108. Thomas Charles-Edwards provides an overview of fluctuations in Roman and Irish involvement, especially in connection with Roman Britain, from the Late Iron Age to the early Christian period in Early Christian Ireland, Cambridge, 2000, pp. 145– 63. See also the general outline in E. Johnston, Literacy and Identity in Early Medieval Ireland, Woodbridge, 2013, pp. 1–26. 9 The convenient and standard list remains M. Lapidge and R. Sharpe, A Bibliography of Celtic Latin Literature, Dublin, 1985 (hereafter BCLL). They list the works of Pelagius (b. 350–d. 430) and Faustus of Riez (d. 490) for the period before Patrick. The so-called Epistola ad Nigram by the putative fourth-century Romano-British Christian “Vinisius” is now known to be a curse tablet against a thief, perhaps “Euticia”; see R. S. O. Tomlin, “Vinisius to Nigra: Evidence from Oxford of Christianity in Roman Britain”, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik, 100 (1994), pp. 93–108, and idem, Britannia Romana: Roman Inscriptions and Roman Britain, Oxford, 2018, pp. 382–3, especially at p. 383 n. 155, where Tomlin remarks on the continued generativity of the ‘Vinisius’ text in the literature. Doubtful texts from the fifth century include the “Pelagian Letters” (BCLL, nos 1244–50), the Institutiones of Pseudo-Columbanus (BCLL, no. 1251), and Apocrypha Priscil­ lianistica (BCLL, no. 1252). BCLL nos 1248–50 have been attributed variously to the author dubbed the “Sicilian Briton” by John Morris (“Pelagian Literature”, Journal of Theological Studies, 16 (1965), pp. 26–60), or Fastidius (see BCLL, no. 1179).

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ad Coroticum and Confessio by Patricius.10 These texts are regarded as the authentic writings of Patrick, whose self-presentation as a member of the Roman elite from Britannia and a bishop appointed by God to convert the Irish to Christianity has prompted a vast body of scholarship with a fraught relationship to his floruit.11 While a date of composition sometime during the course of the fifth century is generally considered appropriate for the texts, their contents inspire a certain degree of circularity: with no direct reference to any externally verifiable event or persons known to history, they yield neither conclusive evidence for absolute rejection of a pre-fifth-century date nor unequivocal acceptance of a fifth-century one.12 The question of Patrick’s historicity has traditionally pivoted on his self-description in juxtaposition with Britain’s administrative independence from Rome in 409/10 and Prosper of Aquitaine’s chronicle entry for the year 431, in which a certain Palladius — rather than a Patrick — was ordained and sent as “primus episcopus” by Pope Celestine “ad Scottos in Christo credentes”.13 In his anti-Pelagian tract, Contra Collatorem, Prosper seems to refer to this same episode while praising Celestine’s zeal in rooting out the heresy and its agents from Britain: “ordinato Scotis episcopo, dum romanam insulam studet seruare catholicam, fecit etiam barbaram christianam”.14 Since the Middle Ages, biographers have thus attempted to reconcile 10 Hereinafter

alternatively referred to as the Epistola and the Confessio; the sigla E and C with numerals in parentheses, for example (C1), refer to sections of the respective texts in the edition and translation by A. B. E. Hood, St Patrick: His Writings and Muirchú’s Life, London, 1978, which coordinate with the edition by Ludwig Bieler, Libri epistolarum sancti Patricii episcopi, Dublin, 1993. 11 Rehearsals of the major arguments may be found in R. Flechner, Saint Patrick Retold: The Legend and History of Ireland’s Patron Saint, Prince­ ton, 2019; Charles-Edwards, Early Christian Ireland, pp. 214–33; and in D. N. Dumville et al., Saint Patrick, a.d. 493–1993, Woodbridge, 1993. 12  For an accessible summary and discussion of key points, see Flechner, Saint Patrick Retold, at pp. 34–35 and sqq.; but see Andrew Cain’s compelling argument for Patrick’s reading of Jerome’s Epistle 52 to Nepotian and its possible contribution to the Confessio, in “Patrick’s ‘Confessio’ and Jerome’s ‘Epistula’ 52 to Nepotian”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 20 (2010), pp. 1–15. 13 Prosperus Aquitani, Epitoma Chronicorum, ed. by T. Mommsen, Berlin 1892 (MGH: Auctore Antiquissimi, 9), p. 473. 14  Prosperus Aquitani, Contra Collatorem, § 21, PL 51, col. 271C.

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Patrick’s activity in Ireland with that of Palladius, with mixed results.15 More recent studies of Patrick, while maintaining the mission of Palladius as a “chronological anchor for fifth-century conversion”,16 have attempted to “escape the straightjacket of the Patrician problem” by appeal to Ireland’s repositioning as a Roman frontier and the possibility that Palladius “can be situated more comfortably within strategies of [ongoing Roman] frontier management than as an awkward component in a singular narrative of Irish conversion to Christianity”.17 Prosper’s ambivalent reports on the state of Christianity in Ireland do not preclude Patrick’s claims, necessitate that he comes to Ireland later than Palladius, nor do they negate the communicative events of which Patrick’s texts are representative. They promote the view that, from 431, the pope in Rome had the development of orthodox Christianity authoritatively in hand both within and without the former imperial administrative boundaries across the sea — a state of affairs that Prosper of Aquitaine felt important to record and advertise. In light of the precarity of western Roman power in the early fifth century, his motivation is perhaps unsurprising: aside from his personal investment in the Pelagian fallout, these reports may be read as important comments about security and control at the fringes of the Christian Roman Empire.18 While Prosper may have been stating a fact of his own milieu, he was also staking its claim to incontrovertable authority in a zone of opportunity. Although the Christian element in Ireland to which he refers may long have preceded Palladius through its established connections to the Roman world, it would seem to have remained aloof from an overarching ecclesiastical structure. Prosper’s reference to con15 For overviews, see Dumville et al., Saint Patrick, and D. A. Binchy, “Patrick and his Biographers: Ancient and Modern”, Studia Hibernica, 2 (1962), pp. 7–173. 16 See the discussion by C. Etchingham, “Conversion in Ireland”, in The Introduction of Christianity into the Early Medieval Insular World: Converting the Isles I, ed. by R. Flechner and M. Ní Mhaonaigh, Turnhout, 2016, pp. 181–207. 17  Johnston, “Ireland in Late Antiquity”, pp. 123 and 121, respectively. 18  For discussion of the importance of Palladius and his mission to Ireland in terms of the fortunes of Roman secular and ecclesiastical power in the fifth century see Johnston, “Religious Change”.

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servation of the romana insula as catholica and creation of the barbara [insula] as christiana is a metonymically-balanced proportional analogy that serves as an assertion of power, couched in the longstanding vocabulary of the Roman frontier sure to resonate at the centre of Church and Empire.19 2. Patrick and Social Identity While Prosper records highlights from afar at Rome in the second quarter of the fifth century, Patrick writes about conditions on the ground in Ireland in a way that is congruent with its status as a Roman frontier zone in the late fourth and early fifth centuries. The Epistola ad Coroticum is an instrument of anathematization and excommunication sent with urgency to Coroticus, an otherwise unknown Romano-British — and likely Christian — leader of a raiding party, and his followers, a composite group of Scotti, Picti and apostatae, who have both killed and captured recently baptized Irish Christians and stolen other forms of mobile wealth. Of central concern is the fate of the captives bound for the slave trade. This letter is the second of Patrick’s epistolary attempts to deal with the Coroticus problem: the first, by which he tried to negotiate terms of exchange, was met with derision and rejected. The Confessio is a more reflective text that serves as a declaration of personal exoneration, perhaps directed at ecclesiastical superiors in Britain. It seems to have been written in response to charges of personal financial gain and may hint towards jurisdictional issues in relation to his evengelizing ministry in Ireland. The immediate themes of both texts are interwoven with his personal story, ranging from his boyhood in Britannia to his ongoing experience in Ireland. Both shed light on transactional activities at the frontier. He reveals that he was captured from his father’s estate by raiders and taken to Ireland, where he was enslaved. He escaped back to Britain and, after some time, returned to Ireland of his own volition as a missionary, against the wishes of family, friends, 19 Cf. T. M. Charles-Edwards, “Palladius, Prosper, and Leo the Great: Mission and Primatial Authority”, in Dumville et al., Saint Patrick, pp. 1–12; see also discussion in Charles-Edwards, Early Christian Ireland at pp. 202–14.

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and advisors.20 Patrick’s self-funded work of conversion entails gift-giving where necessary to maintain his freedom of movement and momentum, and paying a local retinue for personal protection on his travels. He emphasizes his success among the social elite, specifically with the sons and daughters of local rulers. Although the social identities and relational configurations revealed by Patrick as he writes are only ever partial and, in that sense, symbolic, their deictic function entails a relevant sociocultural environment in which those reading and hearing his words would recognize themselves and others. Both texts are ‘open letters’, meant to be read and heard in the public sphere, and it is suggestive for this milieu that they are written in Latin, the language of the western Church and Empire.21 Throughout both, Patrick uses a range of words to identify individuals and groups which varies depending on his epistolary agenda. Patrick’s writings remain one of the few witnesses to late Romano-British perspectives on social identity and relationships outside what may be inferred from the very limited epigraphy and domestic archaeology of the period.22 The degree to which the people, places, and 20  The language of ‘mission’ is used in a limited sense to describe Patrick’s self-reported activities of conversion in Ireland. On the term ‘mission’ in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages generally and its relationship to Patrick, see now I. Wood, “What is a Mission?”, in The Introduction of Christianity, pp. 135–56. 21 Lacking official lines of address, Ludwig Bieler accepts the notion that both the so-called Epistola and the Confessio are epistolae, that is, open letters, with some qualification. See Bieler, “Saint Patrick in Latin Language and Literature”, in Ludwig Bieler: Studies on the Lives and Legend of Saint Patrick, ed. by R. Sharpe, London, 1986, pp. 65–98, at pp. 97–98. For an alternative view, see D. N. Dumville, “Verba militibus mittenda Corotici: An Analysis of St Patrick’s Tract on the Crimes of Coroticus”, in Dumville et al., Saint Pat­ rick, pp. 117–28, at p. 117. Patrick himself indicates this mode of delivery for the Epistola at E21: “Quaeso plurimum ut quicumque famulus Dei promptus fuerit ut sit gerulus litterarum harum, ut nequaquam subtrahatur vel abscondatur a nemine, sed magis potius legatur coram cunctis plebibus et praesente ipsi Corotico”; see also discussion in C. Conybeare, “Re-Reading St Patrick”, The Journal of Medieval Latin 4 (1994), pp. 39–50, at pp. 39–42. Compare with the delineation of ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’ orality in W. J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word, 3rd ed., New York, 2012. 22 Cf. Stephen L. Dyson, “The Family and the Roman Countryside”, in A Companion to Families in the Greek and Roman Worlds, ed. by B. Rawson, Chichester, 2011, pp. 431–44.

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events portrayed in the texts may be considered reliable testimony of his life and times is, however, uncertain. Patrick employs a rhetorical style inspired by Judaic and Christian scriptural authors, from whose texts he quotes extensively,23 with an unmistakable bias towards the aural impact of his words.24 Despite their multitemporal sweep, the texts are neither historiographical nor autobiographical in their objectives. This quality is an index of their immediate functional and pragmatic purpose, however, rather than their failure as historical documents. The apparent opacity of Patrick’s language and narrative has made evaluating the texts’ historicity difficult. Some of the methodological challenges they present may best be understood via theorizations of spatiotemporal thinking in language. By means of syncopation and compression, Patrick marshals a dazzling constellation of voices, moments, memories, and identities from scripture and real life, juxtaposing the ‘then’ and ‘now’, the ‘here’ and ‘there’, such that temporal or spatial separation between people, places, and events is disregarded in his narrative constructions.25 These elements exist within the blended conceptual space created by the intersection of Romanitas and Christianitas in Late Antiquity, whereby “Christian universalism became the ‘baptized version’ of the Roman imperium sine fine”.26 It within this blended 23  For an extended treatment of his style, see D. Howlett, ed. and trans., Liber epistolarum Sancti Patricii episcopi: The Book of Letters of Saint Patrick the Bishop, Dublin, 1994, and idem, “Ex saliva scripturae meae”, in Sages, Saints and Storytellers: Celtic Studies in Honour of Professor James Carney, ed. by D. Ó Corráin, L. Breatnach, and K. R. McCone, Maynooth, 1989, pp. 86–101. 24 Cf. Conybeare, “Re-Reading St Patrick”, p. 44: “If Patrick is writing for oral delivery, many of the syntactical problems of the narrative are not merely absorbed, but rendered highly effective”. 25 On spatiotemporal compression and syncopation, see G. Fauconnier and M. Turner, The Way We Think: Conceptual Blending and the Mind’s Hid­ den Complexities, New York, 2002; cf. the conceptual approach to the authorial rapprochement between antiqui and nos in Late Antique Latin texts used by Catherine M. Chin in Grammar and Christianity in the Late Roman World, Philadelphia, 2008. 26  Cf. Virgil, Aeneid, 1.278–9: “His ego nec metas rerum nec tempora pono;/ imperium sine fine dedi”. C. Palmbush, “The Frontier and Patrick’s Ministry of Slavery”, Eolas: The Journal of the American Society of Irish Medievalists, 7 (2014), pp. 28–45, at p. 33.

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space, as a combinatory spatiotemporal framework, that Patrick undertakes the negotation of complex interactions between diverse people in Ireland. The communicative force of the texts would seem to derive from Patrick’s sense of authority in relation to this framework and his unwavering belief in the viability of its transmission from Roman Britain to Ireland through his efforts. The following discussion picks up these threads in the texts and speculates on what they suggest about social identity in relation to the operational realities of Ireland as a heterogenous frontier zone at the end of Roman Britain.27 3. Social Networks and Spatiotemporal Relations If Christian missionary activity in Roman Late Antiquity may be viewed as “a complex network of social relations and power dynamics” that “takes place at the intersection of political, social, religious, and cultural discursivities”, functioning “within the wider totalising discourse of Imperiality”, then the people and events described in the Epistola and the Confessio of Patrick, including Patrick himself, can be better accessed and understood on their own terms.28 In setting the scene, it is important to consider how Patrick construed Ireland in relation to Roman Britain and the Roman world generally. While for Romans and early Christian authors alike, “empire without end in time or space meant that the very notion of a fixed border was conceptually alien”, 29 there was still a firm sense of emanation from a centre. This 27  A necessarily provocative terminus that must be understood as a process, rather than an event, that spanned a century of change, gathering speed in the second half of the fourth century and continuing well into the fifth century. For a convenient overview, see D. Mattingly, An Imperial Possession, London, 2006. On frameworks and methodologies for investigating historical social identity, see W. Pohl, “Introduction”, in Historiography and Iden­ tity I: Ancient and Early Christian Narratives of Community, ed. by W. Pohl and V. Wieser, Turnhout, 2019, pp. 7–50; and also Ego Trouble: Authors and their Identities in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by R. Corradini, M. B. Gillis, R.  McKitterick, I. van Renswoude, Vienna, 2010. 28 C. de Wet, “John Chrysostom and the Mission to the Goths: Rhetorical and Ethical Perspectives”, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies, 86:1 (2012), pp. 1–6, at p. 6. 29  Johnston, “Ireland in Late Antiquity” pp. 111–12; and Cahill Wilson, “Et tu Hibernia?”.

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sense is expressed at the beginning of the Confessio, where Patrick describes his forcible removal, “cum tot milia hominum”, from the centre to the margins as an expression of God’s anger: Ego Patricius … patrem habui Calpornium diaconum, filium quondam Potiti presbyteri, qui fuit vico Bannavem Taberniae; villulam enim prope habuit, ubi ego capturam dedi. … Hiberione in captivitate adductus sum cum tot milia hominum, secundum merita nostra, quia a Deo recessimus et praecepta eius non custodivimus et sacerdotibus nostris non oboedientes fuimus … et Dominus induxit super nos iram animationis suae et dispersit nos in gentibus multis etiam usque ad ultimam terrae, ubi nunc parvitas mea esse videtur inter alienigenas. (C1)

In locating himself, Patrick vacillates between the particular and the general, highlighting the contrast between the Roman world he comes from and the non-Roman world in which he is enslaved. In doing so, he plays with a double scheme of containment. Having referred explicitly to his captivity in Ireland, he dilates this space with the further description of the Dominus having dispersed his fellow captives “in gentibus multis etiam usque ad ultimam terrae”, a statement of liminality that points equally to Ireland as to the global boundaries of Romanitas and Christianitas where he — and by implication they — may now be seen among alienigenae. This move from the specific to the general is echoed in the Epistola, where he offers another synopsis of his relationship to Ireland. In this context, he refers to both his involuntary and voluntary approaches: Numquid sine Deo vel secundum carnem Hiberione veni? Quis me compulit? Alligatus sum Spiritu ut non videam aliquem de cognatione mea. Numquid a me, piam misericordiam quid ago erga gentem illam qui me aliquando ceperunt et devastaverunt servos et ancillas domus patris mei? Ingenuus fui secundum carnem; decurione patre nascor. Vendidi enim nobilitatem meam (non erubesco neque me paenitet) pro utilitate aliorum. Denique servus sum in Christo genti exterae ob gloriam ineffabilem perennis vitae quae est in Christo Iesu Domino nostro. (E10)

Here, Patrick preserves the argument of consanguinity in terms of his freeborn, ‘noble’ status at the Roman and Christian centre in Britannia and its contrast with his ‘slave’ status at the margins in Ireland. God’s ultimate authority as Dominus over both centre and margin, however, makes one’s personal orientation within them

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variable: while the memory of the enslaved captive puts Ireland outside civilization and its authorized participants, the returned missionary, having taken up his vocation, understands it as a zone of expansion and extension inside which he, as negotiating frontiersman — a “servus … in Christo genti exterae” — has become the limiting measure of Christianitas and Romanitas. 30 Patrick’s conceptualization of this role is supported by his selection and reworking of Judaic and Christian scripture resonant with contemporary “Roman systems of information flow” from the third to fifth centuries, when destabilizing action in borderlands and frontier spaces across the Empire forced a considerable “meditation on Roman boundaries” by those inside them. 31 He articulates modes of extension through his adoption and adaptation of Pauline language and imagery, by which he aligns himself with the exhortation to become an “epistola Christi in salutem usque ad ultimum terrae” (C11), 32 and takes up the ambassadorial mandate, or legatio, expressed in the repeated phrase, “pro quo [i.e. Deus meus] legationem fungor” (C56, E5). 33 In addition to their evangelical heft, these images mirror the historical weight of extant communications models and their role in the administration and expansion of Roman power into new territories and across its established networks, implicated also in the spread of 30 See the discussion of this passage and the phrase genti exterae in T. M. Charles-Edwards “Perceptions of Pagan and Christian: From Patrick to Gregory the Great”, in The Introduction of Christianity, pp. 259–78, at pp. 263–65. On the theological and literary-historical backgrounds to the themes of slavery and servitude in Patrick’s texts, see E. McLuhan, “Mini­ sterium seruitutis meae: The Metaphor and Reality of Slavery in Saint Patrick’s Epistola and Confessio”, in Studies in Irish Hagiography: Saints and Schol­ ars, ed. by J. Carey, M. Herbert, and P. Ó Riain, Dublin, 2001, pp. 63–71. 31  Palmbush, “The Frontier”, pp. 32–33; in her contextualization of Patrick’s frontier interactions, Palmbush adapts M. W. Graham, News and Fron­ tier Consciousness in the Late Roman Empire, Ann Arbor, 2006. 32  2 Cor. 3:1–3. For further analysis and discussion of this Pauline image in Patrick’s writing, see J. Reid, “Mediating the Word: St Patrick, the Trivium, and Christian Communication”, Media Tropes eJournal, 2.1 (2009), pp. 84–116. 33  Eph. 6:20. Charles-Edwards makes the observation that “for Patrick, his legatio, with which he has been entrusted a Christo Deo meo, entails breaking down, first in himself, and then in others, the high wall between the barbari, the exterae gentes, and the Christians of Britain” (“Perceptions of Pagan and Christian”, p. 266).

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Christianity. These images of the self as an instrument of negotiation correspond with scriptural management of the spatiotemporal gap between Jew and Gentile — and its reciprocal extension in the gap between Christian and non-Christian — a theme that is present in various permutations across the texts. 34 Patrick deploys the core text from Isaiah 49:6, “Posui te lumen in gentibus, ut sis in salutem usque ad extremum terrae”, taken up in Acts 13:47, as a self-reflexive expression of that relationship (C38). 35 Undoubtedly, “the significance of Patrick for Patrick was not that he was the apostle of the Irish, but that he had taken Christianity to the furthest parts of the island, beyond which there was only the ocean”. 36 He says that he has gone “usque ad exteras partes, ubi nemo ultra erat et ubi numquam aliquis pervenerat qui baptizaret aut clericos ordinaret aut populum consummaret” (C51). But wherever Patrick stretches territorial limits, so too does he stretch temporal limits. In the ideology of the emergent Roman empire of Christ, the two are inextricably bound together. Operating “in novissimis diebus”, Patrick believes he has reached the combined spatiotemporal limits for the preaching of the Gospel to “omnibus gentibus ante fine mundi … usque ubi nemo ultra est”: quis ego sum, Domine, vel quae est vocatio mea, qui mihi tanta divinitate comparauisti, ita ut hodie in gentibus constanter exaltarem et magnificarem nomen tuum ubicumque loco fuero … debeo … Deo gratias semper agere … ut ego inscius et in novissimis diebus hoc opus tam pium et tam mirificum auderem adgredere, ita ut imitarem quippiam illos quos ante Dominus iam olim praedixerat praenuntiaturos evangelium suum in testimonium omnibus gentibus ante fine mundi — quod ita ergo vidimus itaque suppletum est; ecce testes sumus quia evangelium praedicatum est usque ubi nemo ultra est. (C34)

These purposeful demarcations highlight his activities in relation to a multi-dimensional totality whose limits converge within him and move with him, “ubicumque loco fuero”. This self-understanding in relation to limits informs Patrick’s sense of authority as a negotiator on the frontier and manifests 34 Cf. Charles-Edwards,

“Perceptions of Pagan and Christian”, p. 263. 42:6. 36  Charles-Edwards, “Perceptions of Pagan and Christian”, p. 260. 35  Cf. Isa.

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itself in a pragmatic way. In a particularly demonstrative passage from the Epistola, Patrick declares: Manu mea scripsi atque condidi verba ista danda et tradenda, militibus mittenda Corotici — non dico civibus meis neque civibus sanctorum Romanorum sed civibus daemoniorum, ob mala opera ipsorum. Ritu hostili in morte vivunt, socii Scottorum atque Pictorum apostatarumque. Sanguilentos sanguinare de sanguine innocentium Christianorum, quos ego innumerum numerum Deo genui atque in Christo confirmavi! (E2)

Not only have Coroticus and his men, acting as “socii Scottorum atque Pictorum apostatarumque”, killed innocent Christians, they have also handed over “in manus Scottorum atque Pictorum” those “filii Scottorum et filiae regulorum monachi et virgines Christi” baptized by Patrick (E12), who are now “prolongati et exportati in longa terrarum … ibi venundati ingenui homines, Christiani in servituti redacti sunt” (E15). Special venom is reserved for the Picti, who are uniquely described as indignissimi pessimi apostatae, because they retain for themselves some of these Christians as slaves (E15). By way of contrast to this scenario, whereby the milites Corotici but for their conduct may otherwise have been included among those enjoying citizenship with Patrick or the sancti Romani (E2, above), Patrick invokes the customs of the Romani Galli Christiani, who have established negotiation patterns with the non-Christian Franci for the successful return of baptized captives from their territories (E14). Patrick seems to have attempted to engage in a similar negotiation with Coroticus, of which he makes mention earlier, which has proven unsuccessful (E3). Whereas Patrick, working to convert the barbarae gentes (E1), seems to honour the rules of frontier management, Coroticus contravenes them, first through his depredations and then by his unwillingness to negotiate. Patrick is not merely appalled at the violence of the general scene, but by the breakdown of what may have been expected from Coroticus and his followers within the specific context of the relational dynamics of the frontier, turning on mutual identification in relation to Romanitas and Christianitas. Ethnographic labels are notoriously labile, but not endlessly so: they bear a metonymic relationship to the groups to which they refer. In naming the actors involved in this episode, Patrick invokes an experiential

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and historical zonal coherence. Instead of reading these labels in a completely literal or exclusive way, they are better interpreted in relation to Roman and Christian regional sensibilities, in step with the Late Antique literary and cartographic imagination. Broadly speaking, they are representative of cardinal directions in relation to Britannia: the Scotti should be understood as hailing from the west, and Picti as hailing from the north; Galli should be understood as Roman Christians in Gallia-proper in the more secure south, and Franci as the range of Germans in the less-secure and unsecured territories to the east. 37 While apostatae may indicate an assemblage of unnamed (or unknown) ‘fellows’ or ‘federates’, its rhetorical force of meaning encompasses ‘those who should know better’ — the very crux of what it means to be an apostate, a rebellator Christi (E19). 38 By way of this juxtaposition, the ad hominem directed at Coroticus is thus balanced by a global admonition. Patrick indicts Coroticus et alii because they refuse to recognize their mutuality with Christianized (and thereby Romanized) Irish of the frontier, behaving “quasi extranei facti sumus”, on the basis that “indignum est illis Hiberionaci sumus” (E16). The message of the letter is that wherever and whenever Patrick and his converts exist, Romanitas and Christianitas, as a combinatory force, ought to prevail. By virtue of their Christianization, the Irish should be accorded some modicum of rights and recognition by Coroticus and his followers, whether Picti or Scotti or otherwise, in the spirit of Christ and Roman frontier management. Against those who would overturn or operate outside this framework, he proclaims, “resciat omnis homo timens Deum quod a me alieni sunt et a Christo Deo meo, pro quo legationem fungor” (E5), in affirmation of his earlier declaration of exclusion against Coroticus and his men, “non dico civibus mei neque civibus sanctorum Romanorum sed civibus daemoniorum” (E2). 37  That Patrick names the Franks and not another group — as, for example, the Saxons — says less about genuine ethnic specificity than it does about familiarity with Germanic peoples in the Roman context generally, including Roman Britain. See F. M. Morris, “Cross-North Sea Contacts in the Roman Period”, Oxford Journal of Archaeology, 34 (2015), pp. 415–38; D. Mattingly, An Imperial Possession, passim; and F. M. Morris, North Sea and Channel Connectivity during the Late Iron Age and Roman Period, Oxford, 2010. 38 Cf. D. N. Dumville, “Picti apostataeque”, in Dumville et al., Saint Patrick, pp. 129–31.

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4. Domus-relations and the dominus The interplay of levels of containment and social identity in the texts narrows from the macro-distinctions of Romanitas and Chris­ tianitas to smaller social divisions, inviting their contemplation. Over the course of the Epistola and the Confessio, Patrick pays special attention to core concepts relating to citizenship, freedom, and inheritance, which he develops in and through the language of the family. Patrick’s use of this language is suggestive of a purposeful evocation of domus-relations as a transculturally meaningful motif in parallel with the tension adhering to the reinterpretation of the compositional character, role, and extent of the domus within the Late Antique Roman sphere in relation to Christianity. From its earliest inception as a Judaic messianic cult, Christianity posed a confrontation to the family at the level of personal relations within the household. The Christian texts are explicit in their statements concerning the domestic disruption inherent in becoming a follower of Jesus Christ. In Matthew 10:34–37, Christ uses the metaphor of the sword and the words of the prophet Micah to express its transformative power: “Nolite arbitrari quia venerim mittere pacem in terram; non veni pacem mittere sed gladium. Veni enim separare hominem adversus patrem suum, et filiam adversus matrem suam, et nurum adversus socrum suam: et inimici hominis domestici eius. Qui amat patrem aut matrem plus quam me, non est me dignus; et qui amat filium aut filiam super me, non est me dignus”. 39 Transferring oneself from the authority and protection of family and home to that of Christ comes with otherwise impossible rewards, as set out in Matthew 19:29: “Et omnis, qui reliquit domos vel fratres aut sorores aut patrem aut matrem aut filios aut agros propter nomen meum, centuplum accipiet et vitam aeternam possidebit”.40 Over time, a Trinitarian 39 Matt. 10:35–36 reiterates Micah 7:6 (cf. Luke 12:51–53): “putatis quia pacem veni dare in terram? Non, dico vobis, sed separationem. Erunt enim ex hoc quinque in domo una divisi: tres in duo et duo in tres; dividentur pater in filium et filius in patrem, mater in filiam et filiam in matrem, socrus in nurum suam et nurus in socrum”. 40  Cf. Luke 18:29–30 (cf. Gen. 12:1–3): “Nemo est, qui reliquit domum aut uxorem aut fratres aut parentes aut filios propter regnum Dei, et non recipiat multo plura in hoc tempore et in saeculo venturo vitam aeternam”.

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theology of adoption is developed such that Christians, through the agency of the Spirit, become inheritors alongside Christ the Son as the adopted children of God the Father.41 The effect of Christianity on domus-relations is a major theme in its development within the Roman Empire. Traditional Roman social and economic status revolved around the figure of the domus as the site of domestic affiliation, including family members joined by consanguinity and marriage, servants, and slaves, and the role of the leader of that space as dominus.42 Throughout Roman territories, Dominus was used in reference to the Emperor, implying that the domus proper to which Roman citizens belonged was the socio-political entity of the Empire itself, construed as a spatial and ideological container. While the interpretation of the domus as worldly imperium was analogous to the traditional understanding of the domus as symbolic of the status-defining social unit at the level of the family, its redevelopment — under the aegis of the Christian dominus — as a universal Christian structure necessitated a wholesale appropriation of its defining elements. This process of translation seems to have occurred wherever the concept of the Roman domus had taken root. Such conceptualizations of the domus obtained in multi-ethnic, Roman provincial environments that included indigenous and Christian kinship organization. For example, in Africa Proconsularis, the “new elites” tended to adopt the Roman idea of derivation of personal “status and wealth” from domus and familia.43 Particular attention has been drawn to the text of the passiones of the North African Christian martyrs Perpetua and Felicity, which highlights the instability of these Roman categories against the new social configurations imposed by allegiance to the Christian dominus, leaving open the question of how traditional defintions of Romanness might find resolution with the social demands of

41  As

in Rom. 8:14–17, discussed below at §5. Saller, “Roman Kinship: Structure and Sentiment”, in The Roman Family: Status, Sentiment, Space, ed. by B. Rawson, P. Weaver, Oxford, 1997, pp. 7–34. 43 D. E. Wilhite, Tertullian the African: An Anthropological Reading of Tertullian’s Context and Identities, New York, 2007, pp. 81–94, especially pp. 82–87. 42 R.  P.

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Christianity as they intersect in kinship ties.44 Played out at Carthage among members of a noble family, the diarized events, both real and imagined, leading up to Perpetua’s death in the arena alongside her slave, Felicity, revolve around a battle of religious wills between Perpetua and her father, the domestic double of the emperor. A high point in the drama is signalled by her father symbolically relinquishing his paterfamilias over her when he calls her domina rather than filia.45 Perpetua goes to her death, having actively transferred her filial and all other obligations, including those owing to her role as wife and mother, from the secular Roman family to that of the Christian dominus. The story of Perpetua is an important example of the transformational piety of Roman Late Antiquity — understood as the transference of filial obligation from the paterfamilias of the secular family to that of the Christian dominus. The Confessio and the Epistola reveal how a member of the Roman Christian elite understood this confrontation between Christianity and secular social structures at the level of the family, both at the centre in Britannia and at the margins in Ireland. The emphasis of Patrick’s narratives suggests that his audiences would respond to their strong paternal element, particularly in his stories of conversion. His special pride in converting the Irish to Christianity and its elites to some form of monastic life, or at the very least celibacy,46 hinges on disruption of the family through the transference of filial piety from fathers to God, as indicated by the claim he poses as a rhetorical question, “Unde 44  Wilhite, Tertullian the African, pp. 88–90. David Wilhite observes: “Like the Scillitan martyrs and Christians on a whole, Perpetua and her companions strongly resist any form of submission to the emperor as dominus”; further, Perpetua “insists on referring to the emperor as Caesar … instead of dominus, a title reserved for the ‘Lord Jesus Christ’” (pp. 89–90); for occurrences of dominus in the Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis and biblical uses of Caesar, see p. 90 n. 73. 45  Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis, § 5, ed. and trans. by T. J. Heffernan, The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity, Oxford 2012, p. 108. 46 On Patrick’s connection to monasticism see M.  W. Herren, “Mission and Monasticism in the Confessio of Patrick”, in Sages, Saints, and Storytellers, pp. 76–85; see also M.  W. Herren and S.  A. Brown, Christ in Celtic Chris­ tianity: Britain and Ireland from the Fifth to the Tenth Century, Woodbridge, 2002, pp. 26–27, 30–34.

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autem Hiberione qui numquam notitiam Dei habuerunt, nisi idola et immunda usque nunc super coluerunt, quomodo nuper facta est plebs Domini et filii Dei nuncupantur, filii Scottorum et filiae regu­lorum monachi et virgines Christi esse videntur?” (C41; cf. E12). This general claim is shored up by the specific example of a noble Irish woman who becomes a dedicated “virgo Christi”. The story hooks into dynamics of transformational piety familiar to the pas­ sio of Perpetua: Et etiam una benedicta Scotta genetiva nobilis pulcherrima adulta erat, quam ego baptizavi; et post paucos dies una causa venit ad nos, insinuavit nobis responsum accepisse a nuntio Dei aet monuit eam ut esset virgo Chrisi et ipsa Deo proximaret. Deo gratias, sexta ab hac die optime et avidissime arripuit illud quod etiam omnes virgines Dei ita hoc faciunt — non sponte patrum earum, sed et persecutiones patiuntur et improperia falsa a parentibus suis et nihilominus plus augetur numerus (et de genere nostro qui ibi nati sunt nescimus numerum eorum) praeter viduas et continentes. (C42)

While parentes (in the sense of ‘kin’ or ‘parents’) may register their disapproval, it is specifically fathers, whether construed as Scottorum reguli or patres in a more general sense, whose authority is targeted for dislocation. Patrick’s disruptive mandate extends to other strata of the Irish household. He has special care for women in slavery, who, by secretly following Christ, become His ancillae instead (C42).47 The ambiguous reference he makes “de genere nostro qui nati sunt nescimus numerum eorum”, suggests that there may be others like Patrick, from (elite) Romano-British families but born in Ireland, who have taken a similar path. The implication is that a Roman understanding of domus-relations is considered transculturally meaningful and appropriate for the Irish scene. 47 C42

continues: “Sed et illae maxime laborant quae servitio detinentur; usque ad terrores et minas assidue perferunt; sed Dominus gratiam dedit multis ex ancillis suis, nam etsi vetantur tamen fortiter imitantur”. Eliza­ beth McLuhan rightly points out that “Patrick … suggests no discontent with the slave system per se”, noting that his “outrage … is less a railing against the enslavement of freeborn Christians than an objection that those so enslaved would be sold to non-Christians and in this way exposed to sinful influences: most explicitly, the sexual dangers encountered by women” (“Min­ isterium seruitutis meae”, p. 68).

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Patrick’s description of domus-relations is both physical and conceptual in terms of their structure and extent, a reminder that the physical domus — as “a pathway” from the public to the private — always structures relationships in proximity to a dominus, creating a somewhat “flexible hierarchy” that includes family, friends, and clients.48 Accordingly, there are three sets of domus-relations evoked in Patrick’s narratives, each having a different moral signification within the emergent Roman and Christian nexus. The first set revolves around the domus of his father (E10), Calpornius, identified with a villula near the vicus of Ban­ navem Taburniae in Britannia, whence Patrick is captured and sent into slavery in Hibernia (C1). This domus is contrasted with the second set of domus-relations revolving around Coroticus and his men, who “de spoliis defunctorum Christianorum repleverunt domus suas, de rapinis vivunt” and in their miserable ignorance “venenum letale cibum porrigunt ad amicos et filios suos”; Patrick analogizes this poisoning of the entire set of domus-relations and its extensions with the familial, intergenerational contamination set in motion by Eve, who “non intellexit quod utique mortem tradidit viro suo” through the fruit of the tree of wisdom (E13). The third set of domus-relations articulated by Patrick revolves around Jesus Christ as universal dominus, into which all other domus-relations fit and derive their ultimate identity. The superstructural power of Christ as dominus over all three sets of domus-relations across the texts is signalled in the meting out of justice under the auspices of the Christian paterfamilias, and their moral comparison is predicated on their degree of impiety in relation to this power. Patrick understands his capture alongside “tot milia hominum” — including male and female servants of his father’s domus — as a punitive expulsion from both the patriarchal domus and the imperial domus by the overseeing Christian dominus, who disperses them “in gentibus multis etiam usque ad ultimam terrae” on account of their general disobedience (C1). Likewise, the domus-relations of Coroticus are subject to the same dominus, and “mortem perennem poenam operantur” for their transgressions (E13). These punishments, in applying to all mem48 J.-A. Dickmann, “Space and Social Relations in the Roman West”, in A Companion to Families, pp. 53–72, at p. 55.

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bers of the household, flatten the domestic hierarchy and highlight the precariousness of the “household as a stage” for the support of Christian values.49 The converts, meanwhile, represent successful transformational piety in action: the “filii Scottorum et filiae regulorum” are removed from their secular relationships and recreated as Christian monks and virgins (C41, E12). Two groups thus emerge in the landscape of the texts: those who fall into the potestas of God the Father through Christ the Dominus, and those who do not. 5. Social Identitiy and the Drama of the Frontier It is instructive to view Patrick’s dramatization of the moral significations of these three sets of domus-relations against the backdrop of the Roman law of persons. Intimately linked to an individual’s placement within the relational network of the domus, the Roman law of persons defined legal personality in relation to three key elements: libertas, civitas, and familia. Whether an individual was free or slave, citizen or non-citizen, ultimately derived from one’s place in the hierarchy of domus-relations extending from the dominus in a Roman household. Changes to the conditions of any part of this triangulation could result in loss of personhood status and rights pertaining to it in Roman society. Known as capitis deminutio, or ‘loss of status’, this formal reduction of legal personhood operated on a sliding scale of severity. In its minimal form, loss of status was registered by loss of family and associated rights. Loss of citizenship, which logically includes loss of family, placed the individual at the media position of the scale. Maximal diminution of status was characterized by loss of liberty, which necessarily entails loss of citizenship and family, and was typified by entry into slavery.50 As the personae of the Confessio and the Epistola undergo their various transformations in relation to the Christian dominus, a drama of capitis deminutio is played out among them on the precise grounds of freedom, citizenship, and family on the Roman frontier. 49 K. Cooper, “The Household as a Venue for Religious Conversion: The Case of Christianity”, in A Companion to Families, pp. 183–97, at p. 184. 50 A. Borkowski and P. du Plessis, Textbook on Roman Law, 3rd ed., Oxford, 2005, p. 89.

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Patrick’s capture from his father’s estate and subsequent enslavement in Ireland may be understood in relation to capitis deminutio maxima as a first phase in his eventual, wholesale transfer from the paterfamilias of his father into that of the Christian dominus. His noble and Christian family status, indicated by the recitation of his paternal ancestry from Potitus the priest to Calpornius the deacon and decurion (C1; E10), brought no protection against this violent episode; once in Ireland, however, God protects and comforts Patrick “ut pater filium” (C2), and is acknowledged as the source of ‘such benefits’ and ‘such grace’ (tanta beneficia; tanta gra­ tia), past and present, bestowed upon him “in terra captivitatis meae” (C3). In a suggestive reversal of this episode, Patrick later tells how “post paucos annos in Brittanniis eram cum parentibus meis, qui me ut filium susceperunt et ex fide rogauerunt me ut uel modo ego post tantas tribulationes quas ego pertuli nusquam ab illis discederem” (C23). This episode suggests that Patrick had undergone a formal process of postliminium pertaining to ex-captives.51 For postliminium to take effect, “it had to be shown that the capture had occurred in honourable circumstances and that the return to Rome (or to her allies) had been made at the first reasonable opportunity”; upon return, former civic and property rights, marriage and family relations were restored “as far as possible”, and the ex-captive would regain potestas over descendants or would again be subject to paterfamilias, whichever obtained. 52 The ‘good faith’, quasi-contractual appeal “ex fide” made by his parentes upon his return and restoration “ut filium” echoes the conditions of Patrick’s travel with the pagan sailors who agree to take him from Ireland to Britain: they allow him to travel with them, “ex fide”, on the provision that “fac nobiscum amicitiam quo modo volueris” (C18). This obligation to make good on the transaction may allude to Patrick having traded on his Roman status and access to wealth upon return to his family in Britain. Despite Patrick’s repatriation and restoration to status through his family “ut filium”, his self-orientation seems to have undergone a fateful change as a result of his experiences, and his piety is no longer directed towards Calpornius’s potestas. Tellingly, the 51  See 52 

also Flechner, Saint Patrick Retold, pp. 103–04 and 106–07. Flechner, Saint Patrick Retold, pp. 93–94.

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secular “ex fide” transactions entered into by Patrick, whether negotiated with the sailors or his parentes, resemble each other in that they result in some form of fiduciary break on his part. Reading between the lines, his sense of relational accountability is measured according to another set of values in respect to the persons involved. Just as Patrick transacts his journey with vague promises of future compensation to the sailors but refuses to perform more immediate signs of fidelity, as for example sucking their nipples or eating their sacrificial offering (C18, C19),53 in turn, he breaks with any sense of formal obligation or duty owed to his parentes and leaves Britain again for Ireland, this time voluntarily, to convert the Irish. This event is marked by high emotion, bribery, pleading, rejection of advice, and offense to his family: “munera multa mihi offerebantur cum fletu et lacrimis et offendi illos, nec non contra votum aliquantis de senioribus meis” (C37). After he quits his patria et parentes, his filial obligation transfers permanently to the paterfamilias of God. While Patrick expresses a rhetorically dutiful preparedness to see patria et parentes again (C43), the social and material value of these relationships has already been converted into a new spiritual currency that is not recoverable in the economy of traditional Roman personhood. Whether he in fact ‘lost’ or ‘traded’ his “patria et parentes” (amittere, C36; tradere, E1), it seems he irrevocably gave his freeborn status (dare ingenuitatem, C37) and sold his nobility (vendere nobilitatem, E10) “pro utilitare aliorum” (C37, E10). As though contractually bound by law, Patrick is constrained from returning again to their source — to his cognatio — by the Holy Spirit, reinforcing the non-recoverability of his prior status: “Alligatus sum Spiritu ut non videam aliquem de cognatione mea” (E10). While in the Epistola this binding constraint is embedded in the context of centre-margin relations and personal status,54 in the Confessio it is more immediately connected to a possible jurisdictional dimension that places both Britain and Gaul forever beyond his reach:

53  On the interpretation of and analogues for the rites suggested in this episode, see D. A. Bray, “Suckling at the Breast of Christ: A Spiritual Lesson in an Irish Hagiographical Motif”, Peritia, 14 (2000), pp. 282–96. 54  E10 (quoted and discussed above, at § 3).

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Unde autem etsi voluero amittere illas et ut pergens in Brittanniis — et libentissime paratus eram quasi ad patriam et parentes; non id solum sed etiam usque ad Gallias visitare fratres et ut viderem faciem sanctorum Domini mei; scit Deus quod ego valde optabam, sed alligatus Spiritu, qui mihi protestatur si hoc fecero ut futurum reum me esse designat, et timeo perdere laborem quem inchoavi — et non ego sed Christus Dominus, qui me imperavit ut venirem esse cum illis residuum aetatis meae, si Dominus voluerit et custodierit me ab omni via mala, ut non peccem coram illo. (C43)

When invoking these restrictions, Patrick maintains the sense of spiritual compulsion in the biblical collocation attributed to Paul, “alligatus ego Spiritu” (Acts 20:22), and gestures similarly towards the logic of the milieu in question. 55 At the same time his narrative retrieves Paul’s sense of personal threat, “nisi quod Spiritus Sanctus per omnes civitates protestatur mihi dicens quoniam vincula et tribulationes me manent” (Acts 20:23), he reverses the roles of physical movement and punishment: whereas Paul, “alligatus ... Spiritu”, sets out for Jerusalem, “quae in ea eventura sint mihi ignorans” (Acts 20:22), Patrick says he is bound by the Spirit to remain in Ireland, seeming rather to know what awaits him if he does not. Whether these restrictions are supported by some kind of equally binding legal arrangement with respect to his cognatio is unsolvable, but suggestive. It has been proposed that Patrick’s removal to Ireland was motivated by a desire to escape financial and other burdens associated with the inherited title of decurio: while his father could have abdicated his role in the curia and become a deacon in the Church, a common remedy, Patrick would have had to abandon his inheritance; the idea is that Patrick sold his imperial office and left for Ireland as an opportunistic move within the context of the so-called ‘flight of the curiales’, liquidating assets and taking whatever mobile wealth he could with him, which may have included slaves. 56 This explanation for Patrick’s story, however, raises the logical question of what he would stand 55 Cf. Bieler, Libri epistolarum Sancti Patricii, commentary on Confessio at § 43, pp. 173–4. 56  Flechner, Saint Patrick Retold, pp. 52–58; and idem, “Patrick’s Reasons for Leaving Ireland”, in Tome: Studies in Medieval Celtic History and Law in Honour of Thomas Charles-Edwards, ed. by F. Edmonds and P. Russell, Woodbridge, 2011, pp. 125–33.

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to gain by advertising the fact, when he is already suspected of “mercenary intentions” by those who have criticized his mission.57 There may be yet another explanation. When Patrick returned to Britain, having been restored by his parentes “ut filium”, he would once again have been under the potestas of Calpornius or another agnate as paterfamilias. As such, he would not have owned his own property. He would likely have had some wealth made available to him called peculium, which could include earnings from state and military service, gifts, and legacies, but had certain restrictions. In the case of emancipation, the peculium could be granted as a parting gift in its entirety by the paterfamilias; otherwise, a portion of the peculium would be retained by the paterfamilias outright, as well as any profits generated by the whole sum. If still under potestas, in addition to anything accruing to the peculium, the paterfamilias was owed the profits from any financial contracts entered into by the filiusfami­ lias.58 If, as it seems, Patrick left for Ireland without the blessing of parentes, he may either have gone while still under potestas, or have been emancipated by the paterfamilias with hostile intent.59 Perhaps these, or other explanations, lurk behind Patrick’s claim to have spent capital — “non minimum quam pretium quindecim hominum distribui” — but not to have profited by it, and his willingness to keep spending in the context of his self-directed, certainly non-contractual, Christian mission (C50–54). Ultimately, Patrick’s notion of allowable expenditure drifts from the monetary to the spiritual under the paterfamilias of God: “Potens est Dominus ut det mihi postmodum ut meipsum impendar pro animabus vestris” (C53; cf. C37).60 This drift reflects the reconfiguration and

57 Colmán Etchingham asks: “Why would Patrick highlight his inherited decurion status, if unburdening himself of its unwanted obligations were the real reason for his presence in Ireland? Would this not be seized upon by those who suspected him of mercenary intentions, while exposing the entire moral and spiritual defense of his mission as disingenuous?” (“Conversion in Ireland”, p. 193). 58 On peculium, see Borkowski and du Plessis, Textbook on Roman Law, pp. 116–17. 59  On emancipation and its complications, see ibid., p. 118. 60  C37 reads: “ibi opto impendere eam [i.e. animam meam] usque ad mortem, si Dominus mihi indulgeret”.

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reformulation of his personhood status through transference of his filial piety. As a consequence of their impious actions, Coroticus and his followers undergo capitis deminutio maxima at Patrick’s decree. Patrick harnesses the nuncupative instrument of Roman law, as for example in the making of wills by oral declaration of intent and identification of inheritors before witnesses.61 He employs the non-scriptural verb nuncupo to name Coroticus and each of his men a “filius zabuli” (E4); by contrast, the same verb is deployed in the Confessio to name his Christian converts “plebs Domini et filii Dei” (C41).62 These phrases are more than incidents of consistent style: they are clear, public, and — whether witnessed in oral or written form — stand as formal declarations of relational status.63 In addition to their status as sons of Satan, Coroticus and his followers are declared slaves because of their service to sin: “qui facit peccatum servus est” (E4). In a passage discussed above, he cancels their citizenship — somewhat enigmatically — in relation to himself and to the sancti Romani (E2). Coroticus’ victims are rescued from the oblivion of capitis deminutio maxima by Patrick’s assurances to them that “vos … regnabitis cum apostolis et prophetis atque martyribus” and “aeterna regna capietis” through their baptisms (E18). The legitimacy of Coroticus and his followers in respect to such an inheritance is further shattered by Patrick’s inquiry into their paternity, when he asks whether or not, as Christians, they have “unum Deum patrem” after all (E11, E16). By way of completing this diminution, Patrick refashions the enemy as shape-shifting, dehumanized outsiders, using the image of the canine to encompass their transgressions: they are “lupi rapaces” (E5, E12) who kill Christians and traffic them to non-Christian outsiders, “quasi in lupanar” (E14); using the voice of Jesus of the Revelation, he places them outside the heavenly 61 Cf. the

nuncupative will: “an oral declaration of the testator’s wishes before seven witnesses” (Borkowski and du Plessis, Textbook on Roman Law, p. 222). 62  Ludwig Bieler, in his list of Voces non biblicae, notes Patrick’s use of nun­ cupo along with other words like exagaellia and ingenuitas (on exagaellia see n. 67, below), suggestive of his connection to a world outside the confines of biblical vocabulary (Bieler, Libri epistolarum Sancti Patricii, p. 125). 63  On the oral/aural nature of the texts, see n. 21 and n. 24, above.

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civitas, where there are only “canes et venefici et homicidae” (E18; cf. Rev. 22:14–15). Patrick’s loose reworking of the propositional logic and relational definitions employed by Jesus to rebuke his persecutors in John 8:34–44 reinforces the core question of legitimacy of relationship to God as paterfamilias throughout the letter. The effectiveness of Patrick’s delineations of relationship ultimately depends on their sociocultural availability and applicability, and on Patrick’s own potestas as a father in the Church, possessing the power to bind and loose, through God’s election to his role as bishop in Hibernia (E1, cf. C26; E6). His split sense of self between Romano-British noble and poor Christian missionary would seem to find resolution through realization of his own pater­ familias as a consequence of this role. In imitation of a legal testamentary proclamation, he hopes “post obitam meum exagaellias relinquere fratribus et filiis meis quos in Domino ego baptizavi tot milia hominum” (C14). Patrick would seem to be referring to a kind of inheritance, likely the one afforded to his fratres and filii through the promises of baptism.64 The adoptive status of Patrick’s inheritors, the Irish “filii Dei [vivi] et coheredes Christi” (C4; C59), mirrors a biological appropriateness — expressed in the metaphoric use of the flesh-and-blood language of birth and rebirth (gignere, renasci) in the act of baptism — that refers equally to him as to God as paterfamilias.65 Through this quasi-biological process, the children of Patrick become direct inheritors of God and co-inheritors with Christ as their sibling after the Pauline image in Romans 8:15–17: “non enim accepistis spiritum servitutis iterum in timorem, sed accepistis Spiritum adoptionis filiorum, in quo clamamus, ‘Abba! Pater!’. Ipse Spiritus testimonium reddit una cum spiritu nostro quod sumus filii Dei. Si autem filii, et heredes: heredes quidem Dei, coheredes autem Christi”. In this spirit, Patrick extends himself to his proximi and filii in Ireland (E1), bringing some Irish of the frontier into the Roman and

64 Cf. Ludwig Bieler, “Exagellia”, The American Journal of Philology, 69 (1948), pp. 309–12. 65  As, for example, in the following phrases: “populi multi per me in Deum renascerentur” (C38); “ego innumerum numerum Deo genui” (E2); “fratres et filii quos in Christo genui” (E16). Cf. C51 and associated commentary in Bieler, Libri epistolarum Sancti Patricii, p. 86, and p. 184, n. 51.

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Christian imperium sine fine at a crucial stage in its development and spread. 6. Negotiating the Frontier: A Conclusion The foregoing discussion has endeavoured to explore what the Epistola ad Coroticum and the Confessio reveal about social identity as a result of Patrick’s involvement in Ireland at the end of Roman Britain. The texts tend to corroborate the suggestion from material evidence that Ireland was a Roman transmarine frontier zone. The exercise of “soft power” through cultural and economic exchange would seem to have been instrumental in the management of this frontier, and it is into this nexus of transacted social relationships that Patrick finds himself, first as a member of a cohort of enslaved captives from Roman Britain, then as a selffunded missionary. Patrick’s emergence as a node in the network transmission of Christianity at the fringes of the Roman North Atlantic required not only a working knowledge of social identities and their dynamics, but also of negotiation tactics and customs pertaining to them. Some of this knowledge may be accounted for by Patrick’s status as a member of the Romano-British elite, his own capture by raiders, his enslavement, and his escape back to Britain, but some of it clearly derived from years of ad hoc experience on the ground as a missionary. While ostensibly successful, this endeavour also included some failures of negotiation, to which his letter to Coroticus, and the seizure of his possessions and temporary incarceration by local rulers (C52) bear witness. Still more knowledge was derived by analogy from scriptural sources and from sources available to Patrick, but not clearly identifiable through his texts. Ultimately, Patrick put his knowledge to functional and pragmatic use in negotiating the Irish frontier for the purpose of extending and expanding Christianitas and Romanitas. This exploration has taken for granted the authenticity of the texts as communication events in and of themselves. As such, the people and social relationships revealed in them are representational, and constitute amalgamations of contextually appropriate spiritual and secular significations that are “concrete and alive”; they are not mere “personified abstractions” nor randomly selected, but dependent upon immediate realities for their mean-

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ing and importance.66 Patrick illuminates only so much of his world as is necessary to communicate effectively within the living, relational framework of his complex social scenario. While not histories, the texts nevertheless encode the historicization process endemic to writing itself, and the degree to which this encoding reflects contemporary historical realities is inseparable from the degree to which they are an outcome of the literary and rhetorical exigencies of their intended communicative purposes. The texts were indended to influence real-life outcomes in the negotiation of relationships and to remind multivalent audiences what obligations are owed to groups and individuals in relation to their social identities across space and time. The communicative force of the texts is predicated on the applicability of Roman and Christian concepts of the family and personhood to the Irish frontier. With more emphasis placed on the transcultural implications of the reconfiguration of Ireland as a transmarine Roman frontier, Patrick’s role in the development of a new outpost of Christianitas and Romanitas will repay continued investigation. Abstract The Epistola ad Coroticum and the Confessio by Patricius are believed to be the authentic works of Saint Patrick, the Romano-British noble who claimed to have converted the Irish to Christianity by way of a self-funded mission. These texts preserve a partial view of the people he encountered and the relationships he transacted in the course of his conversion activities. The texts are neither historiographical nor autobiographical in their objectives: rather, they serve immediate functional and pragmatic purposes, and, as such, are valuable witnesses to conditions on the ground in Ireland. While the exact dates of Patrick’s floruit remain uncertain, the operational realities revealed in the texts are congruent with Ireland’s proposed status as a transmarine Roman frontier zone during the late fourth and early fifth centuries. This paper explores what the Epistola ad Coroticum and the Confessio suggest about social identity in this frontier zone at the end of Roman Britain. The texts derive their communicative logic from Patrick’s belief that, in and through his presence, Romanitas and Christiani­ tas — as a combinatory spatiotemporal framework — may be transmitted from the centre in Britannia to the margins 66 É. Gilson, Dante the Philosopher, trans. by D. Moore, New York, 1949, pp. 267–68.

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in Hibernia. Social identities, from macro-distinctions at the group level to the nuances of individual personhood, are construed by Patrick in relation to this framework. To this end, Patrick purposefully evokes domus-relations as a transculturally meaningful motif connected to the transformational piety of Roman Late Antiquity — understood as the transference of filial obligation from the paterfamilias of the secular family to that of the Christian dominus. The Roman law of persons provides an instructive lens through which to observe how Patrick dramatizes these relational configurations in Ireland at a crucial moment in the context of his role in the development and spread of the Roman and Christian imperium sine fine.

Bibliography Primary Sources Libri epistolarum sancti Patricii episcopi, ed. by L. Bieler, Dublin, 1993. Liber epistolarum Sancti Patricii episcopi: The Book of Letters of Saint Patrick the Bishop, ed. and trans. by D. Howlett, Dublin, 1994. Passio sanctarum Perpetuae et Felicitatis, ed. and trans. by T. J. Heffernan, The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity, Oxford, 2012. Prosperus Aquitani, Epitoma Chronicorum, ed. by T. Mommsen, Berlin 1892 (MGH: Auctore Antiquissimi, 9). Prosperus Aquitani, Contra Collatorem, PL 51, col. 213–276A. St Patrick: His Writings and Muirchú’s Life, ed. and trans. by A. B. E. Hood, London, 1978. Virgil: Eclogues, Georgics, Aeneid I–VI, with an English Translation by H. Rushton Fairclough, rev. by G. P. Goold, Cambridge, MA 1999 (Loeb Classical Library, 63). Secondary Sources Bieler, L., “Exagellia”, The American Journal of Philology, 69 (1948), pp. 309–12. Bieler, L., “Saint Patrick in Latin Language and Literature”, in Ludwig Bieler: Studies on the Lives and Legend of Saint Patrick, pp. 65–98. Binchy, D. A., “Patrick and His Biographers: Ancient and Modern”, Studia Hibernica, 2 (1962), pp. 7–173.

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Borkowski, A., and P. du Plessis, Textbook on Roman Law, 3rd ed., Oxford, 2005. Bray, D. A., “Suckling at the Breast of Christ: A Spiritual Lesson in an Irish Hagiographical Motif”, Peritia, 14 (2000), pp. 282–96. Cahill Wilson, J., “Et tu, Hibernia? Frontier zones and Culture Contact — Ireland in a Roman World”, in Romans and Barbarians Beyond the Frontiers, pp. 48–69. Cain, A., “Patrick’s ‘Confessio’ and Jerome’s ‘Epistula’ 52 to Nepotian”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 20 (2010), pp. 1–15. Charles-Edwards, T. M., “Palladius, Prosper, and Leo the Great: Mission and Primatial Authority”, in Dumville et al., Saint Pat­ rick, pp. 1–12. Charles-Edwards, T. M., Early Christian Ireland, Cambridge, 2000. Charles-Edwards, T. M., “Perceptions of Pagan and Christian: From Patrick to Gregory the Great”, in The Introduction of Christianity, pp. 259–78. Chin, C. M., Grammar and Christianity in the Late Roman world, Philadelphia, 2008. A Companion to Families in the Greek and Roman Worlds, ed. by B. Rawson, Chichester, 2011. Conybeare, C., “Re-Reading St Patrick”, Journal of Medieval Latin 4 (1994), pp. 39–50. Cooper, K., “The Household as a Venue for Religious Conversion: The Case of Christianity”, in A Companion to Families, pp. 183–97. de Wet, C., “John Chrysostom and the Mission to the Goths: Rhetorical and Ethical Perspectives”, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies, 86.1 (2012), pp. 1–6. Dickmann, J.-A., “Space and Social Relations in the Roman West”, in A Companion to Families, pp. 53–72. Dumville, D. N., “Verba militibus mittenda Corotici: An Analysis of St Patrick’s Tract on the Crimes of Coroticus”, in Dumville et al., Saint Patrick, pp. 117–28. Dumville, D. N., “Picti apostataeque”, in Dumville et al., Saint Patrick, pp. 129–31. Dumville, D. N. et al., Saint Patrick, a.d. 493–1993, Woodbridge, 1993. Dyson, S. L., “The Family and the Roman Countryside”, in A Com­ panion to Families, pp. 431–44. Ego Trouble: Authors and their Identities in the Early Middle Ages, ed. by R.  Corradini, M. B. Gillis, R. McKitterick, and I. van Rens­woude, Vienna, 2010.

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Ellis Jones, J., The Maritime Landscape of Roman Britain: Water Transport on the Coasts and Rivers of Britannia, BAR British Series 556, Oxford, 2012. Etchingham, C., “Conversion in Ireland”, in The Introduction of Chris­ tianity, pp. 181–207. Fauconnier, G. and M. Turner, The Way We Think: Conceptual Blend­ ing and the Mind’s Hidden Complexities, New York, 2002. Flechner, R., “Patrick’s Reasons for Leaving Ireland”, in Tome: Studies in Medieval Celtic History and Law in Honour of Thomas Charles-Edwards, ed. by F. Edmonds and P. Russell, Woodbridge, 2011, pp. 125–33. Flechner, R., Saint Patrick Retold: The Legend and History of Ireland’s Patron Saint, Princeton, 2019. Freeman, P., Ireland and the Classical World, Austin, 2001. Gilson, É., Dante the Philosopher, trans. by D. Moore, New York, 1949. Graham, M. W., News and Frontier Consciousness in the Late Roman Empire, Ann Arbor, 2006. Herren, M. W., “Mission and Monasticism in the Confessio of Patrick”, in Sages, Saints, and Storytellers, pp. 76–85. Herren, M. W, and S. A. Brown, Christ in Celtic Christianity: Britain and Ireland from the Fifth to the Tenth Century, Woodbridge, 2002. Hingley, R., “Introduction: Imperial Limits and the Crossing of Frontiers”, in Romans and Barbarians Beyond the Frontiers: Arche­ ology, Ideology and Identities in the North, ed. by S. Sánchez and A.  Guglielmi, Oxbow, 2017, pp. 1–7. Historiography and Identity I: Ancient and Early Christian Narratives of Community, ed. by W. Pohl and V. Wieser, Turnhout, 2019. Howlett, D., “Ex saliva scripturae meae”, in Sages, Saints and Story­ tellers, pp. 86–101. The Introduction of Christianity into the Early Medieval Insular World: Converting the Isles I, ed. by R. Flechner and M. Ní Mhaonaigh, Turnhout, 2016. Johnston, E., “Ireland in Late antiquity: A Forgotten Frontier?”, Studies in Late Antiquity, 1 (2017), pp. 107–23. Johnston, E., “Religious Change and Frontier Management”, Eolas: The Journal of the American Society of Irish Medieval Studies, 11 (2018), pp. 104–19. Johnston, E., Literacy and Identity in Early Medieval Ireland, Woodbridge, 2013.

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Lapidge, M. and R.  Sharpe, A Bibliography of Celtic Latin Literature, Dublin, 1985. Ludwig Bieler: Studies on the Lives and Legend of Saint Patrick, ed. by R.  Sharpe, London, 1986. Mattingly, D., An Imperial Possession, London, 2006. McLuhan, E., “Ministerium seruitutis meae: The Metaphor and Reality of Slavery in Saint Patrick’s Epistola and Confessio”, in Studies in Irish Hagiography: Saints and Scholars, ed. by J. Carey, M.  Herbert, and P. Ó Riain, Dublin, 2001, pp. 63–71. Morris, F. M., “Cross-North Sea Contacts in the Roman Period”, Oxford Journal of Archaeology, 34 (2015), pp. 415–38. Morris, F. M., North Sea and Channel Connectivity during the Late Iron Age and Roman Period, Oxford, 2010. Morris, J., “Pelagian Literature”, Journal of Theological Studies, 16 (1965), pp. 26–60. Ong, W. J., Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word, 3rd ed., New York, 2012. Palmbush, C., “The Frontier and Patrick’s Ministry of Slavery”, Eolas: The Journal of the American Society of Irish Medievalists, 7 (2014), pp. 28–45. Pohl, W., “Introduction”, in Historiography and Identity I: Ancient and Early Christian Narratives of Community, ed. by W. Pohl and V. Wieser, Turnhout, 2019, pp. 7–50. Reid, J., “Mediating the Word: St Patrick, the Trivium, and Christian Communication”, Media Tropes eJournal, 2 (2009), pp. 84–116. Romans and Barbarians Beyond the Frontiers: Archeology, Ideology and Identities in the North, ed. by S. Sánchez and A. Guglielmi, Oxford, 2017. The Roman Family: Status, Sentiment, Space, ed. by B. Rawson and P. Weaver, Oxford, 1997 Sages, Saints and Storytellers: Celtic Studies in Honour of Profes­ sor James Carney, ed. by D. Ó Corráin, L.  Breatnach, and K. R. McCone, Maynooth, 1989. Saller, R. P., “Roman Kinship: Structure and Sentiment”, in The Roman Family, pp. 7–34. Studies in Irish Hagiography: Saints and Scholars, ed. by J. Carey, M.  Herbert, and P. Ó Riain, Dublin, 2001. Tomlin, R. S. O., “Vinisius to Nigra: Evidence from Oxford of Christianity in Roman Britain”, Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epi­ graphik, 100 (1994), pp. 93–108.

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Tomlin, R. S. O., Britannia Romana: Roman Inscriptions and Roman Britain, Oxford, 2018. Wilhite, D. E., Tertullian the African: An Anthropological Reading of Tertullian’s Context and Identities, New York, 2007. Wood, I., “What is a Mission?”, in The Introduction of Christianity, pp. 135–56. Wooding, J. M., Communication and Commerce along the Western Sea Lanes, ad 400–800, BAR International Series 654, Oxford, 1996.

Iam satis blando satiata lusu: Eine bisher unbekannte Ode eines Humanisten auf die Jungfrau Maria Peter Stotz † (Zürich) 1. Einleitung Dem fruchtbaren und verdienten Erforscher der lateinischen Literatur des frühmittelalterlichen Europa wird hier ein Geburtstagsgruß zugedacht, der zwar von einem Text aus viel späterer Zeit handelt, in dem sich jedoch – wie sollte es anders sein? – mancherlei frühere Traditionen spiegeln.1 Schon sein Eingang deutet es an: hier wird auf Horazens Lyrik zurückgegriffen. Das meines Wissens 1 Antike lateinische Texte werden nach der Zitierliste des Thesaurus linguae Latinae angeführt, mittelalterliche, soweit möglich, nach denjenigen des Novum Glossarium mediae Latinitatis oder des Mittellateinischen Wörterbuches, spätmittelalterliche Dichtungen aus Italien nach MQDQ (siehe unten). – Es wurden folgende Datenbanken benützt: Library of Latin Texts, Series A, Turnhout, 2019, http://clt.brepolis.net/llta/pages/QuickSearch.aspx; PoetriaNova 2, a CD-ROM of Latin Medieval Poetry (650–1250 a.d.) with a Gateway to Classical and Late Antiquity Texts, Hrsg. von P. Mastandrea und L. Tessarolo, 2nd ed., Firenze, 2010; Analecta hymnica medii aevi digitalia, Verlag Dr Erwin Rauner (ERV), Näheres hierzu: http://www.erwin-rauner.de/wissenschaft. htm#analecta; und MQDQ, Poeti d’Italia in lingua latina tra Medioevo e Rina­ scimento, http://mizar.unive.it/poetiditalia/public/. Abgekürzt zitierte Werke: AH: Analecta hymnica medii aevi, Hrsg. von G. M. Dreves, 24–50: Hrsg. von C.  Blume und G. M. Dreves; 51–55: Hrsg. von C. Blume [Mitherausgeber einiger Bände:] H. M. Bannister, 58 Bände (1–55; Register, Bände I 1.2. II, ed. M. Lütolf), Leipzig, 1886–1922; Bern, 1978; ICL: Initia carminum Latinorum saeculo undecimo antiquiorum. Bibliographisches Repertorium für die lateinische Dichtung der Antike und des früheren Mittelalters, Hrsg. von D. Schaller und E. Könsgen unter Mitwirkung von J. Tagliabue / fortgeführt von T. Klein: Supplementband, Göttingen, 1977/2005; RH: U. Chevalier, Repertorium hymnologicum […], 6 tomes, Louvain, 1892–1921, Bruxelles, 1920; und WIC: H. Walther, Initia carminum ac versuum medii aevi posterioris Latinorum. Alphabetisches Verzeichnis der Versanfänge mittellateinischer

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 419–433. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125570 ©

F H G

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bisher ungedruckte sapphische Gedicht zu Ehren der Mutter Jesu ist anonym überliefert in einer Cassineser Handschrift aus dem Anfang des 16. Jahrhunderts (nicht vor 1506), durchweg geschrieben in einer gepflegten gotischen Rotunda.2 Der Band enthält vor allem Prosatexte geistlich-monastischen Inhalts, aber auch kurze notizenartige Einträge. Etliche Bestandteile haben Bezug zu der Abtei selber; erwähnt seien zwei Predigten des Petrus Diaconus (1107/10–nach 1159). Bemerkenswert ist außerdem das Vorkommen des von Sebastian Brant (1457–1521) aus den Metamorphosen des Apuleius gewonnenen Mariengebetes (gedruckt 1499). 3 An Dichtungen finden sich darin, nebst unserem Text, 24 marianische Grußhymnen auf Grund des Hymnos akathistos und, von besonderem Interesse, zwei Marienhymnen von Angelo Poliziano (1454– 1494), auf die später noch die Rede kommen wird. Der Dichter unseres Textes gehört wohl etwa derselben Zeit an.4 Sein Gedicht auf Maria besteht aus zehn sapphischen Strophen. Nun gibt es unter den mittelalterlichen Dichtungen dieses Versmaßes viele Hunderte an liturgischen Hymnen auf Heilige, und eine große Zahl von ihnen betrifft Maria und ihre verschiedenen Feste. In der Tat hatte sich die Dichtungspraxis in lyrischen Versmaßen, allen voran dem sapphischen, im frühen Mittelalter von den Gepflogenheiten antiker Kunstdichtung losgelöst und ihre eigenen Dichtungen, unter Benutzung der Vorarbeiten A. Hilkas, 2. ed., Göttingen, 1969 (Carmina medii aevi posterioris Latina, 1, 1). 2 Monte Cassino, Archivio dell’Abbazia 418, pp. 342–43. Beschreibungen der Handschrift: M. Inguanez, Codicum Casinensium manuscriptorum catalogus, cura et studio monachorum s. Benedicti Archicoenobii Montis Casini, Montecassino, 1940–1941, vol. iii, pars I et II (Codd. 401–600), pp. 22–26, hier nr. 12; und M. Dell’Omo, “Per la liturgia della morte nella congregazione di s. Giustina: Orazioni Pro transitu morientis e una Recommendatio devota seguita da una ‘revelatio’ ed altri testi eucologici nel codice Casin. 418 (sec. XVI in.)”, in Monastica et humanistica. Scritti in onore di Gregorio Penco, Hrsg. von F. G. B. Trolese, Cesena, 2003, vol. 1, pp. 417–41, hier pp. 420–27. 3 Monte Cassino, Archivio dell’Abbazia 418, pp. 206–08, nr. 5, anonymisiert (wie auch unser Text, dazu weiter unten). Edition: Sebastian Brant, Kleine Texte, Hrsg. von T. Wilhelmi, vol. 1.2, Stuttgart/Bad Cannstatt, 1998, pp. 433–34, nr. 261; dazu vol. 2, p. 114. Weiteres Beispiel für eine anonymisierte Abschrift dieses Gebetes: Basel, Universitätsbibliothek A X 95 (Kartause Basel, 1523), fol. 202v–203v. 4 Die zwei Marienhymnen: Monte Cassino, Archivio dell’Abbazia 418, pp. 385–98, nr. 18, bzw. pp. 398–401, nr. 19.

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Traditionen gestiftet.5 Auch manche Vertreter des Humanismus, etwa Poliziano (dazu unten mehr) oder Erasmus, haben, wenn sie einen kirchlichen Hymnus dichteten, sich in die hier lebendigen Traditionen einzuordnen gewusst. Nicht so unser Dichter: an der – noch in seiner Zeit recht lebenskräftigen – sapphischen Heiligenhymnik geht er vorbei. Vielmehr nimmt er am Eingang und am Schluss seines Textes mit wörtlichen Entlehnungen unmittelbar auf Horaz Bezug. Auch wendet er, wie wir sehen werden, das Versmaß in einer Weise an, die sich von der gängigen Dichtpraxis des Mittelalters denkbar stark unterscheidet. Damit ist er in der Zeit der Renaissance natürlich kein Einzelfall. Nicht einen Hymnus will er schaffen, sondern eine Ode. Beispiele für dichterisches Heiligenlob odenartigen Charakters kennen wir auch aus dem hohen Mittelalter, und so gerade aus der Abtei Montecassino und ihrer Umgebung, mit Alfanus von Salerno (um 1015/20–1085).6 Hier jedoch liegt, anders als bei Alfanus, welcher die feiernde Gemeinschaft im Blick behält, ein Stück rein persönlicher Dichtung vor. Der Umstand, dass der Text anonym auf uns gekommen ist, passt dazu eigentlich nicht. Anders als bei liturgischer Dichtung, wo Anonymität eher Regel als Ausnahme ist, wird man hier an einen Überlieferungszufall denken. Der Text wird – so darf man vielleicht annehmen – aus seinem ursprünglichen Zusammenhang, wo er mit dem Namen des Urhebers verbunden sein mochte, herausgelöst und in diese Miszellanhandschrift eingetragen worden sein. Sein Eingang ist programmatischer Art: mit Iam satis […] knüpft der Dichter an den Anfang des ersten sapphischen Stücks in Horazens Odenbuch (Carmina 1, 2) an. Damit steht er übrigens nicht allein. Um 1165/75 hat ein Mönch des oberbayerischen Klosters Tegernsee, den wir nur unter seinem Decknamen Metellus 5 Vgl. P. Stotz, “Safficum carmen: Was hat die sapphische Dichtung des lateinischen Mittelalters mit Horaz zu tun?”, in Gli umanesimi medievali. Atti del II Congresso dell’ Internationales Mittellateinerkomitee, Firenze […] 1993, Hrsg. von C. Leonardi, Firenze, 1998, pp. 707–26; wieder abgedruckt in: P. Stotz, Alte Sprache – Neues Lied: Kleine Schriften zur christlichen Dichtung des lateinischen Mittelalters, Hrsg. von C. Cardelle de Hartmann, Firenze, 2012, pp. 215–34 (dazu pp. 452–53). 6  I Carmi di Alfano I, arcivescovo di Salerno, Hrsg. von A. Lentini und F. Avagliano, Montecassino, 1974.

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kennen, in seinen Quirinalien – einem Gedichtzyklus zu Ehren des römischen Märtyrers Quirinus – eine große Zahl lyrischer Versmaße verwendet. Unter anderem hat er sich durch den conspectus metrorum des Horaz systematisch hindurchgedichtet, und immer wieder greift er dabei den Eingang eines horazischen Gedichtes auf, so auch den des erwähnten.7 Ein weiteres sapphisches Gedicht mit dem Eingang Iam satis […] ist aus dem 13. Jahrhundert überliefert, hinzu kommt eines aus dem 15. Jahrhundert.8 Auch der Schluss unseres Textes ist einer Horazode entnommen. Dieser Rahmung lässt sich symbolischer Charakter beimessen. Der Dichter spricht, bevor er mit seinem Lob Marias beginnt, von sich selber und bereitet sich gehörig auf sein Vorhaben vor. Die ersten drei Strophen richtet er an seine Muse, sein dichterisches Ingenium, in den vier Strophen des Mittelteils rühmt er Marias Verdienste, um sie schließlich, in den letzten drei Strophen, unmittelbar anzureden. Vor allem in den einleitenden Strophen, mit ihrer Reflexion auf das eigene Tun, ist einiger Einfluss von Horazens Oden erkennbar. Seine Muse, die sich bis dahin mit belanglosen Dingen abgegeben habe, fordert der Dichter nachdrücklich auf, sich jetzt eines gewichtigen Gegenstandes anzunehmen: des Lobes der Gottesmutter (Str. 1).9 Denn sie sei es, die ihn erstmals dazu angeregt habe, sich in lyrischer Dichtkunst zu betätigen, wie sie auf der Insel Lesbos, nämlich durch Sappho und Alkaios, gepflegt worden sei.10 Sie ist es in seinen Augen aber auch, welche die Menschen veranlasst, sich um das richtige Tun und um den Erwerb geistiger 7 P. C. Jacobsen, Die Quirinalien des Metellus von Tegernsee: Untersuchungen zur Dichtkunst und kritische Textausgabe, Leiden, 1965; vgl. Stotz, “Safficum carmen”, pp. 721 (229). Hier nun: nr. 2, inc. Iam satis terris ratione verbi, Hrsg. von Jacobsen, pp. 175–76. 8 Ein anonymer, wohl noch unedierter Text, inc. Iam satis diu iuvenes senes­que; vgl. WIC nr. 9731 (+ Ergänzungen), sodann ein Gedicht von Filippo Buonaccorsi (1437–1496), inc. Iam satis splendens olei lucerna, Callimaco carm. 42 / epigr. 1, 27. 9 Der dichterische Gestus des paulo maiora canamus (Verg. ecl. 4, 1) ist topisch. Er kommt in mancherlei Spielarten vor, bis hin zu der Rede von der Bekehrung des Dichters. 10 Nicht ausgeschlossen ist, dass hier – etwa im Nachgang zu Hor. carm. 4, 6, 35–36 – spezifisch auf das sapphische Versmaß angespielt sein soll. Zu ähnlichen Beispielen aus dem Mittelalter: Stotz, “Safficum carmen”, p. 710 (218), n. 14.

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Fähigkeiten zu bemühen (Str. 2). Aber zunächst soll sich die Muse zu ihrer Aufgabe gebührend rüsten: neue Kleider soll sie anziehen, soll sich mit Edelsteinen schmücken, und so soll sie dann der Jungfrau Lob darbringen – erneut darbringen: Nachdem der Dichter, so scheint es, Maria schon früher gepriesen hatte, sich in der Folge dann aber mit Belanglosem abgegeben hat, soll es nun zu einem neuen Aufschwung kommen, zu einem Preislied, das der hohen Herrin würdig ist (Str. 3). Der Mittelteil des Textes folgt dem Gang der Heilsgeschichte: durch den Sündenfall von Adam und Eva ist die Menschheit dem Verderben ausgeliefert worden (Str. 4). Doch Gott in seinem Erbarmen fasste den Entschluss, sie zu retten, und sandte seinen Sohn, der im Schoße Marias Wohnung nahm (Str. 5). Das Geheimnis der Inkarnation und dasjenige der fortdauernden Jungfrauschaft Marias sind Wunder, welche die Naturgesetze außer Kraft setzen (Str. 6). Nun wird das Erdenleben Christi beschrieben: seine Tätigkeit als Lehrer, dann aber vor allem sein Kreuzestod, auf den alsbald seine Auferstehung folgte, sodann seine Erhöhung zum Himmel (Str. 7). In engem Anschluss gerade hieran feiert der Dichter, indem er nun das Wort an Maria selbst richtet, sie als Königin des Himmels (Str. 8). An ihrem erhabenen Sitz wirkt sie zum Besten der Gläubigen, indem sie sich bei ihrem Sohn für sie verwendet und sie mit Segnungen überschüttet (Str. 9). Ganz zum Schluss grüßt er Maria und bittet sie um Hilfe für das Menschengeschlecht und für sich selber, sich dabei nochmals einer horazischen Formel bedienend (Str. 10). Unser Text stellt zwar ein Stück religiöser Poesie dar, hebt sich aber von kirchlich-liturgischer Dichtung deutlich ab, er ist ein carmen (Str. 2, 1), nicht ein Hymnus. Und er ist, wie aus den ersten drei Strophen und aus der letzten hervorgeht, private Dichtung. Wir finden darin das literarische Ich, nicht das liturgische Wir. Dort, wo der Dichter in traditioneller Weise von Marias Hilfe für die Menschen spricht (Str. 9), geschieht es in Form einer Feststellung, nicht einer Bitte. Eine solche folgt zwar dann ganz am Schluss, aber in der liturgisch ungebräuchlichen Form sis felix im Sinne von “sei hilfreich”. Und dem Gedichtschluss fügt er finis an, nicht amen. Es wäre reizvoll, aber würde die hier gegebenen Möglichkeiten übersteigen, unseren Text mit anderen sapphischen Mariendichtungen italienischer Dichter der Zeit zu vergleichen,

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etwa mit solchen von Vincenzo Bandello OP (1435–1507) oder Ercole Strozzi (1473–1508). Wenn wir nun einen Blick auf die Machart der Strophen als solcher werfen, so zeigt sich überaus deutlich, wie sehr ein Dichter, wenn er sich unmittelbar auf Horaz zurückbezog, von der Versmaßtradition, wie sie im Mittelalter in verschiedenen Spielarten lebendig war, entfernen konnte. Wo dort Strophengehäuse mit ebenmäßiger Binnengliederung die Regel sind, herrscht hier eine vorwärtsdrängende Dynamik. Dass dem Text jemals eine Melodie zugedacht gewesen wäre, ist nahezu undenkbar. Die Prosodie des Textes ist tadellos; zu erwähnen ist einzig das zweimalige anapästische Mari(a)e (2, 1 / 5, 3). Der schon von Horaz großenteils beobachteten Regelung, dass im Elfsilbler nach der 5. Verssilbe Wortgrenze eintritt – im Mittelalter fast durchweg selbstverständlich – ist auch hier Rechnung getragen; immerhin führt zweimal enklitisches -que darüber hinweg (1, 3 / 3, 2). Elision kommt in mittelalterlicher sapphischer Dichtung ziemlich selten, hier dagegen gehäuft vor: Auf die 10 Strophen entfallen 12 Fälle; zweimal trifft es zwei Fälle auf einen Vers. Im Mittelalter völlig ungebräuchlich – mithin ein sprechendes Zeugnis für die Zurückbindung an Horaz selber – ist Elision über die Versgrenze hinweg in 7, 1/2.11 Dasselbe gilt für die Verbindung des 3. Elfsilblers mit dem Adoneus in 5, 3 / 4: dies eine – mittlerweile künstlich gewordene – Fortschreibung der Handhabung der sapphischen Strophe im Griechischen.12 Wir finden reichlich Enjambement; der Adoneus ist syntaktisch (außer in Str. 1 und 4) eng an den 3. Elfsilbler angeschlossen. Werfen wir an dieser Stelle einen kurzen Blick auf die beiden Marienhymnen Polizianos, die in dieser Cassineser Handschrift enthalten sind: O  virgo prudentissima, / quam celo missus Gabriel;13 und Ecce ancilla Domini, / quam pater ipse omnipotens.14 Beides sind 11 Vgl. Hor.

carm. 4, 2, 23; carm. saec. 47. carm. 1, 2, 19–20; 1, 25, 11–12; 2, 16, 7–8. 13 Monte Cassino, Archivio dell’Abbazia 418, pp. 398–99, n. 19, 1; RH nr. 13910; Druck: Angelo Ambrogini Poliziano, Prose volgari inedite e poesie latine e greche edite e inedite, Hrsg. von I. Del Lungo, Firenze, 1867, pp. 277– 78. 14 Monte Cassino, Archivio dell’Abbazia 418, pp. 400–01, nr. 19, 2; RH nr. 5088; Druck: Poliziano, Prose, pp. 278–80. 12 Vgl. Hor.

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kunstvolle Texte, in (akzentuierenden) ambrosianischen Strophen gehalten, also von traditioneller Bauart. Der erste der beiden, in dem durchweg Maria selber angesprochen wird, ist ganz dem Preis der Jungfrau gewidmet. Auf ihn geht eine herrliche sechsstimmige Motette von Josquin Desprez (ca. 1440–1521) zurück. Im zweiten Hymnus, mehr erzählenden Charakters, wird, ausgehend vom Lob Marias, die Menschwerdung und das Wirken Christi auf Erden dargestellt. Von der 4. Strophe an wird eine als gegenwärtig vorgestellte Zuhörerschaft angesprochen, ehe dann in der Schlussstrophe Maria selber um Hilfe für ihre Verehrer gebeten wird. Der Unterschied dieser beiden Mariendichtungen zu derjenigen, um die es uns geht und deren Text hier folgt, zeigt anschaulich, welch breiter Fächer von Möglichkeiten den Dichtern der Zeit offenstand.15 2. Text Saphici versus in laudem genitricis Dei 1. Iam satis blando satiata lusu surge, vocales, age, tende chordas, Musa, qua materque vocat tonantis,   suggere carmen. 2. Surge! Quis carmen Marie negabit? Hec lyre primum mihi movit usum Lesbie et recti studium bonasque   edocet artes. 3. Nunc novos primum cape, virgo, amictus indici rubrique maris lapillis tempora exornans repetasque dignas   virgine laudes. 15  Die vorzügliche Fassung in der Handschrift erfordert keinerlei Eingriffe. Die Darstellung ist zeilengerecht. In den Strophen 7, 9 und 10 sind die zur Auszeichnung vorgesehenen Anfangsbuchstaben nicht ausgeführt, nur vorgeschrieben.

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peter stotz 4. Noxium culpa veterum parentum senserat longum laqueos maligne mortis humanum genus et tenebras   tristis Averni, 5. cum pater tantos miseratus estus misit huc prolem unigenam et pudicis condidit claustris Marie beato am   plexus amore. 6. Iura nature obstupuere: carnem induit nostram Deus ipse, virgo parturit, partu neque virginalem   inficit aulam. 7. Illicet rectum docet ille vinclisque eximit gentis Stigii tyranni morte, qua surgit repetitque celi   limen apertum. 8. Teque mox regnis statuit paternis arbitram rerum generisque nostri, nobilis virgo, tibi late Olympi   regia cessit. 9. Inde tu curas miseraris egras supplicum et natum facilem usque reddis ac boni summam reseras replesque   pectora honesto. 10. Virginum princeps, dea magna, salve, comis humani generis patrona, sis tuo felix populo mihique   rite vocanti.

Finis.

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3. Übersetzung Ein sapphisches Gedicht zum Preis der Mutter Gottes 1. Schon lange genug hast du dich, meine Muse, an gefälliger Tändelei gesättigt, auf jetzt, erhebe dich, und spanne die klingenden Saiten! Darüber, wozu dich die Mutter des donnernden Gottes einlädt, bringe ein Lied hervor. 2. Auf denn! Wer wollte Maria ein Lied verweigern? Hat doch sie mich erstmals bewogen, die Leier nach lesbischer Art zu schlagen, auch pflanzt sie uns das Streben nach dem Rechten ein und lehrt uns die edlen Künste. 3. Jetzt hülle du dich, Jungfrau, zuallererst in neue Gewänder, schmücke deine Schläfen mit Steinchen des Indischen und des Roten Meeres und singe aufs Neue Lobgesänge, die der Jungfrau würdig sind. 4. Den alt-ererbten Fluch, verschuldet durch unsere Ureltern, hatte das Menschengeschlecht gespürt, die Schlingen des übelwollenden Todes und die Finsternis der trostlosen Unterwelt. 5. Da den Vater diese schweren Drangsale jammerten, hat er seinen eingeborenen Sohn hierher geschickt und er hat ihn in dem reinen Gemache Marias geborgen, sie mit heiliger Liebe umfassend. 6. Da erstaunten die Naturgesetze: Gott selber überkleidet sich mit unserem Fleisch;

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peter stotz eine Jungfrau gebiert, doch durch die Geburt wird dem jungfräulichen Schoß kein Eintrag getan. 7. Alsbald verkündet dieser die rechte Lehre und er befreit die Völker von den Fesseln des Tyrannen der Unterwelt durch seinen Tod, doch erhebt er sich über ihn, und er kehrt zurück zur Schwelle des Himmels, die ihm offensteht. 8. Und dich hat er alsbald im Reich seines Vaters zur Herrscherin gemacht über alles, auch über unser Geschlecht; an dich, edle Jungfrau, ist in ihrer ganzen Weite die Königsburg des Himmels übergegangen. 9. Von dieser Warte aus erbarmst du dich über Kummer und Sorgen derer, die dich anrufen, und machst deinen Sohn gewogen. Und du erschließest uns das Höchste an Gutem und erfüllst unsere Herzen mit allem, was sich ziemt. 10. Du Fürstin unter den Jungfrauen, große Göttin, sei gegrüßt; du liebreiche Schutzherrin des Menschengeschlechtes. Beglücke Dein Volk und mich selber, der ich dich nach Gebühr anrufe.

Ende

4. Kommentar 1, 1 Zu iam satis vgl. Hor. carm. 1, 2, 1. – 1, 2 Zu vocales […] chordas vgl. Tib. 2, 5, 3. – 1, 3 Zu mater […] tonantis vgl. Bedas abecedarischen Distichenhymnus inc. Alma Deus trinitas (ICL 582 / Beda hist. eccl. 4, 18) v. 13: gaudet amica cohors de virgine matre tonantis (Ähnliches in Mittelalter und Renaissance recht oft). – 1, 4 Zu suggere carmen vgl. die zufällige Übereinstimmung mit Amarc. serm. 3, 153: nunc, deus, ut frugi carmen mihi suggere dignum.

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2, 1 surge an dieser Versstelle: Hor. carm. 3, 11, 37–38, später noch öfter. – surge in Bezug auf das Singen / Dichten: Paulin. Nol. carm. 15, 26: surge igitur, cithara, et totis intendere fibris. Ähnliches trifft man im Mittelalter oft; im Hintergrund steht Vulg. psalm. 56/57, 9: exsurge, psalterium et cithara. – 2, 2–3 lyre […] Lesbie dürfte sich hier konkret auf das sapphische Versmaß beziehen; hiernach lässt sich vermuten, dass der Dichter bereits früher sapphische Gedichte geschrieben hat, das erste davon zu Ehren Marias. (Hierzu passt in 3, 3–4 repetas […] laudes.) Vgl. Hor. carm. 4, 6, 35–36: Lesbium servate pedem meique / pollicis ictum; des Weiteren carm. 1, 32, 5, außerdem carm. 1, 26, 10–12. – 2, 3 Die Fügung recti studium (oder st. r.) ist bei italienischen Renaissancedichtern beliebt. – 2, 3–4 Zu bonas […] artes vgl. etwa Ov. ars 1, 459; trist. 3, 7, 32. – 2, 4 edocet artes ist in etlichen Texten aus Mittelalter und Renaissance als Hexameterschluss belegt. 3, 1–4 Zwei virgines werden einander spannungsreich gegenübergestellt: die angesprochene Muse wird beauftragt, der Jungfrau Maria Lob darzubringen. Und zwar soll sie sich schmücken, damit das erneute Lob prächtig ausfalle. – 3, 2 Vgl. Mart. 10, 38, 5: caris litoris Indici lapillis. 4, 1 Zu veterum parentum vgl. Verg. Aen. 2, 448; 5, 39; 5, 576; Ov. am. 1, 3, 7 u. a. m.; an dieser Versstelle: D’Arco num. 190, 5; Varchi carm. 209, 14. – 4, 3 humanum genus an dieser Versstelle: Pontano lyra 2, 31. – 4, 4 tristis Averni als Hexameterschluss: Stat. silv. 5, 1, 259; Sil.  Ital. 11, 452; danach öfter. 5, 1 Zu tantos […] estus vgl. Ov. met. 2, 228. – 5, 2 Zu prolem unigenam vgl. Marullo, hymn. nat. 1, 50; Bembo carm. 18, 112. – 5, 2–3 Zu pudicis […] claustris Alfan. Salern. carm. (ed. Lentini und Avagliano) 49 (Hymnus auf Agnes), 4: claustra pudicae. – 5, 3 Vgl. Iuvenc. 4, 312: amplexus pleno Christus retinebat amore. 6 Die beiden heilsgeschichtlichen Paradoxa, Menschwerdung Gottes und Jungfrauengeburt bei fortdauernder Jungfrauschaft, werden in der christlichen Dichtung, in Weihnachtsliedern etwa, immer wieder zum Thema gemacht. Genannt sei hier das Lied des Alanus ab Insulis (ca.1125/40–1203) auf die Inkarnation, AH 20, p. 42, nr. 9, 1, 1–4: Exceptivam actionem / verbum patris excipit, /

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dum deludit rationem, / dum naturam decipit, Refrain: In hac verbi copula / stupet omnis regula. – 6, 1 Die Wortverbindung iura naturae (bzw. n. i.) ist von Ov. ars 2, 42 an häufig. In liturgischer Dichtung erscheint sie mehrmals gerade an Stellen verwandten Inhalts. – 6, 1–2 Zu carnem induere (u. ä.) vgl. Thesaurus linguae Latinae 7, 1, 1264,75–1265,4. Beispiele aus mittelalterlicher Dichtung: Petr. Pis. carm. 11, 2, 2: ut salvaret, quos creavit carnem nostram induit; auch Hraban. carm. app. 13, 1, 2; Ähnliches öfter. – 6, 3–4 Zu virginalem […] aulam vgl. Hymn. Walpole 88 (inc. Fit porta Christi pervia) 5–6: genus superni numinis / processit aula virginis; Sacr. Greg. 658 (zum Vortag von Mariae Himmelfahrt): Deus, qui virginalem aulam beatae Mariae, in quam habitare(s), eligere dignatus es […] Und so ist denn virginalis aula als Bezeichnung des Schoßes der Jungfrau vom Hochmittelalter an recht häufig. Vorgestellt hat man sich darunter wohl einen verschlossenen Bezirk (“Gemach”), andererseits einen würdigen Festsaal. 7, 2 Zu gentīs: Derartige Acc.-pl.-Formen belegen die Wiederaufnahme dieser Formvariante, die in der Klassik gebräuchlich gewesen, in der Folge dann in Abgang gekommen war. – 7, 2 Zu Stigii tyranni vgl. Claud. rapt. Pros. 2, 264; ähnlich Ven.  Fort. Mart. 1, 4 tartarei […] tyranni. In der Zeit selber: Poliz. sylvae 4, 295: Stygii coniunx mirata tyranni und öfter. – 7, 3–4 Ausdrücke wie penetrare / scandere / conscendere caeli limen / limina caeli (u. ä.) finden sich in christlicher Dichtung da und dort. – 7, 4 limen apertum ist als Hexameterschluss nicht selten; bemerkenswert: Mantov. calam. 2, 163: coeli tibi limen apertum. 8, 1 Nachdem der Dichter bisher nur über Maria (und ihren Sohn) gesprochen hat, ist hier ihre unmittelbare Anrede etwas überraschend. – Die Wortverbindung regna paterna (Plural) begegnet in Hexameterdichtungen oft. Zu beachten ist regnum patris (Christi / der Gläubigen) in Matth. 13, 43; 26, 29. – 8, 2 Zu arbitra rerum sei die aus dem 3. Jahrhundert n. Chr. stammende Precatio Terrae matris (Prec. Terr.) angeführt, v. 4: caeli ac maris diva arbitra rerumque omnium. Vgl. ferner Gell. 7, 2, 5 (von der Necessitas gesagt). – arbiter […] rerum erscheint in ganz verschiedenen Anwendungen; eine dichterische Stelle betreffend Gott: Boeth. cons. 4 carm. 1, 22. – 8, 3 Zu nobilis virgo als Anrede Marias: Prud. cath. 11, 53; in mittelalterlicher Hymnendichtung erscheint

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virgo nobilis hundertfach. – 8, 3–4 Mit Olympi regia ist der (seit Vergil und Ovid) verbreitete Ausdruck regia caeli zu vergleichen, häufig bei christlichen Epikern vorkommend. Olympus für den Himmel als Wohnstätte Gottes findet sich oft in Verbindungen wie rector / regnator Olympi und sonstwie, verbreitet in mittelalterlicher Hymnendichtung. 9 Nicht ganz dem euchologischen Stil christlicher Hymnen gemäß ist es, dass diese Tätigkeiten der verehrten Person als Feststellungen, nicht als Inhalt von Bitten vorgetragen werden. – 9, 1 curas […] egras trifft sich (wohl zufällig) mit CE 324, 1: ordinibus Scythicis curas qui sustulit aegras. 10, 1–2 Die Schlussstrophe wird mit einer gewichtigen, dreigliedrigen Anrede und einem Gruß eröffnet; beides erwartet man in christlichen Dichtungen sonst eher am Textanfang. Zu salve vergleiche man den Eingang der marianischen Antiphon Salve regina sowie die vielen Gruß-Orationen im Gefolge des Hymnos akathistos. Doch dieses salve hier geht letztlich auf antik-pagane Hymnendichtung zurück, unmittelbar auf ein horazisches Vorbild, das sich auch in Str. 10, 4 äußert: Hor. carm. 1, 32 (an seine Laute), 14–16: […] o laborum / dulce lenimen medicumque salve / rite vocanti. – 10, 1 Den Ehrentitel virginum princeps für Maria finden wir in frühmittelalterlichen Hymnen, sodann im hochmittelalterlichen Speculum virginum. – Ihre Anrede als dea lässt aufhorchen, allerdings lassen sich aus liturgischer Dichtung des Spätmittelalters ähnliche Beispiele anführen. – dea magna erscheint als Anrede in zwei sapphischen Gedichten der Renaissance je in der Schlussstrophe: Pontano Parthen. 1, 7 (an die Nacht), 29; M. A. Flamin. carm. 1, 5 (an die Morgenröte), 47. – 10, 2 Die Ähnlichkeit mit folgenden zwei Stellen in liturgischer Dichtung ist auffällig, beruht aber gewiss auf Zufall: Maria wird dort angeredet als patrona generis nostri grata bzw. als nostri generis potens […] patrona: AH 28, p. 107, nr. 39, 1. Noct., Resp. 1, 2; bzw. Band 35, pp. 168, 1. Text, 2, 1. – 10, 3 Die Bitte um Hilfe für Marias Verehrer und den Dichter wird in einer Form vorgetragen, auf die kaum ein Verfasser liturgischer Dichtung verfallen wäre. Angeregt sein könnte dieses sis […] felix durch Verg. Aen. 1, 330, wo Aeneas zu seiner Mutter Venus sagt: sis felix nostrumque leves […] laborem. – 10,

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4 Der Schluss rite vocanti ist demjenigen in Horazens Gedicht an seine Laute nachgestaltet; siehe oben zu Str. 10, 1. Während Horaz die sakrale Formel auf einen profanen Gegenstand, nämlich eben seine Laute, umbezogen hat, wird sie hier erneut einem sakralen Bereich zugeführt, allerdings ist sie der christlichen Gebetssprache fremd. Abstract Ms. Monte Cassino, Archivio dell’Abazia 418, pp. 342–43, transmits a poem to the Virgin Mary in elegant Sapphic strophes. The text, though it includes traditional Mariological motifs, is not properly a hymn, but rather a Horace-inspired ode, as is revealed by the unmistakable Horatian allusions in the first and last strophes. An ego-voice preponderates, which invites its Muse to attend anew to Mary, exalts her works and those of her Son, and finally entreats her intercession. The text is edited here with a commentary that highlights reuses of ancient poetic idioms, the deployment of Mariological motifs, and further parallels with Humanistic poetic practice.

Bibliography Primary Sources Analecta hymnica medii aevi, 55 vols, Hrsg. von G. M. Dreves, C.  Blume, H. M. Bannister, Leipzig, 1886–1922; Bern 1978. I Carmi di Alfano I, arcivescovo di Salerno, Hrsg. von A. Lentini, A.  Avagliano, Montecassino, 1974. Sebastian Brant, Kleine Texte, Hrsg. von T. Wilhelmi, vol. 1.2, Stuttgart / Bad Cannstatt, 1998. Jacobsen, P. C., Die Quirinalien des Metellus von Tegernsee. Unter­ suchungen zur Dichtkunst und kritische Textausgabe, Leiden, 1965. Angelo Ambrogini Poliziano, Prose volgari inedite e poesie latine e greche edite e inedite, Hrsg. von I. Del Lungo, Firenze, 1867. Secondary Sources Chevalier, U., Repertorium hymnologicum: Catalogue des chants, hymnes, proses, séquences, tropes en usage dans l’Eglise latine depuis les origines jusqu’à nos jours, 6 vols, Louvain, 1892–1921, Bruxelles, 1920. Dell’Omo, M., “Per la liturgia della morte nella congregazione di s. Giustina. Orazioni Pro transitu morientis e una Recommendatio

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devota seguita da una ‘revelatio’ ed altri testi eucologici nel codice Casin. 418 (sec. XVI in.)”, in Monastica et humanistica. Scritti in onore di Gregorio Penco, Hrsg. von F. G. B. Trolese, Cesena, 2003, vol. 1, pp. 417–41. Inguanez, M., Codicum Casinensium manuscriptorum catalogus, cura et studio monachorum s. Benedicti Archicoenobii Montis Casini, vol.  iii, pars I et II (Codd. 401–600), Montecassino, 1940–1941. Stotz, P., “Safficum carmen. Was hat die sapphische Dichtung des lateinischen Mittelalters mit Horaz zu tun?”, in Gli umanesimi medievali. Atti del II Congresso dell’ Internationales Mittellateinerkomitee, Firenze, Certosa del Galluzzo, 11–15 settembre 1993, Hrsg. von C.  Leonardi, Firenze, 1998, pp. 707–26; reprint: Stotz, P., Alte Sprache – neues Lied. Kleine Schriften zur christlichen Dichtung des lateinischen Mittelalters, Hrsg. von C. Cardelle de Hartmann, Firenze, 2012, pp. 215–34 and pp. 452–53. Schaller, D., Könsgen, E., und Th. Klein, Initia carminum Latinorum saeculo undecimo antiquiorum. Bibliographisches Repertorium für die lateinische Dichtung der Antike und des früheren Mittelalters, 2 Bde., Göttingen, 1977 und 2005. Walther, H., Initia carminum ac versuum medii aevi posterioris Latinorum. Alphabetisches Verzeichnis der Versanfänge mittellateinischer Dichtungen, unter Benutzung der Vorarbeiten von A. Hilka, 2. ed., Göttingen, 1969.

I2’s Interest in Music Two Manuscripts that Witness his Knowledge and Scholarship Mariken Teeuwen (Oegstgeest) In the company of the famous Irish scholar John Scottus Eriugena, we find I2, described as his assistant, student or secretary.1 He is the nameless person whose writing hand is similar to that of John (so similar, in fact, that for a long time they were thought to be one and the same person), and whose presence is noted in some of the same manuscripts as those in which John himself wrote. The two can not only be distinguished because of small differences in writing style, but also a difference in content: I2 lacks the boldness and brilliance that characterizes John. Here we have, as is the general assumption, a man who is not quite as brilliant or prominent as John, but who traveled in his circle, assisted him in his work, and absorbed his learning. He even received a nickname to reflect these characterizations: ‘Nisifortinus’, or ‘If-Not-Perhaps’, because he tended to soften any potentially offensive ideas of his master with the opening word ‘Nisiforte …’.2 In his article about the making of the Periphyseon, Paul Dutton stated that I2 is one of the scribes who worked in John’s workshop, under his 1 É. Jeauneau and P. Dutton, The Autograph of Eriugena, Turnhout, 1996 (Corpus Christianorum: Autographa Medii Aevi 3). See also P. Dutton, “Eriugena’s Workshop: The Making of the Peryphyseon in Rheims 875”, in History and Eschatology in John Scottus Eriugena and his Time, ed. by J. McEvoy and M. Dunne, Leuven, 2002 (Ancient and Medieval Philosophy. De Wulf-Mansion Centre, S. I, 30), pp. 141–67. 2 É.  Jeauneau, “‘Nisifortinus’: Le disciple qui corrige le mâitre”, in Poetry and Philosophy in the Middle Ages. A Festschrift for Peter Dronke, ed. by J. Marenbon, Leiden, 2001 (Mittellateinische Studien und Texte 29), pp. 113–29.

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 435–460. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125571 ©

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strict supervision, checking him, making changes to his work and directing him. “Indeed”, he says, “Nisifortinus never wrote out long, complete texts in his extant work, but copied glosses into margins and wrote short texts.”3 The portrait is rather unforgiving: we may see him as an intelligent, but rather dull student, doing his tasks but not quite able to come out of the shadow of the great master, a writer of glosses but not of texts. And glosses, one could easily assume, are generally not conveyers of bright ideas and fine argumentation: they are tools to structure texts, to explain the meaning of words, to add a bit of grammatical guidance. We could compare the glosses themselves, perhaps, to teaching assistants as opposed to brilliant professors. Having studied practices of glossing in Carolingian manuscripts for quite some time, however, this assumption was not mine: I felt eager to explore the glosses more fully, for I had learned that in the margin and interlinear space of manuscripts, exciting nuggets of knowledge can be found. Moreover, they offer a glimpse into the mind of scholars working with their texts, showcasing their techniques of reading and working with text. In the manuscript, marginal annotations offer revealing insight into what readers, teachers, and students thought, how and why they read, and how they processed it to fit it into their own frames of thought.4 With their responses in the margin, they bridge, in a sense, the distance between readers and their texts: they point out where something, in the minds of the readers, needed to be explained, where background or knowledge to understand the meaning of a text fully was missing. The very texture and construction, moreover, of their notes and glosses reveal how medieval scholars sought to explain, clarify or question parts of that knowledge, and what 3 

Dutton, “Eriugena’s Workshop”, p. 159, n. 63. margin has only relatively recently become the focus of research. For a groundbreaking systematic exploration of the topic for the early Middle Ages (which took its inspiration from the work of Lisa Jardine and Anthony Grafton, Christopher Baswell, James Zetzel, Ann Blair, John Contreni and David Ganz), see the volume edited by M. Teeuwen and I. van Renswoude, The Annotated Book in the Early Middle Ages: Practices of Reading and Writing, Turnhout, 2017 (Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy 38). For an overview of earlier studies, see M. Teeuwen, “Voices from the Edge: Annotating Books in the Carolingian Period”, in The Annotated Book, pp. 13–36, esp. p. 15, n. 5. 4 The

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the techniques and practices were with which such an activity of reading, understanding, interpreting, and teaching could be carried out — the skills that could be employed. In this contribution I shall, therefore, delve deeper into the notes of I2, to explore him not as the servant of the great master, but rather as a scholar who worked with texts and who revealed his own interests and knowledge on specific topics. Of the eight manuscripts in which the hand of I2 has been recognized, I noticed two as being related and deserving of a more detailed exploration, since they both concern the art of music: Leiden, UL, BPL 88; and Paris, BnF, Latin 13908. Leiden, UL, BPL 88, is a manuscript with an intriguing combination of text and paratexts. 5 It contains a copy of Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, the late-antique encyclopedia which presents the reader with a comprehensive treatment of all the seven liberal arts, set on a fanciful, Greek-mythological, Neoplatonic stage. The margins and interlinear space contain a full set of notes and glosses that explain, explore, and expand the text. They have been identified as a copy of the ‘oldest commentary tradition’ that was first attributed to Dunchad, then to Martin of Laon, and that is now considered to be the work of several anonymous scholars.6 The notes and glosses have been shown to have grown by accumulation and pulled together at some point in the first third of the ninth century, while probably containing both older and newer layers. This paratext is complicated in itself, but in Leiden, UL, BPL 88, yet another layer of complexity is added to the mix: in the ninth and last book of Martianus’ encyclopaedia, one of the two and then both continental glossing hands 5 For a full description and bibliography, see M. Teeuwen, Harmony and the Music of the Spheres: The ars musica in Ninth-Century Commentaries on Martianus Capella, Leiden, Boston, Köln, 2002 (Mittellateinische Studien und Texte 30), pp. 117–26. 6  On the oldest commentary tradition, see Teeuwen, Harmony, pp. 33–41; S.  O’Sullivan, Glossae Aevi Carolini in Libros I–II Martiani Capellae De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, Turnhout, 2010 (Corpus Christianorum: Continuatio Mediaevalis 237), pp. v–xxxiv; M. Teeuwen and S. O’Sullivan (eds), Carolingian Scholarship and Martianus Capella: Ninth-Century Commentary Traditions on ‘De nuptiis’ in Context, Turnhout, 2011 (Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages 12).

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disappear, and a new, insular hand enters the stage: I2. He copied glosses that have been identified as part of the commentary of John Scottus Eriugena. The second manuscript is Paris, BnF, Latin 13908 (fols 54–116), an incomplete copy of Boethius’ De institutione musica, the work with which he aimed to transmit the ancient Greek knowledge tradition on music as a quadrivial discipline to the Latin world. The text is glossed in several hands, and one of them is identified as I2. He wrote interlinear and marginal notes that, at least in part, are also found in other Boethius manuscripts. The corpus of glosses has been named ‘Glossa maior’ by the editors Michael Bernhard and Calvin Bower, but it is, again, a product of accretion, selection, adding and mixing, even more so than is the case for the oldest gloss tradition on Martianus Capella.7 Both overlap and deviance characterize the transmission of this loosely defined ‘text’. In Bernhard and Bower’s stemma, Paris, BnF, Latin 13908 is at the root of one of the branches of the ‘Glossa maior’.8 In both manuscripts the hand of I2 has been identified in the margin, and my questions are as follows. Which aspects of ars musica are glossed in these two copies? Can the glosses be linked to each other in such a way that they reveal a single author, even when they respond to two different texts? Can we see, perhaps, how the annotator linked the two authorities on the same discipline to each other? In order to answer these questions, I shall first briefly introduce the two texts and their transmission histories, then describe the two manuscripts in more detail and study some of the notes and themes that emerge in them. Finally, I shall analyze how the two relate to each other.

7 M. Bernhard

and C. M. Bower (eds), Glossa maior in institutionem musicam Boethii, 4 Vols, München, 1993–2011 (Veröffentlichungen der musikhistorischen Kommission, Bd. 9–12). 8  Bernhard and Bower, Glossa maior, Vol. 1, p. lxxiii: Stemma of the ‘Central Tradition’. The siglum of Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908 is Q, Q1 is the Carolingian glossing hand, Q2 is the hand of I2. Manuscripts that are dated to the same period are Paris, BnF, Lat. 7200 and Vatican, BAV, Reg.lat. 1638, but these form separate branches in the stemma. Closely related to Q are Paris, BnF, Lat. 14080 (late ninth century), and Paris, BnF, n.a.l. 2664 and Vienna, ÖNb, cod. 2269 (both written in the tenth century).

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1. Martianus and Boethius on Music The Greek discipline of music as transmitted into the Latin world by (among others, but chiefly) Boethius and Martianus deserves an introduction. In Carolingian monasteries, a large body of Gregorian chant was sung in the liturgy, for which a theoretical model would be useful to conserve, transmit, memorize, analyze, and understand the melodies. The Greek ars musica, as translated and summarized by Boethius and Martianus, did not necessarily concern topics that would serve that purpose. First, it concerned a mathematical explanation and philosophical interpretation of the numerical principles underlying pitches and intervals. Second, it contained a description and explanation of the Greek Perfect System: a set of pitches stretching over two octaves, which were grouped together into sets of four pitches (tetrachords). These, depending on their division in steps of whole tones, semitones, and microtones over the interval of a fourth, defined certain modes: types of musical scales with a certain melodic character. The tetrachords are dictated by the musical instrument called the cithara, which had, originally, four strings, and could be tuned to match a certain tetrachord and a certain mode. Third, it concerned an introduction into the ars metrica, the poetic metres of Greek poetry. Overall, the ancient Greek learned tradition on music had little to offer for early medieval Latin music practice, where the central object was the existing body of chant, not regulated by the same modal system or melodic rules. The central instrument was not the four-stringed cithara, with its discretely tuned plucked strings, but the human voice, with its ability to perform flexible, flowing melodies. Yet the texts translating and transmitting the ancient ars musica were clearly and steadily copied and studied and they left a firm impression on the development of a new, Latin ars musica, geared towards a theoretical underpinning of liturgical chant.9 9  The

bibliography is extensive. Some of the important titles are A. Barbera (ed.), Music Theory and Its Sources: Antiquity and the Middle Ages, Notre Dame, 1990 (Notre Dame Conferences in Medieval Studies, 1); M. Bernhard, “Überlieferung und Fortleben der antiken lateinischen Musiktheorie im Mittelalter”, in Geschichte der Musiktheorie, 3: Rezeption des antiken Fachs im Mittelalter, ed. by F. Zaminer, Darmstadt, 1990, pp. 7–36; C. M. Bower,

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How this was done precisely is not the subject of this article. In short, one could say that the basic concepts were redefined and re-organized, to form the building blocks for a new music theory that did match chant practice, but at the same time held on to their origin in a foreign world by their terminology and by the inclusion of topics that might seem irrelevant for the task at hand. The transmission of ancient music theory really was more a transformation than a translation. Yet the ancient texts inspired a systematic thinking about one’s own musical repertoire, and gave scholars a framework to analyze, categorize, formalize, construct, and expand. It gave them the words and concepts, moreover, to write about the medieval ars musica and give it a deeper philosophical meaning.10 Both Boethius’ De institutione musica and Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis (the ninth book, De harmonia, is an introduction to the ancient ars musica) were popular in the early Middle Ages. Of Martianus Capella’s encyclopedia, we have more than 50 manuscripts from the ninth century alone, many of them extensively annotated.11 Of Boethius’ De institutione musica, there are fewer copies from the ninth century, but still a solid number of 11 survive to our day.12 Moreover, both works generally feature glosses in their medieval copies, which testify to an active engagement with the text. It is important to note that in these marginal and interlinear annotations, the two texts are often compared and linked: in the glosses on Boethius’ De institutione musica Martianus’s De “Transmission of Ancient Theory into the Middle Ages”, in The Cambridge History of Music Theory, ed. by T. Christensen, Cambridge, 2002, pp. 136– 67; and C. M. Atkinson, The Critical Nexus. Tone-System, Mode, and Notation in Early Medieval Music, Oxford, 2009. 10 C.  M. Bower, “Quadrivial Reasoning and Allegorical Revelation: ‘Meta-knowledge’ and Carolingian Approaches to Knowing”, in Carolingian Scholarship, pp. 57–73. 11 C. Leonardi, “I codici di Marziano Capella I and II”, Aevum, 33 (1959), pp. 443–89 and Aevum, 34 (1960), pp. 1–99 and 411–524; and O’Sullivan, Glossae, pp. cx–cxxx. 12 C. M. Bower, “Boethius’ De institutione musica: A Handlist of Manuscripts’, Scriptorium, 42 (1988), pp. 205–51; Bernhard and Bower, Glossa maior, Vol. i, p. xvi shows the stemma. Of the eleven manuscripts that survived from the ninth century, eight are annotated. Their centres of production have been located in Northern France, Corbie, Fleury, and Freising.

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nuptiis is mentioned as a second authority on the subject, and the other way around.13 Diagrams or figures that were created in the margins to clarify the content floated between the two texts and became part of both. Let us have a look, therefore, at the marginal notes added to both presumably by one and the same hand, I2: a copy of Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis with notes in his hand now kept in Leiden, and a copy of Boethius’ De institutione musica with glosses from his hand is now in Paris.14 2. Leiden, UL, BPL 88 and Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908 Leiden, UL, BPL 88 (182 fols; 255 × 232 mm) is a manuscript with Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis consisting of two codicological units: the first 21 quires are one unit, and the last two quires (quire 22 and 23) are the other.15 The break between these two units is also the break between two books of the encyclopedia: book 8 (on Astronomy) ends on the final page of quire 21 and book 9 (on Music) starts on the first page of quire 22. The presence of one annotating hand dating to the ninth century in both units proves that the two units were already joined in the ninth century. The fact that the last two quires feature five different lay-outs and that the last quire also deviates from the standard of four bifolia per quire (it has only 6 leaves) may suggest that the two last quires were custom made for this manuscript, either to complete it or to restore some kind of damage it had suffered. Both units have been dated to the second half or third quarter of the ninth century. Based on paleographical arguments, Tours has been suggested as the place of origin for the first codicological unit, Reims for the second. In the eleventh century, the manuscript became part of the library of St Peter’s abbey in Gent: two bifolia with related texts were added at the beginning of the manuscript, with an anathema on fol. 2v connecting the book to the abbey’s church. 13 

Teeuwen, Harmony, pp. 162–89. I was able to study these manuscripts in person, but both are accessible online in good digital facsimiles: Leiden, UL, BPL 88, http:// hdl.handle.net/1887.1/item:2028417 (accessed 22 February 2021); and Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b10545846c (accessed 22 February 2021). 15  Teeuwen, Harmony, pp. 117–26. 14 Fortunately,

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Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908 (118 fols; 245 × 175 mm) is also a book that consists of two codicological units, but in this case, they are much further apart: the first part of this book (fols 1–53) is a collection of texts strongly connected to the abbey of St Peter in Corbie: lists, statutes, history, rules, and regulations.16 It was made at the end of the tenth century: an entry has been made for the year 987, and the last abbot on the list of abbot’s names is that of Maingaudus (986–1013). The second part of the book (fols 54–116), however, is older. It is an incomplete copy of Boethius’ De institutione musica, with glosses in several hands, made in the ninth century, probably the second half. Corbie has been suggested as the place of origin for this part too, and the book was owned by the monastery of St Peter until the twelfth century, as we can conclude from a list of books dating to that period.17 From there it came into the possession of the monastery of SaintGermain-des-Prés. The codicological unit with Boethius consists of eight quires of eight leaves, with some irregularities. The hand of I2 is present throughout the whole unit, from fol. 54r to 113v, in between the lines and in the margin. A Carolingian hand is also present: this hand, in fact, wrote the first layer of glosses to which I2 then added his.18 From the fact that I2 sometimes completes notes that were left unfinished by the first, Carolingian hand, one could conclude that the two of them worked in close succession. The set of glosses of the first, Carolingian hand and I2, moreover, belong to the same branch in the stemma of the gloss tradition. Furthermore, it is clear that the ink colour of I2 varies quite a bit within the manuscript, and that there is also a slight variance in how abbreviations and numbers are written down. This may

16 See

the description and bibliographical information on the website ‘Archives et Manuscrits’ of the BnF: https://archivesetmanuscrits.bnf.fr/ ark:/12148/cc74799n (accessed 22 February 2021). 17  For a description and bibliography of the second codicological unit, see https://archivesetmanuscrits.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/cc74799n/ca59725935360954 (accessed 22 February 2021). The work ends at Boethius, De institutione musica, lib. IV, cap. X. 18  Bernhard and Bower, Glossa maior, Vol. iv, p. 48: Their siglum for the manuscript is Q. They name the hands Q1 and Q2 (= I2) and note the Q1 is “offensichtlich der erste Glossator, da an mehreren Stellen Zusätze zu sehen sind, die van Q2 später hinzugefügt wurden (z. B. III,1,38a; III,1,41a).”

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suggest that the glossing of this book was not done in one go, but in multiple stints. 3. I2’s Notes in Martianus Capella’s Book on Music: Leiden, UL, BPL 88 In Leiden, UL, BPL 88, I2 added glosses in a fashion which can be called quite dense, especially in the interlinear space. There are also pages with many and/or long marginal glosses (Fig. 1: BPL 88, fol. 170v). The glosses have been described as related to the commentary on Martianus Capella composed by John Scottus Eriugena, which deserves some further explanation.19 The commentary attributed to John Scottus was edited by Cora Lutz in 1939 on the basis of a single manuscript, then believed to be the sole witness: Paris, BnF, Lat. 12960.20 This is a late ninth-century manuscript made in Corbie, in which the commentary was copied in a continuous form, without the text of Martianus. The manuscript contains several texts of philosophical character: Aristotle’s On Interpretation (in Boethius’ translation); three different commentary traditions on Martianus Capella; and part of John Scottus’ Periphyseon.21 A few years later, however, a new witness of John’s commentary was found: the late ninth- or early tenth-century manuscript Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct.T.2.19, probably written in the monastery of St Vincent in Metz.22 Whereas the glosses on most books were similar enough to assume that this 19  T. A. M. Bishop, “Autographa of John the Scot”, in Jean Scot Érigène et l’histoire de la philosophy, Colloques internationaux du C.N.R.S., 561 (Paris, 1977), pp. 90–92; and in the same volume: C. Leonardi, “Glosse Eriugeniane a Marziano Capella in un codice Leidense”, pp. 175–78. 20 Johannes Scottus, Annotationes in Marcianum, ed. by C. Lutz, Cambridge MA, 1939. 21 Aristotle’s On Interpretation (fols 1r–24v); a part of the oldest gloss tradition to Martianus Capella (comprising the book on Dialectic and part of the book on Rhetoric) in continuous form (fols 25r–30v); an incomplete copy of John Scottus Eriugena’s Periphyseon (fols 31r–38v); an incomplete copy in continuous form of Remigius of Auxerre’s commentary on De nuptiis (fols 39r– 46v); the commentary of John Scottus on Martianus Capella (fols 47r–115v); and a fragment of a grammatical treatise of Priscian (fols 116r–125v). 22 L. Labowski, “A New Version of Scotus Eriugena’s Commentary on Martianus Capella”, Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 1 (1941–1943), pp. 187– 93.

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was a copy of the same commentary, the glosses added to book I of De nuptiis were so different that a debate about their authorship and authenticity developed.23 Several scholars suggested scenarios for the differences in the two versions: perhaps it was a deliberate reworking of material by John Scottus himself because of criticism from fellow scholars with whom he crossed swords in the ninth-century debates; perhaps the glosses were the notes written down by students at different stages of John’s teaching career.24 ‘Different versions’, however, are also a more general trait of commentary traditions: while on the one hand, they were copied from one manuscript to the next, on the other, in each copy the scribes also took the liberty to pick and choose, to add and alter.25 Accretion, selection, and mixing are general phenomena in marginal scholarship, which makes the attribution of certain sets to certain authors a difficult and tricky process.26

23 Because

of their difference, a new edition was also made of them by É. Jeauneau: “Le commentaire érigénien sur Martianus Capella (De nuptiis, Lib. I) d’après le manuscrit d’Oxford (Bodl. Libr. Auct. T.2.19, fol. 1–31)”, in Quatre thèmes érigéniens (Conférence Albert-le-Grand 1974), Montréal, Paris, 1978, pp. 91–166. 24 Cora Lutz, Lotte Labowsky, Édouard Jeauneau, Claudio Leonardi, B. Hauréau, Edward K. Rand, Gangolf Schrimpf, and Jean Préaux were involved in the debate. For a summary of the discussion, see Teeuwen, Harmony, pp. 43–47. See also I. Ramelli, “Eriugena’s Commentary on Martianus in the Framework of his Thought and the Philosophical Debate of his Time”, in Carolingian Scholarship, pp. 245–71; and J. Contreni, with P. O’Néill, “The Early Career and Formation of John Scottus”, in Learning and Culture in Carolingian Europe, Farnham, Burlington, 2011 (Variorum Collected Studies Series, CS 974), no. VI. 25 J. Zetzel, Marginal scholarship and textual deviance. The ‘Commentum Cornuti’ and the Early Scholia on Persius, London, 2005 (Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies Supplement, 84), esp. pp. 144–61. 26  The term ‘marginal scholarship’ was first coined by James Zetzel in 2005 and adopted by me, because it is such a fitting phrase for the intellectual activity in many medieval manuscripts of the period: the glosses in the margins and interlinear spaces show an active and creative readership, a scholarly approach to text processing, learning, and teaching. Their placement in the margin has, for a long time, kept them relatively invisible and unstudied, but their value for intellectual history is being recognized increasingly thanks to material philology and the digitization of medieval manuscript collections.

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Fig. 1. Leiden, UL, BPL 88, fol. 170v

For John Scottus’ annotations on the art of music, we have only three witnesses: two date to the late ninth- or early tenth century (Paris, BnF, Lat. 12960; and Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct.T.2.19) and one (Leiden, UL, BPL 88) is clearly closer to John Scottus himself: it is dated to the second half of the ninth century and it contains the hand of his assistant I2.27 Comparing the annotations in Leiden, UL, BPL 88 to the edition based on 27 Unfortunately, Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct.T.2.19 is not available online, and circumstances prevented me from consulting the manuscript in situ.

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Paris, BnF, Lat. 12960, a rough analysis of the first three folia (fols 168r–169r) results in a match for approximately half the material: half of the glosses are the same or nearly the same, and the other half are different. Considering the content of the glosses added by I2 in Leiden, UL, BPL 88, what stands out is an interest in Greek mythology, in Greek words and etymology, in poetic metres, and in a specific topic: the music of the spheres. A long gloss on Eurydice illustrates this interest in Greek material (fol. 170v): “Euridice id est profunda intentio. Ipsa ars musica in suis profundissimis rationibus Eyridicen dicitur, cuius quasi maritus Orpheus dicitur, hoc est opioc φonoy, 28 id est pulcra vox; qui maritus si aliqua neglegentia artis virtutem perdiderit. veluti in quendam infernum profundae disciplinae descendit, de qua iterum artis regulas iuxta quas musicae voces disponuntur reducit, sed dum voces corporeas et transitorias profundae artis intentioni comparat, fugit iterum in profunditatem disciplinae ipsa intentio quoniam in vocibus apparere non potest. ac per hoc tristis remanet Orpheus vocem musica sine ratione pertinens.” 29 Eurydice that is deep mental effort. Eurydice is called the art of music itself in its deepest knowable parts, and her husband is Orpheus, as in ‘ὥριος φωνή’, that is beautiful voice. And the husband is as someone who had lost the mastery of the art. He descends into the hell of deep knowledge, and from there he could regain the rules of the art according to which musical voices are arranged, but because he connects them to corporeal and transient voices (instead) of the deep intellectual understanding of the art, the understanding itself flees again in the depths of the discipline, because it does not appear in (corporeal and transient) voices. And therefore, Orpheus remains sad, clinging only to his voice without intellectual understanding.

In this gloss, several elements that are characteristic of the glossator’s method of explaining and giving meaning to the text can be seen in action. First, the name of Orpheus is connected to Greek 28  The text has ‘opioc φonoy’, where ‘φωνή’ would be more fitting. The word, however, has clearly been tampered with: the n of φonoy is corrected (perhaps a Latin n has been written over a Greek ν?), the second o is not quite regular, and the y has been added. Perhaps an original ‘φoνe’ was corrected into ‘φonoy’, by a scribe whose Greek was weaker than I2’s? 29 Cf. Annotationes, 480, 19 (pp. 192–93).

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roots, ὥριος and φωνή, and from there, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is unveiled: through the (hidden) meaning of the words, a deeper meaning of the mythological tale can be unraveled. Second, the myth itself is not retold, but rather assumed to be known to the reader. And third, the meaning that is being read into the myth is a moral lesson: understanding and knowledge are to be gained only through continuous hard work and they do not reside in corporeal and transient things (not in the body), but in the mind. This is an idea that is also prominent in other works of John Scottus: both in his commentary on De nuptiis and in his Periphyseon he argues that a perfect knowledge of the arts is innate to the human soul, but it was lost because of man’s fall from Paradise. To study the seven liberal arts is to strive to regain that perfect knowledge and reconnect to that lost wisdom. 30 Another gloss on the same page illustrates the glossator’s interest in the topic of the music of the spheres. 31 The gloss is added to the passage in Martianus Capella in which he describes the entrance of lady Harmony, the last of the artes to explain her own art in the company of the gods, gathered to celebrate the marriage of Mercury and Philology (IX.909). In her right hand, it is described, she bore “what appeared to be a shield, circular over-all, with many inner circles, the whole interwoven with remarkable configurations. The encompassing circles of this shield were attuned to each other, and from the circular chords there poured forth a concord of all the modes”. 32 The glossator explained (fol. 170v):

30 On this topic specifically, see I. Ramelli, “Eriugena’s Commentary”, pp. 245–71; and A. Luhtala, “On Early Medieval Divisions of Knowledge”, in Carolingian Scholarship, pp. 75–98, esp. 91–95. 31  The theme of the music of the spheres is present in book IX of De nuptiis, but even more strongly in the narrative introduction of the encyclopedia in book I and II. Especially in the version of the Annotationes as found in Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct.T.2.19, long glosses are dedicated to the theme. About these, see Jeauneau, “Le commentaire érigénien”, pp. 123–30; and Teeuwen, Harmony, pp. 218–32. 32 Martianus Capella, De nuptiis, IX.909: “dextra autem quoddam gyris multiplicibus circulatum et miris ductibus intertextum velut clipeum gestitabat, quod quidem suis invicem complexibus modulatum ex illis fidibus circulatis omnium modorum concinentiam personabat.” ed. J. Willis, Teubner,

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mariken teeuwen “Ab hoc loco musicam caelestem discribit, quandam speram veluti rotundam ac veluti rotundos in ea nervos quibus orbes planetarum significantur. qorum (sic) motu et varietate caelestis armonia perficitur. per clepeum quidem sperum. per ductus et giros circulos planetarum per intextum clepei commissuras absidum significans.”33 At this place, he describes the heavenly music, as if it is a round sphere and as if on this (sphere) round strings (are found) which signify the planetary orbits. And their motion and variety make the perfect heavenly harmony. So, the shield signifies the sphere. The ‘ductus’ (configurations) and ‘giros’ (circular) signify the orbits of the planets. The ‘interwovenness’ of the shield signifies the structure of the orbits.

A common trait of glosses in general are references to other authors, but in this particular book they are not particularly numerous. 34 We find some references Isidore’s Etymologies and to Fulgentius’ Mythologies. Noteworthy is the reference to Plato’s Timaeus (or rather Calcidius’ translation of and commentary on that text) on fol. 172v, where a gloss responds to Martianus’ cryptic reference to the importance of numerical ratios for the understanding of music: “Fontibus hoc est numeris. Plato siquidem in Timeo ex multiplicibus et superparticularibus numeris generalem mundi animam esse docet, quae una per singulas dividitur animas, sive rationales sive irrationales.”35 ‘Fontibus’, that is numbers. Plato, indeed, teaches in his Timaeus that the general world soul exists of manyfold and superparticular numbers, and that one is divided in multiple souls, either rational or irrational. 1983, p. 347; and trans. W. H. Stahl, Martianus Capella and the seven liberal arts, Vol. ii, New York, Oxford, 1977, pp. 352–53. 33 Cf. Annotationes, 482, 19 (pp. 194–15). 34  Lutz, in the preface to Annotationes, pp. xx–xxv. As sources for John’s commentary, she mentions Macrobius, Chalcidius, Pliny, Priscian, Aratus, Bede, Pseudo-Augustine’s Decem Categoriae, Isidore of Seville’s Etymologies, Cicero’s De inventione and De oratore, Fulgentius, Hyginus, Servius’ commentaries on Virgil, Marcrobius Saturnalia, St Augustine’s De civitate dei, works of Solinus, Iuvencus, Virgil, and Ovid. With the exception of Augustine, works from the Church Fathers are strangely missing. 35  Annotationes, 490, 15 (p. 202).

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Concerning the more technical part of the book (that is, Harmony’s exposition of the concepts, fundamentals, and rules of her own art), the glossator picks up on several things. First, the Greek technical vocabulary is glossed expressing the familiar interest in all things Greek. 36 Second, longer glosses explain the number of notes in the system, how the tetrachords sit in this system, and how they can take different melodic shapes in the diatonic, chromatic, and enharmonic modes. 37 The glosses explain terms and rules of the discipline, but in general it is striking that they stay very close to the text of Martianus: in explaining it, the glosses rarely use material from outside the text. There are no explicit references to Boethius nor is there a comparison to his treatise. But there is one topic on which the glossator ventures beyond simply explaining the text at hand, and that is his treatment of the numerical ratios: (fol. 173v, ad Tonus est spatium cum legitima quantitate:) “Legitima quantitate id est octava parte. Nam tonus in musica epogdous est in arithmetica et ita tonus est in musica sicut viii ad viiii, in arithmetica legitima quantitas est ratio epogdoi quae totam metitur musicam.”38 Legitimate quantity that is one eighth part. Because a tone in music is ‘epogdous’ (9/8) in arithmetic. And thus a tone in music is as 8:9 is a legitimate quantity, the ratio of the epogdous, in arithmetic, and with this (ratio) the whole of music is measured. (fol. 173v, ad Tertia vero habet toni tertiam partem ac dimidiam tertiae:) “Demedia tertiae sexta est. Tertiam partem: Sexta autem et tertia demediam faciunt. Duodenarius quippe numerus tertiam partem sui in quaternario ponit, sextam vero in binario. Sexta autem 36  For

example, the term ‘hypate hypaton’, the first note of the first tetrachord in the Greek system of notes, is explained with the gloss (fol. 175r): “YΠATE. principalis principalium dicitur quia YΠATOC consul. vel rector est sequentis tetracordi” ((hypate (hypaton): it is called the first of the first, because ‘hypatos’ means consul, or: it is the leader of the next tetrachord). Annotationes, 502,12 (p. 208). Many glosses play with Greek etymologies and contain words written in Greek. 37  For example (fol. 173v): “Enarmonios id est inadunatus quia maximis et minimis spatiis dividitur; maximis quia saepe in uno spatio duo toni inveniuntur, saepe sola quarta pars.” Annotationes, 494, 21 (p. 206). 38  Annotationes, 494, 16 (pp. 205–06).

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mariken teeuwen pars, id est binarius, adiuncta tertiae parti, id est quaternario, demedium duodenarii numeri, id est vi, facit.”39 A sixth is half of a third. The third part: for (the) sixth part and (the) third (part) make half (of twelve). One third of the number 12 is 4, one sixth is 2 (of 12). Its sixth part, that is 2, plus its third part, that is 4, is half of 12, that is 6. (fol. 173v, ad et vocatur emiolia:) “Emiolion: emis- et -olon, id est demedium et totum. quia maior numerus habet minorem totum et eius demedium, ut ternarius ad binarium quae proportio sesqualtera vocatur.”40 Hemiolius, that is hemi- and -olos, a half and one whole. Because the bigger number is one-and-a-half times the smaller one, such as 3:2. And this ratio is called ‘sesqualtera’. (fol. 174r, ad diapason:) “Diapason ex omnibus dicitur quia veteres octo solum modo sonis utebantur vel certe quia ex duabus simplicibus symphoniis constat id est ex diatessaron et diapente. Verbi gratia, tonus tonus emitonium, ecce diatessaron. Tonus tonus emitonium tonus, ecce diapente, et hoc totum diapason dyplasia nam acutissimus eius sonus duplo gravissimum superat.”41 The diapason, octave, is called ‘out of all’, because the ancients used only eight tones in a mode, or certainly because it is composed out of the two simplest intervals, that is the fourth and the fifth. For example: tone-tone-semitone, and there you have the fourth. Tone-tone-semitone-tone, and there you have the fifth, and the sum of these is the octave, twofold because its highest tone surpasses the lowest with twice as much.

4. I2’s Notes on Boethius’ Fundamentals of Music: Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908 In Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908, I2 added shorter and longer glosses, in between the lines and in the margins, throughout the text of Boethius (Fig. 2: Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908, fol. 84r). As noted above, I2 wrote his contemporary with or shortly after the notes added by the first glossing hand, a Carolingian hand, which, in 39 

Annotationes, 494, 24 (p. 206). Annotationes, 495, 3 (p. 206). 41  Annotationes, 497, 16 (pp. 206–07). 40 

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Fig. 2. Paris, BnF, Latin 13908, fol. 84r

turn, is dated roughly contemporary to the text. The layout of the text is not especially designed to contain a commentary text (with a separate column for glosses and wide interlinear spaces),

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but with a marginal space of roughly 50% of the page, annotations must have been foreseen by the copyists of this manuscript. An analysis of the strand of glosses copied here, both by the first hand and by I2, shows that most of them are in concordance with sets of glosses that we also find elsewhere, particularly in manuscripts Paris, BnF, Lat. 7200, and Vatican City, BAV, Reg.lat. 1638. These manuscripts stand at the beginning of a cluster of manuscripts which all contain glosses that belong to the ‘central tradition’, as Bernhard and Bower have called it.42 But within this tradition, it is clear the I2 has his own particular interests. I2 used subtle tiemarks to link his glosses to the main text: a combination of dot and line, or two dots and line, or a simple squiggle. He uses characteristic abbreviations, such as the Irish H for ‘enim’, a long s with a stroke over it for ‘super’, and with a stroke through the line for ‘secundum’.43 He used a system of referencing within the text: notes guide the reader to other places in the text where the reader may find more on the subject at hand. For example, on fol. 89r we read “in xiiiio cap(itulo) iii lib(ri)”, while on fol. 89v “in xxxiii cap(itulo) i lib(ri)”. These places were then also marked with a matching sign at both ends to make it obvious for the reader where to find the correct place. These internal references are unique to I2. Referencing to other texts is also part of his repertoire. In the glosses we find quotes from Servius’ commentaries on Virgil, which are unique to I2 as well: fol. 56v, lower margin: “Servius: Cytharae usus inventus est hoc modo: Cum regrediens Nilus in suos terminos varia in terris reliquisset animalia. Relicta etiam testudo est, quae, cum putrefacta esset et nervi eius remansissent extenti intra corium, percussa a Mercurio sonitum dedit, ex cuius imitatione cythara est composita.”44 42  Bernhard and Bower, Glossa maior, Vol. i, p. lxxiii. Paris, BnF, Lat. 7200 = M and Vatican City, BAV, Reg.lat. 1638 = V in their stemma. 43 If we compare this to the characteristics of the writing in Leiden, UL, BPL 88, it is indeed very similar, both with respect to the abbreviations and to the letter shapes. The tiemarks in Leiden, UL, BPL 88 are a more extended set: circles, half-circles, combinations of circles and strokes, squiggles or dots feature in the margins. 44  Bernhard and Bower, Glossa maior, Vol. i, p. 85, I,2,16; the quote is from Servius’ Comm. in Georg. IV, 463. The translations of the glosses are my own.

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Servius: The use of the cythara is invented in this manner: When the Nile retracted within its limits, it left behind on earth various animals. Thus, a tortoise was left behind, which, when it had rotted and when its sinews had been left stretched out in its core, gave off a sound when Mercurius struck it. And imitating this, the cythara has been shaped. fol. 57r, upper margin: “Servius: Circuli vii sunt: Saturni, Iovis, Martis, Solis, Veneris, Mercurii, Lunae. Et primus, i. Saturnus, vehimenter sonat, reliqui secundum ordinem minus, sicut audimus in chithara. Unde tacita Luna dicitur, quia circulus eius inmobili terre vicinus. Ex cuius imitatione cithara et composita.”45 Servius: There are seven spheres: of Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, the Sun, Venus, Mercury and the Moon. And the first, that is Saturn, sounds forcefully, the others according to their order less, as we hear in the cythara. The moon is said to be silent because its sphere is close to that of the immovable earth. And in imitation of this, the cythara has been shaped.

In general, I2’s notes show an interest in Greek language and mythology, in ancient learning concerning the planets and the music of the spheres, and in Boethius’ technical terminology. For example, several glosses address the concept of tetrachords that can be divided into different steps in order to arrive at different modes (the diatonic mode, using semitone-tone-tone; the chromatic mode, using semitone-semitone-trisemitone; and the enharmonic mode, using microtone-microtone-double tone). fol. 68v: “Cum in omnibus his tribus melorum generibus diatesseron consonantia duorum sit tonorum ac minoris semitonii, propriam tamen in singulis ipsorum habet divisionem tonorum, ut in diatonico partiatur per semitonium, tonum et tonum; in chromatico per semitonium et semitonium et tria semitonia; in enarmonio per diesin et diesin et ditonum.”46 While the consonance diatessaron (the fourth) has in all of these three modes of melody two tones and one smaller semitone, it is still only in one of these (modes) that it has this 45  Bernhard and Bower, Glossa maior, Vol. i, p. 92, I,2,52; the quote is from Servius’ Comm. in Aen. II,255. 46  Bernhard and Bower, Glossa maior, Vol. i, p. 290, I,21,47.

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mariken teeuwen particular division. For in the diationic (mode) it is divided into semitone, tone and tone; in the chromatic (mode) in semitone, semitone and tri-semitone; in the enharmonic (mode) in microtone, microtone and double tone.

Most striking, however, is the amount of attention I2 addresses to mathematical aspects of Boethius’ treatise. A simple example is this note on fol. 72r, which explains the term ‘superparticularis’, ‘of or relating to a ratio in which the greater term exceeds the smaller one by one unit’ (n: (n+1)): “Omnis namque superparticularis inter duos locatur. Maiori parte superat minorem, minori superatur a maiore, ut sunt iii. iiii. v. Ergo quaternarius, qui est medius, maiori parte sui vincit ternarium, i. tertia, minori sui parte vincitur a quinario, i. quarta. Maior namque tertia pars quam quarta, ac per hoc maius ac minus semitonium.”47 Each superparticular (number) is placed in between two (numbers). The larger exceeds the smaller, the smaller is exceeded by the larger one with one part, as are 3–4–5. Thus the number four, which is the middle one: its bigger part, that is three, wins from three by one, and its smaller part, that is four, is beaten by one by the number five. For four is one-third (of three) bigger than three, and this means bigger and smaller, a semitone.48

A more elaborate interaction with the material is found, for example on fol. 74v, where I2 lined up the numbers to illustrate the ratios:

47 

sesqualter

iiii

vi

viiii

duplex sesqualter

iiii

x

xxv

superbipartiens

viiii

xv

xxv

duplex superbipartiens

viiii

xxiiii

lxiiii

Bernhard and Bower, Glossa maior, Vol. i, p. 347, I,33,30. meaning of this last part of this sentence, “ac per hoc maius ac minus semitonium”, defies me. Perhaps the increase in numbers is juxtaposed with an increase/ascent in pitch. However, the interval that is generally related to the superparticular ratio of 9:8 is that of a major second, which is not a semitone but a tone. Also, the interval in between the ratio 3:2 (fifth) and 4:3 (fourth), is not a semitone, but a whole tone. 48 The

455

i 2’s interest in music sesqualter (ratio 3:2, n+0,5n)

4

6

9

duplex sesqualter (n+n+0,5n)

4

10

25

superbiparticular (n+⅔n)

9

15

25

duplex superbiparticular (n+n+⅔n)

9

24

64

And again, at fols 77r-v, where examples are added to the terms sesquioctavus (the ratio 9:8), sesquitertius (the ratio 4:3), and sesquiquartus (the ratio 5:4): i

viii

lxiiii

 

viiii

lxxii

 

 

lxxxi

iii

iiii

 

 

viiii

xii

xvi

 

xxvii

xxxvi xlviii

iiii

v

 

xvi

xx

xxv

lxiiii

The calculations thus show concrete examples of the ratios: - sesquioctavus: 8 × 9/8 = 9; 64 × 9/8 = 72; and 72 × 9/8 = 81; - sesquiquartus: 3 × 4/3 = 4; 9 × 4/3 = 12; 12 × 4/3 = 16; 27 × 4/3 = 36; 36 × 4/3 = 48; 48 × 4/3 = 64; - sesquiquartus: 4 × 5/4 = 5; 16 × 5/4 = 20; 20 × 5/4 = 25. 5. Comparison and Observations In the previous section, I compared the glosses in two manuscripts, both written in the hand of I2 and both concerning the art of music. Comparing them, however, is not straightforward. First, they respond to different texts, so obviously they go in different directions. Second, both sets are not unique and individual annotations, but they are, at least in part, pieces of a bigger whole: in Leiden, UL, BPL 88 of the commentary tradition on Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis, ascribed to John Scottus Eriugena, and in Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908 of the Glossa maior on Boethius’ De

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institutione musica. So, each assessment must take into consideration whether the gloss on the manuscript page is a copied gloss or whether it could be a spontaneously created one, composed and written by I2 himself. Last but not least, in this article I did not discuss the complete sets of notes in both manuscripts, but only a selection. If we put these deliberations to the side for the moment, however, and look at the material that we do have, then it is still possible to note similarities and deviances in the techniques and content of the gloss material added to these two manuscripts. The two sets of notes line up when we consider the specific areas of their interest in the two treatises. The fact that both treatises concern the art of music seems, in fact, only of secondary importance to the glossator. His interest is in technical vocabulary, in Greek words and Greek mythology, and in the liberal arts as part of a lost perfection of human knowledge. The discipline of music leads him to explain the nature of knowledge itself, which is grounded in an understanding of divine order deeply embedded in music, graspable through an understanding of the numerical ratios of musical intervals, their meaning and their connection to the harmony of creation. He does not express an interest in connecting the theoretical framework to his contemporary music practice, in enhancing a steady transmission of the body of chant, or in the writing down of melodies. His interest is not musical, but rather quadrivial. I2 shows an eager interest in mathematical material, which he found in abundance in Boethius, where it ranges from simple to quite advanced. In Martianus, the mathematical material is more basic, but here too, he is keen to expand. Yet it may be noteworthy that in Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908, I2 not only added more complicated calculations, but he also used different forms of visualizing the mathematical formulae, with figures and tables. These are lacking in the Leiden manuscript. The rather elaborate internal referencing I2 used in Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908, is also absent from Leiden, UL, BPL 88. Even more remarkable is the fact that the two texts are not linked to each other in these glosses. Whereas the interconnection of the two authorities on music, Boethius and Martianus, is strong in the oldest gloss tradition on Martianus, it is almost invisible here.49 49  In the preface of her edition of the Annotationes, Lutz mentions the oldest gloss tradition/Dunchad as a source (p. xx) and gives examples in Appen-

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To conclude, let me return to the questions posed at the beginning of this paper. Can we find similar material in the margins of both manuscripts? If we look at which aspects of ars musica are glossed in these two manuscripts, then we see both overlap and deviance. In both the Martianus- and the Boethius-manuscript, Greek terminology and Greek material in general never fail to catch the attention of I2. In both manuscripts, furthermore, the same philosophical outlook on what knowledge is and how it can be obtained by humans is shining through. The annotations to both texts show an avid interest in the harmony and music of the cosmos, the numerical ratios of the world soul, and how these give meaning to the discipline of music. The interest is clearly quadrivial, not musical. Both, moreover, enjoy taking the numbers and numerical ratios and playing with them. This trait, however, is stronger in the Boethius manuscript than in the Martianus one. In the Boethius manuscript, I2 used figures and tables to enhance the reader’s understanding of how numbers relate to each other. In the Martianus manuscript, this is not the case. Another difference is the fact that I2 seems to have annotated the Martianus manuscript more or less in one go: the layer of notes seems consistent, whereas in the Boethius manuscript it shows inconsistencies in the colour of ink and in the abbreviations used. This characteristic might line up with the internal referencing system used in the Boethius manuscript. Perhaps I2 was working his way through the Boethius manuscript over a longer period of time, taking his time with it in a way he was not able to do with the Martianus manuscript, picking up more details and adding more of his own observations. He may have been working on Leiden, UB, BPL 88 at a different time, in a different place, which would perhaps explain the lack of an active connecting of the two texts in the glosses. The overlap is general, not specific. Finally, the bigger question we can now address is this. Does my analysis of the two sets of annotations enrich our portrait of I2? No, and yes, I would say. No, because it remains difficult to assess whether we can consider his annotations as his own work or simply the work of a copyist. The annotations do have a clear dix III (pp. 229–35). On the connections between the glosses on Boethius’ De institutione musica and Martianus’ De nuptiis, see Teeuwen, Harmony, pp. 162–89.

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specific interest, however, and stand out from the commentary traditions on Martianus and Boethius. They portray I2 not as a musician, but as a scholar with an interest in music theory rather than music practice. He shows a good understanding in the theoretical underpinnings of the ars musica and qualifies perhaps as a musicus in the Boethian sense: a student of the meta-knowledge inherent in music, so as to get closer to grasping the divine truth. In Leiden, UL, BPL 88, it seems that he was mostly copying glosses, following his master’s interests. In Paris, BnF, Lat. 13908, perhaps he shows more of his character: an avid interest in numbers and calculus and in experimenting with ways to visualize mathematical rules. This is a trait that may be his own, and not his master’s. Abstract In two ninth-century manuscripts with texts concerning the ancient ars musica (the Greek learned tradition about the discipline of music as one of the seven liberal arts), one and the same hand is found to have added glosses in between the lines and in the margins. It is the hand of I2, also known as ‘Nisifortinus’, a disciple and assistant of the famous scholar John Scottus Eriugena. This article asks whether I2 may have had a special interest in the art of music, and whether it is possible to get to know the student, who usually stands in the shadow of the master, better through the study of his glosses on this particular topic. From this study it is clear that, in addition to the predictable interest in Greek terminology and Greek myth, I2 had an avid interest in the numerical underpinnings of the ars musica. He may even be an original experimenter with techniques to visualize ratios in series of numbers. Further research, however, is needed, since editions of commentary traditions are still lacking and the rules of text transmission of this particular kind of text are complex.

Bibliography Primary Sources Bernhard, M. and C. M. Bower (eds), Glossa maior in institutionem musicam Boethii, 4 Vols, München, 1993–2011 (Veröffentlichungen der musikhistorischen Kommission, Bd. 9–12). Johannes Scottus Eriugena, Annotationes in Marcianum, ed. by C.  Lutz, Cambridge MA, 1939.

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Martianus Capella, De nuptiis, ed. by J. Willis, Teubner, 1983. O’Sullivan, S. (ed.), Glossae Aevi Carolini in Libros I–II Martiani Capellae De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii, Turnhout, 2010 (Corpus Christianorum: Continuatio Mediaevalis, 237). Secondary Sources Atkinson, C. M., The Critical Nexus. Tone-System, Mode, and Notation in Early Medieval Music, Oxford, 2009. Barbera, A. (ed.), Music Theory and Its Sources: Antiquity and the Middle Ages, Notre Dame, 1990 (Notre Dame Conferences in Medieval Studies, 1). Bernhard, M., “Überlieferung und Fortleben der antiken lateinischen Musiktheorie im Mittelalter”, in Geschichte der Musiktheorie, 3: Rezeption des antiken Fachs im Mittelalter, ed. by F. Zaminer, Darmstadt, 1990, pp. 7–36. Bishop, T. A. M., “Autographa of John the Scot”, in Jean Scot Érigène et l’histoire de la philosophie, Colloques internationaux du C.N.R.S., 561, Paris, 1977, pp. 47–58. Bower, C. M., “Boethius’ De institutione musica: A Handlist of Manuscripts”, Scriptorium, 42 (1988), pp. 205–51. Bower, C. M., “Quadrivial Reasoning and Allegorical Revelation: ‘Meta-Knowledge’ and Carolingian Approaches to Knowing”, in Carolingian Scholarship, ed. by M. Teeuwen and S. O’Sullivan, Turnhout, 2011, pp. 57–73. Bower, C. M., “Transmission of Ancient Theory into the Middle Ages”, in The Cambridge History of Music Theory, ed. by T. Christensen, Cambridge, 2002, pp. 136–67. Contreni, J. J. with P. O’Néill, “The Early Career and Formation of John Scottus”, in Learning and Culture in Carolingian Europe, Farnham, Burlington, 2011 (Variorum Collected Studies Series, CS 974), no. VI. Dutton, P. E., “Eriugena’s Workshop. The Making of the Peryphyseon in Rheims 875”, in History and Eschatology in John Scottus Eriugena and his Time, ed. by J. McEvoy and M. Dunne, Leuven, 2002 (Ancient and Medieval Philosophy. De Wulf-Mansion Centre, S. I, 30). Jeauneau, É. and P. E. Dutton, The Autograph of Eriugena, Corpus Christianorum: Autographa Medii Aevi, Vol. 3, Turnhout, 1996. Jeauneau, É., “‘Nisifortinus’: le disciple qui corrige le mâitre”, in Poetry and Philosophy in the Middle Ages. A Festschrift for Peter

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Jeauneau, É., “Le commentaire érigénien sur Martianus Capella (De nuptiis, Lib. I) d’après le manuscrit d’Oxford (Bodl. Libr. Auct. T.2.19, fol. 1–31)”, in Quatre thèmes érigéniens (Conférence Albertle-Grand 1974), Montréal, Paris, 1978, pp. 91–166. Labowski, L., “A New Version of Scotus Eriugena’s Commentary on Martianus Capella”, Medieval and Renaissance Studies 1 (1941– 1943), pp. 187–93. Leonardi, C., “I codici di Marziano Capella I, II”, Aevum, 33 (1959), pp. 443–89 and Aevum, 34 (1960), pp. 1–99 and 411–524. Leonardi, C., “Glosse Eriugeniane a Marziano Capella in un codice Leidense”, in Jean Scot Érigène et l’histoire de la philosophie, Colloques internationaux du C.N.R.S., 561, Paris, 1977, pp. 171–82. Luhtala, A., “On Early Medieval Divisions of Knowledge”, in Carolingian Scholarship, ed. by M. Teeuwen and S. O’Sullivan, Turnhout, 2011, pp. 75–98. Ramelli, I., “Eriugena’s Commentary on Martianus in the Framework of his Thought and the Philosophical Debate of his Time”, in Carolingian Scholarship, ed. by M. Teeuwen and S. O’Sullivan, Turnhout, 2011, pp. 245–71. Stahl, W. H. (transl.), Martianus Capella and the Seven Liberal Arts, Vol. ii, New York, Oxford, 1977. Teeuwen, M., Harmony and the Music of the Spheres. The ‘ars musica’ in Ninth-Century Commentaries on Martianus Capella, Leiden, Boston, Köln, 2002 (Mittellateinische Studien und Texte, 30). Teeuwen, M. and S. O’Sullivan (eds), Carolingian Scholarship and Martianus Capella. Ninth-Century Commentary Traditions on ‘De nuptiis’ in Context, Turnhout, 2011 (Cultural Encounters in Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, 12). Teeuwen, M., and I. van Renswoude (eds), The Annotated Book in the Early Middle Ages. Practices of Reading and Writing, Turnhout, 2017 (Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy, 38). Teeuwen, M., “Voices from the Edge: Annotating Books in the Carolingian Period”, in The Annotated Book, ed. by M. Teeuwen and I.  van Renswoude, Turnhout, 2017, pp. 13–36. Zetzel, J. E. G., Marginal Scholarship and Textual Deviance. The ‘Commentum Cornuti’ and the Early Scholia on Persius, London, 2005 (Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies Supplement, 84).

Nicetius of Trier’s Letter to Justinian and the Aphthartodocetic Controversy Benjamin Wheaton (Kingston, Ontario) Nicetius of Trier, bishop of that city from approximately 525 until his death around 570, was a well-respected member of the Gallic clerical aristocracy. Venantius Fortunatus wrote two poems in his honour, one a panegyric to the man himself and the other a lavish description of his castellum in the country.1 This praise was echoed by Gregory of Tours in his hagiographical account of Nicetius’ life.2 In Gregory’s vita entitled De sancto Nicetio, he portrays Nicetius excelling in rebuking kings and restraining the excesses of the Frankish aristocracy. The engagement of Nicetius in the life of the Gallic church is further demonstrated by the presence of his signature in the subscriptions to two ecclesiastical councils that took place during his tenure of the bishopric of Trier. 3 The council held in Orléans in 549 and called by King Childebert I is of particular interest for this article, for at that council, amidst the usual decrees on church order and other practical matters, the doctrines of Eutyches and Nestorius were condemned.4 1  Venantius

Fortunatus, Carmina 3.11–12. of Tours, Vitae Patrum 17. 3  His signature appears in the subscriptions to the Council of Clermont in 535 (Concilia Galliae a. 511-a. 695, ed. C. de Clercq, Turnhout, 1963 (CCSL 148A), pp. 111); and the Council of Orange in 549 (Concilia Galliae, p. 157). 4  Concilia Galliae, pp. 148–49: “Itaque nefariam sectam, quam auctor male sibi conscius et a vivo sanctae fidei catholicae fonte discedens sacrilegos quondam condidit Euthicis, vel si quaequae a venefico similiter impio sunt prolata Nestorio, quas etiam sectas sedes apostolica sancta condemnat, similiter et nos easdem cum suis auctoribus et sectatoribus execrantes praesentis constitutionis vigore anathematizamus adque damnamus, rectum adque apostolicum in Christi nomine fidei ordinem praedicantes.” Childebert seems to 2  Gregory

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 461–476. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125572 ©

F H G

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This condemnation most likely occurred as a result of the controversies over the relationship between the two natures of Christ that were roiling both eastern and western Christianity at this time. The Gallic church, though ill-informed (as will be seen) about these things, by re-iterating its condemnation of Eutyches and Nestorius signalled its allegiance to the teachings and decrees of Chalcedon. Nicetius of Trier’s signature appears fourth on the list of subscriptions to the council of Orléans. 5 Yet this is not his only word on the subject of Christology. Some time later, he wrote a letter to Justinian himself, castigating the emperor for departing from the orthodox faith.6 The tone of this letter is most definitely in accord with his character as described in the De sancto Nicetio by Gregory of Tours. It has posed a riddle for scholars, however, for in it the bishop of Trier accuses Justinian of promoting doctrines associated with Nestorianism, which emphasized the division between the divine and human natures of Christ. This was, if anything, the opposite of the truth, given that Justinian was attempting to compromise with the miaphysites, who emphasized the unity of Christ’s two natures. What was Nicetius responding to? When did he write it? Why did he make the claims he did? What was he trying to say? One common answer to these questions is to link this letter with the general western disapproval of Justinian’s condemnation of the so-called “Three Chapters” at the Second Council of Constantinople held in 553.7 The emperor was attempting to reconcile some of the opponents of the Council of Chalcedon, the miaphysites (who have taken a personal interest in this matter; see I. Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology, 550–660”, in The Crisis of the Oikoumene, ed. by C. Chazell and C. Cubitt, Brepols, 2007, pp. 230–31, and T. Stüber, “The Fifth Council of Orléans and the Reception of the ‘Three Chapters Controversy’ in Merovingian Gaul”, in The Merovingian Kingdoms and the Mediterranean World: Revisiting the Sources, ed. by S. Esders, Y. Hen, P. Lucas and T. Rotman, Bloomsbury, 2019, pp. 93-102. 5  Concilia Galliae, p. 157. 6  Epistolae Austrasicae 7, ed. W. Gundlach, Berlin, 1892 (MGH Epistolae vol. 3), pp. 118–19. 7  Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, pp. 225–26 and 231–33; P. Gray and M. Herren, “Columbanus and the Three Chapters Controversy — A New Approach”, Journal of Theological Studies, 45 (1994), pp. 160–70, at p. 168; and Stüber, “The Fifth Council of Orléans,” pp. 95-96.

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insisted that Christ had one nature, not two, after his incarnation), to a common confession of Christology. In so doing, however, he spurred the opposition of the western Latin churches, who viewed any modification of Chalcedon with alarm. These Chapters, that is, the works and person of Theodore of Mopsuestia, the works of Theodoret of Cyrrhus written against Cyril of Alexandria, and the letter of Ibas of Edessa written to Mari the Persian, were viewed as sympathetic to Nestorius but were not condemned at Chalcedon, thereby lending support to the accusation of the miaphysites that the council had leaned towards Nestorianism. Justinian was keen to put these accusations to rest, and so by condemning the Three Chapters while retaining the Chalcedonian confession reinforce the anti-Nestorian nature of that council.8 The western Latin-speaking churches strongly disapproved of any modifications of the decrees of Chalcedon, considering the entire council to be sacrosanct. Justinian’s condemnation of the Three Chapters was therefore seen to be a repudiation of the entirety of the council.9 Gaul was quite detached from these events, and accurate information hard to come by. This made the Gallic church susceptible both to rumours and to propaganda from lobbyists on both sides of the divide over the Three Chapters. It has been argued by Ian Wood that Nicetius of Trier was responding to requests for support from Italian clerics opposed to Justinian’s actions.10 Thus his letter to Justinian would have been written in response to these pleas in the early 550s. His close connection with Italian bishops, as evidenced from other letters, certainly makes this plausible.11 I would like to suggest, however, that a later time and a different Christological controversy make more sense: the years between 564 and 565 and the promotion by Justinian of aphthartodocetic doctrine at the end of his life.12 8 See

the excellent summary of events by Richard Price, The Acts of the Council of Constantiople of 553, Liverpool, 2012, pp. 8–23. 9  Price, The Acts of the Council of Constantinople of 553, pp. 23–28. 10  Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, pp. 225–26. 11 Two letters in the Epistolae Austrasicae are written to Nicetius of Trier from a certain Abbot Florianus, from the diocese of Milan: Epistolae Austrasicae 5 and 6; and one letter is written by Nicetius of Trier to Queen Chlodosuintha, wife of the Lombard king Alboin: Epistolae Austrasicae 8. 12  As suggested by Wilhelm Gundlach, in Epistolae Austrasicae 7, ed. Gund­ lach, p. 118; F. Carcione, “L’aftardtodocetismo di Giustiniano: una mistifi-

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Before carrying on, a brief description of the episode would be helpful here. Never wearying of attempting to reconcile the divided churches of the East, Justinian was convinced in 563 by an unnamed bishop of Joppa, a follower of the miaphysite theologian Julian of Halicarnassus, that if the emperor were to issue a decree declaring that the flesh of Christ even before his resurrection was not naturally subject to corruption (that is, to proclaim the aphtharsia of Christ), and that Christ suffered not by necessity but voluntarily, he might succeed in reconciling a significant number of miaphysites, or at least those who followed Julian.13 Justinian almost certainly did not see himself as abandoning his adherence to Chalcedon; a statement of Christ’s aphtharsia was capable of being seen as compatible with the Fourth Council.14 This was not the opinion, however, of most bishops of the imperial church. A preliminary proposal along these lines which was presented to Eutychius, the patriarch of Constantinople, was met with the patriarch’s fierce resistance. Justinian promptly exiled him in January of 565, and his successor John was more diplomatic. Anastasius the patriarch of Antioch was then the most public opponent, sending a lengthy document to Justinian explaining his and his clergy’s opposition to the new proposal.15 At this time, in addition to Antioch there were probably gatherings of suffragan bishops at the various other eastern patriarchal sees preparing to respond to the proposed edict. Justinian was about to exile Anastasius as he had Eutychius; however, the emperor died in October of 565. His

catione strumentale del dissenso politico-religioso”, Studi e ricerche sul’oriente cristiano, 7 (1984), pp. 71–78; and E. Stein, Histoire du Bas-Empire, Tome II, Paris, 1949, pp. 687 and 833. 13  On this episode, see A. Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition, trans. T.  Hainthaler, Atlanta, 1995, vol. 2.2, pp. 467–73; P. Van den Ven, “L’accession de Jean le Scholastique au siège patriarcal de Constantinople en 565”, Byzantion, 35 (1965), pp. 320–52; and esp. M. van Esbroeck, “The Aphthartodocetic Edict of Justinian and its Armenian Background”, Studia Patristica, 33 (1997), pp. 578–85. 14 As argued by Grillmeier, Christ in Christian Tradition, vol. 2.2, pp. 472–73 and, more cogently, by van Esbroeck, “The Aphthartodocetic edict of Justinian”, pp. 583–84. 15  Evagrius Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History, 4.40.

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successor Justin II let the issue die and dismissed the gathered bishops.16 The outrage caused by this affair added to Justinian’s unpopularity at the end of his reign, which caused the accession of Justin II to be met with considerable relief.17 Although the edict may have been never formally issued, given the lack of response by the Roman church, the proposal was still quite public and would have been widely commented on.18 It would be thus entirely within the realm of possibility that an eastern priest, Lactantius, visiting Gaul on pilgrimage in 565 would have transmitted information on this affair to his host Nicetius. There are four reasons why this later controversy is a more likely occasion for Nicetius’ letter, three internal and one external. First, the source for Nicetius’ knowledge of Justinian’s apostasy seems to be rumour born by a pilgrim from the east, rather than official letters written by Italian correspondents. Second, Nicetius states that Justinian is old and near the end of his life. Third, the bishop of Trier refers to the doctrines of Nestorius being officially condemned three times, which fits best with a date after the Second Council of Constantinople. Fourth, the accusation of a fall into Nestorianism neatly fits with the narrative promoted by papal propaganda, specifically the letters of Pope Pelagius I, which identify the opponents of Justinian’s doctrinal policies as Nestorians. Nicetius would thus be objecting, based on a garbled understanding of eastern affairs, to Justinian’s abandonment of the decrees of the Second Council of Constantinople (which he understood as upholding Chalcedon). Thus, Nicetius of Trier’s letter to Justinian was composed in response to rumours of the aphthartodocetic controversy in the mid-560s and illustrates the complicated nature of the sources of Gallic confusion. A rumour seems to have prompted Nicetius to write his letter to Justinian accusing him of Nestorianism. This may have been relayed to him by a pilgrim: 16 Evagrius Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History, 5.1; see also the note by Michael Whitby, The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius Scholasticus, p. 254, n. 2. 17 A.  Cameron, “Early Byzantine Kaiserkritik”, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 3 (1977), pp. 1–17. 18  Van den Ven, “L’accession de Jean le Scholastique”, pp. 342–44.

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benjamin wheaton “When Lactantius, a priest as he claims, was visiting the holy places throughout Gaul due to the Lord’s compassion, he came before us, and we sternly told him those things which you read and conjured him through Jesus Christ our Redeemer.”19

Although Nicetius indicates that Lactantius is the transmitter of the letter, it is quite likely that the pilgrim was also his source.20 Nicetius seems not to be quite sure of Lactantius’ credentials, however, since he qualifies his identification as presbyter with an ut dicit, “as he says.” This he would surely not have done if he had been responding to and by means of an official emissary of the Italian church. More to the point, if Nicetius were responding to the Three Chapters controversy, one would expect him to send his rebuke through channels more official (whether ecclesiastical, imperial or royal) than a suspect priest.21 Rumour was certainly active in Gaul at the time of the Three Chapters controversy. Pope Vigilius warns Aurelian of Arles in 550 about his enemies spreading rumours: “Therefore let your Fraternity, who is established as vicar of the apostolic seat through our gift, make this known to all the bishops so that they might not be disturbed for whatsoever reason by anything in either false writings or in deceitful words or messages; but, since it is fitting, rather let them follow the words of the chief of the apostles, in his saying: ‘Your adversary, the devil, goes about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour; resist him as men strong in the faith…’” 22 19  Epistolae Austrasicae 7: “Cum Lactantius, ut dicit, presbyter, loca sancta per Gallias propter Domini misericordiam visitaret, ante nos apparuit, quae legis, deprecavimus et per Iesum Christum redemptorem nostrum coniuravimus.” ed. Gundlach, p. 119. 20  News from the East by means of pilgrims was a common occurrence; see S. T. Loseby, “Gregory of Tours, Italy, and the Empire”, in A Companion to Gregory of Tours, ed. by A. C. Murray, Leiden, 2016, pp. 462–97. 21  For an example of what was a more official manner of transmission, see Nicetius’ letter to Chlodosuintha (Epistolae Austrasicae 8), which was probably sent with returning Lombard legates. Stüber, “The Fifth Council of Orléans”, pp. 98-99, implies that Nicetius was speaking officially in his letter to Justinian; this fails to take into account the informal nature of the letter’s occasion and means of transmission. 22  Epistolae Arelatenses 45: “Fraternitas ergo tua, quem apostolicae sedis per nos constat esse vicarium, universis episcopis innotescat, ut nullis aut fal-

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Pope Pelagius I had the same difficulties with the Gallic church when writing to king Childebert I in 556 and 557.23 Yet it is noteworthy that Childebert I sent an official legate to Pope Pelagius urging him to uphold Chalcedon upon hearing these rumours.24 Childebert I was no doubt expressing the concerns of all the bishops of Gaul as well as his own, and he did so through an official representation.25 Nicetius, although living in the territory of Theudebert, Theudebald and later Sigibert, not that of Childebert I, nonetheless took part in the Council of Orléans summoned by Childebert.26 It is therefore unlikely that in the earlier controversy Nicetius would have seen the need for an independent messenger of his own. Yet if a rumour of the aphthartodocetic controversy reached him in 565, a controversy that did not receive any official western interaction and was over fairly quickly, sending a hasty letter by an unofficial source makes more sense. The second and third arguments in favour of a late date are similar, and thus will be treated together. To begin with, in the letter Nicetius states Justinian is old and near the end of his life: “When you ought in your old age to have made peace with and joined your redeemer.”27 While this could apply to the period of the Three Chapters controversy, when Justinian was in his late sixties, it applies much better to the era of his aphthartodocetist decree, when he was in his early eighties.28 Next, the doctrine of which Justinian is supposedly a new adherent has been condemned, sis scriptis aut mendacibus verbis aut nuntiis qualibet ratione turbentur; sed potius primi apostolorum, sicut convenit, verba sectentur dicentis: ‘Adversarius vester, diabolus, ut leo rugiens circuit quaerens quem devoret; cui resistite fortes fide’.” ed. W. Gundlach, Berlin, 1892 (MGH Epistolae vol. 3), pp. 67–68. 23  Epistolae Arelatenses 48, ed. by Gundlach, p. 71; and Epistolae Arelaten­ ses 54, ed. Gundlach, pp. 79–80. 24  Epistolae Arelatenses 54, ed. by Gundlach, p. 78. 25 The leading role Childebert I took in this matter is noted by Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, pp. 230–31. 26  On the matter of Nicetius’ connection to the broader Gallic church, see Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, pp. 232–33. 27  Epistolae Austrasicae 7: “Cum in ultima aetate tua percomponere et coniungere ad redemptorem tuum debuisti.” ed. by Gundlach, p. 119. 28 A point made also by Stein, Histoire du Bas-Empire, Tome II, p. 687, n. 1.

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Nicetius notes, three times by general councils: “Who advised you to even adore what had already been condemned once, twice and again a third time to all the rulers of the church?”29 The doctrines of Nestorius were condemned first at Ephesus in 431, then at Chalcedon in 451 and finally at Constantinople in 553. Nicetius is thus urging Justinian to remember his own actions taken against heresy as well as those of his predecessors. This does not easily apply to the period just before the Second Council of Constantinople, when only two councils had condemned Nestorianism. Fourth, the bishop of Trier’s characterization of Justinian’s heresy as Nestorianism fits well into a scenario where he has in mind a report of Pope Pelagius I in 556 concerning the events in the east. In a letter sent to Childebert I in 556 that was mentioned above, Pelagius writes: “Nevertheless, the men holding to the Nestorian heresy strove greatly to speak falsely — because Nestorius indeed constructed in Christ two separated and divided natures — saying that it was not far from the mind of the Synod of Chalcedon and of Pope Leo, even though it is well known that Nestorius was condemned by that same dogma of the blessed Pope Leo, since he asserted the two divided natures.”30

Justinian’s theological program is portrayed as anti-Nestorian, which is true if vague, since his attempts to clarify Chalcedon served to make the council less susceptible to a Nestorian interpretation. Pope Pelagius also insists that Chalcedon remains unaltered. There are two things worth bearing in mind about this report before continuing on to the heart of the argument. First, what characterized the state of affairs in Gallia regarding Christological controversies in the sixth century was a lack of up-to-date 29  Epistolae Austrasicae 7: “Qui, ut, quod iam semel, bis et tertio ad omnes rectores ecclesiae condemnatum fuerat, vel adoraris, commonuit?” ed. by Gundlach, p. 118. 30  Epistolae Arelatenses 48: “Maxime tamen Nestorianae heresis homines, pro eo quod Nestorius duas naturas in Christo separatas quidem et divisas astruxerit, fraudulenter moliuntur dicere, se non longe ab intellectu esse Calchedonensis synodi et papae Leonis, dum Nestorium, pro eo quod divisas duas naturas assereret, ipso dogmate beati papae Leonis constat esse damnatum.” ed. by Gundlach, p. 71.

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knowledge. Rumours were prevalent, as mentioned above, but not preferred by responsible bishops. Hard facts from authoritative sources were required, the bishop of Rome being the most authoritative of all. 31 Information from Rome was transmitted to metropolitans like the papal vicar in Arles, who were expected to circulate it among their fellow Gallic bishops. 32 Thus, Pelagius I in 557 wrote to Sapaudus of Arles a letter which accompanied another letter to Childebert I concerning matters of ecclesiastical law. In it, he asked him about the reaction of not only the royal court of Childebert but also his fellow bishops: “And we urge that we should know swiftly from the response of your Charity if the letter that we sent by means of the deacon and sub-deacon of your Fraternity to our most excellent son King Childebert, in which by our own word we spoke about the catholic faith from the customs of our most blessed fathers (by God’s grace), was pleasing as much to that same most glorious king as to your Charity and the other brothers and our fellow-bishops.”33

This was sometimes also done by word of mouth from a trusted messenger. So Vigilius in 550 wrote to Aurelian bishop of Arles about the events in Constantinople: “But it is necessary for us, as much as we are able, to make a brief report (through our son Anastasius) about these things which have been done, and we shall send a man (God willing) who will subtly make clear to you the details…”34

31 For example, the request to the bishop of Rome for information on the Acacian schism by Avitus of Vienne; see D. Shanzer and I. Wood, Avitus of Vienne: Letters and Selected Prose, Liverpool, 2002, pp. 126–27. 32  For the role of the papal vicar, see Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, pp. 237–41; and G. Langgärtner, Die Gallienpolitik der Päpste, Bonn, 1964, pp. 36–41. 33  Epistolae Arelatenses 53: “Hortamur, ut, si epistula, quam per diaconum atque subdiaconum fraternitatis tuae ad excellentissimum filium nostrum, Childebertum regem, direximus, in qua de institutis beatissimorum patrum nostrorum fidem catholicam nostro per Dei gratiam sermone deprompsimus, tam ipsi gloriosissimo regi quam caritati tuae vel aliis fratribus et coepiscopis nostris placuit, rescripto tuae caritatis celerius agnoscamus.” ed. by Gund­ lach, p. 77. 34  Epistolae Arelatenses 45: “Sed, quanta possumus, per filium nostrum Anastasium de his, quae gesta sunt, breviter nos indicare necesse est, et…

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These trusted messengers were not always uncontested. So, in the above case, the operations of Anastasius in Gaul were attacked by opponents of Justinian from Milan in a letter to Frankish envoys traveling to Constantinople in 552. 35 Other official sources that might at times contradict the papal message were imperial officials who would bypass the Pope and write directly to western bishops. Avitus of Vienne, for example, in the early years of the sixth century wrote a work against Eutychianism that in fact attacked Nestorianism. 36 The confusion of Avitus may have been due to imperial propaganda. 37 Amidst these competing forces, however, the papal arguments held more weight. Second, there was a marked tendency to mash all Christological errors into a caricatured version of Nestorianism. 38 The name of Eutyches and his clerical circumstances were known, but his hominem, qui vobis ad singula suptiliter innotescat, Deo propitio, destinabimus.” ed. Gundlach, p. 68. 35  Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, pp. 225–26. The letter itself is Epistolae aevi Merovingici collectae 4, ed. by W. Gundlach, Berlin, 1892 (MGH Epistolae, vol. 3), p. 441. 36  Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, p. 233; and Shanzer and Wood, Avitus of Vienne, pp. 10–13, 89–92, and 106–07. Avitus of Vienne’s two books Contra eutychianam haeresim, written around 512, attack in part a theology that diminishes the divine nature of Christ, reject the term Theo­ tokos for Mary and substitute Christotokos. This is a caricature of Nestorius’ teaching, not Eutyches’. 37 Shanzer and Wood, Avitus of Vienne, pp. 91–92 and esp. p. 107, where they write: “Avitus’ information may originally have come from Imperial circles, most probably from the magister officiorum Celer, with whom he is known to have corresponded subsequently (Ep. 48). Celer’s success in making [Patriarch of Constantinople] Macedonius look like a Nestorian to the Monophysites (because he failed to approve the Council of Ephesus in his profession of faith) and like a Eutychian to the orthodox (because of his failure to cite Chalcedon) may have further contributed to Avitus’ theological confusion.” For Celer and Macedonius, see Evagrius Scholasticus, Ecclesiastical History 3.32, and the notes by M. Whitby, The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius Scholasticus, Liverpool, 2000, p. 173. 38  Herren and Gray, “Columbanus and the Three Chapters Controversy”, pp. 167–68, who suggest that, at least in the case of Columbanus in the early seventh century, condemnation of Nestorianism was code for upholding Chalcedon. Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, p. 232, argues to the contrary that confusion is very much a part of what was going on in the heads of Gallic churchmen, given the specificity of the condemnation of Nestorius.

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theology was not (or at least not very well). Avitus of Vienne’s treatise against Eutychianism is a prime example of this confusion, critiquing what is in fact a caricature of Nestorianism. This work of Avitus was well known in Gaul; thus, Gregory of Tours notes in his Historiae that the bishop of Vienne wrote a work against Eutyches and Sabellius. 39 It would be reasonable to conclude therefore that Pope Pelagius’ portrayal of the opposition to Justinian’s condemnation of the Three Chapters as suffused with Nestorian sympathizers helped to further the already ingrained confusion of Nestorianism with the miaphysite cause. The letters of Pope Pelagius, while they were not immediately successful, seem nonetheless to have contributed in time to their intended effect of reassuring the majority of Gallic bishops of papal orthodoxy.40 It is thus reasonable to conclude that Nicetius would also have been so persuaded, and reflect the account of Pope Pelagius of the events surrounding the Second Council of Constantinople in his letter to Justinian. Since the Pope blamed Nestorians for fomenting the opposition to Justinian’s theological program, Nicetius describes a Nestorian doctrine being condemned a third time in 553 by the whole church.41 Why then does Nicetius, if he approves (even if ignorantly) of Justinian’s actions taken in 553, accuse the emperor of abandoning what he had affirmed earlier in his life? Because Nicetius had not heard rumours of the Three Chapters controversy from Lactantius, but rather of Justinian’s aphthartodocetic inclination at the end of his life. I will now sketch a possible outline of Nicetius’ response to this news, based on the preceding analysis. The choleric bishop of Trier, accustomed to rebuking kings for their misdeeds, heard a tale of Justinian’s abandonment of Chalcedon and exile of orthodox bishops from an eastern pilgrim. “To all the world you used to shine like the sun, and although all of us who are rulers of the church by the grace of the Lord used to rejoice in all your counsel, yet when the report of your fall was made known to us… we were greatly distressed and were brought down to the dust.” 39  Gregory

of Tours, Historiae, 2.34. the Great, Epistula 8.4, with Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology”, p. 230. 41  Epistolae Austrasicae 7, ed. by Gundlach, p. 118. 40 Gregory

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he wrote.42 He reached the conclusion that the nameless Nestorians mentioned in Pope Pelagius’ letter had succeeded in convincing the aged emperor to endorse their heresy. He condemned Justinian for exiling and punishing the orthodox bishops, reacting to news of Eutychius’ exile and the threats against Anastasius: “Who provoked you into sending to the slaughter and to various torments those fathers whom you ought to have reverenced? … Those fathers from whom you ought to have expected a blessing you instead sent into exile.”43 He furthermore insisted that the entire western Mediterranean was opposed to Justinian’s abandonment of Chalcedon: “For it was known to you that all of Italy, Africa, Spain and Gaul together anathematize your name, although they lament your ruin.”44 Nicetius concluded with strong words, conjuring him to uphold Chalcedon before God’s judgment should befall him: “You should renounce utterly what you taught, and cry out in public: ‘I have done wrong, I have done wrong, I have sinned. Nestorius is anathema, Eutyches is anathema!’ Say this along with those whom you have handed over to eternal punishments … Remove yourself from horrifying doctrines and hateful persection.”45 The letter would then have been given to the pilgrim Lactantius, along with a verbal message, with orders to present it to Justinian. Whether or not the letter was actually delivered is impossible to know; probably not, given the relatively short timespan between the exile of Eutychius and the death of Justinian. Lactantius would have found the issue already settled when he returned to the east. Nevertheless, an exemplar of the 42  Epistolae Austrasicae 7: “In integro mundo splendebas ut sol, et, cum omnes inde gratia Domini rectores ecclesiae, cuncti consilii ipsius gauderimus, devulgante fama ex lapsu vestro … contristati et humiliati usque in terra sumus,” ed. by Gundlach, p. 118. 43  Epistolae Austrasicae 7: “Qui, ut patres, quo venerare debuisti, ad caedes, ad diversis cruces mitteres, provocavit? … Patres, a quibus benedictionem expectare debuisti, in exilio transmissisti.” ed. by Gundlach, pp. 118–19. 44  Epistolae Austrasicae 7: “Nam notum tibi sit, quod tota Italia, integra Africa, Hispania vel Gallia coniuncta nomen tuum cum deperditione tua plorant, anathematizant.” ed. by Gundlach, p. 119. 45  Epistolae Austrasicae 7: “Quae docuisti, distruxeris et publica voce clamaveris: erravi, erravi, peccavi; anathema Nestorii, anathema Euticis! Cum ipsis te ad supplicia sempiterna tradidisti … de horrenda secta et abominabili persecutione removas.” ed. by Gundlach, p. 119.

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letter to Justinian was preserved in the episcopal archives, to be copied later by someone interested in the history of Trier.46 Two objections remain to this proposed account. First, does not the reference to Italy, Africa, Spain and Gaul anathematizing Justinian’s name fit better with the circumstances of the Three Chapters controversy? Possibly, but given the internal arguments adduced above, it makes better sense to fit it in with the later date. This may be done as follows: Nicetius, although accepting Pope Pelagius’ assurances, nonetheless was aware of the Latin churches’ staunch and unanimous support of Chalcedon against eastern attempts to modify or abandon it, from the Acacian schism to the early stages of the Three Chapters controversy. He therefore reasserted that unanimity when he heard of Justinian’s new heresy. Second, does not the reference to Justinian handing over orthodox clerics to “slaughter and to various torments” fit better with the travails of Vigilius and Datius, as reported by Italian sources to the Gallic church?47 Again, possibly; but it is worth bearing in mind that much of the letter plays in literary tropes and theological code. Heretical kings and emperors exiling and tormenting orthodox bishops is common coin in Christian rhetoric of the time — for the excellent reason that emperors frequently did just that to their enemies — and so Nicetius was accusing Justinian of acting like a stereotypical bad monarch.48 Eutychius’ actual exile and Anastasius’ possible one were the triggers for Nicetius to deploy the trope against Justinian. To sum up: the letter by Nicetius of Trier written to the emperor Justinian that appears in the Epistolae Austrasicae was probably written on the occasion of the aphthartodocetic controversy that flared up just before the emperor’s death in 565. There are four reasons for this conclusion. First, the account of Justinian’s heresy was brought by an ordinary priest, the pilgrim Lactantius, whom Nicetius was not sure of, and the letter was sent by this means as 46 G. Barrett

and G. Woodhuysen, “Assembling the Austrasian Letters at Trier and Lorsch”, Early Medieval Europe, 24 (2016), pp. 3–57. 47  As in the letter of the Milanese clerics to the Frankish envoys appearing as Epistolae Aevi Merovingici Collectae 4, ed. by Gundlach, pp. 438–42; translated in Price, The Acts of the Council of Constantinople of 553, pp. 165–70. 48 An example of this trope is Victor of Vita’s Historia persecutionis Africanae provinciae, and accounts like it. See, for example, Gregory of Tours, Historiae 2.2–4.

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well. This points to a vague rumour rather than the more official (if still confusing) messages exchanged at the time of the Three Chapters controversy. Second, the emperor is described as being in late old age (in ultima aetate) which fits better with an emperor in his eighties rather than in his sixties. Third, the Nestorian dogma supposedly being endorsed by the emperor has already been condemned three times by the entire church, which points to a recognition of the work of the Second Council of Constantinople. Fourth, this recognition of the council as condemning Nestorianism reflects the arguments of Pope Pelagius, who described Justinian in 553 as opposing Nestorians who resented his upholding orthodoxy. Nicetius therefore assumed that the emperor had succumbed to these heretics at last and abandoned Chalcedon. Nicetius’ admonition to the emperor to condemn a Nestorian caricature (under the name of “the teaching of Eutyches and Nestorius”) is certainly in part a piece of theological code, as Michael Herren and Patrick Gray have outlined, indicating that the teaching of Chalcedon ought to be upheld.49 But it is also a result of the confusion and misinformation rampant in Gaul concerning theological controversies in the east, as Ian Wood has argued.50 Yet rather than placing Nicetius’ letter at the time of the Three Chapters controversy (c. 550), as these scholars do, it makes more sense that the bishop of Trier was recalling Justinian to Chalcedonian orthodoxy from aphthartodocetic heresy. The letter of Nicetius of Trier to Justinian contains many riddles. Proposing solutions to them has been the task of this article. The texts of Late Antiquity are full of such riddles, especially those reflecting interactions between the Greek East and the Latin West. Michael Herren has long been the master of solving them, clearing away some of the mists which shroud the landscape of Late Antiquity from modern eyes. Although disputing somewhat the conclusions of the master, this article is written in humble imitation of his efforts. In so doing, I hope to have blown away some of the mist, and uncovered part of the deeply human world of Late Antiquity, a world that Michael Herren has done so much to reveal. 49  Gray and Herren, “Columbanus and the Three Chapters Controversy”, pp. 166–67. 50  Wood, “The Franks and Papal Theology, 550–660”, p. 232.

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Abstract Nicetius of Trier (c. 500 – c. 570) wrote a letter to the emperor Justinian, surviving in the sixth-century letter collection known as the Epistolae Austrasicae, urging him to abandon a heresy that he had lately fallen into. The heresy it describes is a caricature of Nestorianism, which emphasized the distinction between the two natures of Christ. It is unclear what specific controversy this letter mentions, however: the Three Chapters schism, which would date it around 550 or so, or the aphthartodocetic controversy, which would place it later, around 565. This article argues that the bishop of Trier was responding to rumours of Justinian’s adoption of a version of aphthartodocetism at the end of the emperor’s life in 565. There are four reasons why this dating makes sense: 1) the news of Justinian’s heresy is brought unofficially; 2) Justinian is described as being at the end of his life; 3) his heresy has been condemned three times by the whole church according to Nicetius; and 4) the narrative it endorses, of Justinian falling to a Nestorian heresy, is a response to earlier papal arguments defending the actions of the empire and papacy during the Three Chapters schism. What this letter demonstrates is the dual nature of Gallic confusion about events in the Eastern church: a lack of knowledge about the intricacies of the theological controversies and misinformation from agenda-laden informants. It also illustrates, however, the fierce devotion to the Christology of the Council of Chalcedon that characterized the Gallic church in this period.

Bibliography Primary Sources Concilia Galliae a. 511-a. 695. ed. by C. de Clercq, Turnhout, 1963 (CCSL 148A). Epistolae Arelatenses. ed. by W. Gundlach, Berlin, 1892 (MGH Epistolae vol. 3). Epistolae Austrasicae. ed. by W. Gundlach, Berlin, 1892 (MGH Epistolae vol. 3). Secondary Sources Barrett, G. and G. Woodhuysen, “Assembling the Austrasian Letters at Trier and Lorsch”, Early Medieval Europe, 24 (2016), pp. 3–57. Cameron, A., “Early Byzantine Kaiserkritik”, Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies, 3 (1977), pp. 1–17.

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Carcione, F. “L’aftartodocetismo di Giustiniano: una mistificatione strumentale del dissenso politico-religioso”, Studi e ricerche sul’oriente cristiano, 7 (1984), pp. 71–78. Gray, P. and M. Herren, “Columbanus and the Three Chapters Controversy — A New Approach”, Journal of Theological Studies, 45 (1994), pp. 160–70. Grillmeier, A., Christ in Christian Tradition, trans. T. Hainthaler, 2 vols, Atlanta, 1965–2013. Loseby, S. “Gregory of Tours, Italy, and the Empire”, in A Companion to Gregory of Tours, ed. by A. C. Murray, Leiden, 2016, pp. 462– 97. Price, R., The Acts of the Council of Constantiople of 553, Liverpool, 2012. Shanzer, D. and I. Wood, Avitus of Vienne: Letters and Selected Prose, Liverpool, 2002. Stein, E., Histoire du Bas-Empire, Tome II: De la disparition de l’Empire d’Occident à la mort de Justinien (476–565), Paris, 1949. Stüber, T. “The Fifth Council of Oréans and the Reception of the ‘Three Chapters Controversy’ in Merovingian Gaul”, in The Merovingian Kingdoms and the Mediterranean World: Revisiting the Sources, ed. by S. Esders, Y. Hen, P. Lucas and T. Rotman, Bloomsbury, 2019, pp. 93–102. Van den Ven, P. “L’accession de Jean le Scholastique au siège patiarcal de Constantinople en 565”, Byzantion, 35 (1965), pp. 320–52. van Esbroeck, M. “The Aphthartodocetic edict of Justinian and its Armenian Background”, Studia Patristica, 33 (1997), pp. 578–85. Whitby, M., The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius Scholasticus, Liverpool, 2000. Wood, I., “The Franks and Papal Theology, 550–660”, in The Crisis of the Oikoumene, ed. by C. Chazelle and C. Cubitt, Brepols, 2007, pp. 223–41.

Filologos ration uel uerbi amatores Interpretive Strategies of an Early Medieval Philologist Preserved in the Corpus Glossary Dylan Wilkerson (Toronto) Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 144 contains two glossaries:1 a short collection of Hebrew and Greek name interpretations adapted for the most part from Jerome’s Liber interpretationis hebraicorum nominum, 2 and a multi-lingual (but principally Latin) glossary containing approximately 9000 entries and known to modern scholars as the Corpus Glossary. 3 This second glossary comprises many entries shared with other medieval collections, including the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary,4 the Leiden Glossary, 5 the Second Erfurt 1 H. Gneuss and M. Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A Bibliographical Handlist of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100, Toronto, 2014, p. 54 (no. 45); and N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon, Oxford, 1957, p. 49 (no. 36). 2 Hieronymus, Liber interpetationis hebraicorum nominum (CPL 0581), ed. by P. de Lagarde, Turnhout, 1959 (Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina 72), pp. 59–161. The main source of the shorter Corpus-manuscript glossary was identified in An Eighth-Century Latin-Anglo-Saxon Glossary Preserved in the Library of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge (MS. No. 144), ed. by J. H. Hessels, Cambridge, 1890, p. xiii. 3  The principle sources and analogues of the Corpus Glossary are described in The Corpus Glossary, ed. by W. M. Lindsay and H. M. Buckhurst, Cambridge, 1921, pp. iii–iv. 4 The Old English glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt, Second Erfurt, Corpus, and Leiden Glossaries were first edited in The Oldest English Texts, ed. by H.  Sweet, London, 1885, pp. 35–107. Sweet’s first version was revised in A Second Anglo-Saxon Reader: Archaic and Dialectal, ed. by H. Sweet, Oxford, 1887, pp. 1–84. Sweet’s editions were superseded by Old-English Glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, ed. by J. D. Pheifer, Oxford, 1974. The first edi-

Litterarum dulces fructus. Studies in Early Medieval Latin Culture in Honour of Michael W. Herren for his 80 th Birthday, ed. by Scott G. Bruce, IPM, 85 (Turnhout, 2021), pp. 477–500. DOI 10.1484/M.IPM-EB.5.125573 ©

F H G

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(or “Second Amplonian”) Glossary,6 the Abstrusa-Abolita Glossary,7 the Affatim Glossary,8 and various antique Greek-Latin colloquies and class-glossaries known as the Hermeneumata Pseudo-Dositheana.9 Medieval glossaries were promiscuous texts that accrued entries from many sources, as the preceding list of collections containing material cognate with the Corpus Glossary demonstrates. Compiling a glossary was a complex task accomplished with varying degrees of coherence in any given glossary-manuscript. The Corpus Glossary, like most medieval glossaries, is rife with copying errors and misinterpretations of its gathered material. After all, a glossary by necessity catalogues words or phrases likely to be unfamiliar to compilers and copyists. Nevertheless, the compiler of the Corpus Glossary is noteworthy for his consistent effort to interpret and to emend material rather than mechanically replicate errors present in his sources. Wallace Martin Lindtion of the Épinal manuscript was Das Epinaler und Erfurter Glossar, ed. by O. B. Schlutter, Hamburg, 1912. The Épinal manuscript was re-edited with a lengthy commentary in The Épinal Glossary, Edited with Critical Commentary of the Vocabulary, ed. by A. K. Brown, unpublished Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 1961. The Épinal, Erfurt, Corpus and Werden Glossaries: Épinal, Bibliothèque Municipale 72 (2), Erfurt, Wissenschaftliche Bibliothek Amplonianus 2° 42, Düsseldorf Universitätsbibliothek Fragm. K 19, Munich Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Cgm. 187 III, Cambridge Corpus Christi College 144, ed. by B.  Bischoff et al., Copenhagen, 1988 (EEMF, 22), includes a full facsimile of the principal manuscripts containing the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, as well as several useful studies of it. Michael Herren and Hans Sauer are currently producing a new critical edition of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, described in M. W. Herren and H. Sauer, “Towards a New Edition of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: A Sample”, The Journal of Medieval Latin, 26 (2016), 125–98. 5  A Late Eight-Century Latin-Anglo-Saxon Glossary Preserved in the Library of the Leiden University (MS. Voss. Q0 Lat. No. 69), ed. by J. H. Hessels, Cambridge, 1906. 6 The manuscript containing the Erfurt glossaries is transcribed in Placidus Liber Glossarum, Glossaria Reliqua, ed. by G. Goetz, 1965 (Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 5), pp. 259–401. 7 The manuscript containing the Abstrusa-Abolita Glossary is transcribed in Glossae Codicum Vaticani 3321, Sangallensis 912, Leidensis 67F, ed. by G.  Goetz, 1965 (Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 4), pp. 3–198. 8  Ibid., pp. 471–581. 9 Several manuscripts containing examples of these texts are transcribed in Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana, ed. by G. Goetz, 1965 (Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 3).

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say, one of the principal editors of the Corpus Glossary, described the Corpus-compiler in dismissive terms: “… the personality of the compiler fades into insignificance. His rôle was hardly more than a book-binder’s. All he did was to direct the combination into one large collection of several ‘glossae collectae.’”10 The present study argues that the Corpus-compiler, or compilers, did more than simply reshuffle gathered material into alphabetical order. Indeed, it is impossible to determine how many compilers, correctors, or scribes were involved in the production of the Corpus Glossary. Some of the strategies discussed here appear to be the work of the manuscript scribe, who may or may not have been the compiler and corrector as well. It is also impossible to disentangle from which source some of the apparent innovations came. Did the compiler consult several manuscripts containing the same entries and choose the versions which seemed best to him? Which of the emendations and corrections were the work of the compiler, the corrector, or the scribe? In the present work, I shall refer to the agent responsible for the editorial strategies discussed as the “Corpus-compiler.” Lindsay believed that the presence of repeated batches of entries in the Corpus manuscript indicated that it was a corrupt copy of a lost antecedent exemplar.11 Some of the interventions catalogued in this study, however, are corrections unlikely to have been transmitted during copying and must have been inserted during a stage of manuscript correction. The repeated batches themselves might have been copied out of cognate source glossaries multiple times during the compilation of the Corpus Glossary. Similar repeated batches occur in other glossaries, including the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, for example. A full study of the Corpus Glossary warrants a dedicated monograph, but the present investigation focuses on only some of the compiler’s specific interpretive and editorial strategies. Examples are drawn from the letter-sections A-D and are placed into the following categories: (1) emendation of entries; (2) augmentation of entries with explanatory material; (3) alteration of entries through comparison with the Épinal-Erfurt archetype; and (4) 10 W. M. Lindsay, The Corpus, Épinal, Erfurt and Leyden Glossaries, London, 1921, pp. 1–2. 11 See The Corpus Glossary, ed. by Lindsay and Buckhurst, p. xiii and n. A307 on p. 7.

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recombination of entries from multiple sources. Specific examples illustrate each of these categories. It must be acknowledged from the onset that there are many occasions in which the efforts of the philologist responsible for the Corpus Glossary to improve corrupt or confusing material introduced new errors or otherwise demonstrated misinterpretations of entries. Nevertheless, the Corpus Glossary, in both its unique innovations and errors, is the creation of an analytical and erudite mind. It is not the product of an ignorant scribe copying gibberish, nor is it the work of a simple “book-binder” alphabetizing glossae collectae. The Corpus Glossary is a repository of many glossary-traditions and bears the marks of thoughtful editorial intervention throughout. As such, it provides vivid evidence of the intellectual culture of ninth-century Canterbury and the enduring legacy of Archbishop Theodore and Abbot Hadrian’s school there.12 1. Emendation of Entries Ancient and medieval glossaries gathered interpretations (“glosses”) of rare words or phrases (“lemmas”) into entries, and these entries were then organized according to various schemata. Glossary-entries, because of the rarity of the material they interpreted and errors introduced into them during textual transmission, were frequently misunderstood by compilers and copyists. As a result, glossaries tended to accrue errors and corruptions, and the two principal manuscripts containing the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary are no exception to this tendency. Indeed, both the Épinal and Erfurt manuscripts record many errors already present in their shared archetype. Some of these are minor: Épinal A238 Erfurt 341.49

12 The

apoplexa genus morbi. apoplexa genus morbi13

core evidence for the association between the family of glossaries discussed here and the Canterbury school of Theodore and Hadrian is summarized in M. Lapidge, “The School of Theodore and Hadrian”, Anglo-Saxon England, 15 (1986), pp. 45–72, at pp. 57–59. 13 Citations of the Épinal, Erfurt, and Corpus manuscripts follow the numeration in The Épinal, Erfurt, Corpus and Werden Glossaries, ed. by Bischoff et al. All manuscript readings are my own.

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Both manuscripts misspell the lemma in the same way, apoplexa (for apoplexia), “apoplexy: a type of illness,” duplicating an archetypal error. Although the Corpus-compiler derived a substantial portion of the Épinal-Erfurt entries directly from the same archetype from which the two other principal manuscripts descend, he tended to re-examine received material and, in this instance, inserted a correction: Corpus A686

apoplex\i/a. genus morbi.14

Unlike the Épinal and Erfurt scribes, the Corpus-compiler recognized an error in the archetype and corrected it, a simple intervention but one which distinguishes him from the others in this instance.15 To recognize and correct a spelling error is a simple emendation, but to alter an entry in such a way as to make its lemma and gloss match one another grammatically requires more complex editorial intervention. The grammatical forms of lemmas in glossaries were often determined by the forms of these lemmas in the source passage from which the entries originally were collected. Many entries in medieval glossaries were first gathered in situ from glossed manuscripts or commentaries and placed into an anthology of glossae collectae. The entries could then be rearranged alphabetically at a later stage.16 For this reason, it is possible to identify antecedent sources of glossary-entries by matching their grammatical forms to those within a passage of a putative source. The identification is strengthened if forms of other glossary-entries also correspond to words in adjacent sections of that same source. If the grammatical forms of entries were altered or regularized in a way that severed them from their original source-context, it suggests that the entry had become integrated into the glossary 14 Scribal insertions are recorded \ / and manuscript abbreviations are expanded silently. 15 The main evidence for the stemmatic relationship between the Corpus Glossary and the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary is presented in great detail in J. D. Pheifer, “Relationship of the Épinal, Erfurt, Werden, and Corpus Glossaries”, in The Épinal, Erfurt, Corpus and Werden Glossaries, ed. by Bischoff et al., pp. 49–63, and Old-English Glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, ed. by Pheifer, pp. xxviii–xxxi. 16  Lapidge, “The School of Theodore and Hadrian”, pp. 53–54.

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tradition and had lost its original interpretive function, that is, as an interpretive aid to a specific passage of text. The Épinal and Erfurt manuscripts contain another entry transmitted with an archetypal error: Épinal C20 Erfurt 349.35

cudat fabricat. cudat fabricat

The mismatch here is in the mood of the verb: cudat is subjunctive while fabricat is indicative. Confronted with this problem, the Corpus-compiler emended the lemma in order to make the form of cudo indicative, and by doing so, match the grammatical mood of the gloss: Corpus C924

cudit fabricat.

The Épinal-Erfurt entry is in origin a gloss on Tyrannius Rufinus’ Latin translation of Eusebius of Caesarea’s Historia ecclesiastica, a major source of entries in the Canterbury-school glossaries.17 The Corpus-compiler might have had available to him for comparison an entry from another branch of the glossary tradition, cognate with the Abstrusa-Abolita, Affatim, Abavus, and Second Erfurt glossaries. This entry is unrelated to the Rufinus passage and glossed the indicative form cudit with fabricat, as well as other synonymous words.18 Whatever the source of his emendation, the fact that the Corpus-compiler matched the mood of the lemma to that of the gloss, rather than the other way around, implies that he gathered the Épinal-Erfurt entry as a glossary-item rather than directly from a glossed manuscript as he did in another example discussed below. The Corpus-compiler was interested in the entry because it provided a definition of cudo “forge, make,” accurately glossed by a grammatically parallel form of fabrico, not in using

17 Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica 7.1: “Septimum nobis ecclesiasticae historiae libellum scriptorum suorum cudat elogiis nobilissimus patrum et clarus in episcopis Dionysius.”, ed. by T. Mommsen, Berlin, 1903 (Corpus Beroli­ nense 9), p. 637.1. The Leiden Glossary contains at least five distinct collections of “Rufinus” glosses. See An Eighth-Century Latin-Anglo-Saxon Glossary, ed. by Hessels, pp. xxxvii–xli. 18  Abstrusa-Abolita 46.52: “cudit fabricat excutit”; Affatim 501.21: “cudit figurat sculpit fabricat”; Abavus 326.28: “cudit fabricat elimat excutit”; Second Erfurt 282.44: “cudit fabricat excutiat.”

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it to read and to understand the text from which the entry was originally derived. The Corpus-compiler performed a similar emendation when gathering another Épinal-Erfurt entry, this time to a nominal form: Épinal C244 Erfurt 353.27 Corpus C656

corimbus leactrogas. corimbus leactrocas corimbos leactrogas.

In this instance, the lemma form corimbus (for corymbus) appears in the nominative singular in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, “a cluster (of fruit or berries),” but was glossed with the plural form leactrogas, an Old English glossary-word of uncertain meaning.19 The Corpus-compiler intelligently resolved the inconsistency in grammatical number by transforming the nominative singular corimbus into the accusative plural corimbos. In this example, the grammatical form of the source was also restored by the Corpus emendation, though probably as an unintended consequence of emending the lemma to match the plural form of the English gloss rather than direct consultation with the source.20 The arrangement of entries on the manuscript page also provides evidence of a scribe or compiler’s interpretation of glossary material. Most medieval glossaries separated their entries in such a way as to indicate which word the compiler or copyist understood to be the lemma and which they understood to be the gloss, as well as where a specific entry began and ended, somewhat like a modern dictionary. For that reason, mise en page was a common avenue in which scribes or compilers inadvertently introduced error into a glossary and demonstrated a failure to understand material correctly. The Épinal and Erfurt manuscripts record several archetypal errors in the following entries: 19  Pheifer offered several interpretations, none of which are particularly convincing, in Old-English Glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, p. 76, n. 247. 20 Hieronymus, Commentariorum in Ezechielem libri XIV, 4.6: “Auferet dominus gloriam uestimenti earum, et murenulas et corymbos et circulos, et κάθεμα transtulerunt.” ed.  by F.  Glorie, Turnhout, 1964 (Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina 75), p. 1223 or Plinius maior, Naturalis historiae libri XXXVII, 19.175: “Corymbian hanc vocant corymbosque quos condiunt.” ed. by K. F. T. Mayhoff, Leipzig, 1892, p. 297.

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aequitatus. et peditatus numerus. aequitätum et peditum.

Erfurt 344.27 Erfurt 344.28

aequitatus et peditatus numerus aequitatum et peditum

The likely source of the confusion here was that the entry defined two lemmas at once as opposed to a single lemma. It is meant to read: “aequitatus (for equitatus) and peditatus: the number of cavalry and of foot soldiers.” Its arrangement in the Épinal-Erfurt archetype demonstrates a basic misunderstanding of the entry. The compiler placed the genitive plural aequitatum (for equitum) on another line as if it were the lemma of its own entry instead of the genitive modifier of numerus. There is also a spelling error in the second half of the entry: aequitatum for aequitum (equitum), though in the Épinal manuscript, marks for erasure were inserted over the -at- in aequitätum during correction. The Corpus-compiler, on the other hand, provided a fairly correct form of the entry: Corpus A333 aequitatus. et peditatus numerus equitum et peditum.

The Corpus-compiler made two intelligent emendations and salvaged something meaningful from the Épinal-Erfurt archetype, unlike the scribes of the other two manuscripts. He recombined the two halves of the entry and corrected the spelling error in the gloss. The hypercorrection in the first lemma which agrees with the readings in the other two manuscripts, aequitatus for equitatus, suggests that he gathered this entry from the Épinal-Erfurt archetype as opposed to another cognate collection, a supposition supported by the fact that alternate versions of this entry are not attested in the other glossaries printed in the Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum relevant to the Corpus Glossary. The entry’s source is as of yet unidentified. 2. Augmentation of Entries with Explanatory Material As the examples above illustrate, the Corpus-compiler often emended the corrupt or problematic entries which he gathered for his glossary. These emendations did not always improve the entries — sometimes they actually introduced new errors — but each intervention is a token that a particular entry seemed corrupt or

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somehow incorrect to the compiler. Rather than mechanically replicating corrupt material, he at least attempted to improve what he collected. Under similar conditions elsewhere in the glossary, the compiler also augmented entries with supplementary interpretations. The entries which prompted the compiler to augment them, like those which he corrected, were usually corrupt or otherwise problematic. One feature of the dialect and orthography of the Old English glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt archetype was an unusual tendency to inflect first-person, singular, present-indicative forms of verbs -u or -o.21 These forms appear in several glosses in both the Épinal and Erfurt manuscripts and therefore seem archetypal. On one such occasion, the Corpus-compiler added the personal pronoun ic, perhaps for the benefit of those for whom this particular form might have been unfamiliar: Épinal C109 Erfurt 351.5 Corpus C608

conuenio groetu uel adiuro conuenio gloeto uel adiuro conuenio. ic groetu.

The dialect of the Old English glosses in the Corpus Glossary is itself a complex issue. The Corpus-compiler gathered vernacular glosses from many sources, including the Épinal-Erfurt archetype and glossed manuscripts which served as the antecedent sources for both the Épinal-Erfurt archetype as well as the archetype of the Leiden Glossary, the forebear of another important family of Canterbury-school glossaries. The dialects in these sources were themselves probably diverse because in the Épinal and Erfurt manuscripts there are features which could be described as Anglian, Mercian, and West Saxon, an eccentricity which both reflects the antiquity of the glosses and suggests the possibility that the school in Canterbury attracted students from various regions who composed glosses in different dialects.22 In some entries in the Corpus Glossary it is also apparent that the compiler “modernized” forms of Épinal-Erfurt glosses by substituting 21  Old-English Glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, ed. by Pheifer, p. lxxxvii. 22 For a summary of the date and dialect of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, see ibid., pp. lxxix–xci.

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letter forms derived from the runic alphabet for Latin letters in the archetype.23 The Corpus Glossary, though compiled less than one hundred and fifty years after the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, provides evidence of orthographic innovations developed in the intervening years. Besides the verbal inflection, the entry poses another problem. It is thought to be a gloss on the Historiarum contra paganos libri VII of Orosius, another major source of Canterbury-school glossary entries: “… inuoco qui est, dum conuenio qui non est …”24 A. K. Brown’s edition of the Épinal manuscript correctly observed that the accompanying gloss adiuro was meant to interpret inuoco rather than conuenio, while the English gloss groetu, a form of gretan, “approach,” glossed conuenio.25 The inclusion of adiuro is the result of an error which occurred during a prior phase of gathering glosses from an annotated manuscript of Orosius. The Corpus-compiler, therefore, made two interventions when gathering this entry into his glossary; not only did he clarify that the Old English gloss was a first-person verbal form by inserting the pronoun ic, but he also filtered out a superfluous gloss intruding upon the entry. In other instances, the compiler added supplemental interpretive material during a stage of correction, as opposed to gathering. For example, the Erfurt manuscript contains the following entry: 23 For example, the substitution of ƿ for uu/u in Épinal A79 apiastrum biouuyrt, Erfurt 339.5 apiastrum buuyrt, Corpus A672 apiastrum bioƿyrt; Épinal A88 arpago auuel uel clauuo, Erfurt arpago auuel uel clauuos, Corpus A756 arpago. aƿel uel clauuo; the substitution of þ for th/d in Épinal A222 adsaeculam thegn., Erfurt 341.33 adsexulam degn., Corpus A209 adsaeculum. þegn.; Épinal C220 caractis uua\e/ter thruch., Erfurt 353.4 caractes. uaeter throuch, Corpus C103 caractis. uuęter þruh. There are similar orthographic substitutions throughout the Corpus Glossary. 24 Orosius, Historiarum contra paganos libri VII, VI.5.9.1: “si estis, inquit, di, hoc est dicere: ego sentiens esse super hominem potentiorem ipso homine potestatem, precandi necessitate motus commendo diligentiam et excuso ignorantiam meam; inuoco qui est, dum conuenio qui non est.” ed. by K. Zangemeister, p. 196. 25  The Dictionary of Old English interpreted this entry differently (s. v. grētan1, 1b), arguing that adiuro was a secondary gloss on the lemma conuenio and functioned as a synonym of groetu, rather than a misplaced gloss meant to define inuoco, but this seems a less satisfactory than Brown’s suggestion. Adiuro is a much better match for inuoco semantically.

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Erfurt 355.53

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ducenarius praeses.26

The entry is another gloss on the Latin translation of Eusebius.27 The original form of the lemma was accusative but had become regularized to the nominative at some point before it was entered into the Épinal-Erfurt archetype.28 The lemma word is an adjective, ducenarius, “pertaining to two hundred.” When used substantively, especially in a military or political context, it means “a commander of two hundred men.”29 The source passage is criticizing the pride of a churchman who “wished to be seen as a ducenarius rather than a bishop.” The Latin gloss is abrupt: praeses, “leader,” a semantic match in the context of the source, but potentially confusing for anyone who recognized the etymon duceni, “two hundred.” The Corpus-compiler offered an alternative but incorrect etymological suggestion by means of a small gloss added below the line during correction, ducit, “he leads,” attempting to suggest some kinship between the two words because of the phonetic similarity of their initial syllables. 30 Although the Corpus-compiler introduced a false etymology in this instance, he did, nevertheless, recognize that the terse gloss praeses by itself demanded more explanation. Indeed, one of the defining characteristics of the Corpus-compiler was his consistent refusal to gather corrupt or unintelligible entries without attempting to improve them, even if this accidentally led to the introduction of new errors. In another example, the Épinal and Erfurt manuscripts contain the following garbled entry: Épinal B2 Erfurt 348.42

bellum teutonicumgallicum. bellum to t\e/onicumgallicum

26 There is a substantial lacuna in the Épinal manuscript which begins partway through the C letter-section and continues until the beginning of F. The corresponding entry in the Épinal manuscript is therefore lost. 27 Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica, VI.30: “Superbiam vero eius quis ferre possit? cum se magis ducenarium quam episcopum videri vellet.” ed. by Mommsen, p. 709.13. 28 Compare the corresponding entry in the Leiden Glossary: XXXV.282: “ducennarium presidem.” 29 See Charleston Lewis and Charles Short, A  Latin Dictionary (Oxford, 1879), s. v. ducenarius. 30  The sublinear gloss is visible on fol. 23v, col. 2, directly below the lemma.

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The lemma was meant to read bellum teutonicum, “Teutonic war,” and was glossed gallicum, “Gallic.” It might refer to a passage in Orosius discussing the Cimbrian War (113–101 bc). 31 Battles were fought during that war in areas of Gaul, and perhaps that is what the gloss was trying to communicate. Whatever the source of confusion, the entry as it is transmitted by the Épinal-Erfurt archetype is nonsensical. The Corpus-compiler attempted to rescue the entry by adding a clarifying statement: Corpus B83 bellum. teutonicum. gallicum teotoni. enim galli sunt.

The Corpus-compiler restored the correct word-division within the entry and also identified which words constituted the lemma and which constituted the gloss. He then added the clarifying phrase teotoni enim galli sunt, “for the Teutons are Gauls.” Nearby in the Corpus Glossary there is another entry which might reference the same historical event, or even the same Orosius passage, but was not included in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: Corpus B73 bellum. cibricum. gallicum. cibri enim galli sunt. 32

The entry is corrupt: cibricum (for cimbricum), cibri (for cimbri); “Cimbrian War: Gallic; for the Cimbri are Gauls.” This might have provided the Corpus-compiler with a model upon which to augment the Épinal-Erfurt entry. It would be a mistake, however, to exaggerate the amount of error introduced into the Corpus Glossary by the compiler. Throughout his glossary, he demonstrated sensitivity to corruptions and other problems present in his sources. His dogged efforts to correct or otherwise improve the material he collected are evidence of his editorial meticulousness, especially when compared to the compilers of many other glossaries.

31 Orosius, Historiarum contra paganos libri VII, V.17.1.9 “Anno ad urbe condita DCXLV post Cimbricum et Teutonicum bellum et quintum Marii consulatum, quo status imperii Romani iure conseruatus iudicatur, sexto consulatu eiusdem C. Marii ita labefactatus est, ut paene usque ad extremum intestina clade conciderit.” ed. by Zangemeister, p. 167. 32  Cognate versions of this entry are found in the Affatim Glossary, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 4, 488.30, and the Second Erfurt Glossary, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 5, 270.61.

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3. Alteration of Entries through Comparison with the Épinal-Erfurt Archetype J. D. Pheifer, in a dense article included in the introduction to the Early English Manuscripts in Facsimile edition of the Épinal, Erfurt, Corpus, and Werden glossaries, charted the complex textual relationships between those important manuscripts. 33 Among the article’s many contributions was that it provided proof that the Corpus Glossary is a direct witness to the Épinal-Erfurt archetype. It is not the purpose of the present work to supplant Pheifer’s comparative study. Instead, the hope is that analysis of a few specific entries which the Corpus-compiler corrected against the Épinal-Erfurt archetype will illustrate the meticulousness and sensitivity to textual problems with which he approached sources of entries. There is evidence that the Corpus-compiler checked his entries against the Épinal-Erfurt archetype throughout the glossary. These corrections often reveal corruptions in the Épinal-Erfurt archetype more than they improve the readings in the Corpus Glossary, but the fact that the compiler tended to yield to the authority of the Épinal-Erfurt archetype suggests that he was aware of its affiliation with Theodore and Hadrian’s school, or at least its relative antiquity. The Épinal-Erfurt archetype often repeats different versions of the same entry within a given letter-section. Indeed, such repetitions are possible indications that the entries were so corrupt as received that repeated versions of them were not recognized as such by the compiler of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary. Another explanation for repeated entries in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary is that its compiler extracted multiple cognate versions of an entry from different immediate sources and entered them into the glossary several times in their various forms, a phenomenon also observed in other medieval glossaries, including the Corpus Glossary. The following is an example of a repeated entry in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: Épinal A94 Erfurt 339.20

alluuies locus cenosus alluies locusce nossus

33  Pheifer, “Relationship of the Épinal, Erfurt, Werden, and Corpus Glossaries.”

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allutes locus cenosus allutes. locus c\o/enussus

This entry first appears early in the A-section of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: alluuies locus cenosus (for caenosus), “overflow: a muddy place.” A more corrupt version then appears again several hundred entries later: allutes (for alluuies) locus cenossus (for caenosus). The origin of the entry is uncertain, but versions of it appear in the Ab Absens and Abstrusa-Abolita glossaries, suggesting that it descended from the larger glossary tradition and was not an original product of the Canterbury school. 34 Unlike the compiler of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, the Corpus-compiler recognized that both iterations were versions of the same entry, although it appears that he was unfamiliar with the meaning of the lemma. It is also possible that he gathered the entry first from a version of it in a different collection and then recognized another iteration of it in the Épinal-Erfurt archetype. Regardless of how he initially collected the entry, the Corpus-compiler wrote the corrupt Épinal-Erfurt version of the lemma above the one he had first gathered, as if it were a correction:   tes Corpus A424

alluuies. locus cenosus

When faced with an entry which he did not understand but had encountered in multiple versions, the Corpus-compiler made sure to include the alternate reading he found in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary. The simple fact that he recognized that both were versions of the same entry is itself a testament to his sensitivity. This is one of many instances in which the Corpus-compiler inserted a corrupt reading derived from the Épinal-Erfurt archetype into a less corrupt version of an entry which he had already gathered. Another example of this occurred with respect to the following Épinal-Erfurt entry: Épinal A4 Erfurt 337.4

arcontus princeps arcontus princeps

34  Ab absens, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 404.34: “adluuies locus cenosus”; Abstrusa-Abolita, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 11.4: “adlubies locus scenosus uel obscurum.”

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The entry refers to the Vetus Itala version of Psalm 2:2. The Épinal-Erfurt Glossary offers the incorrect, pseudo-Latinized form archontus for archontes (from Greek ἄρχοντες, “rulers”) glossed princeps. 35 The problem here is that the correct form of the lemma, archontes, is plural, and the Épinal-Erfurt gloss is singular. A singular form of the Greek lemma written in Latin letters would be archon. The Affatim and Second Erfurt glossaries contain correct versions of this entry, and initially the Corpus-compiler seems to have copied his entry from another collection which at least contained the plural form of the lemma. 36 At some point the Corpus-compiler recognized the disparity in number between the forms archontes and princeps and made use of what appeared to be a logical singular form found in Épinal-Erfurt to correct his entry:   Corpus A746

u

arcontẹs. princeps

The only explanation for this correction, and the one discussed before it, is that the Corpus-compiler used the Épinal-Erfurt archetype to correct his entries and prioritized Épinal-Erfurt readings above those contained in other glossaries, often to the detriment of his own. The Corpus-compiler not only checked entries gathered from other glossaries against the Épinal-Erfurt archetype, but he also re-examined the Épinal-Erfurt archetype itself and corrected entries incorrectly copied from it during some subsequent editorial stage. For example, the Erfurt manuscript contains the following entry, garbled beyond intelligibility: Erfurt 356.38

delicatis. et quae rulosis i urastum. 37

This entry refers to the prologue of Book IV of Orosius and was gathered by the Épinal-Erfurt compiler from a glossed manuscript of Orosius that was a source of multiple entries in the Épinal-Er35 Ps. 2:2 (Vetus Itala): “adstiterunt reges terrae et archontes congregati sunt in unum aduersus Dominum et aduersum Christum eius.” 36  Affatim, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 4, 448.40 and Second Erfurt, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 5, 267.37: “archontes principes.” 37  The corresponding section of the Épinal manuscript is missing, as it was in a previous example. See n. 26, above.

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furt Glossary. 38 The Épinal-Erfurt archetype must have presented this entry in a garbled condition, possibly compounded by the fact that the lemma is two words, similar to the problematic aequitatus et peditatus example discussed previously. The scribe of the Erfurt manuscript copied the entry in such a way that it is difficult to determine which words he understood to be the lemma and which he thought were the gloss and omits half of the gloss entirely. The Corpus-compiler gathered the entry in two stages. First, like the Erfurt scribe, he gathered the incomplete form of the entry, either directly from the Épinal-Erfurt archetype or from another copy of it which made the same error as the Erfurt scribe. The Corpus-compiler eventually re-examined the archetype and added the rest of the gloss below the line: Corpus D64 delicatis. et querulis. ƿrastum.         end seobgendum.

The lemma is an abridgement of the source: delicatis et querulis, “to the dandies and the complainers.” It is glossed ƿrastum (for ƿræstum) end seobgendum (a form of seofian), “to the delicate and [those] complaining,” a decent semantic match. In this example at least, the Corpus-compiler rescued an incoherent entry by re-examining the Épinal-Erfurt archetype. This demonstrates that he, unlike the Erfurt scribe, scrutinized the entry and understood that it was incomplete as first gathered. 4. Recombination of Entries from Multiple Sources The Corpus-compiler derived entries from numerous sources. Sometimes he gathered them directly from the Épinal-Erfurt archetype. In other instances, the Corpus-compiler gathered entries from a cognate collection and later corrected them against the Épinal-Erfurt archetype. Still other entries were gathered from glossaries similar to Affatim or the Second Erfurt Glossary. 38 Orosius, Historiarum contra paganos libri VII, IV, pr. 6.24: “quae cum ita sint, delicatis istis et querulis nostris utcumque concedo, ut haec, quibus nunc, quia sic expedit, interdum admonemur, sentiendo grauia putent, non tamen coniueo, ut etiam adserant conparando grauiora.” ed. by Zangemeister, pp. 99–100. Pheifer discussed various sources of Orosius glosses for the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, including glossed manuscripts, in Old-English Glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, ed. by Pheifer, pp. xlvi–xlviii.

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Glossaries of this type also served as immediate sources for the ab-ordered sections of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary. Because glossaries of this category were at times sources for both the Épinal-Erfurt and Corpus glossaries independently, it is difficult to determine which of the Corpus entries cognate with them were derived from the Épinal-Erfurt archetype itself, a source shared with the Épinal-Erfurt archetype, or a separate cognate collection containing alternate versions of the same material. Furthermore, Pheifer observed that some entries in the Corpus Glossary were gathered from a more ancient version of those glossaries than the one which was the immediate source of entries for the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, adding even more complexity to the catalogue. 39 This testifies to the rich stock of glossaries available in Canterbury at the time of the compilation of the Corpus Glossary. Beyond providing him with sources of entries, and multiple versions of entries with which to compare and to correct those which he had gathered, these various glossaries also provided the Corpus-compiler with the raw material from which to form novel “patchwork” entries. The patchwork-entries in Corpus were constructed from multiple versions of an entry encountered in different collections or from repeated iterations of the same entry within a particular collection. In the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary there are entries interpreted in Old English which descend from antecedent Latin-Latin versions attested in other glossaries, sometimes also repeated within the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary in both their original Latin-Latin version and the one glossed in Old English. There are also entries in relevant glossaries which only deceptively appear to refer to the same lemma but in fact are corrupt or otherwise unrelated to one another. The ways that the Corpus-compiler gathered and combined various types of entries which repeat, or seemed to him to repeat, provide evidence of his interpretation of the glossary material and demonstrate the editorial strategies that he used to digest the abundant sources of glossary-material available to him in his library. The following Épinal-Erfurt entry is an example of what seems to be a Latin-English version of what was originally a Latin-Latin entry: 39  J. D. Pheifer, “Early Anglo-Saxon Glossaries and the School of Canterbury”, Anglo-Saxon England, 16 (1987), pp. 17–44, at pp. 34–36.

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chaos duolma. chos. dualma.

This source of the lemma is unclear; chaos is a common variant of chasma in vulgate manuscripts of Luke 16:26, with the sense of “emptiness, gulf.”40 Indeed, chaos / chasma is translated by dwolma in the Old English version of that verse in one of the principal manuscripts of the Old English Gospels.41 But, as Pheifer observed, the Old English word duolma (for dwolma) is etymologically related to words meaning “wander” (dwelian) and “error” (gedwol), similar in semantic range to Latin errō, rather than words meaning “emptiness” or “gulf.” This raises the possibility that the Épinal-Erfurt entry could be a reinterpretation of a Latin interpretation attested in other collections which glossed the Greek etymon χάος, “the first state of the universe, confusion, disorder.”42 The Corpus-compiler intelligently combined a version of that entry with the Épinal-Erfurt gloss, resulting in a coherent patchwork: Corpus C3617

chaus. duolma prima confusio omnium. rerum.

“Chaos: duolma, the original disorder of all things.” This patchwork entry suggests that the Corpus-compiler’s interpretation of both the Latin lemma and the English gloss agreed with the one proposed by Pheifer. Elsewhere in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary there are examples of entries gathered in both their original Latin-Latin and subsequent Latin-English iterations. For example: Épinal A214 Erfurt 341.26

ad clinis tohald. . adclinas. tohald

Épinal A353 Erfurt 343.48

acclinis resupinus et incumbens. acclinis resupinus et incumbens

40 For example, Lc 16:26 in Codex Amiatinus: “et in omnibus inter nos et uos chaos magna firmatum est.” 41  Lc 16:26: “and on eallum þissum betwux us & eow is mycel dwolma getrymed.” ed. by W. W. Skeat, in The Four Gospels in Anglo-Saxon, Northumbrian, and Old Mercian Versions: Volume III, St Luke, Cambridge, 1974, p. 164. The text is derived from Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 140. 42  Old-English Glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, ed. by Pheifer, p. 71, n. 181. Compare Abstrusa-Abolita, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 4, 28.52: “caus prima rerum confusio in qua mund ante discretione latebat.” There are similar entries in several glossaries.

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The version glossed in Old English appears early in the A-section of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: adclinis “inclined,” interpreted with the vernacular equivalent tohald (an Anglian form of to-heald). Later in the same section, the original version appears glossed in Latin: resupinus et incumbens “bent back and leaning.”43 It is not clear whether the Épinal-Erfurt compiler understood that the two entries were interpretations of the same lemma because no effort was made to regularize their spelling or combine them.44 The Corpus-compiler, however, recognized that both entries referred to the same lemma and combined them into an intelligible hybrid: Corpus A203

adclinis. to hald uel incumbens.

It is possible that the Corpus-compiler gathered the Latin gloss incumbens from a cognate collection and not from the second iteration of the Épinal-Erfurt entry because he omitted from his version the first gloss included in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, resupinus. But, once again, the Corpus-compiler demonstrated his comprehension of the entry because he accurately paired a Latin gloss with a synonymous Old English interpretation. Some of the Corpus-compiler’s other combinations were less successful. The lemma acta appears twice in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: ÉpinalA348 Erfurt 343.44

acta ripa nemorosa. acta ripanemor\o\ ssa

Épinal A356 Erfurt 343.51

acta continentes. acta continents

The first entry probably refers to Vergil’s Aeneid.45 The lemma is the Latin equivalent of Greek ἀκτή, “promontory, headland,” 43 See

Abstrusa-Abolita, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 4, 11.14: “adclinis resupinus.” 44  It is also possible that the Latin-English version of this entry was originally a gloss on Orosius VII.22.4.1: “… ut ipse adclinis humi regem semper ascensurum in equum non manu sua sed dorso attolleret.” If true, then the Latin-Latin iteration was derived separately from a glossary similar to Abstrusa-Abolita. See Old-English Glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, ed. by Pheifer, p. 136. 45 Vergil, Aen. V.613: “at procul in sola secretae Troades acta amissum Anchisen flebant, cunctaeque profundum pontum aspectabant flentes.” ed. by R. A. B. Mynors, in P. Vergili Maronis Opera, Oxford, 1969.

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glossed ripa nemorossa, “wooded shore.” The second entry is corrupt or somehow incomplete and of a different origin from the other: acta “acts,” glossed continentes “containing.”46 In this instance, the Corpus-compiler was confronted with one entry which glossed a very rare word and another which was garbled or incomplete. The resulting hybrid is incoherent: Corpus A149

acta ripa nemorosa uel continentes

The Corpus-compiler gathered entries from multiple sources containing material descended from the Canterbury-school glossaries, including the Épinal-Erfurt archetype, but also from the common stock of glossaries from which the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary itself derived some of the material it shares with the Leiden Glossary. This becomes clear when certain Corpus entries are compared against both the Épinal-Erfurt and the Leiden glossaries. For example, the Épinal-Erfurt contains the following entry: Épinal A182 Erfurt 340.53

alabastrum uas de gemma. alab astrum uas degemma

The entry refers to Matthew 26:7, a passage in which a woman pours precious ointment from an alabaster container over Jesus’ head.47 The Épinal-Erfurt Glossary offered a simple definition: “alabaster: a vessel [made] of precious stone.” The Leiden Glossary contains an entry referring to the same lemma but with an entirely different gloss: XXIV.13 alabastrum. proprium nomen lapidis et uas sic nominatur de illo lapide factum.

The gloss in the Leiden Glossary is identical to an interpretation included in one of the Canterbury-school biblical commentaries

46 The

second Épinal-Erfurt entry could be an incomplete version of an entry attested elsewhere. Compare Liber glossarum, Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 166.18: “annales annos aut libri annua acta continentes,” “Annals: books containing years or yearly acts.” in Placidus Liber Glossarum, Glossaria Reliqua, ed. by G. Goetz, 1965 (Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 5). 47  Mt 26:7: “accessit ad eum mulier habens alabastrum unguenti pretiosi et effudit super caput ipsius recumbentis.”

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edited by Bernhard Bischoff and Michael Lapidge.48 Although the Épinal-Erfurt and Leiden glossaries both descend from the Canterbury school and share cognate entries, they also contain many entries unique to each collection. The Corpus-compiler first gathered an entry cognate with the interpretation in the Leiden Glossary and the biblical commentaries and later added the Épinal-Erfurt entry above the line, resulting in a coherent hybrid: Corpus A442

alabastrum. \uas de gemma/ propri nomen. lapidis et uas nominat. de illo lapide factum

“Alabaster: \a vessel (made) of precious stone/ (this word) designates the name of the stone itself and a vessel made from that stone.” The Corpus-compiler’s amalgamated version included detail lacking in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary; “alabaster” is used substantively as a name for an alabaster vessel, but also functions as a name of the stone itself. The alabaster entry proves that the Corpus-compiler gathered material from collections cognate with the Leiden Glossary other than the Épinal-Erfurt archetype itself, drawing on the common source of both glossaries independently. Lindsay described the Corpus-compiler as hardly more than a “book-binder” directing various glossae collectae into his own anthology. I hope that the examples presented here have demonstrated that he did much more than that.49 The Corpus-compiler scrutinized received material, emended it when he thought it necessary, supplemented entries with his own interpretations, corrected problematic entries against their sources, and combined multiple entries into coherent patchworks. He gathered entries from a plethora of sources, including the Épinal-Erfurt archetype, the common stock of glossae collectae used by the compilers of the Épinal-Erfurt and Leiden archetypes, collections similar to the Affatim and Second Erfurt glossaries, and other sources of glos48  Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School of Theodore and Hadrian, ed. by B. Bischoff and M. Lapidge, Cambridge, 1994, p. 406: “alabastrum proprium nomen lapidis et uas sic nominatur de illo lapide factum.” 49  Other examples of emendations in the Corpus Glossary not discussed in the present work are catalogued in Herren and Sauer, “Towards a New Edition of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary”, pp. 131–33.

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sary-material. The Corpus Glossary provides more than mere evidence of its sources. It also offers a detailed record of the philological insights of an heir to Theodore and Hadrian’s school working in Canterbury decades after the deaths of the two Mediterranean masters. One of the most famous passages of Old English prose is King Alfred’s preface to the translation of Gregory’s Cura pastoralis. In this preface Alfred offers an apologia for his ambitious program of vernacular translation, claiming that the state of learning in England at the time of his accession was so poor that “there were very few on this side of the Humber River who could understand in English their own rituals or translate one letter from Latin into English.”50 The sophistication of the Corpus Glossary suggests that we ought to reckon its compiler among those “very few” literate scholars working south of the Humber during the mid-ninth century. Abstract Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 144 contains a large glossary known to modern scholarship as the Corpus Glossary, likely compiled in Canterbury during the mid-ninth century. It contains numerous entries shared with other important medieval glossaries, including the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary and the Leiden Glossary, and as such, modern scholars tended to study the Corpus Glossary primarily as a witness to glossary traditions rather than a sophisticated and original work of its own. Wallace Martin Lindsay went so far as to describe the compiler of the Corpus Glossary as a simple ‘book-binder’ directing entries gathered from other glossaries into a new alphabetized compendium. The compiler of the Corpus Glossary, however, did much more than rearrange entries gathered from other glossaries. The present article describes four discernable interpretive strategies in the Corpus Glossary: emendation of corrupt entries derived from other collections; augmentation of entries with interpretative material; alterations of entries through direct comparison to the Épinal-Erfurt archetype; and recombination of entries from multiple sources into original ‘patchworks.’ Ninth-century England left few texts to pos50  King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care: Part I, ed. by H. Sweet, London, 1871, [Cotton MS] p. 1: “Swa clæne hio wæs [oðfeallen nu] on Angelkynne ðætte swiðe feawe wæron behionan Humbre þe hiora ðenunga cuðen understandan on Englisc oððe furðum an ærendgewrit of Lædene on Englisc areccan.”

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terity. The Corpus Glossary offers a detailed record of the philological insights of an heir to Theodore and Hadrian’s school, working in Canterbury decades after the deaths of the two Mediterranean masters.

Bibliography Primary Sources The Corpus Glossary, ed. by W. M. Lindsay and H. M. Buckhurst, Cambridge, 1921. An Eighth-Century Latin-Anglo-Saxon Glossary Preserved in the Library of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge (MS. No. 144), ed. by J. H. Hessels, Cambridge, 1890. The Épinal, Erfurt, Corpus and Werden Glossaries: Épinal, Bibliothèque Municipale 72 (2), Erfurt, Wissenschaftliche Bibliothek Amplonianus 2° 42, Düsseldorf Universitätsbibliothek Fragm. K 19, Munich Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Cgm. 187 III, Cambridge Corpus Christi College 144, ed. by B. Bischoff et al., Copenhagen, 1988 (Early English Manuscripts in Facsimile 22). The Épinal Glossary, Edited with Critical Commentary of the Vocabulary, ed. by A. K. Brown, unpublished Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 1961. Das Epinaler und Erfurter Glossar. ed. by O. B. Schlutter, Hamburg, 1912. The Four Gospels in Anglo-Saxon, Northumbrian, and Old Mercian Versions: Volume III, St Luke, ed. by W. W. Skeat, Cambridge, 1974. Glossae Codicum Vaticani 3321, Sangallensis 912, Leidensis 67F, ed. by G.  Goetz, 1965 (Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 4). Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana, ed. by G. Goetz, 1965 (Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 3). Hieronymus, Commentariorum in Ezechielem libri XIV, ed. by F. Glorie, Turnhout, 1964, (Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina 75). Hieronymus, Liber interpetationis hebraicorum nominum, ed. by P. de Lagarde, Turnhout, 1959 (Corpus Christianorum: Series Latina 72), pp. 59–161. King Alfred’s West-Saxon Version of Gregory’s Pastoral Care: Part I, ed. by H. Sweet, London, 1871. A Late Eight-Century Latin-Anglo-Saxon Glossary Preserved in the Library of the Leiden University (MS. Voss. Q0 Lat. No. 69), ed. by J. H. Hessels, Cambridge, 1906.

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Old-English Glosses in the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary, ed. by J. D. Pheifer, Oxford, 1974. The Oldest English Texts, ed. by H. Sweet, London, 1885. Orosius, Historiarum contra paganos libri VII, ed. by K. Zangemeister, Leipzig, 1889. Placidus Liber Glossarum, Glossaria Reliqua, ed. by G. Goetz, 1965 (Corpus Glossariorum Latinorum 5). Plinius (maior), Naturalis historiae libri XXXVII, ed. by K. F. T. Mayhoff, Leipzig, 1892. Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica, ed. by T. Mommsen, Berlin, 1903 (Corpus Berolinense 9). A Second Anglo-Saxon Reader: Archaic and Dialectal, ed. by H. Sweet, Oxford, 1887. Vergil, Aeneid, ed. by R. A. B. Mynors, in P. Vergili Maronis Opera, Oxford, 1969. Secondary Sources Biblical Commentaries from the Canterbury School of Theodore and Hadrian, ed. by B. Bischoff and M. Lapidge, Cambridge, 1994. Gneuss, H. and M. Lapidge, Anglo-Saxon Manuscripts: A Bibliographical Handlist of Manuscripts and Manuscript Fragments Written or Owned in England up to 1100, Toronto, 2014. Herren, M. W., and H. Sauer, “Towards a New Edition of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: A Sample”, The Journal of Medieval Latin, 26 (2016), pp. 125–98. Ker, N. R., Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon, Oxford, 1957. Lapidge, M., “The School of Theodore and Hadrian”, Anglo-Saxon England, 15 (1986), pp. 45–72. Lindsay, W. M., The Corpus, Épinal, Erfurt and Leyden Glossaries, London, 1921. Pheifer, J. D., “Early Anglo-Saxon Glossaries and the School of Canterbury”, Anglo-Saxon England, 16 (1987), pp. 17–44. Pheifer, J. D., “Relationship of the Épinal, Erfurt, Werden, and Corpus Glossaries”, in The Épinal, Erfurt, Corpus and Werden Glossaries, pp. 49–63.

Appendix Michael W. Herren: Bibliography, 2007–2020* 2007 “Crux-busting on the Danube, uel Coniectanea in Cosmographiam Aethici, ut dicitur, Istri”, in Source of Wisdom: Old English and Early Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Thomas D. Hill, ed. by C. D. Wright, F. M. Biggs, and T. N. Hall, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, pp. 353–69. “Reflections on the Meaning of the Ecloga Theoduli: Where is the Authorial Voice?”, in Poetry and Exegesis in Premodern Latin Christianity, ed. by W. Otten and K. Pollmann, Leiden: Brill, pp. 199–230. 2008 “Romance Elements in the Latinity of the Cosmography of Aethicus Ister”, in Latin vulgaire latin tardif VIII: Actes du VIIIe colloque international sur le latin vulgaire et tardif, Oxford 6–9 september 2006, ed. by R. Wright, Hildesheim, Olms-Weidmann, 2008, pp. 472–81. 2009 “Aethicus Ister and Antique Travel Literature”, in The World of Travellers: Exploration and Imagination, ed. by K. Dekkers, K. Olsen, and T. Hofstra, Leuven: Peeters, pp. 5–30. “Constructing the Memory of Alexander in the Early Eighth Century”, in Strategies of Remembrance from Pindar to Hőlderlin, ed. by L.  Doležalová, Newcastle-on-Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, pp. 163–74. 2010 “The Study of Greek in Ireland in the Early Middle Ages”, Settimana di studi sull’ alto medioevo 2009. Spoleto: CISAM, pp. 522–32. “Storehouses of Learning: Encyclopedias and Other Reference Works in Ireland and Pre-Bedan Anglo-Saxon England”, in Practice in Learning: The Transfer of Encyclopedic Knowledge, ed. by R. Bremmer, Leuven: Peeters, pp. 1–18. Review of Karen George, Gildas’s De Excidio Britonum and the Early British Church, in Speculum 85.3, pp. 674–76.

*

  For a list of his publications before 2007, see “Michael Herren: Bibliography, 1963–2006”, in Insignis Arcator Sophiae: Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Michael Herren on his 65th Birthday, ed. by G. Wieland, C. Ruff, and R. Arthur, Turnhout, 2006, pp. 273–85.

502

michael w. herren: bibliography,

2007–2020

2011 The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister: Text, Translation, Commentary and Introduction. Turnhout: Brepols, vii–cxix; 1–360. “Quid Helena Ciceroni?: Mythographical Miscues in Early Medieval Latin Glosses and Glosssaries”, in Fact and Fiction: From the Middle Ages to Modern Times: Essays Presented to Hans Sauer on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday, ed. by R. Bauer and U. Krischke, Frankfurt am Main: Lang, pp. 21–33. 2012 “The Graeca in the Tituli of Lucretius – What They Tell Us about the Archetype”, Wiener Studien, 125, pp. 107–24. “Is the Author Really Better Than His Scribes? Problems of Editing Pre-Carolingian Texts”, in Ars Edendi Lecture Series, ed. by A.  Bucossi and E. Kihlman, Stockholm: Stockholm University, vol. 2, pp. 83–104. “John Scottus and Greek Mythology: Reprising an Ancient Hermeneutic”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 22, pp. 95–116. “The Cosmography of Aethicus Ister: The Last Ancient Novel?”, in Fictional Traces: Receptions of the Ancient Novel – Volume 1, ed. by M. P. Futre Pinheiro and S. Harrison, Groningen: Barkhuis Publishing and Groningen University, pp. 31–52. Review of Stephen Greenblatt, The Swerve: How the World Became Modern. New York and London: W. W. Norton and Company, 2011, in Journal of Medieval Latin, 22, pp. 297–302. Review of Mariken Teeuwen and Sinéad O’Sullivan, eds, Carolingian Scholarship and Martianus Capella: Ninth-Century Commentary Traditions on ‘De nuptiis’ in Context. Turnhout: Brepols, 2011, in The Medieval Review (12.12.02). 2013 “Cicero Redivivus apud Scurras”, in Cicero Refused to Die: Ciceronian Influence through the Centuries, ed. by N. Van Deusen, Leiden: Brill, pp. 39–45. “The Cena Adamnani or Seventh-Century Table Talk”, in Spoken and Written Languages: Relations between Latin and the Vernaculars in the Earlier Middle Ages, ed. by M. Garison, M. Mostert, and A.  Orbán, Turnhout: Brepols, pp. 101–12. “Patrick, Gaul, and Gildas: A New Lens on the Apostle of Ireland’s Career”, in Gablánach in Scélaigecht, ed. by S. Sheehan, J. Findon, and W. Follett, Dublin: Four Courts, pp. 16–25. 2014 The Classics in the Middle Ages. Oxford Bibliographies Online in Medieval Studies. New York: Oxford University Press.

michael w. herren: bibliography,

2007–2020

503

“Cultures of Grace: Eriugena and Irish Christianity”, in Eriugena and Creation, ed. by W. Otten and M. Allen, Turnhout: Brepols, pp. 51–83. “Schools and Authority in the Writings of Virgil the Grammarian”, Proceedings of the Fifth International Congress on Medieval Latin Studies, ed. by E. D’Angelo, Florence: Sismel, pp. 479–88. Review of Peter Riedlberger, Philologischer, historischer und liturgisher Kommentar zum 8. Buch der Johannis des Goripp nebst kritischer Edition und Übersetzung (Groningen: Egbert Forsten, 2010) in Journal of Medieval Latin 24, 330–34. 2015 “Sedulius Scottus and the Knowledge of Greek”, in Early Medieval Ireland and Europe: Festschrift for Dáibhí Ó Croínín, ed. by P. Moran and I. Warntjes, Turnhout: Brepols, pp. 515–35. “The Papal Letters to the Irish Cited by Bede: How Did He Get Them?”, in Clerics, Kings and Vikings: Essays on Medieval Ireland in Honour of Donnchadh Ó Corráin, ed. by E. Purcell, P. MacCotter, and J. Sheehan, Dublin: Four Courts, pp. 3–10. “Pelasgian Fountains: Learning Greek in the Early Middle Ages”, in Learning Latin and Greek from Antiquity to the Present, ed. by E.  Archibald, W. Brockliss, and J. Gnoza, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 62–82. “Classical Allegoresis and its Continuities: From Theagenes of Rhegium to Bernard Silvestris”, Florilegium, 30 [for 2013], pp. 59–102. 2016 (with Hans Sauer) “Towards a New Edition of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: A Sample”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 26, pp. 125–98. “Dracontius, the Pagan Gods, and Stoicism”, in The Classics Renewed: Reception and Innovation in the Latin Poetry of Late Antiquity, ed. by S. McGill and J. Pucci. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag Winter, pp. 297–322. “Boniface’s Epistolary Prose Style: The Letters to the English”, in Latinity and Identity in Anglo-Saxon Literature, ed. by R. Stevenson and E. Thornbury, Toronto: University of Toronto Press, pp. 18–37. Review of G. T. Dempsey, Aldhelm of Malmesbury and the Ending of Late Antiquity (Turnhout: Brepols, 2015) in Peritia, 27, pp. 251– 55. Review of Navigatio sancti Brendani: Alla scoperta de segreti meravigliosi del mondo, ed. Giovanni Orlandi and Rosanna E. Gugielmetti (Florence: SISMEL, 2014) in Journal of Medieval Latin, 26, pp. 383–87.

504

michael w. herren: bibliography,

2007–2020

Review of The Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Latin Sources, ed. R. Ashdowne et al., vol. 17 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013) in The Medieval Review (16.08.01). 2017 The Anatomy of Myth: The Art of Interpretation from the Presocratics to the Christian Fathers, New York: Oxford University Press. “An Eleventh-Century Travel Phrase Book in Demotic Greek”, in Teaching and Learning in Medieval Europe: Essays in Honour of Gernot R. Wieland, ed. by G. Dinkova-Bruun and T. Major, Brepols: Turnhout, pp. 203–10. “Pseudo-Methodius in the Eighth Century”, in Felici Curiositate: Studies in Latin Literature and Textual Criticism from Antiquity to the Twelfth Century in Honour of Rita Beyers, ed. by G. Guldentops, C.  Laes, and G. Partoens, Turnhout: Brepols, pp. 409–18. Review of The Colloquia of the Hermeneumata Pseudodositheana, Vol. ii, ed. and trans. E. Dickey (Cambridge: Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015) in Gnomon, 89.3, pp. 216–19. 2018 “Comedy, Irony, and Philosophy in Late Late Antique Prosimetra: Menippean Satire from the Fifth to the Eighth Century”, Journal of Medieval Latin, 28, pp. 241–75. 2019 (with Hans Sauer and David Porter), A Critical Edition of the Épinal-Erfurt Glossary: Introduction, User Guide, and Letters A-F. www.doe.utoronto.ca/epinal-erfurt “The Hisperica Famina in Breton and Anglo-Saxon Glossing Traditions”, in Studies on Late Antique and Medieval Germanic Glossography and Lexicography in Honour of Patrizia Lendinara, ed. by L.  Teresi, 2 vols. Pisa: ETS, 2018, pp. 435–54. “Les inscriptions de la Tapisserie de Bayeux et la critique textuelle”, in L’invention de la tapisserie de Bayeux: Naissance, composition et style d’un chef d’œuvre médiéval: Actes du colloque international de Bayeux, 22–25 septembre 2016, ed. by P. Bouet et F. Neveu, Rouen: Point de vues, pp. 183–201. Review of Alexander O’Hara, Jonas of Bobbio and the Legacy of Columbanus (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018) in Bryn Mawr Classical Review (2019.19.03). 2020 (with Andrew Dunning), “Iohannis Scotti Eriugenae Carmina”, in Iohannis Scotti seu Eriugenae opera fere omnia, Corpus Christianorum: Continuatio Mediaevalis 167. Turnhout: Brepols, ix–xc; 1–66.

Index of names Ab Absens Glossary  490 Abavus Glossary  482 Abraham  61, 356, 359, 362, 367, 373-376 Abstrusa-Abolita Glossary  478, 482, 490 Affatim Glossary  478, 482, 488, 491, 497 Adam  359, 367, 373 Ademar of Chabannes   105 Ælfric  321, 324, 330, 336, 345 Æthelstan  341, 344 Aeneas  21-22, 358, 371 Aesop   254 Aethicus Ister  169–88 Alan of Lille  429 Alboin  463 Alcimus Avitus  181–83 Alcuin  276, 302–313 Aldfrith, king of Northumbria  103, 111–113, 128–130 Aldhelm  79, 237, 240-241, 243, 255, 261, 281–288, 311, 313 Alexander of Villedieu  263 Alexander the Great  61, 366, 376 Alfanus von Salerno  421, 429 Alfred of Wessex  339, 340, 341, 345, 498 Alkaios  422 Ambrose of Milan  40, 58, 118, 258 Amolo of Lyon, archbishop  65 Anastasius (papal legate)  469-470 Anastasius Bibliothecarius  37-39 Anastasius of Antioch  464, 472-473 Anchises  372 Aniane  73-74, 91-92 Anna Porphyrogenita  17 Anselm of Laon  21 Anselm of Lucca  307 Antichrist  174–175, 177–179, 186 Apollo  116–117

Apuleius   259, 420 Aratus  448 Archelaus  61 Ardo of Aniane  73, 90, 92 Aristotle  179, 443 Arnobius  294–95, 304 Assaracus  372 Augustine of Hippo  29, 278, 281, 290, 292, 293, 295–96, 297, 303, 448 Augustus  See Octavian Augustus Aurelian of Arles  469 Ausonius   245-247, 267 Avitus of Vienne  469-47 Bader, Bernd  59, 60 Bandello, Vincenzo  424 Bede  64, 276, 287–302, 304, 311, 313, 428, 448 Behemoth  116–117, 119 Belus  373-374 Bembo, Pietro  429 Benedict of Aniane  73, 91 Beowulf  342-343 Berhard of Fulda  94 Bernardino, St.  144 Bischoff, Bernhard  497 Blatt, Franz  57, 59-60 Bodekken  73 Bodo  65 Boethius  339-40, 430, 438-442, 449450, 453-458 Brant, Sebastian  420 Brigit, St.  376 Briktius, St.  88 Brown, Alan Kelsey  486 Buonaccorsi, Filippo  422 Calcidius  448 Calpornius  394, 405, 408 Candidus/Witto  305 Capys  372

506

index of names

Cardwell, Edward  59 Carlyle, Joseph  154 Cassiodorus  37, 54-58, 61-64, 281282, 304, 311 Catullus  15 Celer  470 Celestine, pope  388 Charlemagne  16, 38, 73, 309 Charles the Bald  37, 39 Charybdis  22-26 Childebert I  461, 467, 469 Chlodosuintha  463, 466 Cicero  19, 20, 448 Citeaux  90 Clarke, Edward  154 Claudius Claudianus  430 Cleopatra  375 Cluny  64 Cóemáin, Gilla  360-361, 366, 370, 375 Colum Cille  376 Columbanus, St.  470 Conchobar mac Nessa  375 Constantin von Tischendorf  154 Coroticus  390, 397-398, 403, 408, 411 Cosmas Indicopleustes  283 Cox, Henry Hamilton  140 Crystal, David  329 Cú Chulainn  373 Cyril of Alexandria  463 Dante  147 Dardanus  372 Darius III  376 Datius of Milan  472 David  61, 117-118, 376 Defensor of Ligugé  64 Deusdedit  307 Díarmait mac Maíl na mBó   376 Dictionary of Old English (DOE) 324-332, 335-339, 343-344 Dido  18 Diomedes  239 Dionysius the Areopagite  36 Donatus  238-240 Donnchad mac Briain  376

Duby, Georges  340, 344 Dunchad  437 Einhard  20 Épinal-Erfurt Glossary  323-324, 338, 344 Epiphanius, translator  63 Epiphanius of Salamis  277–278 Erasmus  143, 421 Éremón  372 Erichthonius  372 Eugenius of Toledo  245-248, 251, 255, 261 Eugenius Vulgarius  248 Eurydice  446-447 Eusebius of Caesarea  63, 66, 293, 356-357, 359, 362, 373, 375, 482, 487 Eutyches  461, 462, 470, 471, 472, 474 Eutychius of Constantinople  464, 472, 473 Eve  403 Evrard of Bethune  260, 261 Fabyan, Robert  136 Farsaid, Fénius   367 Felicity, St.  400-401 Felix, St.  331-332, 344 Flaminio, Marcantonio   431 Florianus  463 Floß, Heinrich Joseph  35, 41 Frauenberg  72 Fulda  71-72, 92, 94 Fulgentius  448 Gale, Thomas  41 Gellone  74, 91 Gilla in Chomded  360, 366 Giullem II. Bernard  89 Glas, Goídel  367-368 Godden, Malcolm  340-341, 344 Godfrey of Winchester   266-267 Godwinson, Harold  376 Goodspeed, Edgar J.  157 Gray, Patrick  474 Greenough, J. B.  22

index of names Gregory of Nyssa  36 Gregory of Tours  461-462, 471, 473 Gregory the Great  376, 498 Griesbach, Johann Jakob  155 Guthlac B  331, 341 Hadrian of Canterbury  277, 279, 282, 284, 313, 480, 489, 498 Harris, Joseph H.  145 Heahfrith  129 Hegesippus  58-60 Heinsius, N.  23 Helenus  22-25 Hérault  74 Hercules  372 Hermeneumata Pseudo-Dositheana  478 Herod  61 Herodotus  62, 66 Herrad von Hohenburg  249 Honorius Augustodunensis  41-42, 44 Horace  419, 421–422, 424, 429, 431 Hubert Walter, archbishop  153 Hugh of Pisa  238 Hyginus  448 I2 (Nisifortinus)  435-438, 442-443, 445-446, 450, 452-458 Ibas of Edessa  463 Ilus  372 Iopas (Hyopas)  18 Irenaeus  286 Irvine, Susan  340-341, 344 Isidore of Seville, bishop  119, 123, 127, 240-241, 247, 285, 289, 295– 296, 311, 336, 337, 448 Jeauneau, Édouard  35 Jerome, St.  54, 58, 62, 169-185, 277-278, 280-282, 284, 289, 297, 477 Job  117–118 John of Damascus  38 John of Garland   263 John of Salisbury  29 John Scholasticus  464 John Scottus Eriugena  35, 37-48, 435-436, 438, 443-445, 447, 455,

507

458 John the Almoner, St.  39 Joseph  61 Josephus, Flavius  53-66, 299 Joshua  61 Journal of Medieval Latin (JMLat)  323-324, 344-345 Julian of Halicarnassus  464 Justin II  465 Justinian  462-465, 468, 470-474 Juvenal  19 Juvencus  429, 448 Konrad of Würzburg   243 Lachmann, Karl  15, 155 Lactantius  465-466, 471-473 Laomedon  372 Lapidge, Michael  497 Leiden Glossary  477, 485, 496-497 Leo III, emperor   361 Leo the Great, pope  468 Leontius of Neapolis, St.  39 Levenson, David B.  59 Levine, Philip  38 Liber tramitis  64 Libri Carolini  38 Lindsay, Wallace Martin  478-479, 497 Liudprand of Cremona  17-21, 29 Liuzza, R. M.  342-344 Livy  15, 62, 64, 66 Lord Curzon  143, 153, 154 Lorenzo Valla  147 Lucan  17, 21, 27-30, 247, 251 Lucan  119, 366 Lucretius  15 Lupus of Ferrières  20 Lysias  19 Macedonius  470 Macrobius  27, 29, 448 Maingaudus  442 Mainistrech, Flann  361, 366, 374 Manchaleus  374 Mantovano, Battista  430 Marc Anthony  375

508

index of names

Marcellinus Comes  63 Mari the Persian  463 Marius Victorinus  247 Marquard I.  72, 94 Martial  253, 255, 266-267 Martianus Capella   264, 437, 439440, 443, 447, 449, 455-458 Martin of Laon  437 Martin, Thomas R.  59 Marullus, Michael  429 Mary, St.  113, 127, 373, 376 Maximus the Confessor, St.  36, 38, 41 Metellus of Tegernsee  421–422 Middle English Dictionary (MED)  327-328, 336 Míl  361, 368, 372, 374-375 Mithraeus  372, 374 Mommsen, Theodor  482, 487 Montpellier  89 Moses  61, 367, 377 Mt. Athos  153, 154, 162 Murray, Heather  142, 161 Murray, James A. H.  333-334 Muses  116–117, 119 Mynors, R. A. B.  23 Myriam (sister of Moses)  13 Nathanael/Fridugis  305 Nebuchadnezzar  376 Neckam, Alexander  264-266 Nél  367 Nemed  374 Nestorius  461-463, 468, 470, 472, 474 Nicetius of Trier, bishop  461-463, 465, 466-468, 471-474 Nicolas I, Pope  39 Niese, Benedikt  57-58 Nikephorus Phocas  17-18, 21 Ninias  374 Ninus  359, 362, 373-377 Nisbet, R.  23 Nisifortinus (I2)  435-438, 442-443, 445-456, 450, 452-458 Noah  367 Nonius Marcellus   239

Octavian Augustus  375 Origen  279 Orosius, Paulus  63, 370, 486, 488, 491, 492 Orpheus  446-447 Osbern of Gloucester  258 Oswald  105 Otto II  17 Otto the Great  17 Ovid  17, 247, 259, 267, 429-431, 448 Oxford English Dictionary (OED)  327-328, 331-332, 336, 338 Paley, William  154 Palladius  389 Parnassus  116–117 Partholón  373-375 Patrick, St.  376, 385, 388-399, 401412 Paul, apostle  123, 407 Paulinus of Milan  118 Paulinus of Nola  119, 429 Paulus Albarus   248 Pelagius I, Pope  465, 467-469, 471472, 474 Perpetua, St.  400-402 Persius   119, 120 Peter Comestor  26-30 Peter Lombard  26 Petrus Diaconus  420 Petrus Pisanus   430 Philo  65 Planck, Gottlieb  160 Plato  119, 179, 184, 448 Plautus  24 Pliny the Elder   118-119, 172, 259, 264, 448, 483 Polemius Silvius   235-238, 240-444, 251, 252, 261, 268 Poliziano, Angelo  420–421, 430, 431 Pompey  29 Pontano, Giovanni  429 Porter, David W.  323 Potitus  394, 405, 408 Priam  372

index of names Priscian  23, 25, 122, 129, 239, 448 Prosper of Aquitaine  388-390 Prudentius  286, 430 Pseudo-Suetonius  235, 237-238, 241, 252-253, 255 Quirinus  422 Rabanus Maurus  64, 430 Rather of Verona  15 Richer of Saint-Rémy  16 Ringgau an der Werra  94 Robert of Molesme  90 Roger Bacon  169–188 Romanus II, emperor  17 Rufinus  54, 58, 63, 279, 482, 487 Rugger II  72 Sabellius  471 Sallust  16 Sapaudus of Arles  469 Sappho  422 Sauer, Hans  323-324, 344-345 Saul  61 Scadding, Henry  136, 138-150, 152163 Scylla  22-26 Second Erfurt Glossary  477-478, 482, 488, 491, 497 Sergius   239-240 Serlo of Bayeux   267 Servius  22-26, 448, 452-453 Sextus Amarcius  428 Sigibert  467 Sigwulf of Ferrières  303 Silius Italicus  247, 429 Simon Magus  79 Socrates, church historian  63 Socrates, philosopher  19 Solinus   448 Solomon  61, 376 Sozomen  63 St. Guilem-le-Désert  74 Statius  21, 29, 366 Strachan, John  145 Strozzi, Ercole  424 Sylvester, Pope  308

509

Symmachus, Pope  308 Symp(h)osius  115, 122 Tautanes  375 Theodore of Mopsuestia  463 Theodore of Orléans  305–308 Theodore of Tarsus, archbishop 44, 266, 277-279, 282-284, 313, 480, 489, 497-498 Theodoret of Cyrrhus  63, 463 Theodosius  122 Theudebald  467 Theudebert  467 Thomas Becket  153 Thornbury, E. V.  324, 345 Traill, D.  23-26 Ulysses  18, 20 Vander, William H.  147 Varro  239, 260-261 Vegetius  280 Venantius Fortunatus  430, 461 Via Tolosana  74 Victor of Vita  473 Vigilius  466, 469, 472 Villeneuve-lès-Avignon  159 Virgil  18, 21, 25, 26, 29, 30, 119, 247, 264, 366, 429, 431, 448, 452, 495 Vivarium  54-55, 62, 65 Walter of Châtillon  17, 29 Walther von der Vogelweide  243 Whiston, William  58 William of Poitiers  16 William of Rubruck  177 William the Confessor  71, 73-74, 77, 86, 91 Williams, R. D.  22 Willis, James  15, 30 Wilson, Jacqueline Cahill  385 Witzel, George  72 Wood, Ian  463, 474 Wulfred of Canterbury  283 Zangemeister, Karl  486, 488, 492

Tabula gratulatoria

Alexander Andrée, Toronto Marc-Aeilko Aris, München Walter Berschin, Heidelberg Rita Beyers, Antwerpen Rolf Bremmer, Leiden Scott G. Bruce, Baltimore Brigitte Bulitta, Leipzig Carmen Cardele de Hartmann, Zürich Franca Ela Consolino, Roma G.T. Dempsey, Sacramento Claudia Di Sciacca, Udine Wilken Engelbrecht, Olomouc Robert Getz, Toronto Helmut Gneuss, München Scott Gwara, Columbia, SC Justin Haynes, Washington, DC Bart Janssens, Turnhout Luc Jocqué, Eeklo Marek Thue Kretschmer, Paris Michael Lapidge, Cambridge Patrizia Lendinara, Palermo Peter J. Lucas, Cambridge Tristan Major, Doha, Qatar Michael Meckler, Columbus, OH

Haruko Momma, New York Joseph Falaky Nagy, Cambridge, MA Dáibhí Ó Cróinín, Galway Cillian O’Hogan, Toronto Andy Orchard, Oxford Sinéad O’Sullivan, Belfast David Pelteret, Fazeley Marco Petoletti, Milano Jennifer Reid, Winnipeg Carin Ruff, Washington, DC William Schipper, St. John’s, NL Sumi Shimahara, Paris Kurt Smolak, Vienna Marina Smyth, Notre Dame Peter Stotz †, Zürich Mariken Teeuwen, Oegstgeest Jean-Yves Tilliette, Genève Anne-Marie Turcan-Verkerk, Paris Benjamin Wheaton, Kingston, ON Gernot Wieland, Vancouver, BC Dylan Wilkerson, Toronto David Woods, Cork Jan Ziolkowski, Cambrdge, MA