Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity 9780715632857, 071563285X

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Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

Lucy Grig

Duckworth

First published in 2004 by Gerald Duckworth & Co. Lt.d. 90-93 Cowcross Street, London EClM 6BF Tel: 020 7490 7300 Fax: 020 7490 0080 [email protected]. uk www.ducknet.co.uk () 2004 by Lucy Grig 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 permi88ion of the publisher. A catalogue record for this bookis available from the British Library ISBN 0 7156 3285 X

Typeset by e-type, Liverpool Printed and bound in Great Britain by Biddles Ltd, King's Lynn, Norfolk

Contents Acknowledgements List of illustrations Abbreviations

vii ix xi

1. Introduction

1

2. A Brief History of Martyrdom

8

Cyprian 3. Performing Texts: Martyrs and Spectacle in the North African Liturgy

Marculus

27 34

54

4. Courtroom Dramas: Judicial Narrative and Judicial

Violence in Late Antique Martyrology

59

Agnes

79

5. Multiplying Texts: From Martyr Act to Miracle Story Felix of Nola 6. Picturing Martyrs: Text and Image

86 105 111

Laurence

136

7. Conclusion

142

Appendix: A Literature Review Notes Bibliography Index

146 152 186 205

Acknowledgements This is a revised version of my 2000 University of Cambridge PhD thesis which was funded by the Arts and Humanities Board of the British Academy with additional financial support from the Faculty of Classics and Queens' College. It is a real pleasure to be able to thank the following people who have made an impact upon the creation of this book in various ways. I would not have become interested in early Christianity without the stimulating teaching of Keith Hopkins, who taught me as an undergraduate and also supervised the early stages of my thesis. Peter Garnsey supervised the majority of my PhD work with the perfect blend of support, encouragement and ever-incisive criticism. Gillian Clark and Simon Goldhill were perceptive and challenging thesis examiners. While at Cambridge I was kept largely sane by my comrades in the Classics Graduate Common Room, even though they tended to think my project eccentrically non-classical. The Classics Department at the University of Reading has been my sometime home for the last couple of years, and I have definitely learnt a good deal more about Roman history by teaching it there. I am also especially grateful to my Reading colleagues Gill Knight and Tessa Rajak for their help and support. I would also like to thank the British School at Rome: the nine months I spent as Rome Scholar in 2002 provided valuable time to think about the role of material culture in late antique Christianity, as well as a great opportunity to make new friends (here special mention must go to my fellow scholars Anne Alwis and Jo Crawley Quinn). Finally, there are various people who have influenced my work or thought in differing ways. Jas Elsner continues to be a lively reader of my work on images, while Richard Marks encouraged my work in that direction in the first place. As an undergraduate, it was Brendan Bradshaw who kept me on my toes, historiographically speaking, and I learnt much from him. More recently, discussions about martyrs and bishops, as well as many other less elevated subjects, with Tina Sessa have been invaluable as well as enjoyable. Sophie Lunn-Rockliffe, another late antique devotee, very kindly did the drawings. I am grateful to a number of institutions for supplying the other illustra-

viii

Acknowledgements

tions used in this book and to Maria Pia Malvezzi for expediting their acquisition. This book is for my parents, fellow historians by training and in spirit.

Illustrations Plates (between pages 114 and 115) SS. Giovanni e Paolo, Rome: confessio frescoes. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. II. SS. Nero ed Achilleo, Rome: Damasus' inscription for Nereus and Achilleus. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. III. SS. Nero ed Achilleo, Rome: 'Acilleus' column. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. Iv. Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. V Catacomb of Donatilla, Rome: arcolosolium fresco depicting Veneranda and Petronilla. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. VI. Catacomb of SS. Marcellino e Pietro, Rome: 'Maiestas Domini' fresco. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. VII. Gold glass depicting St. Laurence. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. VIII. Catacomb of Commodilla, Rome: fresco from the 'Cubiculum Leonis' depicting Christ together with SS. Felix and Adauctus. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. IX. Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, Ravenna: niche mosaic depicting St. Laurence. X. Catacomb of S. Senatore, Albano Laziale: fresco depicting St. Laurence together with Christ and other saints. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. I.

Figures 1. Map of Roman North Africa at the time of Augustine. 2. Drawing of a gold glass depicting St. Agnes with two birds offering her twin crowns, Vatican Museums. Drawing: Sophie Lunn-Rockliffe. 3. Drawing of a cast of a medallion, inscribed 'Sucessa Vivas' and depicting the martyrdom of St. Laurence and veneration at a shrine, Vatican Museums. Drawing: Sophie Lunn-Rockliffe.

35 80 125

X

Illustrations

4. Drawing of a medallion inscribed 'Gaudentianus' and depicting veneration at a shrine, Vatican Museums. Drawing: Sophie Lunn-Rockliffe. 5. Reconstruction of the confessio of Nereus and Achilleus by R. Kanzler. Pontificia Commissione di Archeologia Sacra. 6. Drawing of a medallion depicting St. Laurence, Vatican Museums. Drawing: Sophie Lunn-Rockliffe.

126 130 137

Abbreviations Inevitably a large number of ancient texts, both well-known and less so, are referred to in this text in abbreviated form. Abbreviations for standard classical texts and authors are as in the Oxford Classical.Dictionary. Martyr acts and saints' lives

A. App.: Acta Appiani A. Gyp.: Acta Proconsularia S. Cypriani A. Eupli: Acta Eupli A. Gall.: Acta Gal.loni A. Max.: Acta Maximilian M. Agap.: The Martyrdom of Agape, Irene, Chione, and Companions M. Carp.: Martyrdom of Carpus, Papylus and Agathonice M. Lyons: The Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne M. Pion.: Martyrdom of Pionios M. Poly.: Martyrdom of Polycarp M. Pot.: Martyrdom of Potamiaena and Basilides P.Agnetis: Passio Agnetis P. Crisp.: Passio S. Crispinae P. Gyp.: Cypriani Passio ex die qua martyr Cyprianus martyrium tulit; ordo autem haec lectione demonstratur et declaratur P. Dat.: Passio SS. Dativi, Satumini prebyteri et aliorum P. Fruct.: Passio SS. Fructuosi Episcopi, Auguri et Eulogi Diaconorum P. Isaac.: Passio Isaacis et Maximiani P. Iul.: Passio Juli Veterani P.Mar.: Passio SS. Mariani et Jacobi P.Marc.: Passio benedicti matyris Marculi, die III Kal. Decembris P.Max.: Passio SS. Maximae, Secundae et Donatillae P.Mont.: Passio SS. Montani et Lucii P. Perp.: Passio SS. Perpetuae et Felicitas P. Polychron: Passio Polychronii Parmenii Abdon et Sennes Xysti Felicissimi et Agapiti et Laurentii et al.iorum sanctorum mense augusto die X P. Scill.: Passio SS. Scillitanorum P. Steph.: Passio Stephani V.Amb.: Vita Ambrosii V.Ant.: Vita Antonii

xii

Abbreviations

V. Cyp.: Vita Cypriani V.Mac.: Vita Macrinae V.Mel. Jun.: Vita Melania Junioris V.Mart.: Vita Martini Turonensis

Other patristic tests Ad Nov.: Ad Novatianem Ad mart.: Ad martyras Ad Scap.: Ad Scapulam Ad ux.: Ad uxorem Apol.: Apologeticum Breu. Coll.: Breviculus Collationis cum Donatistis Breu. Hipp.: Breviarium Hipponense C. Th.: Codex Theodosianus Coll.: Lex Dei sive Mosaicarum et Romanorum Legum Collatio XViii. Fontes Juris Romani Antejustiniani. Coll. Av.: Collectio Avellana Con{.: Confessiones Const. ap.: Constitutionem apostolorum Contra Cree.: Contra Cresconium Contra Faust.: Contra Faustum Manichaeum Contra Gaud.: Contra Gaudentium Contra lit. Pet.: Contra litteras Petiliani Contra Vig.: Contra Vigilantium De Cain: De Cain et Abel De cath. ecc. un.: De catholicae ecclesiae unitate De civ. Dei: De civitate Dei De cura: De cura pro mortuis gerenda De div.: De divitiis De doct. Christ.: De doctrina christiana De fuga: De fuga in persecutione De lap.: De lapsis De laud. mart.: De laude martyrii De laud. sanct.: De laude sanctorum De mir. S. Steph.: De miraculis sancti Stephani protomartyris De mort.: De mortalitate De mort. pers.: De mortibus persecutorum De. off.: De officiis ministrorum De pat.: De patientia De rebap.: De rebaptismate De schis. Don.: De schismate donatistorum De spect.: De spectaculis

Abbreviations De symb.: Sermones de symbolo De ver. rel.: De vero religione De vir. ill.: De viris illustribus De virg.: De virginibus Dialog.: Dialogorum libri II Div. her. lib.: Diversarum hereseon liber Div. Inst.: Divinae lnstitutiones En. ps.: Enarrationes in Psalmos Epig.: Epigrommata Exhort. ad mart.: Exhortatio ad martyrium Exp. Ps. 118: Expositio de psalmo 118 Gesta Coll. Carth.: Gesta collationis Carthaginiensis anno 411 H.E.: Historia Ecclesiastica In Evang. Johann.: Tractatus in Evangelium lohannis L.P.: Liber Pontificalis Oct.: Octavius Per.: Peristephanon Reg. eccl. Carth.: Registri ecclesiae Carthaginiensis excerpta Retract.: Retractiones Senn.: Sennones Scorp.: Scorpiace Strom.: Stromata

Abbreviations for patristic text editions, ref ere nee works and translations are as follows: ACW: Ancient Christian Writers BA· Bibliotheque Augustinienne CC: Corpus Christianorum Series Latina CSEL: Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum DACL: Dictionnaire d'archeologie chretienne et de liturgie. EEC: Encyclopaedia of the Early Church NPNF: Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers PL: Patrologia Latina PG: Patrologia Graeca

xiii

1

Introduction This book is about the making of martyrs. It does not seek to uncover the historical facts about the martyrs venerated by the late antique Church but to examine the construction of heroes. (The martyrs were the heroes of the Church, as our ancient sources proclaim.) This book contends that this construction was largely performed after the Peace, by the Church Triumphant, rather than during the years of persecution, by the suffering Church. This construction was not just a matter of harnessing the mysterious, pre-existing charisma of the martyr. The martyr had to be 'made'. This 'making' was a matter of representation: of text and image. The story made the martyr. This book is not just about the creation of a literary genre, the martyr act, however. Nor does it seek merely to provide a chronological study of the development of martyr iconography. Instead, it has wider implications: I contend that the making of martyrs played a vital role in the construction of Christianisation in the fourth and fifth centuries. The phenomenon of Christianisation, which involved nothing less than the eventual cultural transformation of the Roman world, is one that historians continue to find both fascinating and bewildering. How did the Roman world 'become' Christian? What did this mean? When and how did it happen? This broader process of Christianisation, like that of the making of martyrs, should not be seen as a univocal process, but rather as subject to contestation and competition from the very beginning. In many ways, questions about the making of martyrs are also questions about power: its construction, its institutions, and its representation. The martyr was a highly powerful figure during the fourth and fifth centuries. The power of the martyr was something to be harnessed by both author and audience, whether clerical or lay. Perhaps most importantly, I shall argue, the power of the martyr was an important weapon in the process of Christianisation. The texts and images that this book will examine were not produced in an ideological vacuum, but were involved, were implicated in a range of debates and events, indeed, in a range of power contests. Throughout this book a concern with the issue of power - ecclesiastical, spiritual, of the state, of the text, of the image - is central.

2

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

The power of martyrs A famous example will help to introduce some of the key themes of the book: Ambrose's discovery (technically and enticingly known as an inuentio) of the saintly remains of the Milanese martyrs Protasius and Gervasius. This case is definitely the best-known example of the role of martyrs in an outright 'power contest', but the story bears retelling one more time. 1 The discovery of the martyrs' relics is inevitably seen as providing the climax to the dispute between the bishop of Milan and the Arian members of the imperial court, which raged and rumbled in 385-6. This dispute had a couple of 'hotspots': two dramatic territorial showdowns over access to the basilicas of Milan. On both occasions the bishop responded to the threatening presence of imperial troops with the heroic resistance and self-assurance of a would-be (and self-proclaimed) martyr. 2 The triumph of the bishop (the emperor was forced to back down both times) has traditionally been seen as culminating in the inuentio of the martyrs. Our two near-contemporary accounts, given by Augustine (an eyewitness) and Ambrose's biographer, Paulinus, both telescope events, so that the inuentio follows on directly from the Easter showdown of 386. According to Paulin us, for instance, 'Around the same time the holy martyrs Protasius and Gervasius revealed themselves to the bishop. ' 3 In fact, it was three months later, on 17 June, that the 'longforgotten' saints were discovered. In June 386, as Bishop Ambrose was preparing to consecrate his newly built basilica (the Basilica Ambrosiana), events took a miraculous turn. After receiving some kind of prophetic vision (Ambrose describes a 'presaging ardour'), 4 the bishop ordered digging to take place under the pavement of the memoria of Nabor and Felix. The excavations were fruitful: the result was the discovery of some unusual human remains. What exactly these remains constituted is left a little unclear as a result of contradiction in our accounts: while Ambrose told his sister he had found 'intact bones and much blood' Augustine recalled that the bodies were found uncorrupted. 5 In any case, the miracles that swiftly ensued, including the healing of a blind man, provided the proof that these were indeed saintly remains. This confirmation, in the words of Ambrose and his supporters, vanquished the bishop's enemies. Paulinus tells us that 'thanks to the martyrs' good works the faith of the Catholic Church increased to the same extent that the perfidy of the Arians decreased'. 6 The 'proofs' that the relics were those of martyrs were much vaunted by the bishop over and against his Arian enemies at the palace. 7 Meanwhile Ambrose celebrated the events by writing a triumphant hymn, proclaiming the martyrs and the miraculous inuentio, 'Grates tibi, Iesu, noua,s', to be used in the Milanese liturgy. 8 The hymn recounts the

1. Introduction

3

discovery of the martyrs and the miracles performed by their relics. It also claims, strikingly, 'We might be denied martyrdom for ourselves, but we can find martyrs'. 9 The association of the bishop with 'his' martyrs was finally proclaimed for all posterity by his burial, in accordance with his wishes, next to their relics, beneath the main altar, in the Basilica Ambrosiana. This famous story provides a particularly striking (and high-level) example of themes that will recur throughout the book. First, and most strikingly, there is the use of the martyrs in ecclesiastical power politics. The significance of this discovery, and the events it set in train for the cult of relics, are also well known. Scholars have generally tended to concentrate, unsurprisingly, on these elements, but they are not the only interesting or, indeed, significant themes. We can also note, for instance, the conflict of accounts: the dramatic 're-dating' of the inventio in the accounts of contemporaries, as well as differing descriptions of what exactly the tomb contained. Then there is the importance of publicity: the inventio and the resulting miracles needed to be proclaimed, to be publicised, in order to have their full effect. Ambrose ensured lasting commemoration (of events as he saw them) by writing a hymn which became part of the liturgy of the Church of Milan. The bishop's version of events also stressed a significant notion: in an age without martyrs (although this too is complicated, as we shall see below), one's duty, especial.ly as a bishop, is to procure and honour martyrs. This connection between the bishop and the martyr was further crystallised in death. Finally, and crucially, I would like to stress that although Ambrose did have the final word on these events, we should not underestimate the very real power struggle surrounding his inventio and its interpretation. As Kate Cooper has so neatly put it, we need to understand late antique martyr cult 'in agonistic, not hierarchical terms'. 10 In the case studies that follow, conflicts and contradictions will be explored and unpicked, not ironed out.

Approaches This book will offer a number of close readings of selected texts and images. It does not aspire to completeness, but analyses a broadly representative range of material. In this way it provides a general thematic overview, which no work since Peter Brown's seminal Cult of the Saints has aspired to do.11 As mentioned above, I do not seek to offer a technical or detailed chronological account, but rather to trace key themes and developments in late antique martyrology and thereby throw light on broader issues of Christianisation and the roles of narrative and representation therein. Rather than seeking to uncover the historical kernel

4

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

of martyr acts, I take the very process of construction, of fictionalisation, as it were, as its starting point. We need to think of both the construction of martyrs and the construction of Christianisation in terms of, in Brown's words, 'narratives and processes'. 12 I shall seek to show the historical importance and power of martyrological representations, with particular focus on narrative. Christian narratives functioned performatively. Early Christian miracle stories provide perhaps the clearest examples of this. 13 Keith Hopkins has aptly written: 'the mere reading of the story by itself constitutes a repeat performance of the miracle which it records'. Moreover, as he notes, it is much easier to tell a story about a miracle than it is to perform one. However, each time a believer believes the story he or she is told the miracle is '(re)performed. The story is a fundamental part of the belief, and the story performs the miracle.'u Likewise, creating stories, telling stories about martyrs, was much easier than producing live saints. 15 The Christian community hoped to make present the martyr, in the performance of the martyr's story on his or her 'birthday', perhaps on the site of the martyrdom, or at the tomb, over a relic - or even without these things, the story, the prayer, and the commemoration being sufficient. Each re-telling of the martyr's story (re)enacted the martyr's victory, the victory of the Church. Christian narratives were also protreptic in character: they were intended to exhort and instruct. Edith Wyschogrod has described hagiography as 'a narrative linguistic practice that recounts the lives of saints so that the reader or hearer can experience their imperative power' .16 The stories told about saints were meant to act as models for believers. This is made clear in the prefaces to saints' vitae which often exhorted readers and hearers to mimesis, such as the Prologue to the Apophthegmata Patrum (Sayings of the Desert Fathers): This book is an account of the virtuous asceticism and admirable way of life and also of the words of the holy and bleBBedfathers. They are meant to inspire and instruct those who want to imitate their holy lives, so that they may make progress on the way that leads to the kingdom of heaven. 17

There was definitely a place for artistry in hagiographical stories (the 'rhetorical' aspect of narrative), indeed, for the logic of tropology, as, in the words of Averil Cameron, 'The better these stories were constructed, the better they functioned as structure-maintaining narratives and the more their audiences were disposed to accept them as true.' 18 If narrative is a particularly effective medium for the dissemination of ideology, many of our early Christian texts seem to be doing a very good job. 19 Early Christian narratives can be seen as exemplary or didactic, in

1. Introduction

5

that they propose their own interpretation and seek to fix the meaning of the story. Many hagiographical narratives share a high degree of redundancy (produced by repetition), where 'meaning is excessively named' in an attempt to restrict the number of openings, or possible readings of a text, and to impose one, authoritative reading. 20 A 'structure of confrontation' grounds ancient hagiographical texts, masking possible contradictions, and imposing a clear dualistic value system. This binary, diametrical structure is a defining feature of martyr acts. The action, meanwhile, follows a linear course, generally towards a single climax. The intention of the text is to allow for no impartial observers: impartiality is not a narrative option. The action of the text and the martyr's death necessarily involve and polarise. 21 A didactic or exemplary narrative aims to affect the reader, so it is the gap between the world of the text and the world of the reader that is both so elusive and so important. Writing of a genre somewhat different from ours (the roman a these), Susan Suleiman comments on the tendency 'to join the fictional world of the work to the experienced world of the reader, so that one becomes the extension or continuation of the other'. 22 This 'joining' could never be a simple matter: this book will go on to examine the contradictions and problems inherent in the applicability of the world of the martyr text to the post-Constantinian world, especially in the North African context, where martyrs were still a subject of controversy. Christian stories were supposed to have happened in historical time, often specifically and pedantically marked out as such,23 and were also firmly and fundamentally connected to a concept of time which linked this historical chronology with the supernatural past and future. 24 In the post-Constantinian Church, as I shall go on to discuss, we can view this chronological nexus as particularly significant: there was a need to stress continuity with the Church of the past, most strikingly with the cult of the martyrs, whose stories would be told and re-told, time collapsing with the repetition of the acta (repraesentatio ), the martyr evoked again with the celebration of mass at his/her memoria (praesentia). It is the representation rather than the rea/,ity of those designated by the Church as heroes that is at issue here. I take it for granted that, as formulated neatly by feminist art critic Griselda Pollock: 'images and texts are no mirrors of the world, merely reflecting their sources'; to be represented, something has to be 'refashioned, coded in rhetorical, textual or pictorial terms'. Furthermore, representation is a dialectical, dialogic practice: '"articulating" in a visible or socially palpable form social processes which determine the representation but then are actually affected and altered by the forms, practices and effects of representation'. Finally, it 'signifies something represented to, addressed

6

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

to a reader/viewer/consumer'. 25 Relations of power are embedded in our ancient texts and images. Power plays a crucial role in the construction of religion. 26 Key, contingent, oppositions such as 'miracle' and 'magic', 'heresy' and 'orthodoxy' are obvious examples of the role played by authorising discourses in the production of religious meaning. 27 Power and authority are crucial issues in the analysis of the making of martyrs. Traditionally, historians have posited a dialectic, a current of tension, between spiritual power (or charisma) and ecclesiastical authority. (I shall show in what follows that this charisma is, in itself, a construct.) There are the martyrs themselves, both figures of power in their own right, and brokers for the awesome power of God. The power of these figures was something everybody wanted to access and there were various means - prayer, possession of relics, being buried near a martyr, building something in honour of a martyr. Obviously most of these means depended on the possession of economic power and were thus likely to be concentrated in the hands of the few. The power of the martyrs could also be seen as ambiguous even by the established legal Christian Church, which was often eager to make it clear exactly who the proper religious heroes were, and exactly how they should be venerated. More generally again, Christianity transformed ideas of power in the ancient world. Martyr texts re-wrote the scripts of power when recording the interactions between the Roman state and the Christian martyr; they reversed the power equations normally pertaining to the relationship of the authority, monopolising judicial violence, and the victim, the powerless subject of this authority. Another 'power script' that needs to be considered in our analysis, finally, is the presence of the 'I' in the equation: the power of the historian to construct the past. Scope and structure The geographical focus of the book is largely limited to the Latin West, focusing especially on Italy and North Africa, areas that were particularly important for the forging of martyrological representations and are also rich in source material. In terms of chronology, the book begins by concentrating on the forging of martyr identity during the second and third centuries. This focus then largely gives way to concentrate on the hundred and twenty years or so after the Conversion of Constantine. This period is chosen for the striking ferment of activity in the making of the martyrs, the significance and influence of which would be huge. However, given the difficulty of dating much of the anonymous literary and iconographical source material, precise limits are inevitably hard to maintain. As befits this discussion of the Western Church, the sources discussed are mostly Latin, given in the text in English translation, with

1. Introduction

7

the original Latin provided when necessary. Translations are my own unless otherwise stated in the notes. The first substantive chapter, Chapter 2, introduces the history and theology of martyrdom in the first centuries CE, focusing on the construction of martyr ideology and its literature. The following major chapters comprise discrete studies of key themes and episodes relating to the literary and iconographical construction of martyrs. Subjects covered include the role of spectacle and schism in martyr representations (Chapter 3), the importance of suffering in the construction of Christian identity (Chapter 4), the multiplication of martyr narrative brought about by the birth of the cult of relics (Chapter 5), and the interaction of text and images in martyrological representation (Chapter 6). Additional interstitial sections continue the work of close-reading texts and images, this time examining the range of narratives and representations constructing five different martyrs: Cyprian, Marculus, Agnes, Felix of Nola and Laurence. An appendix provides a literature review of the substantial historiography relating to late antique hagiography.

2

A Brief History of Martyrdom The history of martyrdom is one of persecution and of persecution complex. The actual number of those who died for the Christian faith may have been small, but their symbolic importance was enormous. The ideology, or rather ideologies, of martyrdom gathered a momentum that long outlived and eclipsed the realities of persecution. While much of this book is concerned with post-Constantinian constructions, this chapter traces the background of the major themes. Here I shall track the development of discourses, myths and theologies of martyrdom and sketch what we think we know about the persecutions of Christians. As I have already stressed, martyrdom is not a subject that lends itself to positivistic reconstruction. I shall make no effort to attempt to weave differing and often conflicting elements into a coherent 'orthodoxy': this has been done too often in the past and has created a misleading picture. Just as the experience of persecution in the early Church was varied, so too were its discourses.

Where to begin? A history of martyrdom traditionally requires a beginning. Locating this beginning, however, is exceedingly problematic, since the roots of martyrdom continue to be controversial and the debate takes on new contours. As ever, the problem of definition looms large: a more open definition of martyrdom obviously draws a broader history than a narrowly linguistic or apologetic theological designation. I consider this broader approach to be crucial. As I shall show, it is highly misleading to posit one dominant 'orthodox' idea of martyrdom: the concept was fluid, and subject to discursive and institutional pressures. Beginning at the beginning takes us to the continuing debate regarding the origins of martyrdom itself. An exclusively Christian genesis for martyrdom was posited some forty years ago by the influential ecclesiastical historian Hans Freiherr von Campenhausen, in Die !dee des Martyriums in der alten Kirche. 1 The notion of martyrdom as a Christian invention has, however, been rejected by many other scholars: Frend's massive Martyrdom and Persecution in the Early Church, for example, argued strongly for a Jewish background. 2 This approach to

2. A Brief History of Martyrdom

9

martyrdom has generally held sway, although recently Glen Bowersock has reasserted Campenhausen's version of the origins of martyrdom in his Martyrdom and Rome. Bowersock's argument is basically linguistic: the terms 'martyr' and 'martyrdom' do not make an appearance in the technical sense in which they will later be commonly used until the midsecond century, in Christian literature. That is, the Greek word martys kept its original sense, meaning (judicial) 'witness', rather than, specifically, someone who dies as a witness for their faith. 3 According to this argument, the Jews did not develop their own concept of martyrdom until late antiquity. 4 A narrowly linguistic approach is obviously limiting. A functional, rather than a nominalistic definition seems to me to be more helpful. 6 The linguistic definition excludes a number of fascinating texts from consideration - texts that greatly enrich our understanding of martyrdom, texts I will consider below. Equally strikingly, such an approach ignores the permeability of the categories 'Christian' and 'Jewish' in this period, a crucial point established by recent scholarship. 6 If we approach the phenomenon of 'voluntary death' in ancient Jewish texts from a more open perspective, we find much that is compelling. The Hebrew Bible contains the stories of a number of figures that suffered voluntary deaths for religious reasons, with late Old Testament texts showing significant development of the theme. 7 A demonstrable shift can be traced during the Hellenistic period, from the beginning of the second century BCE; the importance of the persecution of the Jews by the second-century Syrian leader Antiochus IV is huge. It is from this time that we can trace notions of transcendence, of cosmic reversal reached through death. Schemes of apocalyptic eschatology offer hopes of resurrection or immortality. If we move on to non-canonical Jewish texts concerned with these themes, we find expressions of a milieu in which Christian ideas of martyrdom could conceivably have surfaced. 8 4 Maccabees is a much commented upon text, although many questions remain regarding its date and place of origin. An early to mid-first-century CE date, however, seems most likely (although recent discussions are dating it ever later), as does a Hellenistic milieu. 9 This text is particularly worthy of attention because it is not just modern historians of martyrdom who have been interested in 4 Maccahees: it was a favourite of the early Church Fathers of both East and West.10 There is a characteristic, recognisable martyrological element to this text despite the absence of the term martyria in its vocabulary.11 As well as graphic descriptions of the tortures of its heroes, such as Christianity would later come to specialise in, 4 Maccabees presents specific discussion of several themes of great significance for the theology of martyrdom. The narrative deals with the Maccabean revolt under the tyrant Antiochus, with

10

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

special focus on the deaths of nine 'martyrs'. This story can also be found in 2 Maccabees, where it is but one part of the history of the revolt; here, however, the deaths take centre stage. The account in 4 Maccabees focuses on the confrontations of the Jewish heroes with the tyrant Antiochus. The first, the old man Eleazar, gives a great display of defiance in defence of the Law and suffers a series of horrific tortures, but manages to speak to God once more before his death. Eleazar asks for his death to be a 'satisfaction' on behalf of his people, praying 'Make my blood their purification and take my life as a ransom for theirs' [6.26-30].12 Next comes the confrontation of a mother and her seven sons: 'handsome and modest and well-born and altogether charming' [8.3-4]. After Antiochus has tried a mixture of persuasion and threats, the sons, speaking as one to the tyrant, announce: 'By our suffering and endurance, we shall obtain the prize of virtue and shall be with God on whose account we suffer. But you, because of our foul murder, will suffer at the hand of divine justice the everlasting torment by the fire you deserve' [9.8-9).

A number of key concepts that would feature heavily in Christian martyrology are present here. There is a concentration on endurance and the language of prizes. Theologically speaking, there is clear expression of the belief that the dead heroes will gain eternity, while the evil persecutor is sentenced to eternal torment, in apocalyptic reversal. Notions of eternal life, as expressed here, were essential for the development of martyrological concepts in Jewish texts. The anonymous author stresses, furthermore, that the martyrs purified their land and became 'a ransom for the sin of our nation' [17.21], that their deaths saved Israel, while they themselves 'were deemed worthy of the divine portion' [18.3]. Here is a theology of vicarious atonement achieved by the righteous who died for their faith. What is more, there is a clear acknowledgement of the special status of the righteous dead. The point is not, surely, whether or not the authors of early Christian martyr texts actually read 4 Maccabees. 13 This cannot be proved. What we do have, however, is a version of a shifting and highly popular story, which seems to point to a milieu and to a religious discourse of which Christianity was also a product. Martyr stories and apocalyptic dualistic themes were seemingly part of this discourse. The history of early Christianity can no longer be divorced from its Jewish roots and this is no less the case with martyrdom than with any other aspect. 14 Placing Christian literature its in broader cultural context, we can examine how Christian writers were also influenced by Greco-Roman ideas about voluntary death. The classical world celebrated a number of

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11

paradigms of noble deaths, the most famous of which, of course, was that of Socrates. There was a broad body of ancient literary and philosophical material ripe for exploitation. With the exception of the Pythagoreans and Neoplatonists, it seems that no ancient philosophical school condemned voluntary death, and there was no general negative term, like suicide, for the practice. 15 Plato's Phaedo is relevant, as a text constantly ref erred to on the subject of voluntary death. It is interesting, however, that Plato's position has often been misunderstood by those who choose to represent Plato as 'unambiguously opposed' to 'suicide' and interpret ancient readings of Plato, such as Augustine's, in these terms. 16 Instead, one can see the importance laid by Plato on the recognition of divine compulsion (ananke), before one can rightfully take one's own life.17 The problem of the correct recognition of this compulsion is one that does not disappear in nine centuries of debate, as we shall see when we come to discuss the controversies surrounding 'voluntary martyrdom'. Christian writers were obviously aware of classical examples of 'noble deaths' and related philosophical discussions. The North African writer Tertullian (c. 150-220? CE), for instance, lists some of the most famous, including the philosophers Anaxarchus and Empedocles, the Roman military heroes Cato and Regulus, and the famous female examples of Lucretia, Dido and Cleopatra. 18 Tertullian also refers to philosophical material extolling these deaths, citing the works of Cicero, Seneca and Pyrrho. 19 While these examples were inevitably adduced as part of a general strategy of one-upmanship (Christian death and suffering are presented as clearly superior), they are nevertheless significant.2() Early Christians had a range of discourses and interpretations available regarding voluntary death and death for one's faith. The early Church did not create martyrdom in a hermetically sealed religious vacuum, but through dynamic interchange.

A history of persecution Attempts to sketch a history of persecution will clearly vary according to perspective. A keen apologist for martyrdom would go back to the Old Testament in order to sketch a master genealogy. In his Scorpiace, Tertullian paints a picture of the Church in which it is clear that persecution was the lot of the righteous from the start, citing figures such as David and Zacharias alongside more obvious cases such as the story of the three youths in the fiery furnace, cases which all represent 'perfect martyrdom without suffering'. 21 Tertullian continues the tour through the New Testament, taking in the Book of Revelation, the letters of Paul and Acts.22 Modern historians, however, tend to distinguish between

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systematic, widespread and concerted persecution and more isolated and temporary actions. They also generally agree that there was no persecution of Christians by the Roman government prior to 64 CE. Persecution of Christians by Jews before this date is a highly vexed issue, with Christian attempts to assign blame to the Jews forming part of a dubious and often deadly heritage. 23 Between 64 and 250 we can point to only intermittent and local smallscale persecutions, conducted by authorities or by popular uprisings, even if some of these persecutions had much wider significance. Symbolically, the persecution of Christians in the city of Rome under Nero in 64 CE was hugely important, for instance. 24 A much cited source for our 'knowledge' of the process of persecution dates from 112 and consists in an exchange of letters between the emperor Trajan and Pliny the Younger, governor of Bithynia at the time, on the subject of the trials Pliny carried out in Pontus. 25 Many of the early martyrdoms seem to have taken place in Asia Minor, like those of Polycarp and Pionios. 26 In the West, the martyrs of Lyons of 177 are a famous example, 27 while from Tertullian it seems that the first Christian martyrdom in North Africa occurred c. 180.28 Decius initiated the first systematic persecution in 250-1, followed by Valerian and Gallienus in 257-9.29 The 'Great Persecution' was initiated by Diocletian in 303; its course varied from East to West. It was ended in the West in the winter of 306-7 by a joint decree of Constantine and Licinius, but persisted in some parts of the East until the defeat of Licinius by Constantine in 324.30 Other key dates include the recognition of the legality of Christianity by Galerius in 311 and the Edict of Toleration issued by Licinius in 313 in Nicomedia. 31 In much of the West, however, the persecution lasted for only two years, up to the accession of Constantius I. In these later persecutions more systematic attempts were made to attack the Church, including attacks on property, literature and Church leaders, rather than just focusing on individuals. 32 This brief description should have made it clear that, although a hardening of attitude can be identified from Decius onwards, there was no uniform experience of persecution in the early Church. There is little that can be said with much certainty regarding these periods of persecution. 33 We can never know how many Christians died in the persecutions, and most of the sources that we have are hardly amenable to quantitative analysis. 34 However, this has not stopped generations of historians labouring through the source material in the search for clarity, with varying degrees of success. To take the classic question, 'Why were the early Christians persecuted?' (as provocatively taken up by Geoffrey de Ste Croix) it soon becomes evident that no clear or uniform answer is possible. We might

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begin to frame an answer in terms of the odium felt by other inhabitants of the empire towards the Christians, but the gap between dislike and full-scale persecution is, of course, substantial. It seems that at first Christians suffered from the suspicion and dislike felt against the Jews, although as they developed a more distinct identity they could then be further disapproved of as having rejected the traditio to which the Jews subscribed. 35 Christians could be feared or hated locally. Ancient Christian sources tell of popular lynchings as well as official crackdowns. Apologetic material tells us that Christians were popularly suspected of a variety of hideous crimes including baby-eating and incest (indeed Tacitus tells us that the Christians were 'hated for their vices'),36 and that at times of natural calamity they were chosen as scapegoats. Tertullian famously claimed If the Tiber reaches the walls or the Nile fails to flood the fields, if the sky stands still or the earth moves, if famine, if plague, the cry goes up 'Christians to the lion!'37

Aside from popular pressure, what did local or imperial government have against the Christians? Perhaps we have been framing the question the wrong way round: Peter Garnsey has suggested that we should not expect to find tolerance. Garnsey comments that 'Roman-style polytheism was disposed to expand and absorb or at least neutralise other gods, not to tolerate them', and claims, further, that systematic persecution was always, at least in theory, an option. 38 In practice, however, systematic and effective persecution could never be achieved, as the Christians themselves would discover when the boot was on the other foot. Various regimes, ancient and modern, have of course sought to impose religious and moral conformity. Scholars looking to understand Diocletian's Edict of 303 have pointed to the strong moralistic and religious basis behind the Tetrarchy. 39 Local persecutions, meanwhile, have been examined in the light of the relationship between central and provincial authorities, with all the tensions and power struggles always inherent in such relationships. 40 While it has often been argued that it was the very success and growth of the Church in the third century that prompted persecution, it can even be argued that the relationship worked the other way around. 41 Ancient Christians, of course, formulated their own reasons for the outbreak of persecution, including ill discipline in the Church 42 and the personal malignity and evil of individual emperors. 43 Should the question be altered? Should we instead ask why so few early Christians were persecuted? We could shift the focus onto the Christians themselves rather than their persecutors. In his 1963 article Geoffrey de Ste Croix stressed the importance of 'voluntary' martyrdom in both

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provoking and intensifying persecution. 44 What is more, as should become clear throughout this chapter, the persecution of the Christian Church was very much a persecution complex. Persecution was constructed, amplified and multiplied through a vast body of material: apologetic, martyr acts, sermons and all manner of treatises which then became accepted as history. It is with this in mind that we should proceed. The making of martyrs

It is impossible to discuss the crucial processes of persecution, the sequence of accusation, trial, tortures and execution, without facing the problem of evidence. The vast majority of our sources describing persecution are Christian tracts, the acta and passiones of the martyrs, produced with a theological and often liturgical purpose in mind. Other Christian sources include the apologetic and exhortatory writings of writers such as Tertullian and Origen. The letters of the African martyr bishop Cyprian, written during the chaos of the mid-third-century persecutions, provide evocative but problematic access to the period. The vast amount of Christian testimony and the near silence of pagan sources on the subject should alert us to the fact that we are dealing with a huge disjunction between different groups' perceptions of history and reality. 46 An authorised version is not going to be plausible. What do we know about what happened in the persecutions; how were Christians persecuted? 46 They could be charged simply for being Christians, 'for the name'. 47 The acid test of performing a libation was employed to demarcate incorrigible Christians/atheists. 48 We are informed about these often mass events in evocative detail in the writings of the polemicists seeking to vilify those Christians who queued up to sacrifice to idols and deny their God or, nearly as bad, to obtain certificates through bribery which asserted that they had sacrificed. 49 It seems that the procedure used against Christians, at least for non-Roman citizens and social inferiors, was that used in the great majority of criminal trials, the cognitio extra ordinem. Under this procedure all that was necessary was a prosecutor, a charge of Christianity and a governor who was willing to conduct the investigation. The cases were directed at sittings by provincial governors or magistrates, dealing with private charges, although they could also proceed 'inquisitorially' without a formal· named accuser and charge, as Pliny sometimes did against the Christians. Christians gave themselves up, were pursued by police, had to offer themselves before prefects to offer libations, were taken by mobs or were reported to the authorities by disgruntled spouses. Arraigned before the appropriate authorities, they were forced to acknowledge the existence

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15

of, and offer libations to, the pagan gods. For this they might receive Zibelli testifying to their libations. (Of course they might also bribe their way to these all-important documents.) If they refused, torture was likely to follow.60 Obviously many Christians cracked under the pressure of torture, although others held firm. Survival of this process led to the ultimate confrontation. Execution followed for the hardened Christian criminal: in our accounts always a public spectacle, usually in a large urban arena, full of elements of theatre. 51 The execution process was designed to debase the victim. Punishments might be chosen that were mockingly appropriate, women were led out barely dressed, Christians were forced to re-enact legendary scenarios. 52 David Potter has commented that 'Those condemned to die became part of the fantasy world which people came to the arena to appreciate. ' 53 Whatever the miraculous interludes that followed, there was only one outcome to an execution: the death of the criminal. The church community would then, to the best of its abilities, take away the body of the victim/hero(ine) for burial rites and veneration. 54 The community now had in its possession and history the starting point for a victorious martyr. According to the ideology of martyrdom, the dead Christian had won, even if the Roman authorities took a different view. What happened to the affected Christian communities at times of persecution? Cyprian's letters provide a fascinating insight into the troubles caused for the Church during these periods. We can read about backsliding and desperate pleas for re-admission, uppity confessors, scandal and slander, and the terrible privations of the imprisoned Christians. Cyprian' s letters, written during the persecutions of the 250s to his clergy in Carthage, confessors in prison, and the Church in Rome, have much to say about the problems of discipline and unity under such desperate circumstances. However, we must always be aware how much the talented writer and politician Cyprian is constructing his own reality in his letters. As I shall show later, Cyprian had his own problems and his own corner to defend and had to define his own position as the traditional one. His vulnerability as a bishop who had fled persecution, and his subsequent need to defend himself against attacks on his actions and position, as well as against the rival authority of the martyrs-elect, deeply condition what he tells us.

The construction of ideologies of martyrdom We can see concepts and theologies of martyrdom growing apace in the second and third centuries as persecution, however distant, began to impinge more and more upon the mentality of the Church. By looking at texts from writers from both East and West whose discourses on

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Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

martyrdom, not always complementary, would be very influential, we can access some key areas of focus. Different texts express enthusiasm for martyrdom, prefer 'spiritual martyrdom', talk about fleeing and lapsing, decry 'voluntary martyrdom' and assert the sacramental status of the martyr. Some modern historians, like the early Church Fathers, have tried, whether consciously or not, to obscure these difficulties, but we need not follow them in their attempts to iron out, smooth over or even obliterate tensions in pursuit of a party line. The variety of experiences of persecution, local traditions, and the polemical concerns of the author all affected constructions of martyr ideology. First, we need to return to the foundations of Christian martyrology. The notion of vicarious atonement (which we saw above in 4 Maccabees) is both a central element of Christian theology and a vital constituent of martyrdom. The transformation of the death of Jesus from a shameful criminal execution to a triumphal act of redemption was one of the major tasks of first-century Christianity (although the success of the claim was by no means universal). The Fourth Gospel in particular stresses repeatedly in its passion account the voluntariness of Christ's death. 55 In one sense, therefore, Christ was the first, archetypal, proto-martyr. The mimetic importance of the martyr acting out the imitatio Christi in his or her own death would be of key importance. The paradigmatic death of Christ was the object of imitation, although Jesus' request that the cup be taken from him and his injunction to his disciples to 'flee from town to town' when faced with persecution, was also problematic for pro-martyr exegetes. 56 The death of Stephen, who later received the title 'protomartyr', and the continuing persecution of the apostles by the Jews in Acts helped create the master genealogy of the suffering Church. 57 Pauline discussion of the death of the Christian is crucial in the history of martyrdom. Paul's famous statement in his letter to the Philippians constitutes a part of the earliest Christian discussion of voluntary death: For to me life is Christ, and death gain; but what if my living on in the body may serve some good purpose? Which then am I to choose? I cannot tell. 58

Although Paul chose life over death at this stage, his preference was clear. Furthermore, Pauline language reverberated across discourses of martyrdom as it did over other aspects of Christianity, with his use of the agon motif being especially influential: For it seems to me God has made us apostles the most abject of mankind. We are like men condemned to die in the arena - a spectacle to the whole universe - angels as well as to men. 59

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We now turn to an important early martyr ideologue, Ignatius of Antioch (c. 35-107?), who gives a vivid flavour of the rhetorical power that could construct martyr mentality. 60 Ignatius, though he does not know the use of the words martyria or martyr in their later senses, nevertheless presents a stunning account of developing themes of martyrdom. He wrote letters to a number of Christian communities, counselling ecclesiastical discipline, and attacking 'heretical' beliefs. The most famous martyr-centred text, however, is his Epistle to the Romans, in which Ignatius urges the community there to make no attempt to save him from his course of martyrdom, and claims to 'lust for death'. 61 Ignatius declares God's wheat I am, and by the teeth of wild beasts I am to be ground that I prove Christ's pure bread. Better still, coax the wild beasts to become my tomb, and to leave no part of my person behind: once I have fallen asleep I do not wish to be a burden to anyone (4.1-2).62

For Ignatius this death is part of the imitatio Christi: it is by dying in this way that he becomes a disciple, in this way that he reaches Jesus (5.3]. We are reminded of the theme of 4 Maccabees, of martyrdom illustrating the victory over the passions, when Ignatius describes martyrdom as killing earthly desires and lusts (7.2.3; 8.1]. The idea of the martyr's death as re-birth arises clearly when he declares 'The birth pangs are upon me' and exhorts his brethren 'do not obstruct my coming to life do not wish me to die' (6.1.2]. The full power of his plea echoed in martyrological texts across the centuries: Fire, cross, struggles with wild beasts, wrenching of bones, mangling of limbs, crunching of the whole body,cruel tortures inflicted by the devil - let them come upon me, provided only I make my way to Jesus Christ [5.3).

Several aspects of Ignatius' letters repay closer reading. There is a striking element of spectacle and stage management in the bishop's martyrial procession from Antioch to Rome. 63 We also can also note the use of athletic imagery, already seen in Paul and 4 Maccabees. Ignatius exhorts his fellow-bishop and martyr-to-be Polycarp: 'As God's athlete, be sober', and tells him 'It is like a great athlete to take blows and yet win the fight'. 64 This emphasis on bodily and spiritual endurance (hypomone), stemming from athletic self-training, comes to be an important feature in Christian texts. 65 The emphasis on bodily suffering in Ignatius' letters is also linked to his anti-docetic polemic. In two of his letters Ignatius attacks docetic beliefs rejecting the physical suffering of Jesus in terms of his own impending suffering. He

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strikingly lays bare the role of religious polemic in justifying one's own ideological position: But it: as some without God, that is, unbelieven, say, His suffering was but a make-believe - when, in reality, they themselves are make-believes - then why am I in chains? Why do I pray that I may fight wild beasts? In vain, then, do I die! My testimony is, after all, but a lie about the Lord! 88

This is far from the only example in which martyrdom becomes the scene for theological or ecclesiological debate. If we now turn to another lustily pro-martyr work we can open up some more key themes and problems. Origen 's Exhortation to Martyrdom, dating from around 235, is a rich t.ext, and Origen's position can be profitably compared with those of his near contemporaries. For instance, his enthusiasm for martyrdom is generally contrasted with the more circumspect view of bis teacher, Clement of Alexandria (c. 150-215).Origen's views are much closer to those of Tertullian, writing in Latin a few years earlier. For Origen, martyrdom is the 'chalice of salvation'. 67 The notion of the martyr's death as a second baptism, a baptism in blood, a crucial theme in martyr-theology, is stressed several times. According to Origen, through a martyr's death we can 'baptise ourselves in our own blood and wash ourselves from every sin'. 68 Tertullian expressed the same idea by writing that martyrdom provided a 'second solace'. 69 The importance of this idea, that martyrdom could wipe the slate clean, led Cyprian to defend 'voluntary martyrdom' for lapsed Christians, on the grounds that only in this way could they atone for their earlier apostasy.70 The sacramental implications of this second baptism caused problems for ecclesiastical authority: did martyr status automatically confer ordination or not? Some traditions held that it did but this was a dispute that was not easily resolved. 71 The idea that the martyr's blood was a ransom for other sinners (as was the blood of Jesus) is made very clear by Origen. 72 This corresponds to the notion of the martyr's death as atoning, already viewed in 4 Maccabees. In this interpretation, martyrdom confers on its sufferer the right to sit and judge with God, rather than be judged by him. It gives the martyr parrhesia before God: freedom of speech, as was enjoyed by Adam and Eve before the Fall.73 Here we have the crux of the intercessory aspect of martyr cult: the ability of the martyr to speak for earthly sinners. This also brings us to the heart of the problem of the martyr's status of authority vis-a-vis the ecclesiastical authorities. When did this atoning and judging parrhesia apply: at the Day of Judgement or from the moment when the aspirant secured bis (or her) fate as martyr-elect? This is a problem, as we shall see, with which Cyprian had to wrestle in

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Carthage, forced to write the script as he went along, while pretending he was not. 74 Thus far, the exalted status of the martyr-elect is only too clear. However, Origen also stresses the need for the martyr to bear witness perfectly in private as well as in public in order to have a holy conscience. 75 Here he touches upon a current of thought that would be used in defining the contours of orthodoxy and heresy: the relationship between 'exterior' and 'interior' martyrdom. Here the discussion of Origen's teacher, Clement, is relevant. In Book 4 of his Stromata Clement attacks his 'Gnostic' opponents, who question the value of martyrdom. 76 In robust polemic he accuses them of having an 'impious and cowardly love of life'. However, Clement goes on to accept a theological basis to their stance: he agrees that true martyria is knowledge and love of God: 77 Clement clearly shares some ground with his opponents. The exterior/interior dilemma was complex. The issue may appear to have been clear-cut for Tertullian when he wrote that a Christian cannot claim to have confessed. Christ ifs/he will not do it in public: 'for a denial is a refusal of martyrdom' (negatio est etiam martyrii recusatio). 78 However, even Tertullian's views on fleeing persecution shifted, if not dramatically, during his career: crudely speaking, from a rigorist to a less stringent position. 79 Moreover, notions about 'interior' or 'spiritual' martyrdom' were retained. and ultimately managed to serve the Church long after the physical version had ceased to be a realistic option, as we shall see in the chapters which follow. The question of 'voluntary martyrdom' arises at this point. While this was an issue of some concern for later ecclesiastical writers and much later historians, it is, as ever, dangerous to read later ideology back into earlier texts. Origen, according to the famous (fourth-century) story, apparently tried to offer himself up to the Roman authorities, only to be thwarted by his mother, who hid his clothes so he could not leave the house.80 Origen, therefore, is the prime example of a heroic would-be 'voluntary' martyr. Clement, on the other hand, is often represented as being totally against this 'voluntary' form, attacking 'those who have rushed on death', and those who in provoking their persecutors become their 'accomplice[s]'.81 We should not forget, however, that Clement's attack is polemical: he is talking about heretics who, according to Clement, cannot be martyrs, whatever happens, because they 'have not known the only true God'.82 Heretical martyrs were derided throughout the histocy of the early Church. 'Voluntary' martyrdom, however, is a complex issue. 'Voluntary' martyrdom is a common feature of martyrology. Martyr acts contain many characters who march into the authorities' offices carcying the scriptures, throw themselves unilaterally onto the pyre, or behave in some other equally provocative fashion. 83 This behaviour· is

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generally cause for praise rather than opprobrium. In the oft-cited Martyrdom of Polycarp, however, there is the famous case of Quintus. This zealous Christian gives himself up voluntarily, and, moreover, forces others to do the same. Ultimately, however, Quintus falls at the final hurdle: he swears by the gods and offers sacrifice. The text's narrator comments: 'This is the reason, brothers, that we do not approve of those who come forward of themselves: this is not the teaching of the Gospel. ' 84 It is actually the problem of failed, rather than voluntary martyrdom that seems to be at issue here; caution is being urged as the prudent course. The issue remains highly problematic: the logic of a position valuing confession and martyrdom, but attacking voluntary death could be hard to sustain. I consider the term 'voluntary' (as opposed to 'involuntary'?) martyrdom, therefore, to be unhelpful and misleading. 85 Martyrdom, we are often told, is God-sent. This point is stressed by Tertullian who established it as the bedrock of his argument that it is wrong to flee from persecution. 86 Cyprian, while lambasting slack clergy, rebellious confessors and the lapsed among his congregation, takes pains to stress that persecution is the punishment of God for the ill discipline of the Church. 87 Persecution is a testing (exploratio), or even, most harshly, just deserts for the sins of the community. 88 Persecution could be ideologically very useful for ecclesiastical claims for discipline and authority. (Although, as we shall see, it could also lead to schism.) Once persecution had arrived, according to Origen, there was a stark choice: martyrdom or idolatry.89 This black-and-white, ultimate eitheror ideology pervades the literature of martyrdom, although it is not difficult to peer between the lines and see the cracks. For instance, if we look at the fates of these theologians of martyrdom, we find that Origen was horribly tortured during the Decian persecutions, but Clement fled persecution. Tertullian, meanwhile, despite expressing perhaps the most famous pro-martyrdom stance, died peacefully in old age. Cyprian's situation is interestingly complex, as we shall see: he 'fled' and lived in exile for some time, a situation that took some pains to justify, but he ultimately became the quintessential African martyr hero. The situation is far from clear-cut. Moreover, in the aftermath of periods of persecution, given the vast numbers of lapsed Christians, the demands of ecclesiastical discipline would necessitate considerable manoeuvring, such as the ranking of levels of apostasy.90 We should not be taken in by a dialectical rhetoric, a deliberately obfuscating ideological construction, which presents us with heroes and villains, conquerors and vanquished.

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Heroes of the Church

It is now time to focus on the figure of the martyr, as constructed in our texts, the hero that I shall be following throughout this book. Even a cursory examination of a selection of martyr acts indicates the dominant characteristics. The martyr could be clerical or lay, young or old, male or female, slave or free. If the martyr was of apparently low status, this fact could be used discursively to good effect. The slave-girl Blandina, one of the martyrs of Lyons, is a case in point. The anonymous author writes that through Blandina: Christ proved that things which men regard as mean, unlovely, and contemptible are by God deemed worthy of great glory, because of her love for Him shown in power and not vaunted in appearance.9 1

Stress is laid on Blandina's being a 'small, weak, despised woman', but she proves stronger than her mistress and becomes a 'noble athlete' and is described as a 'noble mother' sending off her (spiritual) children, in a clear reference to the Maccabeesstory.92 While the heroism of women and slaves can be stressed in descriptions of social inversion, on other occasions it is the very earthly nobility of the martyrs that gives them special status. Origen even tells us that rich martyrs are higher in the pecking order than their poor counterparts as they have 'cut and torn not only the bonds of love for life and body, but also these other great worldly bonds'. 93 The image of the young, noble and attractive martyr is one that proved the most persistent in the late antique 'epic passions' and their medieval successors. 94 The clerical martyr, meanwhile, was especially beloved of the ecclesiastical authorities as providing a 'double whammy' for the Church's calendar of celebration. 95 The martyr is constructed in diametrical opposition to the forces of evil, represented by Roman government and other authority figures. Children disobey their parents and soldiers their superiors in a world turned upside-down. 96 The hero is forceful, rebellious and unyielding under interrogation and torture. In the verbal badinage that takes place between victim and judge, the martyr uses a variety of techniques to get the better of his/her interlocutor. Martyrs can twist the words of their interrogators: in the Martyrdom of Carpus, Papylus and Agathonice, Carpus replies that he is a Christian when asked his name and the deacon Papylus tells the proconsul he has children but is actually referring to his spiritual children. Martyrs can quote the scriptures instead of giving the desired response: when told to sacrifice Carpus gives a stock citation: 'May the gods be destroyed who have not made heaven and

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Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

earth. '9 7 They even laugh in the face of the full weight of punishment. 98 Martyrs also get the chance to deliver extended di&CUssionsof the fallacy of paganism - as does Carpus, leading the proconsul to lament that he has allowed him to babble on for so long. The martyrs speak with striking parrhisia towards the authorities. While much of the martyr's heroic status lies in this rebellious stance and behaviour, his or her attitude towards the ecclesiastical authorities is another matter. Scholars have made much of the visionary authority and autonomy of the famous female martyr Perpetua. 99 However, when her bishop and presbyter throw themselves at the feet of the martyrs-elect, Perpetua responds humbly 'Are you not our bishop, and you our presbyter? How can you fall at our feet?' 100 The relationship between the martyr and the clergy was not always so unproblematic, the proper status of each group not always so apparent. If we return to Cyprian's letters, we can get a fascinating insight into the problematic nature of the martyr's status as hero. The Christians in prison at Carthage are highly important for the local Christian community. The local brethren are flocking to the jail, even when it is evidently dangerous to do so, thus provoking their bishop's pleas for caution. 101 The lapsed members of the community (the cause of much of the problem) could visit with impunity, since they were in possession of the allimportant apostatising Zibelli.Cyprian's circumspection in dealing with the imprisoned members of his flock is striking. It is first evident in his mode of address: he hails the imprisoned Christians as martyrs and confessors (martyribus et confessoribus) and as 'most blessed brethren' (beatissimi fratres).102 Without having died, it is possible to be called a martyr.toa Indeed, we are told that confessors who die in prison before they are tortured 'should be added to the company of the blessed martyrs'. 104 Dead confessors could clearly cause a good deal less trouble than live ones. The presumptuous and arrogant behaviour (from Cyprian's point of view) of the Carthage confessors causes their bishop a great deal of anxiety. However, such is their standing in the community that we can see Cyprian bending over backwards not to insult the confessors, only giving vent to his true feelings regarding their behaviour in a letter to the Roman clergy.106 The crux of the bishop's disciplinary problem is that the 'martyrs-inwaiting' had been issuing multiple certificates of reconciliation to the lapsed. Did the confessors have the sacramental authority to do this? The lack of definition regarding the location of the martyrs' power of forgiveness (as discussed above) could lead to considerable tension. While Cyprian is clearly furious about the confessors' behaviour, the bishop is nevertheless forced to be exceedingly conciliatory towards them, only to receive a terse and imperious reply rejecting his concerns. The confessors' elevated sense of self-worth is confirmed by their collective self-designation as holy martyrs (sanctis martyribus) .106

2. A Brief History of Martyrdom

23

The apparent arrogance of the martyrs-elect is perhaps not so surprising. Cyprian's letters, among other sources, suggest a deeply heroising milieu. The development of martyr cult in the pre-Constantinian Church has been extensively disrussed, but its origins, like those of martyrdom itself; remain controversial. 107 What we know about the practices of the cult in the first centuries is gleaned from both literary and archaeological sources, although it is probably still the case that too much has been inferred from later evidence. 108 Cyprian asks that that he might be informed of the days of confessors' deaths for inclusion in the community's commemorations of the martyrs. 109 When did annual commemoration of the deaths of the martyrs become standard custom? There is no clear answer to this. The Martyrdom of Polycarp apparently provides evidence for this practice as far back as the mid-second century, but we should be suitably sceptical with regard to later interpolations in this text. 110 What happened at these early commemorations? Cyprian writes: ... here in their memory offerings and sacrifices will be celebrated by us (celebrentur hie a nobis oblationes et sacrificia ob commemorationes eorum) which, under God's protection, we shall soon celebrate here with you.m

We might well wish that Cyprian had been more explicit about these 'offerings and sacrifices'. It seems that meals and eucharists were offered at the meetings, clearly developed from the traditional meals of the cult of the dead. 112 Accounts of the passion of the martyr in question might have been read out at the commemoration. Evidence regarding the early circulation of such texts is given in one of Cyprian's letters when he thanks the Roman clergy for sending an account of the martyrdom of Pope Fabian. Cyprian says the letter is a 'distinguished and splendid testimonial' which 'provide(s) us with a model of faith and virtue': while losing a leader can be dangerous, a good death can provide a 'great profit and aid to salvation'. 113 The martyr is the hero, albeit a dangerous one, pitted against the lapsed, the pagan, and sometimes the Jewish villain. The martyr's charisma, itself a clerical construct to a large extent, must be appropriated and moderated by the ecclesiastical orthodoxy. Dead or alive the martyrs are too powerful not to be controlled. The tension is to be seen in the pre-Constantinian Church; later chapters will follow the (never simple) dialectic through the years after the Peace of the Church.

A brief history of the martyr act So what of the martyr narrative itself, our central text: how does it fit into this brief history? As should be clear by now, I am not going to offer a linear history of the martyr text: from historical authenticity to

24

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

embroidered fiction. Several apparently secure methods of classifying texts collapse on closer examination: the distinction between acta and passiones, between 'historical' and 'literary' acts. It is clear that all martyr texts are, in some sense at least, literary products, and that the purported acta format is just one of these literary constructions. 114 The earliest martyr accounts were letters, which owed nothing to the records of the state, and the titles of texts vary from manuscript to manuscript. The performance context of the martyr account, most centrally its elaboration within the liturgy, remains a central consideration for the history of the text. 116 An appropriate starting point is provided by the Marty'IYUJm of Polycarp: the first text in Musurillo's chronologically ordered collection, the 'first' martyr act (dating from c. 165-60, if we take its claims at face value). 116 It takes the form of a letter from the Church of Smyrna and runs to twenty-two chapters. This text is very far from being anything like a commentarius (court record); indeed, as Bisbee commented, even if its original author had possessed such a document, this form 'would have been inimical to the intent of the writer'. 117 Much of the letter is homiletic in style; and it is also polemically anti-'heretic' and antiSemitic in turn. 118 Even were it to be concluded that the Marty'IYUJmwas the un-tampered-with work of a single author, written shortly after the events narrated, 119 this would still not make the text a reliably historical account in the traditional sense. Rather, we should see it as an example of what Judith Perkins has called 'world-maintaining documents, vigorously constructing and projecting a social world' .120 The Marty'IYUJmof Pionios is another 'authentic' text for some, its historicity enthusiastically proclaimed, backed up with epigraphic and other findings, by Louis Robert and Robin Lane Fox.121 What we have here is another long and tendentious text, again bearing no resemblance to a court record, revealing clearly the existence of different recensions which reflect Church debates on Judaising tendencies and the problem of sacrifice. 122 The key Latin martyrological model is provided by the Passion of embedding a_w.u:ported Perpetua and Felicitas, it_strikingly original~. di entry, a mini-a se, visions and miracles. 123 Another North African ex p e, the Acts of the Scillitan Martyrs, purports to represent court records. It appears, in its first recension at least, to be the earliest example of Latin Christian literature. The extant text, however, clearly bears the marks of different recensions: the number of martyrs, for instance, shifts throughout the account, while the proconsul's decision that there should be a thirty-day reprieve is subsequently ignored. Moreover, the didactic and apologetic function of the text is apparent in the dialogue of the martyrs and their interlocutor. 124

2. A Brief History of Martyrdom

25

What this brief survey should make clear is that even allowing for the idea that we have direct access to 'authentic', pre-Constantinian martyr accounts, we still face tendentious religious (indeed liturgical) documents. Comparing the martyr acta with other some other appropriate texts shows the situation even more clearly. One such comparison is the 'pagan' version, the Acta Alexandrinorum, a collection of problematic and fragmentary texts, probably dating from the first century CE, which are clearly tendentious and fictional and point to a context of floating oppositional narratives in which the Christian acts can profitably be placed.125 Telling stories about martyrs in the pre-Constantinian Church was clearly not the same as telling even the same stories about the same martyrs in the Church Triumphant. This does not mean, however, that there is always a clear dividing line between the two praxes. As further chapters examine particular developments in martyr representation the intrusion of the politics of schism, the intensification of violence, or the impact of relic cult - I seek to propose the inherent multi-vocality, the instability of the history of martyrs, their texts, and their Church.

Legacies of persecution The scope of this chapter has been wide, both geographically and chronologically. On the one hand, key elements of martyrology have been traced back to Jewish-Greek contexts, and I have shown that figures as far apart geographically as Tertullian and Origen shared strikingly similar martyr theologies. However, I have also shown that the Christian Church failed to find, let alone impose, consistent 'answers' to key problematics of martyrdom: 'voluntary' martyrdom and the powers and status of the martyrs vis-a-vis the clerical authorities. With the Peace of the Church, the martyrs won and their persecutors lost. Lactantius' On the Death of the Persecutors, written in the immediate aftermath of the Peace of the Church, provides a stunningly unedifying example of revenge mentality, laying out in loving detail the unpleasant ends suffered by those who persecuted the Christians as it sets out to testify to God's revelation of his greatness through the punishment and destruction of his enemies.126 Accounts of the persecutions were incorporated into triumphalist works, most famously in Eusebius' Ecclesiastical History (324 CE), becoming an essential part of the justificatory narrative. The story of the Church was that of a single, divinely favoured body that suffered at the hands of the Enemy, before being allowed to reign triumphant on earth as well as in heaven. Something of an identity crisis also followed the great triumph. Was the newly established Church the same body as the Church of the martyrs? Was the Church still in fact being persecuted: what constituted

26

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

a martyr and what indeed constituted the True Church? The situation was further complicated as the Church itself became a persecuting authority. Ecclesiasts stopped formulating theories of religious toleration as soon as the Church was no longer being persecuted. As we all know, Christian persecution of heretics, pagans and apostates was harsh. 127 This would add extra tension to martyr ideology. Discourses of martyrdom were co-opted, adapted and ignored to fit the new circumstances. All these issues will be faced in later chapters. The immediate legacy of persecution included the problem of the lapsed. They could generally be let back into the fold, appropriately chastened.128 As Keith Hopkins argues, the paradoxical result of the enactment of the ultimate rigorist position - martyrdom - was that the Church was actually able to become a laxer, universal body. The paradigmatic role of the martyr and his or her intercessory power in heaven enabled the majority to regain their place, after a decent interval of penance, in the new Church. 129This is, perhaps, how we should understand the idea that persecution enabled the growth of the Church, rather than taking seriously Christian claims that pagans converted en masse after being impressed by martyrdom. 130Division was certainly one bitter legacy of persecution. In North Africa the Donatist schism followed as a direct result of persecution and the Constantinian settlement. 131 In the fourth century, heroes, villains, and the vast mass of more intermediary figures made up the triumphal state-sanctioned Church. They were the inheritors of the legacy of persecution, its stories and ideologies. As I have shown, this was no uniform legacy, and there was more than one story to be told. The Church and its princes, the bishops, gaining in power, had new interests to defend and new congregations to integrate and discipline. Christians had new freedom and opportunity to develop their devotions, while at the same time they were subject to new ecclesiastical constraints. Martyrs and their texts had new roles to perform in the brave new world - one in which bodily suffering was firmly established as a privileged means of spiritual access. These roles will be traced in the chapters to come.

Cyprian

1

When our ancestors, through veneration of martyrdom itself, attributed so much honour to lay people and catechumens who had achieved martyrdom that they wrote down much or (as I might almost say) everything about their sufferings (passionibus) with the particular result that these people should come to the notice of those of us who had not yet been born, it would certainly be hard that the passion of Cyprian, so great a priest and so great a martyr, should be passed over, who, even without his martyrdom, had much to teach us. 2 Vita Cypriani 1.2

Cyprian of Carthage was undoubtedly one of the brightest stars of the early Church: martyr, bishop, and ecclesiological authority rolled into one. His letters were swiftly circulated and collected and read, his treatises likewise, while his name, and supposed teachings, were called upon by a range of controversialists in their polemics, from the Donatist controversy to the European Reformation. But despite, or perhaps because of, his fame and his prodigious output, what we find, rather than a stable historical figure, is a range of competing Cyprians, clustering around his corpse. Is he coward or hero, father of schism or of orthodoxy, respectable citizen or pagan magician extraordinaire? Cyprian is a crucial figure in this book. AP, bishop and martyr, he both made martyrs and cut them down to size. He helped construct the power of the heroes of the Church, in part through the use of a striking martyrological language. At the same time, as bishop, he was forced to define, circumscribe and, at times, confront head on, this very power. We will see here both Cyprian's self-construction in a rapidly shifting context of crisis and challenge, and his later construction by others, focusing on the dialectical relationship between the bishop and the martyr. We can see Cyprian constructing an 'improvisation of power'. 3 The turmoil and discord caused by persecution, and the actions and reactions of the Church, placed Cyprian in a very difficult position, which required all his skills of negotiation and, indeed, improvisation. A major theme of this bookis the power of narrative to construct and to persuade. Here we see Cyprian and his apologists use narrative to persuade and to construct the bishop and martyr as hero. Cyprian's self-presentation in his letters and treatises is founded upon

28

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

certain key roles: he uses the identities and authorities of bishop, martyr, and visionary. These key roles are not discrete, but overlapping, their relative importance also subject to change according to context. What is crucial in reading Cyprian's works is to recall that he is often writing on the attack, on the defensive, in response to severe streBBor provocation, in situations unforeseen and unforeseeable. It is therefore on the most basic of levels that we can understand his writings as improvisational. It is also in this light that we should respond to the mostly apologetic secondary literature that attempts to argue that Cyprian possessed and proclaimed a consistent ecclesiology,theology, or indeed praxis. 4 What we find, in fact, is Cyprian's improvisation of his authority over and against that of his opponents. In 251 the Christian community at Carthage was breathing a collective sigh of relief in the aftermath of a period of persecution. However, from Cyprian's point of view at least, this community was still in turmoil and the situation was one of disciplinary crisis. By no means all of the bishop's congregation had stood firm when the order had come to sacrifice: some had bribed officials, some had actually sacrificed. To make matters worse, some of the heroes of the day, the 'confessors', had issued certificates of reconciliation, admitting these lapsed Christians back into the community without the authority of the (absent) bishop. Shortly after Easter 251, Cyprian stood before his flock, and delivered a stern and powerful sermon on this situation which has come down to us as the treatise De [apsis ('On the Lapsed'). 5 The bishop begins by thanking God for the restoration of peace, before moving on to the community before him. First he addresses the heroes: 'Our confessors are a joy to look upon, men whose renown is on every tongue, whose courage and faith have covered them with glory.'6 Their power and their emotional hold over the whole Christian community is evoked: 'long have we yearned after them with passionate longing, and we embrace them at last and affectionately impress on them the sacred kiss'. They are described as the 'bright army of the soldiers of Christ' (militum Christi cohors candida): 'Valiantly you resisted the world's attack; to God you offered a glorious spectacle, to your brethren an example to follow' [2].7 After the heroes Cyprian turns to the good (the stantes: those who stood firm) and then the bad (the lapsi). The horrors of the blasphemy of the lapsed are evoked in colourful terms: some of the lapsi are described as rushing to sacrifice without any compulsion [7], running to the altar which was more like a funeral pyre [8]. More terrible still, some encouraged each other in this terrible sin [9]. Horror stories of God's revenge on the lapsed come later in the sermon, such as the tale of a woman who, having sacrificed, became her own executioner (ipsa sua carnifex extitit), when, struck dumb and

Cyprian

29

seized by convulsions, she bit her own tongue to pieces, choked, and died [24]. As if this were not bad enough, a new evil has arisen within the community, 'an innocent seeming pestilence, which masquerades as compassion'. This new evil is as horrible as what has gone on before because now, says Cyprian, 'People coming back from the altars of Satan approach the Lord's sacred flesh, their hands still foul and reeking' [15]. That is, the dubiously reinstated lapsi are taking communion. The debate over the power, or lack of it, of the martyrs-elect to reinstate the lapsi into the Church constituted a running battle for the bishop. He needed clearly to delimit the respective powers of ecclesiasts and martyrs. 8 After building up the heroes of the Church, Cyprian goes on to set the record straight. He is not, he says, calling into question the power of the merits of the martyrs, but stressing, crucially, that this power will only have its effect 'when the day of judgement comes, when after the passing of this present world, Christ's flock stands before His tribunal' [17].9 The martyr's desire, the bishop says, will be carried out only if it is in accordance with the Law of God. Moreover, Cyprian says that the bishop will know whether or not this is the case: 'if their behest is not written in the Law of the Lord, we must first know whether what they ask for has been granted to them by God'. It seems that after the martyr has made his request for readmission (assuming of course, 'that the petitioner observes a becoming modesty (religiosa moderatio)'), the bishop will receive direct assurance from God as to the value of the martyr's petition [18]. Cyprian reminds his congregation further: 'not every request is settled by the merits of the petitioner, but ... lies at the discretion of the giver' [19]. The martyr's powers are thus clearly defined, at least for the time being. It is easy to trace the tensions in Cyprian's dealings with the star members of his flock. His own ambiguous status did not help him solve his problems with Church disciplina. 10 Although Cyprian was to become one of the most famous martyrs of the Church, this heroisation was not easily won. One year before the De lapsis sermon, in 250, Cyprian had been on the defensive, having fled persecution and gone into hiding. In his Ep. 20 he gave an account of himself to the clergy in Rome, against the accounts of his detractors. (He says he has heard that they have received inaccurate reports so is setting the record straight: this includes sending copies of thirteen letters written to his flock in Carthage.) 11 He will write, he tells them, of 'our conduct, our maintenance of [Church] discipline, and our zeal' .12 First he reminds his readers that he has been proscribed by the authorities, how from the start 'the people clamoured for me violently

30

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

and repeatedly' .13 This story serves a dual rule: as well as providing a justification for his actions, it also stresses his divinely chosen status. (Elsewhere Cyprian describes pagan hostility as 'attesting to the good favours of the Lord'. 14) The bishop and self-defender assures his readers that he left Carthage thinking of his brethren rather than his own safety: his fame is such that his presence in the city would only aggravate matters. 'I followed the directives and instructions of the Lord and withdrew for the time being. I was thinking not so much of my own safety as the general peace of our brethren. ' 16 Elsewhere Cyprian assures his readers even more directly that he will return from hiding if he receives personal signs from God that this is what he should do, thus emphasising both his close personal relationship with his Father and that his retreat is God's will.16 The bishop's position in hiding made his status in the Church vulnerable, due, ironically, to the atmosphere of competitive suffering and heroism he himself had helped create. What was he to do? One strategy available to Cyprian was to link himself with the glory of the martyrs by association. In Ep. 28 Cyprian declares himself to be a party in honour and glory with the Roman confessors: 'In your honours even we are partners; your glory we reckon as our glory.' 17 In Ep. 13 he goes so far as to claim that 'In general rejoicing the bishop has the largest share, for the glory of the Church is the glory of its leader.' 18 Cyprian's correspondence with confessors is significant in establishing ties; the mutual flattery sustains status for both parties. Furthermore, when under attack Cyprian is able to stress the support he has received from martyrs. 19 Cyprian's final letter, Ep. 81, written to his Carthage congregation as he has fled persecution yet again, presents him as bishop-martyr elect; it is a powerful self-apologia. The bishop begins by explaining why he went into hiding: it was so he could confess before his flock and thus bring them glory. At the moment of truth he will speak under inspiration and it is his congregation who will reap the benefit: For whatever a confessor-bishop speaks at the very moment he confesses his faith, he speaks under the inspiration of God (aspirante Deo) and as the mouthpiece of all.20

Cyprian is presenting himself not just as a martyr but as a bishopmartyr. 21 He will speak under God's inspiration, and will speak for all.22 If martyred elsewhere, away from Carthage, the glory of his congregation would be lost. The bishop's desire is to suffer, to confess, in the midst of the flock; this is what he prays for, this is what he longs for, 'both on my account and yours'. Meanwhile, he tells us, h'e is waiting, at God's will. Cyprian's own words run out at this point and we must turn to martyr-

Cyprian

31

ologists, biographers and controversialists to see what happened next. Acts were produced, probably shortly after Cyprian's death; extant today are the Acta Proconsularia and a Donatist version. More interesting for several generations of scholars, however, is the Vita Cypriani, allegedly written by an eyewitness, Cyprian's deacon, named by Jerome as Pontius. 23 Controversies surround this text regarding its originality, genre and influence, all troubled subjects in the murky world of early Christian literature. 24 Dating the text is also difficult: the language is highly and deliberately Cyprianic, which makes judgement on stylistic grounds dubious. What is obvious, however, is the Vita's genesis in a North African background: the milieu that produced the Passio Perpetuae and its derivatives. 26 This was a tradition not without its tensions. The opening of the Vita, quoted above, reveals its theme clearly. The author observes that when even lay people and have been honoured for their martyrdoms, Cyprian, priest as well as martyr, cannot be left out (1.2]. The Vita represents, at least to some extent, the clerical response to lay heroisation, the ecclesiastical defensive.26 The bishop cannot be outshone by lay heroes. A bishop is bound to make the best sort of martyr. The Vita Cypriani is a highly apologetic text. 'Pontius' explains away irregularities in the bishop's career, and smoothes away its problems. Cyprian's hasty ordination and his flight from persecution are the major issues to be justified; 27 other instances of discordance are simply left out of the account. There is no mention of the strife within the Carthage congregation, or of the dispute with the Roman clergy. Rather, Cyprian is presented as a restorative doctor, steering the middle path through schism [8]. It is necessary, of course, that Cyprian star as the hero of his own vita. Although we are told that the bishop influences other martyrs and confessors who later follow his example, none of them appear; Cyprian's position in the vanguard is secure. Bishop and martyr are as closely allied in the Vita Cypriani as in Cyprian's own letters. The managing of the bishop's martyrdom is set in pastoral context. The delays, we are told, were to enable the discharging of pastoral responsibilities T7-8; 13]. While preparing to die Cyprian is represented teaching and exhorting; his greatest wish, we are told, was to be put to death in the act of preaching (14].28 His death is a sacerdotal sacrifice, provides a model of discipline, and is shared, in some sense, by his congregation (15; 17]. He is the first African bishop to die a martyr [19.1]. Cyprian was a towering figure for African Christians. Our textual sources tell us that ordinary Christians venerated him with special fervour.29 In the field of material culture, although the epigraphic record is strikingly lacking, we know of several Cyprianic cult sites. There were two basilicas in Carthage associated with Cyprian's martyrdom: one at

32

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

the site of his martyrdom, at the Ager Sexti, the other, containing his tomb, on the Via Mappaliensis. Augustine preached on several occasions in both these locations and also mentions another site, also in Carthage, the memoria 'beati Cypriani.30 Cyprian's legacy to the African Church was not simple. Monceaux concludes that the martyr-bishop of Carthage was 'not only the leader, but the soul, almost the conscience' of third-century Christian Africa.31 However, it is clear that the end of persecution divided both the soul and the conscience of the African Church. The figure of Cyprian provided no centre, no solace, but was used insistently, somewhat pathetically, as an authority by both sides in the controversy. Was Cyprian the father of Donatism, as Donatist authors claimed and their Catholic opponents so vehemently denied? 32 Donatists and Catholics seem to have had their own versions of his Acta, their own collections of his writings. 33 Among the range of theological works that borrowed his name were those arguing directly opposing positions. 34 Cyprian's Nachle'ben was to take a further twist, as his letters and his fame spread across the seas. 35 His cult spread across both East and West, bridging the Latin/Greek divide. What we now find is the puzzle of the two Cyprians: a case that has exercised much scholarly head-scratching. In two texts, an oration by Gregory Nazianzen, and a poem in Prudentius' Peristephanon, Cyprian undergoes a strange transformation. 36 The renowned bishop of Carthage is seemingly fused with a namesake, Cyprian of Antioch, pagan magician turned bishop, a figure who has his own discrete hagiographical tradition even if little respect for his historical person in the eyes of most scholars. 37 Both Prudentius and Gregory recount the tale of how a young magician used spells to seduce women, before undergoing a dramatic ascetic conversion (the story of Cyprian of Antioch). Both Prudentius and Gregory praise his eloquence, and speak of his many writings (this time surely, Cyprian of Carthage). What is going on?38 What the composite Cyprian seems to highlight, especially clearly, is the necessarily constructed nature of the religious hero. 39 Therefore to posit a material opposition here between a real Antiochene Cyprian (or even a mythical one) versus a real Carthaginian Cyprian is missing the point. Cyprian has been something of test case here, to demonstrate the layered constructedness of religious heroes, in this case performed by Cyprian himself, as well as by others. What my survey has lacked, however, is the voice of his detractors: Cyprian triumphed in his struggles. However, even his powerful rhetoric could not control the stories that were told about him, the ideas that were assigned to him, from beyond the grave. Part of the problem in the sectarian battle for Cyprian was that had matters moved on since the third century: the Christian

Cyprian

33

world at the turn of the fifth century was a very different place.40 This book sets out to examine how the post-Constantinian Church employed its heroes from a very different world, and constructed them to fit the present one. It is here that I wish to leave Cyprian, the powerful contested martyr bishop, and move on to the perf ormative, competitive world of martyr text and context in the North Africa of Augustine, his colleagues, and his opponents.

3

Performing Texts: Martyrs and Spectacle in the North African Liturgy Roman culture placed a premium on the spectacular. Archaeology, images and texts all testify to this, from the 'dangerous games' of the amphitheatre, to the colours and sounds of religious processions. Two famous ancient texts, which share an ambivalent relationship to truth and fiction, present particularly interesting spectacular episodes: the Metamorphoses of Lucius Apuleius, and the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas. In the first the narrator evokes a splendid theatre scene where a woman is to have sex with a donkey.1 In the second the narrator evokes the slaughter of two young women by a wild cow, in front of an audience ofthousands. 2 The first scene, as we know, comes from an ancient novel, but the second scene was narrated, evoked and developed in the course of the performance of Christian liturgy. What these texts demonstrate very clearly, apart from the difference of Roman predilections from those of our culture, is the power of spectacle. Christianity had a formidable enemy in the profane and often obscene spectacles offered to the faithful and non-faithful alike. However, especially at the hands of skilled presenters, the Church was not slow to develop its own spectacular alternatives. The stories of the martyrs, as we shall see, offered prime material for liturgical performance. Attempts were made to create a new world of performance that could replace the profane world of entertainment. Looking at the most striking martyr literature, one is almost tempted to forget that on a Sunday morning in a decent-sized town, as hundreds of the faithful listened to their preacher, many thousands of the not so faithful continued to enjoy more traditional diversions. This chapter will propose a context (or rather contexts) for the performance of the acta and passiones of the martyrs. It will show, furthermore, how both text and 'context' played a vital role in the process of Christianisation. Christianisation comprised external processes and events such as anti-pagan legislation, the destruction of temples and the display of Christian inscriptions, but also had to be written (and painted, inscribed, built, and ritually enacted): it had to be represented. The (re)enactment of the triumph of Christianity was relentlessly performed through a calendar stuffed full of martyrs. This

3. Performing Texts

35

(re)enactment or performance played a crucial role in enabling the construction of Christianisation. What is more, the very concept of martyr material constituting performance, or spectacula, and· the significance and use of this idea, as we will see, was important for writers and preachers in this crucial period for the development of martyr cult.

Martyr cult in North Africa When dealing with North Africa, the specific historical situation is crucial: the cult of the martyrs cannot be considered without reference to Donatism. The Donatist schism and its history crucially affected the place of martyrs and their narratives in the African Church. The history of the schism is complex and the bibliography extensive, with historians continuing to debate the nature of the schism: was it political, social, national, religious? 3 What is crucial is that the divide had its roots in the Great Persecution of Diocletian and that persecution and martyrdom were central topics in the polemic between the opposing camps. A very brief account of the history of the schism can be offered as follows. A disputed election to the bishopric of Carthage in 311 led to institutional schism and the first (unsuccessful) imperial intervention in 312. Periods of imperially backed repression of the Donatists (as in 317-21 and 346-8) were sandwiched between much longer periods of more or less uneventful co-existence. The final 'official victory' of the Catholics was

MEDITERRANEAN

SEA

Cl)

uj

zw

I

MAURETANIA SITIFENSIS

NUMIDIA

PROCONSU Bulla ReglJ

~ ~

z

~ !i

i

Fig. 1. Martyr cult in North Africa at the time of Augustine

BYZACENA

36

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

won in 411 after the Conference of Carthage, but inevitably this date does not provide a clean or clear end to the dispute. The Donatists claimed to be the true African Church, the Church of the martyrs. 4 They branded the Catholics traditores (traitors), forever tainted by the handing over (the etymological connection is important: tradere means to hand over) of the Holy Scriptures. They claimed superbishop and super-martyr Cyprian as their forefather, as did the Catholics. The Donatist 'holy cities' of Thamugadi and Bagai had huge basilicas with shrines and a hostel for pilgrims. The countryside of the Donatist stronghold of Numidia was dotted with shrines of 'official' and 'unofficial' martyrs. The shadowy Donatist extreme wing, the Circumcellions, seem to have led an existence of perpetual pilgrimage, going from shrine to shrine, devoted to martyrdom, for which they prepared with ascetic and communal practices. 5 Donatist martyr texts constitute an important corpus, including Donatist versions of pre-Constantinian acts as well as the passions of exclusively Donatist saints, which date to the late fourth/early fifth centuries. 6 It is the latter texts that give us the most vivid insights into Donatist mentality and the battle between the two Churches, fought in the arena of martyrdom. Looking more generally at martyr cult in North Africa, we can turn to early calendars and martyrologies for an obvious starting point from which to establish the extent and shape of liturgical martyr cult in the post-Constantinian period. 7 They show very clearly the phenomenal growth in the martyr business. The earliest surviving martyrological calendar, dating from mid-fourth-century Rome, consists of thirty-six feasts, of which twelve are of bishops and twenty-four are of martyrs (a crucial linkage). 8 The earliest eastern martyrology, from fifth-century Syria, however, contains over one hundred and sixty feast days. From North Africa we have the calendar of Carthage, dating from the early sixth century, which has sixty-nine, including those of bishops and biblical saints as well as martyrs. If we look at August, one of the fullest months of the year, we find the feasts of nine martyrs or groups of martyrs, including local and international saints, such as the African martyrs of Massa Candida, the Roman martyr St. Laurence and the mime artist martyr Genesius. August also includes the feast of the Maccabees, firmly co-opted for Christianity, and an episcopal celebration. Augustine refers to the problem of possible overkill in the number of martyrs' feasts in the calendar when addressing a bored and restless congregation in Carthage on St. Laurence's natalis (10 August). He comments that some martyrs' days have to be more important than others, as there cannot be fervent celebrations of all martyrs everywhere because then there would not be a day in the year without one. He acknowledges that this would induce boredom, whereas intervals in between feasts 'renew affection'. 9

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Calendars alone can only give us a very incomplete notion of the range of martyrs who were honoured, however.10 Ecclesiastical calendars contain 'official', Catholic saints, and North Africa produced many others of the 'unofficial' variety. Study of archaeological and epigraphical evidence has produced a bewildering array of martyrs, some of whom can barely be identified. 11 Examination of the epigraphical evidence reveals a far wider-ranging cult than would otherwise be accessible. It also shows how different forms of cult influenced each other: for instance, Yvette Duval notes the echoing of the literary tradition in the development of martyrial epigraphy. 12 However, 'matching' the martyrs known from one form of source material to another can be a fruitless task. 13 Unfortunately, it is really only in the cases of a few saints that we can clearly match up calendar, acta, cult-site and sermon, as with Cyprian and Stephen, both discussed elsewhere in this book. What went on at the martyrs' feast days? The celebrations began with the night-time vigil, preceding the feast day proper. We get an insight as to what could go on at such events from the disapproving comments of the Bishop of Hippo. Augustine delivers several harsh attacks on behaviour on these occasions: dancing, singing and drinking were all frowned upon. 14 The bishop's most intriguing discussion of dubious behaviour at martyr vigils comes, however, in a description of his own youthful indiscretions: When I went to vigils as a student in this city [Carthage], I spent the night rubbing up against women, along with other boys anxious to make an impression on the girls, and where, who knows, the opportunity might present itself to have a love-affair with them.1 5

Attempts to put an end to such behaviour indeed appear to have constituted a key pastoral concern. 16 On the feast day itself, a service was held either in the appropriate, special cult site or in the main basilica. The reading of acta and passiones read as part of the liturgy is a vexed issue for the Western Church as a whole: our evidence tends to be inconclusive, and it seems likely there was variance in accordance with local practice. 17 Fortunately, for North Africa we have clear provision in the canons of the Council of Hippo of 393, reiterated at Carthage in 397: 'For it is permitted that the passions of the martyrs are read when their anniversaries are celebrated. ' 18 What is more, as we shall see later, Augustine sometimes makes direct, checkable references to these readings. 19 We know the reading took place before the sermon, sometimes replacing the Old Testament reading, and thus belonged to the part of the service open to catechumens as well as baptised Christians. We also know that the names of martyrs were inserted in the eucharistic prayers; in this way

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the Church commended itself to their intercession. 20 The liturgy played a key role in the formation and redaction of martyr te:xts.21 Augustine's sermons, given after the readings of martyr acts, form a major focus of this chapter. A large number of these homilies survives and they provide a key source of evidence for North African martyr cult. 22 Martyr feasts were clearly occasions worthy of a sermon, and the number of Augustine's special Enarrationes in psalmos given on these days suggests his concern to make the service especially impressive. 23 While, understandably, much work has been undertaken to determine the date and location of Augustine's sermons as originally preached, my approach to their performance is a little different. 24 First we must accept that the sermons had an afterlife: they could have been preached, and indeed read, at different times and locations. Secondly, I consider that the process of dating Augustine's sermons has been bound up in the construction of a narrative of Christianisation that owes little to 'hard evidence'. In this way, sermons that refer to pagan practices (without any other contributing factors) are dated 'early', on the assumption that anti-pagan legislation and the Church's own measures must have been effective. Nevertheless, where appropriate I shall seek to fix particular sermons to crucial external events. Finally, the material setting of the liturgy is also important. The archaeology of martyr cult, although never as eloquent as we might desire, gives us some pointers as to what made up the greater landscape of the cult site, which helped shape the martyr celebrations taking place there. Martyrial liturgy was performed in a variety of settings, as well as the major basilicas. One possibility was the martyr's 'own' dedicated basilicas: the huge basilica of St. Salsa at Tipasa is the striking example.25 We also know of smaller shrines and memorials set up by a combination of ecclesiastical and lay initiative, often designated by the evocative but imprecise term memoria.26 How were these cult spaces decorated? Inscriptions were clearly an important part of the decoration and could clearly act as an aid for both teaching and devotion: Augustine tells his congregation to go and see the verses he has had erected in his chapel of St. Stephen, and to let this room serve as their book.27 The mosaic decorations of North African ecclesiastical buildings are well known, although the iconography is largely limited to decorative and stereotypically symbolic motifs. 28 Figural iconography is largely lacking, and we find nothing to compare with the martyrial iconography discussed in Chapter 6 below.29 Having briefly sketched the outlines of martyr cult and practice in the period, I shall now move on to discuss in greater detail the role played by martyr narratives.

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Narration and interpretation As I have already shown, we are dealing with a period where there was an

explosion in the production of martyr narrative. When we start to look more closely at this literature, its strongly intertextual nature is immediately apparent. The endless repetition of motifs, tropes and story lines is a striking characteristic. In fact, the essentially, indeed paradigmatically repetitive character of hagiography is crucial. As with so many genres, the audience or reader always knows what to expect in martyr acts, and much of the effectiveness of the text and the pleasure of the audience comes from this very repetition. 30 Variation comes in the arrangement of events or in small details; tension is built up by intensification of these elements. 31 The sameness of these texts, deriving in part from oral traditions and textual borrowings, is also due to the notion of the Christian life as an imitatio Christi. Like the passion of Christ, that of the martyr leads portentously towards its inevitable conclusion. Acta, simpler forms of narrative than the later vitae, can be termed 'centripetal', generally being premised on strict binary oppositions, on diametrical contrasts, and moving in a straight line towards a single climax.32 This centripetal action pulls in the observers, allowing no impartiality, defending and reaffirming central belief tenets through its dramatic construction. The affirmation of the Christian faith in the courtroom scene, which formed the basis of the most of the earlier acta, provides a dramatic climax, seals the fate of the martyr and identifies the Christian community and its opposition to the pagan world. The confessional statement also fulfils an important didactic and paraenetic role in the liturgy.33 By looking at one martyr narrative in more detail we can see more clearly how these elements worked. The Passion of Bishop Fructuosus has come down to us in what is probably a fourth-century version, known to Augustine, as we shall see. The story begins, as it so often does, with an arrest: of the bishop, Fructuosus, and his deacons, Augurius and Eulogius. Fructuosus is immediately marked out for us as a sympathetic hero when we are told how he goes out to meet his persecutors wearing his slippers. He asks if he might put his sandals on before he goes before the governor. In prison Fructuosus seems already to have achieved the martyr's state of grace: he is calm, and happy that he is soon to receive his crown, and the other Christians in prison acknowledge his blessed status. 34 On the following day the bishop goes before the governor, whereupon he is immediately made to identify himself as a Christian and as party to Christ rather than to the orders of the emperor. Fructuosus' deacons follow his lead and confess his God. The chapter ends with the sentencing of the Christians to death. It is now that the narrative slows down, as Fructuosus is suspended at

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the threshold of the amphitheatre. Suspense is maintained, but at the same time it is made clear that the bishop's status as martyr is already secure. The element of imitatio Christi is clear: there is an almost explicit analogy when the saintly bishop is offered a cup of drugged wine, which he refuses. Touchingly, as he arrives at the amphitheatre one of his deacons tearfully begs to remove the bishop's shoes, but Fructuosus insists upon doing it himself. 35 Fructuosus begins the next chapter still at the amphitheatre's portal, as the time draws near. He speaks to console the brethren who pray joyfully. The bishop and his deacons meet their death in the flames, in the presence of the Trinity, praying together. The text's author does not neglect to make a comparison with the three Hebrew youths in the fiery furnace, a popular Old Testament exemplar for martyrdom. Fructuosus ascends to heaven with his companions, as seen by his brethren in a vision. Miracles follow which confirm the divinely approved status of the bishop and the condemnation of his persecutors. Fructuosus makes a mocking appearance to the governor Aemilianus in another vision. The text ends with edifying words about the blessed martyrs who stand in heaven, evidently waiting to aid and receive the faithful. Augustine's sermon on the Fructuosus narrative provides a good example of dramatic development of a martyr text. We can see how while the account provided crucial raw material, the reading of a skilled exponent could take it in new directions. In the account proper, much of the dramatic tension might be thought to lie in the way the martyr's death is anticipated yet delayed. Augustine's dramatic concern, however, is with the interrogation scene, which might otherwise seem to be brief and unremarkable, although it does contain an early example of a martyrological joke: Amelianus, the prefect, said to Fructuosus 'Are you a bishop?'; Fructuosus said 'I am'; Aemilianus said 'You were'. 36

Augustine reminds his congregation of what they have heard: You heard the interrogation of the persecutor, you heard the replies of the confessors when the passion of these saints was read out.

He then rhetorically questions them as to what they heard in this interrogation scene: What was that remark of the blessed bishop?37 As well as questioning the congregation, the martyr himself could be

further interrogated in the course of the sermon. For instance, in a

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sermon on some unnamed martyrs, Augustine uses the tactic of rhetorically questioning the martyr, and providing the reply; he interrogates the martyr as to his apparent disdain regarding his bodily torture and death. 38 It is of course not unusual for Augustine to pick upon a section of a text for emphasis, nor is this form of rhetorical questioning new. However, dramatic speech qualities of the acta do seem to have lent themselves especially well to this form of exposition and to the context of Augustine's surroundings. In her stimulating discussion of the martyr acts, Alison Elliot described their binary form and positive ethos as particularly suited to a polarised society set on conversion or conquest, and notes that their appeal increased in medieval Europe at the time of the Crusades. There is no middle ground available for the audience to occupy: the martyr disassociates him/herself diametrically from pagan culture in embracing Christianity. 39 Looking at the context of early fifthcentury North Africa, we quickly realise that polarities here are constructed rather than apparent: they need to be performed. Through the use of dichotomies and parallels in his sermons Augustine aims to delineate the two worlds, the Christian and the profane, which for his listeners were still so indistinctly bounded. 40 The martyr's words in the interrogation scene have an important dramatic and didactic function: words are directed beyond their seemingly intended receiver within the text to the audience beyond. 41 In the passio, Fructuosus affirms that 'I worship the one God who has made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them', while his deacons state that they do not worship Fructuosus, but his one god.42 In his sermon, Augustine returns to the deacons' reply, repeating the question and answer and expounding further: 'In this way he admonished us to honour the martyrs, and with the martyrs to worship God'. 43 Further on in the Fructuosus sermon we find Augustine re-delineating the difference between martyrs and pagan gods, and attacking people who worship the martyrs instead of God. He wants to make it clear that offerings placed at the memoria,e of the saints are for God alone; he uses the example of Paul and Barnabas in Lystra to back up his point about the difference between martyrs and gods. 44 The sermon also contains a robust attack on the pagan gods: Jupiter, Hercules, Neptune, Pluto, Mercury and others are all listed, only to be branded dead men! 45 The bishop is seeking to stop any instance of what he sees as the blurring of pagan/Christian boundaries as his final exhortation makes only too clear: 'Therefore, most beloved, venerate the martyrs, praise them, love them, proclaim them, honour them: worship the God of the martyrs. '46 The use of direct speech helps Augustine to affirm the proper role of the martyr in a monotheistic system to his congregation who he sees to be in danger of slipping into polytheism. Rhetorical impact can be added

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through the repetition of speech. It is clear that speech in the martyr acts could be a powerful tool for exposition, for confirmation and definition of the faith. Its development in the martyr sermon played an analogous role. Now I will consider the dramatic potential of the acta as a whole. The most striking aspect of the acta as drama is the frequent reference to them as spectacula. Augustine's analogy of the act of reading/listening to the martyrs' passiones to spectare, to looking and watching, is not to be dismissed as a mere verbal tic; we can relate it to a tradition which he would develop distinctively. When Augustine says of the account of the Maccabees, 'A great spectacle has been set before the eyes of our faith' (Magnum spectaculum positum est ante oculos fidei nostrae) and 'When the passions of the martyrs are read, I am spectating' (Quando leguntur passiones martyrum, specto), we must place these expressions firmly in the tradition of the ongoing battle of the Church against the spectacula to which so many 'Christians' remained so firmly attached. 47 Performance: pulpit versus arena The tradition of ecclesiastical raging against spectacles was strong in the African Church, beginning with Tertullian, continued by Novatian, and then by Augustine, and in due course by Quodvultdeus. 48 The heart of the traditional argument against the theatre was that, as formulated by Novatian, 'Idolatry is the mother of all the spectacles' (Idolatria ... ludorum omnium mater est).49 For Tertullian this idolatria was a perversion of the true world, and theatre-going by baptised Christians thus an abuse of creation, even an act of apostasy.60 Even ignoring the pagan cultic origins of the theatre, the obscene and violent goings on were considered to be highly damaging to the mortal soul of the Christian; thus Quodvultdeus implored his congregation, 'Flee the spectacles, beloved, flee the shameful lairs (cavea) of the devil, lest his malignant chains hold you fast.' 61 In the City of God Augustine engages in antitheatrical polemic, attacking again the obscenity of the theatre and the hypocrisy of the Romans' contradictory attitudes towards actors. 62 Augustine, of course, had a particularly vivid knowledge of the kind of chains that could keep one going back to the theatre, acknowledging his youthful dramatic passion in the Confessions.63 A range of evidence testifies to the survival and appeal of the spectacles in late antiquity, in North Africa in particular. 64 As well as literary testimony there is a host of archaeological artefacts from late Roman North Africa. Figural imagery depicting scenes from the amphitheatre ranges from costly private mosaics, through ivory consular diptychs to cheap mass-produced terracotta items. 66 For instance, fourth-century African lamps provide many examples of depictions of chariot racing,

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venationes and, particularly interesting in our martyr context, damnatio ad l>estias.56 Augustine was not the first to realise that if one were to forbid Christians from attending the spectacles, alternatives must be offered. Novatian offered better entertainment in the afterlife (if one could wait that long).57 The dramatic development of the liturgy in the Eastern Church has also been discussed in the light of the campaign against the theatre. 58 It is in Augustine's sermons, however, that we first see a full development of the idea of meliora spectacula. Augustine's sermons offer plenty of evidence for direct competition between Church and theatre. Congregations are lambasted for their theatre-going, the small number of worshippers on days of spectacles is bemoaned, and those present are exhorted to spread the word to their absent brethren. 59 Such complaints are more frequent in Carthage, a city with an amphitheatre, circus and ordinary theatre, than in Hippo where it seems there were not so many amusements to prohibit. 00 Theatre-going by Christians seems to have constituted something of a burning issue in Carthage, at least during the summer of 401. The Carthage synod of June 401, at which we can fairly safely assume Augustine was present, concerned itself with spectacles, wanting them banned on Sundays and feast days.61 Later that same summer, while still resident in Carthage, Augustine used the opportunity of the feast-day of St. Cyprian (14 September) to fulminate against the indecency of the theatre. 62 However, Augustine's comments on the theatre are not restricted to prohibition and vilification; he develops the idea of heavenly spectacula and exploits the dramatic potential of the martyr acta to creative effect. 63 lfwe return to Augustine's comparison ofreadingacta to watching a spectacle, we find one of his favourite themes, and a clear attempt to turn his congregation away from their theatre, by vilification of the profane and commendation of the sacred. In one of his Enarrationes in psalmos, for instance, Augustine faces the question of how Christians are to get by without earth(l)y entertainment, and answers that God has given us alternative diversions: 'God is the giver (editor) of these spectacles, of these games.' Miracles constitute heavenly spectacula and Augustine makes this rather crude comparison: 'Forget your theatre, wait for our Peter, not walking on a tightrope, but, as I shall tell you, walking on the water! '64 The most successful analogy for profane spectacle was the martyr act. The idea of the martyr as performer was not new, and perhaps the most striking version of the idea finds expression in the cult of the legendary martyr Genesius, a mime artist who was actually converted while mocking Christian baptism on stage and was executed for his confession of the faith. Genesius, who had an eastern counterpart called Porphyry,

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appears in the Calendar of Carthage, as well as other calendars. 66 The image of the Christian as a combatant (agonistes) in the arena, moreover, goes back to words of St. Paul, as quoted by Augustine: 'We have been made a spectacle to the world, and to angels and men' (Spectaculum fa,cti sumus mundo, et angelis et hominibus).f!6 Spectacle of course requires an audience, and Augustine does not ignore the bloodthirsty pagan crowds. 67 He also makes reference to the 'double' audience of the martyrdoms, the second being the congregation listening to the reading of the a,cta. A clear example of this 'double audience' theme comes in a sermon, preached on the feast of St. Cyprian, at the site of the bishop's martyrdom, in the 'Mensa Cypriani'. Augustine refers twice to the 'fact' that the crowd come to praise the martyr is probably larger than that which came to rage against him. He also enjoys speculating that many of these pagan spectators must have later turned to Christ. 68 On another occasion the congregation are told to rejoice at the wonderful gift added to the flock in that both the former spectators and those who were 'spectated', the spectacle, now enjoy the protection of Christ. 69 In a further sermon, this time on the martyr Vincent, Augustine stresses the difference between the interest of Christians in the spectacle and that of the persecutor. Whereas the persecutor enjoys the punishment, 'we' Christians enjoy the cause of the punishment, i.e. confessing Christ. 70 Augustine had to set up the reading of the martyr act as a real spectacle if the congregation were to be ref erred to as spectators. In one sermon he tells them 'We have seen a great spectacle with the eyes of faith: the holy martyr Vincent, everywhere victorious' (the play of words only works in Latin: Vincentium ubique vincentem). 11 The congregation have seen the spectacle with the 'eyes of faith'; that is not just because they have not actually seen it: modes of viewing of Christian and profane spectacle can be contrasted to good effect.72 In stressing the idea of visu~ alisation, Augustine is putting a tenet of ancient literary theory to use. Michael Roberts comments that 'Augustine frequently echoes the technical language of rhetoric for the effect of visual immediacy that was the aim of literary depiction, the technical terms for which were enargeia, evidentia, sub oculos subiectio or repraesentatio.' 13 The congregation are even chided on one occasion with the remark that if they have not 'seen' what has been read then they were not listening!74 It seems that this need for visual immediacy is particularly pressing in the case of the martyrs, if they are to provide a spectaculum stimulating enough for a theatre-loving congregation. In a further Vincent sermon Augustine begins: 'A great and most marvellous spectacle seizes our souls' and asks his audience to recall that

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As the reading progressed it made clear what words he heard, what words

he replied with, what torments he overcame, and practically placed before our very eyes (tanquam in conspectu) everything that took place. 76

In another context he reminds his congregation that they have indeed experienced a true spectacle: 'if these aren't spectacles, why did you come here today? Look, I say, you saw and you cried out; you wouldn't have cried out unless you had seen. ' 76 Thus the congregation are tricked by their own responses into accepting that they have been offered a spectacle. Having now established that a great piece of theatre really has been placed before the congregation, this spectacle can now be compared with its profane counterpart, to the comprehensive disadvantage of the latter. Antithetical comparisons - profane versus sacred spectacles - are a common feature of the martyr sermons. A dualism of the two kinds of viewing is established, watching with the eyes of the heart and of faith rather than with the eyes of the flesh: 'But there are two ways in which men watch such spectacles, one fleshly, the other spiritual.' 77 The spectacle itself is qualitatively vastly different: a 'magnum et multum mirandum spectaculum' versus the 'inanissimam et pemiciosissimam' pleasures of the theatre. 78 The effect that the two different kinds of performance have on the spectator is also vastly different: while Christian spectacle is healthy and improving, the disreputability of the theatre can rub off on the viewer.79 The most fruitful grounds for comparison lie in the difference between the martyr and the actor, as here Augustine can successfully trade on the ambiguity of the position of the actor in Roman culture. 80 Several ancient texts also hint at the essential ambiguity of the status of the performer of various sorts and the reaction of the audience towards him. Plutarch, for example, dramatises this essential ambivalence nicely: Yet some there are no wiser than little children, who see criminals in the amphitheatre, clad often in tunics of cloth of gold and purple mantles wearing chaplets and dancing Pyrrhic measure, and struck with awe and wonderment, suppose them supremely happy, till the moment when before their eyes the criminals are stabbed and scourged and their gay and sumptuous apparel bursts into flame.81

The actor, as infamis, but also as a figure of public adulation, can be pitted against the truly wholesome hero of the Christians: the martyr. Augustine closes the ambivalence of the actor/audience relationship by offering as performer someone truly admirable. The Christian paradox is that the despised criminal is the true saint, following the model of the crucified Christ. 82 The audience is bound to love the martyr-performer.

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Instead of bonding with fellow fans of an actor, the Christian, says Augustine, can more fruitfully bond with fellow Christians in the love of a martyr. 83 Augustine bases his argument on the idea of imitation: that the spectator, in loving the hero, will want to imitate him: Here [the spectacle of the Maccabees' martyrdom] the spectator is praiseworthy if he becomes an imitator; there, however, the spectator is shameful and the imitator infamous.84

Augustine can easily mock the idea that one would want to imitate an actor. (There is a surely conscious irony here: the role of the actor is to imitate.) In his anti-theatrical Cyprian sermon in Carthage this notion is developed: 'Decent spectator, when you are watching a show in the theatre, you're off your head if you have the audacity to imitate the performer you love.'85 It may be an absurd idea that the respectable citizen would wish to imitate the behaviour of an actor or charioteer, but it is essential for the preacher that the Christian attempt to imitate the martyr. Here we can trace an apparent divergence of expectation between preacher and audience regarding the relation of the spectator to the spectacle. Augustine often urgently reminds his congregations as to why the martyrs' feasts are celebrated, and why their accounts are read. He contrasts the correct form of celebration with the incorrect, as in a sermon on Laurence where he says, 'Therefore we should seek to follow in the footsteps of the martyrs, lest we celebrate their feasts in vain. '86 It is clear what these 'incorrect' celebrations involved: in his Fructuosus sermon Augustine claimed, 'The martyrs hate your flagons, the martyrs hate your roasting pans, the martyrs hate your drunkenness. '87 In a still harsher attack on such popular celebrations he tells his Carthage congregation that in their licentious behaviour at the shrine they themselves 'are among the persecutors of the martyrs'. 88 The Christian, as we have seen, is encouraged through heightened drama to visualise the martyr, then to identify with, and finally to imitate him/her. On one occasion, for example, the congregation are told that they have sympathised with the martyr by standing and listening for a long time. 89 Identification is aided by dramatic exposition, as seen above; however, on occasion the preacher calls for more. In a sermon on the Twenty Martyrs, Augustine says that martyrs' feasts are celebrated 'so by them the congregation of Christ's members may be admonished to imitate Christ's martyrs'. 00 Augustine sets out in this sermon what is an important theme for him: why the martyrs are proposed as models for imitation (for honour without imitation is false flattery). God and Jesus are too difficult for human frailty to compare itself to, but it is possible to imitate fellow men and women.91 Just what does this imitation entail? Imitation, proper, of martyrs obvi-

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ously posed a problem in the post-Constantinian Church. In North Africa there was a particular aspect to the problem: the Donatist schism produced a host of new martyrs. It is now appropriate, therefore, to take a look at the other form of competition faced by Catholic bishops: their Donatist opponents. An examination of Donatist martyr material gives a flavour of the similarities and the differences which made the battle so difficult. Traditionally, scholars of North African Christian literature saw obvious differences between Donatist and Catholic accounts. For instance, according to Paul Monceaux, the early twentieth-century scholar of North African Christian literature, Donatist martyr texts were all about hate: 'the panegyric of the saint was, above all, a pretext for recriminations and invective'.92 If we take a look at the Acts of the Abitinian Martyrs we can certainly find some support for this view.93 Although this text provides an account of the victims of pagan rather than Catholic persecution, it is a key text for the Donatist repudiation of the Church of the traditores.94 Schismatic theatre

The (anonymous) author tells begins by creating a sense of importance and urgency: he tells us 'Of necessity, I must be brief and proceed with all speed so that, once the truth is recognised, one may know the rewards of the martyrs and the punishments of the traitors' [1]. We are told how the devil waged war on Christians during the Diocletianic Persecution and that, while many held firm, others fell from faith and handed over the scriptures to the Roman authorities. The martyrs' deaths sealed with blood the verdicts against both traitors and their associates, 'for it was not right that there should be martyrs and traitors in the Church of God at the same time' [2]. A detailed and striking account is given of the sufferings and triumphant victories of the martyrs, which ends on a martial, declamatory note: 'Here one battle in the great war is brought to an end; here the devil is conquered and overcome' [18]. The text does not finish here, however. The narrator assures us that even in his haste he will omit 'neither the pride of the lapsed nor the shamelessness of the traitors'. This is important so that the true Catholic Church can be recognised and the 'pernicious defect of the traitors revealed for all ages by their evil deeds and the judgement of the martyrs' [19]. The next chapter gives a vivid account of the attack of the evil bishop Mensurius and his deacon (and future successor) Caecilian on those visiting the confessors at prison in Carthage. Caecilian, we are told, was 'more savage than a tyrant, crueller than an executioner (camifex)' [20]. The closing chapters stress the necessary separation of the Church of the martyrs from that of the traitors. The faithful are told that anyone communicating with the traitors will have no share in the holy kingdom, that the devout must always

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Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

avoid them [21-2). The Catholics are Pharisees and hypocrites; they are polluted. The final chapter begins with an exhortation: Therefore we must flee and curse the whole corrupt congregation of the polluted, and seek out the glorious succession of all the blessed martyrs, which is the one, holy and true Catholic Church (23).

Sectarian, separatist invective exists in plenty in this text; this much cannot be denied. Accounts of Donatist martyrdoms proper, that is, accounts of the deaths of Donatists killed during Catholic persecutions, were filled with passionate denunciations of Catholic violence. These accounts could be performed as calls to arms: the narrator of the Passion of Isaac and Maximian urged: 'Now, brothers, all those things which led them to the heavenly kingdom come round to you. Their example compels you.' And more urgent still: 'Hurry brothers, the sooner the better, so that we may rejoice in the same way over you.' 96 To some extent, then, we can accept a characterisation of Donatist hagiography as hate-literature, as well as the claims in Catholic polemicists that the names of Donatist martyrs were used to stir hatred and sectarianism. 96 The polemical use to which martyr acts could be put in the debate is demonstrated by their use at the Carthage Conference of 411.97 However, we need to accept that Catholics, as well as Donatists, made use of martyrological rhetoric for sectarian ends. Violence runs through the polemical texts of the African schism. Both sides attacked the violence of the other, and were compelled to find a range of tactics to deal with their own.98 Highly emotive accounts of Donatist violence can be found in the polemical tracts of Optatus and Augustine. Optatus, for instance, tells us of foetuses drawn out of mothers' wombs, the rape of consecrated virgins, and the murder of clergy.99 The violence of the Circumcellions is thrown back at every Donatist writer who dares to take on Augustine on the issue of Catholic and imperial violence. 100 The Donatists held their victims of Catholic violence to be martyrs; for the Catholics this seems to have been more problematic. For Optatus the situation was clear: the only martyrs were those who died in the pagan persecutions. 101 Augustine, while taking on much of his predecessor's polemic, does not always take this hard line. Occasionally it would have seemed more useful to leave open the possibility of Catholic martyrs with which to oppose those of the Donatists. 102 The only evidence we have that he actively promoted such martyrs is the acrostic epitaph he wrote for the tomb of the deacon Nabor. 103 Nabor was a deacon of Hippo, an ex-Donatist killed by his former comrades. Augustine writes of the purple of his victory, of his blood shed for the

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'best cause' and tells us that this was a true martyrdom: 'The truth of his martyrdom is proved by the truth of his piety.•104 It is the insistence on the rightness of the cause, rather than the punishment, that provides Augustine with the criteria for distinguishing between true and false martyrdom. This notion is repeated constantly in martyr sermons as well as in polemical tracts dealing directly with the schism. 106 This is a simple and effective distinction: the cause of the Donatists being a priori wrong, Donatists could only be false martyrs. We might wonder why Augustine feels the need to keep on stressing the point. The sermons listed come from a period (where a date can be surmised) from the end of the fourth century to several years after the Edict of 411 and were preached at a variety of locations. Perhaps it makes most sense to assume that the argument is aimed at 'Donatists' both outside and inside the congregation, the latter having been 'absorbed' in the aftermath of prohibition. A fascinating newly published sermon enables us to contextualise the polemic against 'false' Donatist martyrs in a more than usually precise way. This sermon was given in Carthage in January, probably in 404, when Augustine had recently argued with Donatists for four days in the very same church. 106 Augustine takes obedience as his theme, beginning by chastising his congregation for unruly behaviour, then develops this theme into a sustained attack on the Donatists. 107 Augustine stresses that it is the obedience of the martyr that is to be followed, and this obedience is what distinguishes true martyr from false. 108 He sees his congregation are seen as vulnerable: they are addressed as 'fledgling Catholics' (catholica germina); they must be helped 'little by little' to compare the two sorts of martyrs, which the devil wished them to confuse. 109 Ultimately, this distinction can only be made on the basis of ideology: the Catholic Church must be obeyed. The true martyrs died for the true cause, killed by the enemy. Donatist martyrs, on the other hand, killed themselves, urged on by the devil, in delusioned pursuit of a pernicious cause. This allegation, repeated throughout Catholic polemic, appears in particularly striking form in one of Augustine's sermons, a text which also illustrates clearly the sectarian battle for the inheritance of the martyr-bishop par excellence.110 The sermon takes place on the feast of Cyprian, which, Augustine tells us, is also being celebrated concurrently by the Donatists. Augustine uses the favoured technique of rhetorical questioning and asks an imaginary Donatist foe why the Donatists claim that Cyprian belongs to them. This text provides some of Augustine's most vitriolic invective against the Donatists. He claims 'the Donatists are not false Christians, they are not Christian at all' and addresses them as 'O insane ones, oh perverse ones' and furthermore 'O insane Donatists!

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0 rabid dogs'. 111 Augustine cites the Proconsular Acts of Saint Cyprian in arguing that is forbidden to offer oneself up for martyrdom. 112 The Donatists however are 'cliff-jumpers', following the prompting of the devil, and even use violence to force others to kill them. 113 Augustine sarcastically evokes the terror that the Donatist war-cry 'Deo laudes' evokes as people fear they will have to watch cliff-jumping. 114 He states bluntly, in case we were in any doubt: the Donatists aren't martyrs, the Circumcellions aren't martyrs. Augustine ends his polemic on a strident note, saying that we should not be afraid of them, furthermore 'If they kill us on account of our faith, we shall say Deo gratias.' 115 This is fighting talk. The notion of the Christian life as a battle was central to African Christianity. 116 Despite passionate invective and Donatist accusations that the Catholics murdered with their 'butcherous tongues' if not with their own hands, this battle had to be internalised by the Catholic Church. 117 While Catholic 'victims' might attain veneration, the practice of violence was not, as far as we can tell, urged from the pulpit at Hippo, or elsewhere. In one of his martyr sermons Augustine tells his congregation that while in persecution it is soldiering, in peacetime it is constancy that wins the crown. 118 In fact, in all of his martyr sermons, the most specific instance given of when and how a martyr can be imitated is on the sickbed. Augustine uses this example several times. 119 In one sermon he says he takes his theme from a story he read in a libellus (miracle account 'pamphlet') about a sick woman who had gone to a martyr to be healed. The woman had told the martyr she could not bear her illness, the martyr made the unsurprisingly pious reply: what if she were enduring martyrdom? Augustine says that many people in fact endure martyrdom on their sickbed, where they are tested and face temptation from people who will urge them to try magical remedies; if the sick people do not yield they will themselves become (like?) martyrs: 'He becomes a martyr on his sickbed and is crowned by the one who hung for him on the tree. ' 120 There might well seem to be a substantial element of bathos in this comparison, although its recurrence suggests we should take it seriously. We are dealing here with the pastoral efforts of the bishop of Hippo. On the one hand the example should undoubtedly be placed in the context of Augustine's campaign to publicise miracles of healing. 121 We can link this project in turn to a broader pastoral programme: attempts to persuade the faithful to turn to the methods of the Church when ill, rather than to traditional remedies. 122 We saw earlier with Augustine's exposition of the acta of Fructuosus, the construction of a pastoral model in the presentation of the martyr and the affirmation of his or her faith in a polarised world. Augustine and his fellow bishops were convinced

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that the work of 'Christianisation' was not over: their congregations required constant admonitions and encouragement, and here the martyrs provided excellent exemplars.123 Preacher, praesentia

and audience

The value of the martyr as model, meanwhile, is more problematic than it first appears. First, despite the homiletic exhortation to take the martyr as a model, he or she may not in fact provide a very appropriate figure for imitation. The second problem is that while congregations could accept the martyr as hero, they might well not accept the intended corollary of this role. Here we come to a wider problem: the inevitable dissonance between ecclesiastical exhortation and actual behaviour. On the one hand this is just part of the pattern of clergy/lay relationships which is always going to consist of exhortation and prohibition on one side and disobedience on the other, forming an unending cycle. On the other hand, we can actually trace a further dissonance between the two different kinds of success a preacher could have in his homiletic preaching. While a preacher as skilled as Augustine could generally hope for some reaction to his more successful rhetorical feats, a hope that his lessons would actually be put into practice would be rather more vain. Hence Augustine's irritable comment when his congregation loudly approve a clever attack on worldly pleasures: I say this; and you praise it, and you cry out, and you love it. You get your answer not from me, but from wisdom: 'I want your good deeds, not your voices.' Praise wisdom by the way you live, making not just a noise, but harmony.12•

Liturgical performance: readings, sermons, celebrations, could be successful on an artistic level, but still fail to produce the desired change in behaviour. Reception is never a simple matter. The reading of the acta of the martyr, often along with the following sermon, and its assimilation to the viewing of a spectacle, was part of a greater attempt to represent, literally to 'make present' the martyr. It was also part of an attempt to contain the cult of the saints within ecclesiastically desired limits. The pressing concern with the presence of the martyr is a constant to be viewed in all aspects of the cult of the saints. In the acta the martyr could be made present, time and space collapsed into the here and now, both earthly and heavenly.125In the cult of the martyrs, its texts, sites and images, we find a striking blend of the universal with the particular and local. In 401 the Carthage synod laid down regulations regarding what should be considered a true memoria

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martyrum. According to the stipulations, a shrine could only be held to be such if it contained the body,or other relics of the martyr, or if it was located at the site where the passion took place. 126 In one of Augustine's sermons on Cyprian, given at the basilica on the site of the bishop's martyrdom, the fact that it happened 'here' is constantly stressed, gaining rhetorical force through the repetition of the hie: ... many of the persecutors who saw the blessed Cyprian shed his blood, saw him kneeling down, offering his neck to the sword, they saw it here, watched it here, exulted at euch a spectacle, here, here they heaped abuse upon him as he died.1~7

'The importance of place is corroborated by the fact that shrines are often designated purely as 'loca sanctorum', while epigraphy uses the expressions 'hie est/sunt'. 128 Presence could be invoked by means other than physical relics (including the more common representative versions). One such means was the inscription or epitaph. Another was through reading and listening, through visualisation. The ubiquity, and multiple meanings of the term memoria are significant here: it could mean tomb, site, relic, inscription or anniversary. 129 The memory of the martyrs, and more specifically of their passage out of this world, could be invoked through a whole range of means, which should not be viewed in isolation from one another.

Conclusion The martyr acta as performed before congregations were made to do many jobs. They were set up as substitutes for very different phenomena. On the one hand, they substituted for the martyr him/herself. The martyr became present in the text: the text was made to perform. The much-vaunted charisma of the martyr was constructed through liturgical performance. The construction of the martyr's praesentia, meanwhile, does not happen merely by accident, through some ritual magic: we are talking about a process, and, moreover, an authorising process. 130 The triumph of the martyr, of the church of the martyr, was (re)enacted with every reading of the acts. At the same time, the martyr was presented as substitute for the earthly entertainments that endangered the Christian's soul. The power of the world created in a text as skilful as Augustine's tempts us to forget how successful these entertainments continued to be. The power of the Catholic Church backed by the Roman state crushed the Donatists and their martyrs to mere fragments for later historians to sift. Yet it is strange to recall how for North Africa these struggles would soon be part of another era, with the arrival

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of the Arab invasion and the eclipse of Christianity of all sorts. Meanwhile, the liveliness of the martyr texts and the worlds they evoke can still strike us today. The spectacle of the martyr acta, its performance in reading and sermonic exposition was part of a many stranded late antique discourse and could, on a variety of levels, move, evoke, and fail to take effect all at the same time.

Marculus

1

Likewise he read out 'Dativus, bishop of Nova Petra'. When [Dativus] had approached he said 'I have given mandate and I have undersigned. And I have no adversary, because it is there that Lord Marculus lies, whose blood God will avenge on the Day of Judgement.' 2 Gest. Collat. Carth. 1.187.69-72

In the summer of 411, Catholics and Donatists met in the Baths of Gargilius for the Conference of Carthage. The bishops of each side, 286 Catholics and 286 Donatists, announced their presence in a roll call. Where appropriate, the name of each Catholic bishop was read out first, followed by that of bis Donatist opponent, in a process Brent Shaw called 'a mini-drama of self-assertion'. 3 The Donatist bishop of Nova Petra, Dativus, was proud to assert, however, that be bad no opponent and that this was due to the power of the presence of the martyr Marculus there. The very name of Marcu1us, the most controversial and contested of the North African martyrs, contained power. Optatus of Milevis, writing Against the Donatists some twenty-five years earlier, said be could barely bring himself to mention his enemies' religious heroes. He wishes he could pass over them in silence, but truth compels him to speak. He tells us that 'the very names provoke rabid spleen', that the Donatists broadcast the names of Marculus and Donatus 'with the flail of recrimination'.• As we know, stories about martyrs were weapons in the war of words that flew between Donatist and Catholic, the 'True Church' and the traditores. At Carthage in 411 both the Donatists and the Catholics had brought their martyr acts with them to present as part of their case.5 We do not know if the Passio of Marcu1us was one of the texts brought to the Baths but it is clear that the story of Marculus played a particu1arly important role in the performance of and competition for power among the African churches. The Passio gives us a mini-biography of its hero, stressing his stature and his importance. Marculus had been 'selected and predestined' by God.6 As a result he rejected his worldly education (the 'false dignity of secular learning') and his legal profession ('the fraud-filled quarters of the magistrates') in order to follow Christ, the 'true teacher'. 7 'What an upright conscience he had, what innate modesty of

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outstanding character, what spiritual charm in his appearance!' (2]. These qualities were demonstrated in his acquisition of the priesthood and the bishopric. He lived a blameless life: 'in a praiseworthy manner in the duties of the heavenly precepts' in which 'he exercised his own good priesthood' [3]. The reward for these merits was the martyr's crown. The opportunity to achieve this gift came with the Macarian persecution of 346-8.s The 'vicious rumblings of the Macarian persecution thundered forth' from Rome. Two imperial agents, Macarius and his lieutenant Paul, 'two beasts' waged 'an accursed and detestable war' against the Church. While Macarius generally went about his dastardly work in an underhand fashion (per subtilitatem), he decided to make public charges against Marculus 'of barbarous cruelty and unheard of ferocity' [3],9 The story of the martyrdom proper begins now: ten bishops, Marculus among them, were sent by the Church to visit Macarius at Vegesela in an attempt to reason with him (3-4]. Cruelty and ignominy followed. All ten bishops were stripped, and each was bound to a column and then beaten with cudgels. It is now that the status of Marculus as chosen martyr begins to shine out. His very perseverance and his eloquence stirred greater rage and evil against him in the 'precursor to the Antichrist' (Macarius). From now on the battle becomes focused on one man only, the worthiest opponent. Strengthened with diuina constantia, Marculus fights a 'battle of pain' (certamen doloris) through 'the frailty of his body' [4]. The whole band of soldiers now concentrated on Marculus alone. 10 The stage was clear for Marculus to show his all. When the soldiers attempted to tie him to a column this provided Marculus with an opportunity 'to display the power of God (dei uirtutis )'. Unprompted, Marculus fastened his own fetters and bonds to ensure that he could not be separated from his punishment. This act sealed his fate: by this deed the persecutors knew that the servant of God for the sake of God's name yearned for tortures more than he feared them and that someone could not feel the pains of torture in the body when the spirit embraces Christ and hope already possesses the kingdom. [4]

The excesses of torture that follow demonstrate Marculus' miraculous denial of pain [5]. First, mangled by the torturers' cudgels from the back, the martyr was pounded by the column on his front. It is Marculus' tormentors, however, who are exhausted by their own savagery. It is now that a miracle is unveiled by Christ, 'arrayed in the limbs of the martyr' (Christus martyris sui membris indutus). 11 In wondrous fashion, as well as removing the sensation of pain from Marculus, Christ removed 'all

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signs of rage and all marks of torture' from his body. In this way, in this battle, the enemy was conquered [5]. This is of course just one stage in the description of Marculus' Passio. Our hero is dragged through the cities of Numidia 'as some sort of public spectacle of ... cruelty', as a preamble to his final punishment [5]. But truly, 88 soon 88 the enemy had devised an exquisite and grim form of death, it immediately led him with them under a strict guard of soldiers to the citadel of Nova Petra which is situated near the precipice of a steep mountain by the same name. [6]

Marculus now approached his infamous and controversial cliff-top death. He spent four days waiting for his execution, during which time he was filled with joy, exulting in his prospective entry into Paradise [6]. He passed this time in contemplation and prayer, fasting so he might receive the Eucharist on the day of his passion [7]. Thus prepared, be received a vision, which he related to his brethren: 'I saw', he said, 'these three gifts offered to me from the eternal treasury of the bountiful Lord: a cup made from the brightest silver, a crown shining with glittering gold, and the most sublime palm branch, which, full of joy, provided the complement of the forenamed emblems of triumph.' [8]

There could be nothing ambiguous about such a vision [8].12 The martyr is thus able to approach his death calmly and joyfully, while the brethren weep all around him [9]. Marculus' ascent to the summit of the hill where he met his death was a spiritual, as well as a physical, journey. As the martyr ascended the earthly mountain 'he approached heaven and the stars in his body itself [11]. At the top, while some of the soldiers bung back in fear and distress, the 'savage executioner' did not hesitate but hurled Marculus from the precipice. [12]. While the martyr's body travelled downwards, his soul travelled upwards. Then his victorious soul by it.s natural progress sought heaven more swiftly than his body had descended to earth; so with his own passion completed, both entities should be returned to the ancient sources of their origin by the hands of the omnipotent God who kindly cared for the totality of the martyr. [12]

God preserved the bodily remains of Marculus, so that the brethren

might gather them, against the wishes of the persecutors [13-15].13 Miraculous weather enabled the believers to find the body and the story concludes with the joyful funeral and burial of the martyr bishop. Every aspect of this story was rejected by Catholic polemicists, but the

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57

bizarre hilltop execution was the most contested episode. According to the Passio the execution was performed secretly at night because the authorities wished to hide their actions: So in the silence of the night they brought the crime to its conclusion so secretly that not even in the fortress in which he was guarded could outsiders or the brethren have known about it.

It was only thanks to a miracle that the truth was revealed: 'divine help and heavenly signs disclosed what had happened.' [14] This description of a top-secret execution seems to be a defensive strike against the Catholic version of the story, which claimed that Marculus had committed suicide by throwing himself off the precipice. The Donatist riposte was that only the executioners themselves knew what they had done, and they kept it secret. Other than erstwhile participants, only the true Christians, i.e. the Donatists, were granted a vision of the truth. Hence the problem of evidence, or lack of it, for the crime is dealt with. The Catholic sources show a determination to tackle the Donatist story of the martyrdom of Marculus head on. At the Council of Carthage in 348 veneration of variously dubious martyrs were proscribed and penalties for contravention set out. Furthermore, a scornful condemnation of the veneration of 'cliff-jumpers' (the reference is to 'insania proecipitatos') is clearly aimed at the Marculus story.14 Although we have already noted Optatus' reluctance to name names, Augustine mentions Marculus several times. On one occasion, in a sermon when he is attacking heretics and schismatics, Augustine sarcastically takes on Donatist claims of persecution and suffering: 'For see what they do and what they suffer.' He goes on to make the usual accusation: he says that it is the Donatists themselves who cause suffering. He says 'They tell us about some martyr or other of theirs in a persecution. See Marculus was hurled headlong from a rock.' Continuing in his sarcasm, Augustine asks his congregation 'When have the Roman authorities decreed such punishment as casting men down from rocks?' 16 The Catholic version of the story held that Marculus killed himself. Writing Against Cresconius Augustine says, 'I heard that Marculus threw himself off the cliff.' However, he goes on, rhetorically, to claim impartiality, contrasting the two opposing versions of the account (while pointing out the extreme unlikelihood of the Roman authorities performing such an execution) and concluding: 'whichever version is true, God knows'. 16 This is really just a rhetorical tactic, however, and elsewhere, as we have seen, he is happy to keep to the more familiar party line and ascribe suicidal tendencies, not just to Marculus, but, by association, to all Donatist martyrs. 17 Any attempt to discover the 'truth'

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behind Marculus' death is fruitless. Many scholars have nonetheless tried, but the answer is surely both unreachable and unimportant. 18 The fame and potency of the name of Marculus are clear from our literary sources. We also have epigraphic testimony relating to the Donatist cult ofMarculus from present day Ksar-el-Kelb. The inscription came from a small stone monument, probably from the end of the fourth or start of the fifth century, and states simply 'Memoria do/mni Marchuli'. 19 The identification of this inscription with the Donatist martyr is not to be too easily assumed. However, the designation of the Ksar-el-Kelb basilica as Donatist is supported by another inscription which proclaims the (in)famous Donatist 'war cry': 'Deo laudes h(ic)/omnes dicamu(s)'. 20 We cannot be sure whether/what relics of Marculus were kept here: according to Duval, at least, the singular application of 'memoria' and the lack of a 'hie' means that the inscription does not in itself designate relics.21 We cannot know what type of relics (if any) were kept here. (Dativus' assertion at the Conference of Carthage suggests that Marculus was buried at Nova Petra, where he suffered his death. 22 ) As with the methods of his death, the location of the relics of the 'real' Marculus is surely unknowable. What I have shown in this section is the striking power of the martyr narrative in a situation of religious and ecclesiastical controversy. Maureen Tilley has recently argued that we should not identify Donatists solely with martyrdom, and has firmly rejected their often derogatory historical designation as a 'static, martyr-bound, millenialist movement'.23 She proffers instead a 'dynamic' self-identification for the Donatist Church, as God's collecta. However, it would be wrong to go too far the other way and to reject the potency of the martyr identity, for both Donatist and Catholic, even after the end of persecution, both pagan and Macarian. 24 Marculus, and his martyr's death, mattered.

4

Courtroom Dramas: Judicial Narrative and Judicial Violence in Late Antique Martyrology ... I have purposely refrained from describing the particular sufferings and deaths of the Christian martyrs. It would have been an easy task, from the history of Eusebius, from the declamations of Lactantius, from the most ancient acts, to collect a long series of horrid and disgustful pictures, and to fill many pages with racks and scourges, with iron hooks, and red-hot beds, and with all the variety of tortures which fire and steel, savage beasts and more savage executioners, could inflict on the human body.1

I am now going to concentrate precisely on the 'horrid' and the 'disgustful' in late antique Christian literature, an area traditionally scorned by scholars, who, nonetheless, have remained aware of its attractions. 2 Geoffrey de Ste Croix, for existence, who once gave a paper on using martyr acta as teaching aids, on account of their use of 'popular Latin', described them as the 'ancient equivalent of the contemporary "video-nasty" '. 3 To illustrate this claim, he briefly discussed the excessive descriptions of torture in the later passiones. He recounted that St. George supposedly suffered seven years of torture while St. Clement of Ancyra suffered a record twenty-eight, but assured his audience, 'I have taken this on the authority of the great Delehaye, without verifying it. I admit that this sort of thing is not very much to my taste.' 4 The question is why these 'excesses' were to the tastes of late antique Christians, and, furthermore, how they can be understood. Following on from the previous chapter, here I will continue to exarninine martyr narrative as a performative and polemical discourse. I build upon my previous discussion of the dramatic aspects of martyr narratives. In this chapter I aim to look more closely at the use of violence in late antique martyrology, in particular the juridical aspects of the stories and the role of torture. The focus, which in the previous chapter was the (arnphi)theatre, is here the courtroom and the apparatus of late Roman justice.

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Courtroom drama The basis of the majority of martyr acts was purported to consist of court records: the acta of the martyr's trial. The theatricality of the courtroom is a cliche in our culture; the criminal trial in particular retains its hold over the public imagination. Texts based on, or fictively claiming to be based on, court records replicate this theatricality, and something of this performance. Moreover, we can relate narrative to law by considering the concept of narrative itself as a judicial discourse. The most obvious aspect of the connection between law and narrative lies in the discussion of narratives presented during the course of the trial: the stories established in the defendant's confession or alibi, and those presented by the prosecution or defence. The law court is an arena for the presentation of competing and conflicting narratives, which seek to persuade the jury of their superior truth-value. As formulated by Paul Gewirtz, 'storytelling in law is narrative within a culture of argument'. 6 Narrative discourse in a judicial context is 'never innocent but always presentational, a way of working on story events that is also a way of working on the listener or reader'. 6 The performatiue character of narrative in this context is clearly visible; it is easy to conceive of these narratives as tendentious speech-acts. Hagiographic narratives were not the only courtroom dramas popular in antiquity. Instead they were self-consciously parasitic on established genres. The story of the morally superior victim facing a tyrant in court and retaining the upper hand, was a paradigmatic narrative. The classic encounter is probably that of Solon with Croesus, as narrated by Herodotus. 7 The tale was continuously replicated, adapted and embroidered across the Greco-Roman world, with new encounters and imagined encounters built around this model. 8 It was, moreover, a story told by and across a whole range of different interest groups and social strata. Greek and Jewish opposition to Roman rule were two important strands of this trend in the Roman empire. 9 Stoic texts also constructed proverbial tales of philosophers' resistance to tyrants in the face of torture and death. The tales became useful as exhortations to fortitude, to patientia for Valerius Maximus, while for Cicero the stories provided a moral pointing to the value of self-mastery: 'The whole point therefore is to be master of yourself (Totum igitur in eo est, ut tibi imperes). 10 Here we can see the formation of a paradigm which assigned new value to passive resistance, a theme that would become of crucial importance in Christian literature. The 'courtroom drama' genre was not just about opposition. Elite Roman male adolescents attended schools of rhetoric where they practised their art by composing and delivering forensic declamations or controuersiae, fictitious courtroom speeches of accusation or defence. 11 A

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collection of declamations compiled in late antiquity under the name of Quintilian contains a host of racy and exciting cases (the kind of thing criticised by the 'real' Quintilian for their unreality), 12 peopled by such characters as wicked stepmothers, magicians and sorcerers, incestuous sons, pirates and gladiators. 13 These declamations suggest that the Roman elite enjoyed playing with the idea and the apparatus of the courtroom; its drama obviously appealed, and this appeal was long lasting. Ancient authors were clearly aware of similarities between the courtroom and the theatre. Apuleius provides a typically sophisticated example. 14 In his Metamorphoses the main character, Lucius, is made to stand trial for murder and threatened with torture, in a courtroom charade, the theatricality of which is continually stressed by the author; in the end, the process turns out to be only a joke, part of a 'Festival of Laughter' .15 Another relevant courtroom drama, which uses motifs from the literature of opposition in a work intended to entertain and titillate, is Heliodorus' novel Ai,thiopika. 16 In Book 8 the heroine, Charikleia, is tried for murder, a crime she has not committed. She is threatened with torture if she does not confess but she refuses to offer any defence. The next episode, in consequence, is the public execution. A sense of public spectacle is evoked. Charikleia has been sentenced to be burnt at the stake but the flames miraculously refuse to harm her. Thus she is able to make her escape while divine retribution strikes down her persecutor. 17 These examples are cited to demonstrate the continuing interest in the theatrical and polemical aspects of the courtroom and its discourse and dialectic. A wide range of texts staged challenges to political authority and its violent apparatus. So far I have been discussing a range of non-Christian texts. In one particular case, that of the Acta A/,exandrinorum, the so-called 'Pagan Martyr Acts', a scholarly debate once raged concerning the nature of their relationship to the Christian acta martyrum. 18 It is clear that a fixed model for such a relationship is in fact impossible; moreover, in my view, deterministic concepts are not helpful in dealing with the problem of the relationship between GrecoRoman and Christian cultures in antiquity, whether Auseinanderseztung or interface. While Christian texts construct themselves as oppositional to 'pagan' culture, they were parasitic upon this very culture. The maintenance of an open-ended model, comprising largely free-floating, paradigmatic narratives, seems to be the most helpful approach.

Late antique violence The courtroom drama, both 'real' and 'represented', of the later Roman empire is in many ways recognisable in terms of our ideas of a court, but it is also different in important aspects. The use of violence as a mundane

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and essential aspect of the criminal law is just such a characteristic. Even the brief discussion of various texts above shows the ubiquity of torture and execution. I shall now aim to look more closely at this violence and its representation. One of the aims of this chapter is to situate the representation of extreme violence in martyrology in the context of the discussion of increased judicial cruelty in the later Roman empire. It has often been argued that there was a rise in judicial cruelty and corruption at this time, and that the later Roman state was notably more savage than the republic and early empire. 19 Modern historians have gleaned the picture of a savage world, where anyone might be subjected to 'cruel and unusual punishments', primarily from the pages of the historian Ammianus Marcellinus, the rhetor Libanius and the supposed words of the emperors themselves, in the pronouncements laid down in the Codex Theodosianus and the Codex Justinianus. Significantly, this picture fits in with several, not uncomplementary, historiographical narratives. The first is that of decline, while the second polemically wishes to construct the new Christian empire as the very opposite of the bringer of enlightenment and humanity that its apologists claimed, and continue to claim, it to have been. More recently, however, the rhetoric of cruelty and judicial abuse has begun to be analysed more precisely as rhetoric, although it is an important task to examine why the rhetoric changed. 20 Imperial legislation took on a new rhetorical voice in late antiquity. John Matthews writes that 'the Roman emperors had left far behind the measured, persuasive style of the early empire. The emperors now proclaim their intentions in strident rhetoric, with moral outrage and threats of violence.' 21 Examples from the Codex Theodosianus include threats to sever the heads of corrupt judicial officers, to burn effeminate men alive, to pour molten lead down the throats of nurses conniving in the abduction of their charges, and to tear out the tongues of calumniators. 22 Matthews sees the emperors as striving 'with ever-increasing urgency to win over Roman society at large to their own view of the need for lawful behaviour and the exemplary punishment of those who deviated from it'. He suggests further that we consider this rhetoric to be aimed not merely at the criminal, but also as 'intended to stir a sympathetic response in a public united with its emperor in opposition to criminal, subversive and immoral behaviour'. 23 The writers most influential in the historiographical construction of the later Roman empire as an age of judicial savagery were pagans: Ammianus and Libanius. Both produced 'set pieces' in their work describing the horrible tortures and punishments exacted on undeserving victims by corrupt and savage officials. Ammianus' description of the treason trials (the 'philosophers' conspiracy') at Antioch in 371-2 is a

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famous account of the breakdown in legal niceties. According to Ammianus, when the court was convened 'the judges announced the rules which were to cover its procedure, but in the event they manipulated the outcome of the cases in accordance with the wishes of their master'. It is one man, the emperor Valens, who lurks behind all these evils.24 We are presented with a world gone awry: '[these events] caused universal horror. Valens had entirely abandoned the path of equity and learned better how to hurt.' The emperor is described as being like a 'wild beast trained for the arena if it sees that anyone brought near to the barrier has made his escape'. 25 Ammianus has constructed a savage and upside-down world, its metaphors taken from the arena; we are told of tortures and mass execution, an atmosphere of fear and lamentation. What upset Ammianus, Libanius and others most about judicial violence was its practice upon those whom they considered to be undeserving. Elite writers were upset when fellow elite members were threatened. What was most shocking about the use of judicial violence in late antiquity was that it was no longer tied irrevocably to consideration of social status. This had formerly been the crucial determining factor in legal treatment. 26- Freeborn Roman citizens had been exempt from the use of force in interrogation; the honestiores had consistently been safeguarded against violation, against infamia, echoing the classical Greek system whereby only slaves could be tortured, and torture marked the boundary between slave and free, differentiating the untouchable bodies of free citizens from the torturable bodies of slaves.27 (However, we know the freeborn and even the elite were, in fact, periodically subject to torture, notably in cases of treason. 28 ) What has changed in late antiquity is that all bodies were subject, de iure and de facto, even if the elite was not happy with this state of affairs. Moreover, there was simply more justice in the later empire, and thus more of its 'victims'. We might appear to be faced with a case of elite 'special pleading'. In her recent book, Law and Empire in Late Antiquity, Jill Harries sets out to defuse the notion of the period as particularly cruel. She reads the concern of elite writers with judicial violence as 'not evidence in itself for the extent of that cruelty, but for public willingness to criticise the operations of justice as cruel and inhumane'. Moreover, some criticisms of judicial injustice should undoubtedly be read as politicised polemic: as Harries points out, Ammianus criticises the use of torture by the emperors Constantius II, Valentinian and Valens, the villains of his history, whereas the highly probable use of torture by his hero Julian goes untold. 29 We must also recall that dramatic descriptions of imperial cruelty and judicial savagery are not a new phenomenon in late antiquity: Tacitus' literary creation of the terror under Nero and other Julio-Claudian emperors could have served as an excellent model.

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However, the fact remains that in late antiquity representations of pain and of suffering took the foreground to a new extent. The role of the good Christian to be in this world of cruel punishments was controversial. 30 As has been noted, the Christian empire extended considerably the list of capital crimes, including those for religious misdoings. 31 (However, the trend towards increasingly severe punishments did begin in the pagan empire. 32) Moreover, there was a place for the Christian bishop to act in the traditional role of the philosopher in mediating imperial rage, as in the famous case of Theodosius and the massacre at Thessalonica. Uncontrollable passion could be paired and conquered by self-restraint: the virtue of the philosopher and his Christian successors. 33 The furor and savagery of the ruler looked familiar to the Christian, as there was a very familiar model in the martyr acts. In the new Christian empire, however, this passion could be controlled, and the violent 'lapses' of the powerful could be repaired with the right processes of penance. 34 But what were good Christians to do when they themselves were obliged to undertake violent acts? 36 Unease and uncertainty are palpable among many Christians in our period; the Fall of Rome in 410 occasioned particular misgivings. Augustine thought that secular authority and force were an inevitable and acceptable part of the fallen world and advised those thinking of resigning secular office to stay put. 36 In the City of God he considers the uncomfortable lot of the conscientious judge faced with the torture and punishment of wrongly accused men, but seems to conclude that this is a crucial job.37 His letters show, however, how he interceded on occasion to ask for milder corporal punishments. 38 Capital punishment, too, was debarred in principle for Augustine because it did not allow for repentance. 39 A more sanguine bishop, Ambrose, told the Christian magistrate Studius that he need not abstain from communion after issuing the death penalty. 40 Ambrose had himself exercised considerable secular power before ordination; his Vita recounts how he had prisoners tortured in an attempt to prevent his summons to the bishopric. (Also significant is the fact that this appeared to be no bar; indeed his supporters seem to have pointed out that baptism would wipe away this sin. 41 ) It is important to note here that the use of torture is not criticised on principle by any writer, Christian or otherwise. The Pelagians, perhaps, were the Christian group the most troubled by the sins committed by secular officers. An angry passage in the De diuitiis ('On Riches') lambasts a proud judge for ordering cruel tortures (a depressingly familiar repertoire, including fire, clubs and claws) then sitting down to dinner with his friends and telling tales of his day's work as part of the table-talk. Even here, however, the criticism focuses, as traditionally, on the moral harm done to the spectator or instigator ('I shudder enough at the one

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watching, what can I say about the one ordering?') rather than on more substantial harm done to the victim. 42 It is clear that a discourse about intensified judicial violence and suffering was current by the period in which our martyrological texts were written. I am now going to consider in what ways these texts participated in this discourse.

Representing

violence

Positing 'violence' as a topic for discussion in late antique martyr cult might seem obvious: the very existence of the martyr is predicated on violence. The martyr is created by the ultimate act of violence - murder, more often than not preceded by torture. Descriptions of these acts of violence make up a large proportion of the literary representations of martyrs. The iconographical symbols by which martyrs could be identified as the Middle Ages developed were often the symbols of their torture or death. Hence the famous virgin martyr Katharine of Alexandria bears a wheel and her counterpart Agatha carries her sawn-off breast on a tray. Karen Winstead comments on bow these emblems represented something of the paradoxical triumph of the martyr, in that 'instruments of torture designed to erase identity are used to proclaim identity'. Paradoxically, though, 'emblems and accounts of suffering are not simply a means of distinguishing one virgin martyr from another; they are simultaneously a means of subsuming the saint into a single "life" of triumph through suffering alongside Christ and the male martyrs'. 43 Suffering is what unites and constitutes the Church, providing both an individual and a communal, that is, ecclesial, identity. Recent scholarship has highlighted a new focus on bodily suffering and bodily endurance developing in the first three centuries CE. Seneca's letters, among a range of Latin, and also Greek texts, show a veritable transformation of ideas of patientia and hypomone, newly promoted as positive virtues, appropriate to men as well as women. 44 Judith Perkins, meanwhile, has demonstrated a wider focus on bodily subjectivity, whether caused by sickness, personal asceticism, or state violence, developing at the same time. 45 Christianity, of course, was coming to its textual maturity in exactly this period, and Christian texts influenced these developments, as well as being influenced by them at the same time. I wish to explore the use of violence in late antique representations of martyrs, its form and function. The Christian concentration on violence and suffering was a highly particular distillation of a very Roman predilection. One of the major theses of this book is that martyr narrative played a powerful role in the construction of Christianisation in the hundred years after the 'Edict of Milan'. Stories about martyrs bad

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power as models for and models of Christianisation. Violence, threatened or actual, real or sublimated, provided a crucial force in these stories. As I have already shown, Christians were not unique in their interest in violence. A wealth of recent academic works has concentrated on the Roman preference for spectacular cruelty: maiming, torture and death, as entertainment. These works have offered a range of approaches and explanations, though inevitably converging on key themes, such as the connection between the display of power in the amphitheatre and the expansion of empire. 46 The relationship between Christianity and these 'dangerous games' has been, in comparison, neglected. The traditional historiographical narrative depicts Christian humanity triumphing over Roman cruelty. While there was Christian criticism of violent entertainment, this criticism was not on the kind of humanitarian grounds we might expect. The concern of the Christian critics, like that of the Stoics before them, was with the harm done to the spectator, rather than the 'spectated'. 47 That is, criticism of bloody forms of entertainment continued to be both conventional and elitist. The concern with the spectator is where we must focus. The relationship between the viewer and subject of violence in the Roman world was one of distance: non-identification was crucial. As Keith Hopkins aptly commented, 'Whatever happened in the arena, the spectators were on the winning side. ' 48 This binary opposition was central to the maintenance of order and power. As 'pagan' Rome represented, reproduced and replicated violence, so did Christian Rome. What I seek to elucidate here are the ways in which the Christian representation of violence was new, in what ways it transformed Roman practices and traditions, and, fundamentally, the relationship between the consumer and the subject. As I demonstrated in the previous chapter, identification and imitation were now being explicitly offered as the modes for audience interaction with the 'victim' turned hero. Christians repeatedly criticised the stories that pagans told about their religious icons as 'bloody' but their own narratives outstripped their rivals, as we shall see below. While studies such as that of Judith Perkins have identified the construction of the identity of sufferer as victim, we also need to see the other side of that relationship. A victim requires a persecutor, pain requires agency: the stories told by Christians required violence, they demanded it, and they staged it. The idea of the Christian martyr as a victim is too simplistic: the martyr wills his/her punishment, and by his/her behaviour, exacerbates the tortures and calls for death. Martyr narratives construct the victim as victor. The greater the violence, the greater the possibility for victory: the more endurance, fortitude, immunity can be shown. The more the torments are multiplied, the more opportunities the victim has for demonstrating victory. The final result, the death of the victim, is of course the ultimate victory,

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in the Christian scheme. Delehaye's analysis is still pertinent: 'The setting. up of revolting cruelties, description of extraordinary punishments, enormous exaggeration of the duration and method of application of known punishments, such are the means employed by the hagiographers to make the intrepidness of the hero shine forth. •49

Torture Torture, both in concept and practice, was deeply ingrained in the new Christian empire. Moreover, torture was central to martyr ideology, and thus ultimately to the construction of early Christian identity. In the Roman criminal process, torture was practised in the quaestio, the process of interrogation, technically quaestio per tormenta. Behind the terror was the belief that only torture could ultimately guarantee the truth, as expressed in the definition of Ulpian: 'By quaestio we mean the infliction of bodily torment and pain for the drawing out of the truth.'51> Michel Foucault's discussion of torture is helpful. Foucault defines torture as 'a technique ... not an extreme expression of lawless rage'. He goes on to lay down principal criteria of torture, first noting that it produces a quantifiable degree of pain, and then that this production of pain is regulated. He highlights the ritualistic element of torture, writing that it is 'an element in the liturgy of punishment'. He stresses that public torture must be spectacular, that it must be viewed by the public as a triumph. This leads to his final comment that torture is controlled, organised and differentiated: 'in the "excesses" of torture, a whole economy of power is invested. ' 61 Foucault argues that although the excesses of public punishment might appear uncontrolled, the imbalance is in fact fundamental to the system of the criminal law, which has to be predicated upon the asymmetry between the lawbreaker and the ruler. He writes: 'in this liturgy of punishment there must be an emphatic affirmation of power and of its intrinsic superiority. '62 This 'liturgical', spectacular element to torture was understood in the ancient world. 63 The 'showing of the instruments', whereby the torturer displays his weapons to his victim, which the modern author Elaine Scarry sees as 'one of many endlessly highlighted acts of display' ,64 was described by Seneca as a highly effective spectacle, a crucial element in the torturer's craft: For just as the torturer accomplishes more in proportion to the number of instruments which he displays - indeed the spectacle overcomes those who would have patiently withstood the suffering - similarly, of all the agencies which coerce and master our minds, the most effective are those which can make a display (quod ostendant).5 5

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Spectacle is in fact an inherent element in torture; it plays a crucial role in maintaining the torturer's 'fiction of power'. The torture chamber functions as a theatre of social and ideological enforcement. I shall now turn to look at representations of the torture of martyrs, as recounted in various martyrological texts, to show how Christian writers used and transformed the process of the quaestio, reversing its power relations. While the acta and passiones discussed in Chapter 3 were relatively uninterested in the punishment of the martyr, these are very different.

Torturing the torturer: rewriting the script The recently discovered Acts of Gallonius is relatively sober.56 The tortures here maintain their ostensible function, being applied towards a conventional end: the revelation of truth. The torturer's aim is simple: to make his victim admit where the sacred books of the Church have been hidden, a key theme in North African martyrology, as we have seen. We have a typical triangular relationship in this text, between iudex, camifex and victim, and there are two torture sessions. 57 The first begins with Anolinus [sic], the proconsul, ordering Gallonius to be hung on the eculeus, the rack: When he had been hung up on the rack, the proconsul said 'Where are the wicked books?' Gallonius replied 'I have hidden them, and no one knows where except myself.' The proconsul said 'Harry him with the metal claws.' As he was being tortured he replied 'Christ, I give thanks unto you.' [12-14)

The proconsul goes on to threaten Gallonius with dying in torments, but the martyr's reply is that that he suffers willingly for his Lord [15]. The proconsul's aims are clear: he wants Gallonius to make his confession (confessus fueris), and to speak the truth (dicat quod verum est) [15-16]. However, the claws merely bring on more thanks to God, so the proconsul gets the torturers to desist and tries another line of questioning. As the instigator of the Christian wickedness (and hero of the text), Gallonius is sentenced to suffer more than his brethren [36]. Therefore it is time for another bout of torture, another session of the quaestio. Anolinus begins by 'reminding' his victim what he has already suffered, and thus re-performs the violence for us textually. Gallonius is reminded (as are we) that he has sufferedpoenae and vulnera and has been dragged through various different locations [44]. Again the supposed victim gives as good as he gets, and proceeds in his answers to despise and deny the proconsul's authority. The proconsul's threats to Gallonius' corpus can

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be of little effect as the supposed victim shifts the locus of authority, saying 'You have power over my flesh but none over my soul' [46]. The proconsul, however, has not got the point and therefore orders the tortures to begin. He orders Gallonius to be put on the eculeus and maimed with ungulae again. His victim's only response, however, is to give thanks to God once more. The proconsul again reminds Gallonius of the threat to his body, but to no avail, causing Anolinus to order 'Let him be afflicted more cruelly' [50]. This quaestio is doomed from the start. Anolinus seeks to find his truth through subjecting the body of Gallonius to torments. Gallonius, however, places his soul in opposition to his body, his soul that the proconsul cannot violate. He says 'The spirit does not feel (it), the flesh endures, the soul is saved' [50]. In this new equation, the subject of the body has no importance. Anolinus sees that the game is up, and orders the tortures to cease. The proconsul has lost: he reads out his statement: 'Gallonius, having suffered many great torments, and having been interrogated, would not confess' [54]. Gallonius is burned alive and there is a new martyr in heaven, and a new hero for the Church. While there are other martyrs in the story, his brethren who are beheaded, it is only Gallonius who suffers torture, who gets the opportunity truly to witness, to follow the example of the suffering Lord, to be the hero. Although in this case Christianity has re-written the rules of the quaestio and won the power contest on its own terms, the account still describes Roman torture of traditional type. That is, Gallonius is tortured to reveal the 'truth': the whereabouts of the illegal, hidden, books. Most other martyrological representations of the torturing of Christians, however, departed from this concept. While torture sought to extract a confession from the recalcitrant villain, that of the martyr tended to be an inversion of this process.58 The Christian had already confessed his or her crime and what the torturer sought to force was a recantation. The aim of the quaestio was not to prove that the accused was a villain, to reveal a crime, but rather to force the accused to obliterate the crime (by making a libation to the gods or something similar), and thereby re-integrate him or herself back into normal Roman society.Moreover, in their representations, Christian writers transform the whole process, so that the confessio produced by torture is the confession, the witness to Christ. In this way, torture becomes the centre of the martyr story. Donatist martyr acts provide fascinating examples of martyrological strategies in relation to torture, in themselves constitutive of an identity predicated, to a great extent, on violence and suffering. 59 A notable theme to be found in several acta is a body/spirit separation effected by the suffering victim, as can be seen, for example, in the case of the martyr Maximian:

70

Making Marlyrs in Late Antiquity Maximian did not suffer these things passively (nee his tamen cessit) but acted like a person estranged from his own body (alienus sui corporis), triumphing over all these tortures. 60

A similar idea is to be found in the case of one of the Abitinian martyrs, Tazelita: From a body now exhausted, a victorious spirit answered with a strong and steadfast speech.61

The same notion is apparent in this description of the tortures of another of these martyrs: Dativus meanwhile watched (spectabat) the tearing of his body rather than grieve for it. His mind and spirit depended on the Lord. He thought nothing of the pain in his body but only prayed to the Lord. 62

Another textual tactic is the reversal of suffering: its projection back onto the persecutor as in the case of the Passion of MQ,Xima,Donatilla and Secunda, which tells of the martyrdom of three young girls. The persecuting proconsul has the girls sent away, saying 'Leave me, for I am worn out now.' Maxima and Donatilla said: 'How can you be worn out after one hour? You have just arrived and you are already weary.'63 The Abitinian martyr Tazelita, strengthened by the 'depersoning' outlined above, talks back through his torture: 'By saying such things, it was the glorious martyr himself who tormented Anulinus even in the midst of his own great torments (in suis tormentis magis ipse torquebat).' 64 In the Passion of Isaac and MQ,Ximian even the weapons of torture are exhausted by their apparent victims: 'Now the bundle of switches lay idle. They were deprived of their strength almost as if double-edged axes and pruning hooks had hacked them to pieces. ' 65 How are we to understand such descriptions? One option is to take them literally: Tilley argues that martyrs undertook ascetic training to prepare themselves for torture, physically and mentally. 66 I choose to see these passages, however, more as representational choices. Christians, in a manner unlike any other religious group in history, chose to focus on the subjectivity of the suffering body. This suffering body was remade. Martyrs rejected the conventional interpretations of their bodily afflictions. In texts that concentrate on pain, the pain is transformed by its participants in a way that the outsider, the enemy, cannot understand. It becomes their triumph and their badge of identity. Its projection back onto the inflictor, as seen in the case of the Donatist martyrs, is only a foretaste of the mighty reversal of suffering to come at the end of time when the persecutors will become the persecuted. 67

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Martyrs, their writers and their readers re-read the marks of suffering on their bodies. The Christian ideology of suffering is inherently paradoxical: it is horrendously elaborated to the point of redundancy, yet ultimately conquered and unimportant. While traditionally violence stood to show the power of the perpetrator, Christians reversed the equation. Brent Shaw comments, 'As even the martyrs themselves confessed, their passivity remained a paradox - in order to win, one had to lose.'68 A denial, transformation, or transfer of pain shifted the locus of power, in the arena and in the text. Late antique martyr acts are infamous for the amount of torture they contain. The logic of the proliferation of martyrology seemed to demand more: more horrible tortures, more spectacular miraculous survival, a more vicious carnifex, a more tyrannical iudex, and a more obdurate martyr. 69 Prudentius' Peristephanon, written at the start of the fifth century, is a collection of martyrological poems known for the baroque effect produced by the layering of the improbable, the impossible and the simply nasty.70 Representations of extreme violence are common in the Peristephanon: one striking example is Peistephanon 11 with its passage of ekphrosis describing the horrible death of St. Hippolytus, which I shall discuss in Chapter 6 below. Here I am going to start with the fifth poem in the Peristephanon, which recounts the Passio of St. Vincent of Saragossa. This poem places a scene of torture at the very centre, and within this scene we will find many pertinent themes. Prudentius was not the first author to offer a lively and violent account of the passion of the Spanish saint. 71 Augustine's Vincent sermons differ notably from those on other martyrs in his frequent references to the torments suffered by the saint and his patient, indeed miraculous, forbearance. For instance, he introduces the story thus in one sermon: In the passion which was read today, my brothers, a fierce judge, a cruel torturer and an unconquered martyr were clearly displayed before you. 72

He also makes reference to details of the tortures as well as the attempts of the persecutor, Datianus, to do violence to the body of the martyr after his death, elements which Prudentius embroidered with great virtuosity.73 Peristephanon 5 seems to be a particularly appropriate case study, as here we see the poetic development of themes and motifs that were already present in the liturgical martyr acts of the early fifth century. Prudentius' poem begins by evoking the anniversary of Vincent's passio, the 'diem triumphalem' [2] when the saint 'conquered torturer and judge' [6].14 The narrator addresses Vincent, now in Heaven, as an 'invincible witness' [11]. The story begins, inevitably, with the outbreak of persecution. Upon hearing of the decree compelling Christians to

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undertake acts of pagan worship, Vincent declares the Christian community's intention to confess the Father and Son [37-40]. Here we find the confessional language of Christian martyr theology. Vincent challenges the governor, Datianus, and with him the whole Roman state: ' "Come then, put forth all your strength and all your power; I openly resist it!"' [54-6]. The excesses of the Roman punitive system, representing the power of the state against the miscreant, are described only to be scorned. Torments, claws, and hissing red-hot plates are again evoked, but dismissed as ludus: play, sport [61-4]. The governor is represented here as using torture to prevent the martyr's confession: he orders 'Stop his mouth!' [95]. Datianus is, as is the persecutor's wont, stirred by his passions, by furor. He is without patience [94], and when tormented by failure, 'the poison of fury burns up in his heart' [379-80]. His raging is variously described: furens (mad, raging) [130], saevire (to rave) [381], frendit (gnashes his teeth) [393]; the torturer Eumorphius is furore feroens (crazed with rage) [468]. The martyr is calm, unruffled, and able to mock at ease, while his torturers, who supposedly are measuring and controlling the pain they are inflicting, have lost control and become bestialised. The description given of the tortures performed upon Vincent seems to us clearly excessive. The redundancy of the textual excesses and repetition mirror the redundancy and uselessness of the torturers' art. The martyr receives unimaginable torments laughing and rebuking while the exertions of the torturers succeed only in exhausting them. Prudentius enjoys the paradox: 'Now the strong men had used up all their powers in tearing him to pieces, their panting exertions had tired and relaxed the muscles of their arms' [121-4]. For Datianus, this represents a challenge, and he makes explicit the impossible victory of the tortured: 'the tortured is more steadfast than the torturer!' (tortore tortus acrior!). [132]. The contest is on, but of course we know who is bound to win. Datianus' plan, to bring on a pair of torturers thus far invincible, is clearly doomed to failure. The martyr patiently explains to his persecutor why this will not work. Vincent makes it plain: the bodily torments do not punish him: 'You are mistaken, cruel man, if you think you are extracting punishment from me' (italics supplied) [153-4]. Datianus is making the same mistake as Anulinus did with Gallonius, in confusing the breakable flesh with what is invincible. The tortures inflicted upon the martyr are pointless, in that they cannot set out what they seek to achieve, but significant, in that they are assigned by Prudentius something of a regenerative force. Metaphors of fertility abound in the Peristephanon, where martyrs are seen as extensions of Christ's bloody sacrifice, as participants in the redemptive fertility of Christ's blood.76 When Datianus asks his torturer to reopen

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Vincent's wounds, the verb used is resulco: to plough or furrow [141-4].76 Datianus takes the metaphor further when he speaks bitterly of the success of Vincent's teaching: '[the] teaching which sows the vicious seed' [183]. When Vincent is strapped to a bed covered with sharp broken pottery shards, the shards clothe themselves in flowers, and the prison exudes the scent of nectar [276-80].77 The narrative of Peristephanon 5 is made up of a series of ever more horrible tortures and their failure. After the rack and the tearing hooks, the martyr faces the gridiron. Prudentius depicts this torture in hyperreal terms. Fire crackles, darts in sparks, puncturing Vincent's body, hissing ell the while; a piece of melting fat, smoking hot, drops onto his flesh [225-32]. But the martyr remains immobile during all this vigorous activity [233-4]. AB Prudentius describes the situation, Vincent has already reached the beatific state: he is fearless, as if he already felt the crown on his head [222-4]. Such are the excesses of the tortures and their response, that the next kind of torture the martyr faces is, Prudentius wishes to assure us, 'a new punishment ... a new kind of suffering not known to any previous tyrant, or ever heard of before' [253, 255-6].78 It is thwarted by miracles, which causes the persecutor to weep and order that Vincent be restored a little so the process can begin ell over again [327-32]. The persecutors' fury is disappointed, however, for Vincent, 'burning with the desire to die', gets his wish [353-76]. This is not the end of the story, however, for the raging of Datianus seeks redress: he has one resource left: to punish even him in death [385-6]. Post-mortem punishment is not a phenomenon unique to this text. It is rather common, and Foucault relates it to the spectacular, and spectacularly excessive, nature of public torture writing that 'justice pursues the body beyond ell possible pain'. 79 When dealing with martyr corpses, post-mortem punishment takes on a particular irony: the text has already told us of the happy ascent of the martyr's soul. The soul/body disjunction present during the earlier tortures is now even more explicit. However, even a lifeless body has to conquer the torturers in the logic of the martyr act, a paradoxical logic of body/soul relations. AB I have been stressing, although on the one hand martyr discourse consistently denies the importance of the body and its sufferings, on the other the body becomes 'the critical site of power discourses that flow through it and are inscribed upon it'. 80 Thus when the corpse of Vincent is exposed to wild beasts, they refuse to touch him [397-420]; when it is taken out to sea, a miracle takes it back to land [465-512]. Because of this, Prudentius tells us that Vincent has won two crowns: 'Victorious in violent death, you then triumph over death, trampling victoriously over the enemy with your mere body' [541-4]. These close readings have demonstrated the important role of the

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representation of torture in the fashioning of identity in martyrology. However, in a sense this is only one side of the story when we are looking at the role of torture in martyr ideology or theology. The model of the quaestio was not reserved solely for telling stories about the persecution of the martyrs. A further textual transformation meant that the heavenly martyr himself was able to take over the role of iudex, as instigator of tormenta against a very different kind of victim. The first poem in the Peristephanon, the passion of the martyrs Emeterius and Chelidonius of Calagurris, explicitly provides us with just such a model of the quaestio. This poem uses martial, sanguinary and regenerative imagery to tell a story in which force and violence are central. Confessional language is again important: the two martyrs are Christ's witnesses and neither chains nor cruel death had prevented them from confessing their God [22-3]. The martial theme is also evident: Emeterius and Chelidonius were former Roman soldiers, now milites of Christ, whose sacrifice is presented in a traditionally Roman way. Prudentius tells us it was a noble act to suffer the persecutor's sword, that the martyrs continued to exercise their military virtus, having exchanged the ensigns of Caesar for the standard of the cross (signum crucis) [29-34]. In their ripostes to their persecutor they evoke the heavenly armies that summon them: 'Christ at the head of the whiteclad regiments' [67]. When persecution arrives, faith chooses the 'scourge and the axe and the doubled claws' [44]. The two martyrs are ready, come what may, be it beasts, scourge or gridiron. The scene of the torture of the martyrs is relatively brief. With typical hyperbole, Prudentius tells us how Emeterius and Chelidonius were 'overcome with a thousand tortures' [70]. However, we cannot know what they were; the record of the martyrs' torments is lost, long ago taken a way by a soldier: lest generations taught by documents holding the memory should make public the details, time and manner of their martyrdom, and spread them abroad in sweet speech for posterity to hear (76-8).81

The record of torments, and the martyrs' resistance to these torments, would have provided clear witness, crucial testimony to the truth of the Christian faith. However, the poem will go on to furnish us with the description of a quaestio of a different sort. It is in the final section of the poem that Prudentius sets up the awesome power (potentia) of the martyrs. It is here that he provides the 'proof of the holiness of their blood. The poet invites his listeners to observe the subjugation of 'wild demons' [97]. What he goes on to describe is a present-day exorcism, which happens 'pal.am', clearly for all to see. He

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evokes the possessed man 'foaming at the mouth, rolling his bloodshot eyes, to be cleansed by the trial (quaestio) of sins which are not his own' [101-2]. Here the quaestio is performed by the martyr; it is something cleansing, its function being to expiate crimes. Here we find combined both a punitive and restorative concept of the quaestio. Moreover, this is a quaestio which parallels those experienced by the martyrs. Prudentius describes the paradox of the torture with no torturer that can be seen: 'You may hear woeful cries of agony, though no torturer is here', and further, the cuts of lashes with an invisible whip and the stretching of limbs on the rack with invisible cords [103-5]. He then explains how this is possible: it is the martyrum virtus, the power of the martyr, which is attacking the demons with all the force of the most enthusiastic late antique torturer. The verbs used to describe the assault are quatio (shake), coercio (constrain), torqueo (torture), uro (burn) and incutio (strike) [106-7]. The assault of the torturer has its desired effect: unlike the Christian martyr, the demon is so harried (vexatus) that he slips away. The quaestio has also obtained its confession: 'he confesses that he himself is burning, for he is an inhabitant of hell' [111]. It is made clear that this terrible process of quaestio has inflicted torments upon the demon alone: the demoniac is left unharmed [109-11]. This striking construction of martyrial exorcism as a quaestio per tonnenta is not unique to Peristephanon 1 but can also be found in several other near-contemporary texts. 82 The hagiographical use of this model by Paulinus of Nola is particularly relevant here. Paulinus' representation derives from his determination to show, in his first Natalicia, or birthday poem to St. Felix of Nola, that the confessor-saint Felix is equal in status and strength to 'blood-shedding' martyrs. 83 According to Paulinus, the proof lies in his exorcisms, when he thrusts out demons with all the power of his authority. Being a martyr is, here, unambiguously about power. Felix appears as the avenger of demons, who cry out that he attacks them. 84 As before, there is a dichotomy of the invisible avenger and the visible punishment. On another occasion, Paulinus addresses the saint as 'wondrous power, strong rod, lofty strength', and claims that he is 'girt with a right hand of power, and so with this strength he swallows up the assorted guile of the prince of darkness'. 85 A further example comes in a sermon of Bishop Victricius of Rouen, In Proise of the Saints, which evokes the exorcisms performed by relics using the violent language of torture, of chains and claws, binding, suffering and interrogation, as well as the paradox of the invisible torturer and judge. 86 At first glance, these exorcism scenarios seem clearly to enact the classic, paradigmatic relationship between torture and truth. Peter Brown interprets these scenes in this way, seeing the aim of the exor-

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cism-as-torture process as not to punish the demons, but merely to force them to tell the truth. 87 I wonder, however, if we are right to neglect what is an undeniably punitive strand, not only in Roman practice in the quaestio but also in much of early Christian thinking. 88 While ideas of reform were important in the disciplinary tradition of the early Church it was believed that reform could and should be allied with punishment. 89 The terrible torments to be suffered by the unjust in the next life are painted in lurid colours throughout the writings of early Christianity.91> The ultimate iudex, who condemns sinners to everlasting agonies, is of course God the Father. Texts on the life to come included the Apocalypses of Peter and Paul, which listed and detailed an imaginative array of physical punishments on offer for the recalcitrant Christian. (Interestingly, close similarities have been identified (in respect of both punishment and class of criminal) with 'real' Roman penal punishments. 91 ) Furthermore, while apocalyptic texts specifically concentrated on punishment and reward, the theme of revenge and reversal in the afterlife runs through a wider range of material. 92 So far, this chapter has demonstrated the importance of the confession, extracted through torture, in creating the martyr, the witness, and thus the paradigmatic Christian identity in the early Church. Moreover, I have shown the continuing importance, and indeed the development of this identity by triumphant Christian writers of the fourth and fifth centuries. The triumph of the Church had been won, it was believed, by the very sufferings of the martyrs. Narratives of persecution bulk very large, for instance, in Eusebius' Ecclesiastical History, Book 8 of which contains an especially intense sequence. Interestingly, Rufinus' Latin translation/adaptation of the Ecclesiastical History at the start of the fifth century actually amplified these accounts, adding new colour and detail and further drama through direct speech. 93 This fits in with the broader trend I have already noted, whereby later martyrological material was much more concerned with the sufferings of its heroes than its predecessors. This concentration was not without its problems, however. As my previous chapter made clear, an ideology of persecution brought problems in a time of peace. New 'martyrdoms', even when not of schismatics and heretics, could still pose political and disciplinary problems for ecclesiastical authorities. 94 Nevertheless, the triumphant Church of the fourth and fifth centuries continued to fashion for itself the identity of witness to Christ, through persecution, pain and torture, even while its enemies claimed themselves to be victims of persecution. We looked at the martyrology of one group of such 'enemies', the Donatists, in Chapter 3, but obviously they were not the only ones. For instance, at the Council of Aquileia in 381 Ambrose's anti-Nicean ('Arian') opponent Bishop

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Maximinius addressed him as Demetrianus (the persecutor of St. Cyprian) and as a pagan and enemy of Christians. 95 A bishop such as Ambrose did not only come under attack from 'heretics'. On another occasion, at the translation of the remains of the martyr Nazarius to the Basilica Apostolorum, the ceremonies were interrupted when a possessed man shouted out that Bishop Ambrose was tormenting him. The bishop's response was forthright: 'Silence, demon. It is not Ambrose tormenting you but the faith of the saints and your own envy, because you see men ascending to those heights from which you were hurled down.'

This response had its desired result: the man threw himself to the ground, silenced.96 There is an obvious irony here as Ambrose, once a torturing iudex himself, famously used the identity of the persecuted and fashioned himself as a martyr, when imperial politics were not going his way, during the famous crisis of Easter 386. In the new Christian empire the old boundaries: State/Church, the world/the kingdom of heaven, were askew. The Catholic Church asserted its authority through narrative, through the power of the story, as much as by any other means.

Conclusion My aim in this chapter has been to site my martyrological texts in the wider cultural context of the late Roman world. To do this, I have shown how a literature of opposition and entertainment, based around courtroom speech-acts, was ripe for Christian development. I have shown the interaction between the worlds of martyrology, historiography and the law-court, arguing for a fundamentally inter-textual approach to late antiquity. I demonstrated how Greco-Roman law-court narratives functioned to explore and enact issues of culture and power. These narratives were expropriated by Christian writers, even as they used them to represent their break with Greco-Roman culture. As other scholars have argued, new forms of ideological representation had emerged prior to my period, focusing on bodily suffering and bodily resistance. Judith Perkins writes, taking a strongly Foucauldian line: 'Whose power was in this new knowledge of the self, as sufferer? My answer - Christianity's power.' 97 As several of my examples have shown, the answer is not always that simple: we might ask which Christianity? However, it was indeed Christian discourse that made this self central; Christianity was the heir as well as an originator, and as such reaped the benefits of this new discourse, even if it could be problematic. The inherited discourses of Christian martyrdom and persecution

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shaped events and language. Meanwhile secular and religious authorities alike worked to shape discourses which defined and limited the representation, justification and denunciation of violence.98 My next chapter focuses on developments in the history of martyr cult, which, at least to some extent, took a new direction in a new accommodation with the world of legitimised Christianity.

The tomb of Agnes is in the home of Romulus, Brave girl and glorious martyr.2 Prudentius, Peristephanon 14.1-2

The story of Agnes is the story of one of the most popular Roman saints. It is also the story of an archetype: the virgin martyr. Agnes has comrades in Thecla, Eulalia, Pelagia, Katherine, Margaret and a whole host more. The tale is that of a beautiful young girl who embraces the martyr's death rather than the marriage bed. In this story faith and purity are allied: the profession of Christianity and the determination to stay chaste. As martyr and virgin, Agnes receives a double crown, and thereby, especially strong powers as an intercessor for her devotees. Agnes is a quintessentially Roman saint, as even the Spanish poet Prudentius stresses, tightly embedded into the history and topography of the city of Rome. Medieval legend held that she was executed in the Stadium of Domitian, today's Piazza Navona, where the church of Sant' Agnese in Agone still stands. Agnes was one of the first martyrs to be commemorated in Rome: the earliest Roman calendar, the mid fourthcentury Depositiomartyrum, records the celebration of her feast day (at the Via Nomentana) along with those of twenty-three other martyrs. The complex of buildings on the Via Nomentana, the catacombs and basilica of Sant' Agnese, and the adjacent mausoleum of Santa Costanza, also demonstrate her importance at this time. Constantina ('Santa Costanza'), the daughter of the emperor Constantine, erected the basilica dedicated to Agnes, probably in the 340s, as well as her own adjacent mausoleum. 3 From this time onwards the bishops of Rome took an interest in adorning the tomb of the saint. Liberius (352-366) was Agnes' first papal promoter, commissioning a monument which probably included a bas-relief depicting the martyr. Liberius' eventual successor, Damasus (366-384), a highly energetic publicist of the martyrs in Rome, further adorned Agnes' tomb with an epigram recording her martyrdom. 4 It was during the fourth century that Agnes' position as an important Roman saint was consolidated. The most striking evidence for her popularity in the city during this period is her frequent depiction in one of its most characteristic minor arts: figured gold glass, the so-called vetri a

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fondo d'oro. Hundreds of pieces of this glass (originally the bases of bowls) have survived, mostly embedded in the walls of the Roman catacombs. They feature a range of secular and religious subjects, providing important testimony for popular iconography of the fourth century. 5 Agnes' importance as a Roman saint is illustrated by her depiction together with the two (adoptive) Roman saints par excellence:SS. Peter and Paul. Agnes is, in fact, the most frequently depicted saint after these two. Glasses depicting Agnes alone, with her name inscribed above, show her in the pose recognisable from the (roughly contemporary) bas relief in Sant' Agnese fuori le mura. This is the orans position: representing piety, prayer and intercession in early Christian art. 6 In one important example in the gold-glass repertoire this classic iconography is embellished with an additional element: the presence of twin birds, one on either side of the saint, each offering her the dual crowns of martyrdom and chastity (Fig. 2).7 We shall return to this theme and its importance in due course. Agnes was the first female saint venerated in Rome, and one of the earliest female saints to have a substantial cult throughout the empire. This is not to say that she stood alone: she was preceded by an admittedly small cohort of female martyrs including the highly popular apocryphal

2. Drawing of a gold glass depicting St. Agnes with two birds offering her twin crowns.

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heroine Thecla, 8 and the influential North African martyrs Perpetua and Felicitas. The story of Agnes was itself highly fertile, inspiring a host of sister martyrs and sister narratives, generally with very little to distinguish one from another. 9 Prudentius' Peristephanon, for instance, includes a poem to the Spanish martyr Eulalia, which clearly forms a pair with the Agnes account. Indeed, the Prudentian scholar John Petruccione has argued persuasively that the figure of Eulalia is constructed entirely out of traditions related to the Roman saint, providing an excellent example of the innate intertextuality of martyr narrati ve.10 Agnes herself is constructed from varying traditions. The archaeological evidence for her cult in Rome pre-dates the literary material. Agnes' story was expounded and expanded, at least initially, by oral traditions. 11 Our authors, indeed, refer to these traditions: Damasus, introducing the story of Agnes, tells us 'tradition tells' (fama refert), while Ambrose also invokes the idea of tradition (traditur) when mentioning the girl's age. 12 The literary sources themselves, meanwhile, constitute an exceptionally rich dossier for a martyr of this period. As well as offering varying versions of the story, they also provide varying types of text. We can clearly identify differing levels of literary self-consciousness. For instance, Prudentius is typically keen to offer a classicised account of the saint, comparing her explicitly with the virgins of traditional Roman myth: Minerva, Polyxena and others. 13 The Passio, meanwhile, is particularly interesting for us, as it is perhaps the earliest example of the more novelised martyr act that would dominate the ensuing period. 14 This text includes, for the first time, the character of the prefect's son who falls in love with Agnes. It also expands and dramatises key plot elements from the other accounts, lengthening the speeches [6-7], and building up the resuscitation scene [10]. The story of the martyrdom of Agnes, as recounted in the Passio, and as it survived substantially intact into the Middle Ages, is as follows. Agnes is a young beautiful and noble girl, about thirteen years old, devoted to Christ. One day, on her way home from school, she is espied by the son of the pagan prefect, who immediately falls in love with her. He declares his love for Agnes, and offers her jewels and wealth if she will marry him. Agnes replies, however, that she already has a lover, one that has given her priceless jewels: Christ. The spurned young lover runs off to his father, seeking paternal aid. The prefect does not disappoint: he summons Agnes to appear before a tribunal, where she is told that if she wishes to remain a virgin she will be sent to join the Vestal Virgins. 15 Receiving a defiant response from Agnes, the enraged prefect tells her that if she will not make a sacrifice she will be sent to a brothel. As the girl is being led naked to her fate, a series of miracles occurs:

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immediately, by divine grace her hair grows so that her naked body cannot be seen. Then a shining light surrounds and protects her, and a dazzling white vestment appears before her. Finally, when the prefect's son arrives in the brothel, in order to consummate his desire, he is struck down by God: he falls flat on his face and breathes what appears to be his last. Uproar ensues as the young man's friends loudly proclaim Agnes to be a prostitute who has murdered their companion with magical arts. A large crowd bears the girl to the theatre (later designated the stadium of Domitian) where she is again interrogated by the prefect. After some dialogue Agnes prays and resuscitates the young man. This being a martyr story, however, there can be no traditionally happy ending: the saint must still receive her death sentence. Agnes is ordered to be burned alive but the pyre miraculously fails to kill her, instead the flames part before going out. Another method of execution therefore has to be found, and finally Agnes is despatched by the sword. 16 What tends to strike the modern reader about the story of Agnes is its explicit sexualisation. Agnes takes Christ as her husband and wills penetration in the form of the naked sword of her executioner. 17 The sexual axis is there almost from the start of the story. For instance, in the Passio when the son of the prefect falls in love with Agnes she tells him about her 'lover', Christ. Prudentius, meanwhile, describes the episode in which Agnes is led to the brothel in particularly striking fashion. When Agnes is stripped naked her purity is preserved by the divinely protected power of her virginal virtue: as in the Passio she is naked and yet not naked, because unseen. Prudentius tells us that while the crowds looked away, respectful of her modesty, one impudent gazer, 'not fearing to look at her glorious figure with a lustful eye' [Per. 14.40-5) was struck down, blinded for his sacrilege. 18 This harsh punishment is apparently just deserts for the lustful (lubricus) viewer. But where does the reader stand if not, as Jocelyn Wogan-Browne writes, 'poised between voyeurism and witness?' 19 As we have seen, the Passio recounts, further, how Agnes' hair miraculously grew to cover her naked body [8]; Damasus' inscription also alludes to this miracle. 20 In both these stories the body is sexualised and exposed, but at the same time sacralised and forbidden to us. The voyeuristic gaze of the audience is both provoked and denied.21 The narrative climax dwells on the death of Agnes as a sexual experience. Her march to the scaffold is described as a bridal cortege, and her martyrdom as a mystical marriage. Her virgin sacrifice is consummated with the penetration of a naked sword (mucrone nudo), which clearly evokes a deflowering penis. Ambrose, discussing the story of Agnes in his treatise On Virgins, asks in wonderment: 'Was there room for a wound in that small body?' (Fuitne in illo corpuscolo vulneri locus?) [ 1.2. 7). The connotations of pagan sacrifice are at their most potent here:

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the symbolic significance of this wound, made to the previously, crucially, intact body, as the consummation of sacrifice, could scarcely be clearer. 22 It is, however, the virgin's own desire for this penetration which is particularly striking. Prudentius' Agnes makes a speech [69-84] which many readers have found highly distasteful: 23 the virgin's discourse challenges her executioner, who is now explicitly identified, by Agnes, as a lover. The explicit identification of the executioner as lover could hardly be more striking. The girl scorns the notion of 'a listless, soft, womanly youth, bathed in perfume'. Instead, Agnes rejoices at the erectness of the naked sword that is to kill her, joyful that she will be met by a 'savage, cruel, wild man at arms' and declares: 'This lover, this one at last, I confess it, pleases me/ I shall meet his eager steps halfway and not put off his hot desires' [74-6]. How are we to read such an explicitly sexualised account? One possible interpretation holds that this narrative is not merely erotic, but functions as a patriarchal discourse engaged in both the control of women and the construction of a Christian masculinity. 24 The manner of the death of the virgin is especially interesting, indeed surprising, looked at in this light. 26 After her strident speech, and despite her bold, masculine-like behaviour, we are told that Agnes 'bowed her head and humbly worshipped Christ, so that her bending neck should be readier to suffer the impending blow' [Per. 14.85-8]. Agnes' executioner strikes her throat, cutting off her head in one stroke. The virgin has been denied a masculine death and given a properly feminine end. She is thereby re-feminised in the final act of sacrifice. 26 Like her classical forebears, moreover, Ambrose's Agnes shows her concern for a chaste, feminine end by rearranging her dress to preserve her modesty as she falls [Hymn 8.8].27 Having considered Agnes as an explicitly sexualised figure we might wish to consider briefly how she might have operated for a female audience.28Issues of readership are always difficult for antiquity: how are we to configure the complex relationship contours between the world of a literary text, its author(s) and its audience? 29 Although something can be said about female readership slightly later (when the Roman Gesta provided novelised stories of beautiful young martyrs, and the Apocryphal Acts were in vogue), it is unfortunately impossible to identify the readership of martyrological material in our period. 30 An attempt to suggest gendered preferences in martyr cult can only be highly speculative. It may well be more fruitful to return to one of our general themes, that of the martyr as role model: was Agnes was seen as a (female) role model? Ambrose used Agnes' story as a model for female ascetics, writing

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'On Virgins' in 377 for his sister Marcellina, who had taken the vow of virginity. 31 Ambrose begins his di8CU8sion of Agnes by immediately bringing up the notion of imitation: 'It is the birthday of a martyr: let us imitate her integrity' (integritatem sequamur), but just a few lines later he limits this notion. He writes: 'let men admire, let children take courage, let the married be astounded, let the unmarried take an example' (. .. imitentur innuptae) (1.2.5].32 Only the unmarried can in fact hope to imitate Agnes: it is her virginity rather than her martyrdom that Ambrose seeks to extol. Ambrose's theme is the defence of female virginity, which he constructs in part by inscribing it with the heroic drama of martyrdom. 33 Patristic attempts to construct a relationship between 'real' virgins and the heroines of martyr literature are suggested by the appearance of antiphons from the Roman liturgy of the velatio (the consecration of virgins) in the Passio, as well as references to this ceremony in Ambrose's De virginibus. 34 Agnes seems to have provided the archetype of the virgin martyr, especially in a Roman aristocratic context. Ambrose's De virginibus is written on St. Agnes' day and Jerome invokes Agnes when writing to the virgin heiress Demetrias. 35 Virgin martyrs would be consistently represented as women of high social status, and as suitable figures of identification for aristocratic women. Ultimately, Agnes' virginity is significant for her appeal to a far wider audience than an (aristocratic) virgin one. She is consistently acclaimed dually: as both a virgin and as a martyr. Prudentius makes reference to her 'two crowns' and her 'twin diadems' [Per. 14.7; 127] just as depicted iconographically on gold glass.36 This double virtue seems to have made Agnes especially effective as an intercessor, that is, especially effective in obtaining a supplicant's demands before God. The intercessory power of the martyr is of course a crucial component of the cult of the saints. The poetic accounts of Agnes' martyrdom end with their authors beseeching the saint's prayers. Prudentius invokes the saint's special pure and purifying power: 'you to whom alone the Father of all has granted the power to make a brothel pure' [126-9]. He asks the saint to cleanse him and fill his heart (130-1]. The special dual powers of the virgin martyr seem to make her an especially effective intercessor. 37 I read the description of Agnes in the midst of the flames in the Passio as constituting something of a verbal icon, signifying this powerful intercession: 'Then the blessed Agnes spreading out her hands in the midst of the fire poured forth ... prayer to the Lord. '38 Throughout the later history of virgin martyr cults it is their defended chastity and purity which provides a crucial source of their power as intercessors. Agnes seems to have been a figure who, like all successful saints, was able, in her representations, to reach out to a wide audience. This is

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shown, above all, by the widespread material evidence for her cult, most strikingly the number of gold-glass representations in Rome. The literary texts, meanwhile, all refer to the power of the saint as an intercessor. We can read Agnes' narratives as telling us about the patriarchal sexual politics of the late antique Church, but we can also see her as providing a powerful source of divine power for a wide range of believers.

5

Multiplying Texts: From Martyr Act to Miracle Story Late antiquity saw a new type of martyrological text in which violence and suffering are both suspended and transformed. New stories were created about martyrs as martyr cult grew and developed, transcending its traditional boundaries. The huge growth in the cult of relics was the prime element in this development. Traditional centres of martyr narrative were displaced because there were now new stories to be told, new times and places to venerate, and, perhaps most fundamentally, new miracles to be recounted. This chapter will focus on the interrelationship between relics and miracles, and their narratives.

Martyn and their relics A crucial change in martyr cult, both material and conceptual, was brought about by the development of the cult of relics. As relics were discovered and sent forth, in some cases far across the Roman world, martyrs and their narratives reached new audiences. New stories were told and created: secondary, multiplying narratives. The martyr narrative no longer consisted solely of the passio; it might also include the story of the inventio (discovery) of the relics, and then the translatio. The liturgical celebrations of the martyr festival would now include a remembrance of this translatio, the arrival of the relics in their new home. 1 New relationships were forged, between the martyr and his or her new congregation and home, and between the new martyr and the others represented by their relics in the same place. With relics CBlllemiracles. The miracle story provides perhaps the exemplary example of a multiplying narrative. Miracle stories go backto primitive Christianity, and were performed by the key contemporary religious agent: prophet, apostle, martyr, ascetic, relic. The narration of miracle stories played a major role in Christianity's missionary endeavour.2 The telling of miracles is itself a performative act. As Theissen has noted, 'miracle stories could stand in the place of miracles'. 3 The period I am looking at here, the first half of the fifth century, is a transitional one, before the great early medieval miracle explosion, as

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evidenced in the prodigious labours of Gregory the Great and Gregory of Tours and their successors, who produced shrine miracle books and manuals of didactic miracles for use by preachers. 4 There is clearly a qualitative difference between miracles performed by living miracle workers and those performed by relics. Generally speaking, the narrative focus of the former is on the agent, while it is on the object of the miracle in the latter. 6 Most of the miracle stories discussed below are of the second type. This is not to say that the martyr, the agent through whom the miracle is performed, is altogether absent from the action. As we shall see, the person of the saint can play an important role in the miracle story.& Relics were not a new phenomenon in the fifth century. We can trace back a concern for the body of the 'special' deceased in several directions. For instance, we could cite Greco-Roman practices of honouring the remains of heroes and items associated with them as well as Jewish veneration of remains. 7 Cult paid to the remains of the saints also bears a clear relation to the traditional piety towards the bodies of the deceased in the Roman, and later Christian, cult of the dead.a Fundamental to Christian practices, however, is the belief in the eventual resurrection of body and soul. Several 'pre-Constantinian' martyr acts discuss practices of veneration towards the relics of Christian martyrs. These t.exts suggest a variety of differing traditions and associated beliefs. In the Acts of Polycarp the Church community collects the remains of their martyr 'that were dearer to us than precious stones, and finer than gold' in order to bury them suitably.9 As well as bodily remains, the veneration of 'contact' or 'representative' relics is suggested by other texts, providing evidence for North Africa. For instance, the martyr Saturus, according to the author of the Passion of Perpetuaand Felicitas, dipped the ring of the soldier guarding him into the blood of his wound, and then gave it back as a pledge, as a record of his bloodshed (memoriam sanguinis). 10 The Proconsular Acts of Cyprian tell us that the martyr-bishop's congregation spread cloths and napkins to catch the blood that fell as the saint was beheaded. 11 The bodies of the dead of the Church provided foci for both public and private veneration. Christians gathered at cemeteries to celebrate their liturgy. 12 The connection of relics with the altar, later a prerequisite for church consecration, was not clear-cut until the sixth century, but a link between martyr cult and the eucharist seems to date much earlier. 13 As well as this public use, the privatisation of relics had also constituted an important strand of cult dating back to the time of persecution. This took various forms; within ecclesiastical buildings, for instance, there was competition to be buried next to the martyr's remains (burial ad/apud sanctos). 14 However, there are also a number of cases from across the Roman world where relics were held in purely private possession. 16 One

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roughly contemporary example comes from Salona, where we hear of a rich woman who built a private oratorium for the martyr Anastasius. 16 Another clear case of division and private possession concerns the Forty Martyrs of Caesarea, a proportion of whose relics were shared around by the ecclesiastically influential family of Gregory of Nyssa. 17 We shall see later that this privatisation of the holy could be problematic. The crucial development in the cult of relics came when the martyrs entered the urban churches for the first time, and thus, as Robert Markus has stressed, 'the mainstream of the Church's public, everyday life'. It was in this way that 'Christianity brought the dead back among the living' .18 An ancient and heartfelt taboo was broken with the bringing of the dead heroes of the faith within the boundaries of the city walls. The arrival of martyrs into the city is customarily illustrated with the case of Ambrose and his inventio of Protasius and Gervasius, as discussed in Chapter 1 above. The significance of this development for the cult of relics is clear: Ambrose set in train, despite the law against translation, a whole network of distribution of the remains of martyrs. 19 The division, multiplication and distribution of relics to bishops within his orbit can be traced across a range of sources from the period, covering a geographical area that is surprisingly uncircumscribed. I shall discuss below texts relating to two of the recipients of Ambrose's largesse: Victricius of Rouen and Paulinus of Nola.20 The category of 'relics' is wide. Devotional remains could include the whole body, but also fragments, ashes, even dust. The important category of contact or representative relics made almost endless multiplication possible.21 Devotional practice, personal or communal, created new relics of this sort as devotees brought oil, water or cloths into contact with shrines. 22 The multiplication of actual bodily relics may have deflated the value of these representative versions, as churches sought to procure more prestigious remains. The existence of an unregulated trade in relics of various kinds is suggested by the Theodosian law against translation but also, for North Africa at least, by Augustine's disapproving comment about corrupt monks trading in dubious relics.23 Relics were not unmixed blessings, but could lead to unrest. A key cause of the Donatist schism, according to its historian Optatus, was the case in 311 of the influential laywoman Lucilla, whose personal martyr devotions were considered inappropriate in the context of the communal sacrament: 'She was said to kiss the bone of some martyr or other - if, that is, he was a martyr - before the spiritual food and drink.' 24 Accusations of Donatist excesses and superstitious behaviour in relation to relics form a regular feature in Catholic polemic of the fourth and fifth centuries. 25 The issue of 'proper' use of relics was also pertinent, however, in the case of the Catholic laity: thus we see the Carthage synod of 401

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trying to control the veneration of the proper relics.26 The power invested in relics made them dangerous, or, at the very least, inappropriate in the wrong hands. Though the rich would always succeed in acquiring their own relics, the ecclesiastical hierarchy was keen to maintain a monopoly on the all-important processes of discovery and distribution. 27 Opposition to relic cult was to be expected from Christianity's pagan critics. Of these, perhaps the best-known scoffer is the emperor Julian. As a young Christian, at least according to Gregory Nazianzen, he had competed with his half-brother Gallus to build a memorial to the local martyr Mamas. 28 After his repudiation of Christianity, however, the cult of martyrs' relics became an easy target for his mockery, as well as his legislation. 29 For instance, in his satirical anti-Christian polemic Against the Galileans Julian accuses Christians of polytheism in their veneration of martyrs. 30 He further accuses them of practising witchcraft at their tomb-side vigils, and, with the benefit of his rejected knowledge, he attempts to use the New Testament to prove that tombs are unclean. Scornfully he complains: You (Christians) have filled the whole world with tombs and sepulchres, and yet in your scriptures it is nowhere said that you must grovel among tombs and pay them honour. s1

Criticism from within the ranks of the Church was ultimately more threatening, however. Our most substantial source for such criticism comes in a polemical text of Jerome's. This work is a vitriolic refutation of the Aquitanian presbyter Vigilantius, a foe on several grounds, and slanderer of the martyrs. Upon receiving a copy of Vigiliantius' treatise, Jerome provided his response, in what he tells us was a single night's work: Against Vigilantius. 32 We must reconstruct Vigilantius' text on the basis of this work, and it immediately becomes clear that his attack on the cult of relics is pretty comprehensive. Vigilantius is especially scornful of the devotion paid to relics: the practices of carrying them about ceremonially, wrapping them in precious materials and kissing them [5]. He sees pagan antecedents in the veneration paid at shrines, especially the lighting of candles, and he attacks night-time vigils there, especially the abuses to which they were prone [9].33 He attacks the (lack oO logic of some of the beliefs inherent in the cult, taking on the problem of the intermediary presence of the dead martyrs. Vigilantius asks sarcastically: Is it the case that the souls of the martyrs love their ashes, and hover around them, and are always present, lest haply anyone come to pray, and they were absent, they could not hear? [8)84

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He also thought that only the living could pray for one another, so therefore martyrs' prayers had no effect. Signs and miracles taking place in the basilicas of the martyrs are also attacked; Vigilantius says they are for unbelievers, not believers. 36 In (a characteristically robust) response Jerome challenges him to go to the basilicas, where one day his demon will be expelled [10). Jerome and his adversary inhabit unbridgeably different imaginative worlds. 36 What Vigilantius calls 'that little bit of powder', his opponent describes as 'nothing less than the relics of the martyrs' [5]. For Jerome, the power of the dead martyrs is self-evident: 'for they have won their crowns, overcome and triumphed' [6]. Jerome writes that when he has been angry, or has harboured evil thoughts, he does not dare enter the basilicas of the martyrs, but shudders in body and soul [12]. The real and tangible power present in the relics of the martyrs runs like a current through Jerome's writing and Vigilantius' attack prompts one of his most excessive diatribes.a 7 The question is begged: how typical was this polemic? According to David Hunter, we should place Vigilantius in the mainstream of Gallic Christianity, at least. 38 Moreover, his late antique reputation survived Jerome's onslaught, more or less: he appears in pseudo-Gennadius' De viris illustribus, which, although condemning some of his views as heretical, commends his prose style and religious zeal.39 Jerome links his opponent to the heretic Eunomius, whose followers apparently refused to enter the basilicas of the apostles and martyrs [8], but this claim cannot be backed up. 40 We might wonder who else could have been an ally of Vigilantius. Jerome tells us that he was spurred into action upon hearing that Vigilantius' bishop was condoning the martyr attack and allowing it to spread. 41 This information provides a problem rather than a solution, as this bishop would have been Exuperius of Toulouse, generally much favoured by Jerome, and an enthusiastic promoter of the cult of martyrs and their relics in his own right. 42 Ultimately, the situation in Aquitaine and beyond is unclear; what is well known, of course, is that the relic promoters would eventually win the day in spectacular fashion. A fascinating Gallic text on the cult of relics, which provides a wholehearted counterbalance to the views of Vigilantius, is the sermon De laude sanctorum of Bishop Victricius of Rouen, dating from around 396.43 Victricius is an interesting figure. He was certainly well connected: the relics he is welcoming into the church at Rouen were a gift from Ambrose in Milan, and a second consignment at that. 44 In Rouen, he appears to have acted vigorously and successfully as a missionary bishop; with flattering exaggeration, no doubt, his friend Paulinus of Nola writes to Victricius, 'your deserving sanctity has transformed Rouen into the entire appearance of Jerusalem'. 45 A significant part of the bishop's work

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at Rouen was the establishment of an ascetic community there (Victricius himself had once been a monk) and its integration into the wider Christian community. 46 For Victricius, the relics entering the church are the 'temples of the Saints' and the 'dwelling places of martyrdom' [2]; martyrs 'always possess the consecrated relics' [6]. The wholeness, and total effectiveness of relics is stressed consistently. Victricius assures his congregation that 'the truth of the whole corporeal passion is present in fragments', and that the apostles and martyrs have 'come to us with their powers intact' [9]. Victricius takes us to the heart of the theology of relics when he tells us, 'I touch fragments; I affirm that in these relics is perfect grace and perfect virtue' [11]. There is no division, no diminution in fragmentation. Nothing that is divine can be diminished. Although we call them relics and fragments that is only a name; there is a difference between fleshly and spiritual truth [10].47 The bishop is clear about this: 'we proclaim ... that there is nothing in relics which is not complete' [9]. This is proved by the healing power of relics everywhere. The saints can be in many places at once [11] and they come to us 'without the weariness of travel' [9]. This stress on the wholeness of the part in relation to relics can be paralleled in other contemporary discussions. We can compare the discussion of similar ideas in the sermons of two of his near contemporaries, the Italian bishops Chromatius of Aquileia and Gaudentius of Brescia. Chromatius asserts that all (totum) is contained in a portion (portio); Gaudentius talks of the 'plenitude' (plenitudo) of the portio reliquarum. 48 All these episcopal promoters asserted the perfect power of the relic, arguing that there is no diminution in fragmentation. Rather, God's power is multiplied, present in full in each and every fragment, scattered across the world. 49 While once the martyr's memoria was clearly and uniquely spatially located, now, by virtue of subdivision, there is now a host of relics, each with their own individual existence. 50 It is Victricius' exposition, however, that is the most detailed and it is he who argues most firmly that the relics of the martyrs are in fact consubstantial with God.51 The stories of the martyrs are encapsulated within their relics, but this in itself is not enough. The presence of the martyrs within their remains does not do away with the ever-present need to tell and re-tell their stories. Victricius exhorts 'Let there be no day, dearest brothers, when we do not linger over these stories (fabulis) [of the martyrs]' [12). 52 The church at Rouen is now full of victorious martyrs, who suffered tortures and persecution and won the palm of victory and immortality. Here are John the Baptist, the apostles Andrew and Thomas, the martyrs Gervasius, Protasius, Agricola and Euphemia. The stories are

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almost endless: 'There are thousands of examples of virtue, dearest brothers, recorded in the holy pages.' 53 The bishop gives only a few abbreviated examples 'rather for exhortation than for instruction' [12). What is this exhortation? There is a role for martyrs in the peaceful Church. The bishop begins his sermon with a series of antitheses, reminding his congregation that here they have seen no executioners, no bloody enemy, no torture, but that they have been enriched by the saints' passions and bear the trophies of the martyrs [1]. Like the saints, the congregation are prey to a dangerous and powerful enemy. However, nothing is to be feared, such is the numerous multitude of the saints who fight against him. Using the traditional military language of martyrdom, the bishop reminds his congregation that they are fighting hard alongside the martyrs, that victory is certain in the company of such brethren, armed and under Christ's orders. 54 Faith is key. Faith elevates martyrs to heaven, fortifies the souls of confessors, makes martyrs, unites us in Christ. The bishop wants to lead his flock to confession and repentance of their sins. Although God already knows our sins, a voluntary plea will be looked on more favourably. Here too the martyrs have a role in play. Using judicial language, Victricius tells his congregation that the saints are advocates and favourable judges who can mitigate sentences [12). The world conjured up in Victricius' text is that of a new community in which he plays a crucial role. He evokes the procession that takes the relics into the church, which includes choirs of boys and of virgins, monks, celibate men and widows. These people, the bishop tells his congregation, have a special relationship to the saints: 'the throng of the chaste is the joy of the saints'. The procession is compared with an imperial advent- but how much better is the triumph of the martyrs [3]! The Christian community is gathered in joy to welcome the saints, and Victricius urges, 'let the people take their lead from the joy of their priest'. The relics of the saints vindicate and elevate the position and actions of the bishop who procured them. He makes this explicit with reference to the new church he has had built to house the relics: The arrival of the saints excuses my eagerness. They themselves, by the hidden means of my longing, ordered a court to be prepared for them. That is how it is, it is indeed [12).

The aggrandisement of the church at Rouen, and by association, of its bishop, is at the will and the behest of the saints. The relics could only have come to Rouen with the saints' own consent [9]. The discovery and reception of relics always heightened the status of the elites involved, who constructed themselves as 'privileged agents'. Peter Brown's

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description of bishops 'discreetly backing into the limelight of the newly found praesentia of the saints' could be applied neatly to Victricius. 65 The bishop ends, having justified the construction of the basilica, by further cementing his relationship to church, relics, saints and their God, by wishing to offer his sweat to the earth, unable as he is, unlike the martyrs, to offer his blood. As this chapter sets out to demonstrate, the development of the cult of martyrs' relics brought about crucial changes in late antique Christianity, in terms of liturgy, literature, devotion, art and architecture. A fascinating case study is provided by Paulinus of Nola's descriptions of his religious complex built outside the city at present-day Cimitile. Two poems, Carmina 27 and 28, are taken up largely with ekphraseis of the buildings and their decoration and provide unique testimony regarding the appearance of a late antique martyr cult site. 56 An earlier poem details the gifts which furnish and decorate the shrine, including fine patterned curtains, coloured curtains, lamps and inscriptions on silver.67 We are told of a precious jewelled gold cross that is stolen and then returned. 68 Felix' tomb is made of marble and lined with silver; there are fenestellae through which the faithful can either touch the coffin or pour oil upon it for future use. 69 The decoration includes painted figural images. 60 As we shall see in the next chapter, a rich phenomenological experience of martyr cult, encapsulating the visual and the sensual as well as the literary, would develop, providing a key element of its success. The presence of relics provides an important element in the glory of the buildings at Nola. The possession of relics brought a bounty in terms of spiritual capital. The stories Paulinus tells about Felix are related temporally and spatially to Nola, its religious buildings, and its religious communities. 61 However, Nola possessed more than just Felix: it was a centre to which other saints had flocked, in the form of relics. Paulinus stresses the very fertility of the relic cult: 'sacred ashes (sacri cineres) have been scattered over different areas like life-giving seeds (semina vitae).' In this outpouring of fecundity bone particles are as drops of dew while 'drops of ashes have begotten rivers of life'. 62 Paulinus evokes the sacred journeys of relics, spreading miracles as they go: the relics leave 'living traces' (vestigia viva) like tracks on their routes. 63 As a result of this marvellous fertility Nola is rich in the 'pious gifts' (pia dona) of the saints. 64 The case of Felix provides an illustration of a common feature of pilgrimage sites and other sacred centres: the clustering of the sacred around the magnetic centre. Relics attract more relics. Paulinus speaks of how Felix 'has accepted' the relics of other saints. 66 In Felix's own church, under the altar, are the relics of the apostles Andrew and

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Thomas, Luke and John the Baptist. Martyrs too are present: Euphemia of Chalcedon and the Italian martyrs Agricola, Proculus, Vitalis and Nazarius, the last a gift from Ambrose. 66 Paulinus also placed the relics of Andrew and Luke and those of Nazarius, Gervasius and Protasius, obviously gifts from Ambrose, in the new basilica he built at Fundi. 67 In the heightened atmosphere created by the presence of relics even objects which are not relics take on a sacred charge, such as the jewelled cross stolen by the thief in Carmen 19, the power and symbolism of which are highlighted. 68 Paulinus is jealous of his community's relics, so when his friend Sulpicius Severns writes requesting some for his new basilica at Primuliacum, he replies that he has not the tiniest bit of ash left over from the dedication of his own new basilica. 69 However, he is more generous with his fragment of the holy cross. This relic is another interesting case: which a gift from Melania the Elder who had herself received it from Bishop John in Jerusalem (whom we shall come across shortly in the context of yet another relic), it goes on to play a dramatically and miraculously effective role against the fire at Nola. 70 When offering a piece of this relic, Paulinus relates the story of Helena's discovery of the true cross to Sulpicius. 71 Relics lead inevitably to more relics, and more stories about relics. The process is seemingly unending in its regenerative potential. Turning to the case of St. Stephen, and his journeying in relic and narrative at the start of the fifth century we can see this pattern even more clearly.

Stephen: a traditional martyr and his multiplying narratives In the early fifth century, Stephen the Protomartyr made an impressive comeback. It might have been thought that he was somewhat old hat, with a steady stream of new martyrs appearing across the Roman world. This was a case where relics radically changed the fortunes of a saint. We shall see here how important the interaction of relics and texts, or rather, the textualisation of relics, would be, as narratives took on new lives of their own. The story of Stephen in the fifth century begins with the discovery of Stephen's relics in Jerusalem and the account of this discovery.72 This account was variously known as the Revelatio Sancti Stephani or the Epistola Luciani and was popular across the empire, surviving in a number of different versions. 73 It tells of the series of visions received by the priest Lucian leading to the discovery in December 415. Lucian narrates how he received a vision featuring Rabbi Gamaliel, teacher of St. Paul and an apostle himself, about the whereabouts of St. Stephen's

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body. The story is made more complex by Lucian's wariness, two more visions, an unsuccessful initial search and the involvement of Bishop John of Jerusalem. Eventually the remains are uncovered, accompanied by earth tremors, a wonderful fragrance, and the instantaneous eruption of prodigal healing powers: within the hour seventy-three people are cured of various ills. As ever, ecclesiastical politics and networks play an important role in the dissemination of both relics and texts. Bishop John was a powerful figure, embroiled, at this time, in the controversy surrounding the doctrine of the British-born monk Pelagius. 74 Key figures in the antiPelagian camp were the first to get involved in the promotion and distribution of Stephen's relics. A Spanish priest, Avitus, who was in Jerusalem on anti-Pelagian business at the time of the discovery, commissioned Lucian to dictate an account of the goings on which Avitus then translated into Latin. Moreover, and crucially, Avitus acquired some of the relics from Lucian, and sent them, along with the Latin account and an explanatory letter, to a compatriot Balconius, bishop of Braga. 75 He sent this package to Braga in the care of another anti-Pelagian Spanish priest, Orosius, who returned to mainland Spain via North Africa and Minorca, depositing portions of relics in both places. Texts began to multiply. A new version of Stephen's passion was first produced in the first half of the fifth century, though no Greek or Latin version survives today.76 The canonical account, that provided by Acts 6, was obviously considered insufficient in the new circumstances. This rewriting constitutes a striking and significant development. 77 The fifth-century version is substantially expanded. Pontius Pilate re-appears in a new story, re-enacting his role as uneasy judge [3]. Saul of Tarsus gets to play a more central role than in the biblical version. He interrogates the saint and his household, and Stephen replies to his interrogation with all the vigour of the traditional martyr, calling his interrogator an 'inhabitant of hell and accomplice of the devil' at one stage [5]. It is decreed that Stephen is to be beheaded, but in order for the story to tally with the biblical version this legal execution fails (miraculously of course) and Saul orders that Stephen be stoned. During the stoning, others are injured and Stephen prays to Christ that they may be healed [6]. Stephen's vision of the opening of the sky is accompanied by an earth tremor, and a dove brings Stephen a glittering crown while a heavenly voice hails Stephen his prince [7]. Stephen heals the injured with a sign of the cross, and then dies [8]. The text then concerns itself with the body of Stephen. The Rabbi Gamaliel takes charge of it, as he told Lucian in his revelation. Pilate and his wife also look for the body and Stephen appears to Pilate at night, predicting the discovery of his own relics [10]. Pilate and his wife, along with five thousand others, are

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baptised by Peter (11]. The text ends with Pilate's vision of Stephen, sitting upon twelve stars, his face shining (12).78 Unusually for a text of this type, the Passio Stephani can be dated fairly conclusively. It is clearly posterior to the discovery of the relics, and its polemical discussion of the status of the Virgin Mary as theotokos (stressed in Stephen's preaching at [2]) dates it to sometime between 415 and the middle of the fifth century. Aside from the incorporation of contemporary polemics and traditional material, we can see the results of what is evidently a desire to create a text similar to the accounts that were already being read on the feast days of other martyrs. The writing of the Passio thus demonstrates further the importance and ubiquity of the contemporary martyr act. The new version of the story includes an interrogation scene, miracles and conversions, thus clearly illustrating, at the same time, the development in martyrology wrought by the advent of the cult of relics. The discovery and dissemination of the relics were so important that they became new and crucial elements in the story. These two texts are far from being the only ones generated by the dissemination of Stephen's relics. If we return to the travels of Orosius, precious cargo in hand, we shall see how the story continues. The first portion of Stephen's relics arrived at Magona (Mahon) on the island of Minorca in late summer or autumn of 416.79 The ensuing events are narrated in a striking and controversial text, the Epistula Severi, which gives a triumphal account of Christian persecution of the Jews on Minorca, stirred up and aided by the arrival of portions of the Protomartyr. This text, for a long time believed to be a forgery, has more recently been recuperated as genuine. While historians have understandably mostly concentrated on the Jewish issue, seeing Stephen as peripheral to events, I am interested in the role played by this account in the web of intertextuality making up the cult of Stephen and his relics at the start of the fifth century. 80 Tangentiality, dubious miracles and falsified chronology are all par for the course in the world of the multiplying saint's narrative. The story told by Bishop Severns is not a comfortable tale. It is a story 'stripped to its essentials, of a highly successful campaign of intimidation and violence'. 81 Stephen's relics are deposited at Magona 'doubtless at the instigation of the martyr himself [4.2]. The effect of this deposition is striking and instantaneous: 'straight away the fire of His love was kindled'. This fervour has a specific direction: although 'at one moment, zeal for the faith would fire our hearts'; we told that 'at another moment, the hope of saving a multitude would spur us on' [4.3-4]. The result was that the Christians broke off social relations with their Jewish neighbours and 'the sinful appearance of our long-standing affection was transformed into temporary hatred' (5.1]. It is true that from here

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onwards, Stephen plays a very limited role in the story. While are told that the Christians 'prayed for the assistance of Stephen, their patron' while preparing to fight [6.4], the saint himself does not appear again until much later, and even then this appearance is ambivalent. The congregation, we are told, are taking mass in the church containing his relics. Meanwhile, a miraculous sign is spotted by two monks and also by some Jews (later to become Christians): a ball of light [20.4-11]. Its significance is uncertain, however: Severus comments 'it is still today unclear whether this thing was an angel or St. Stephen himself or what it really appeared to be' [20.12]. The Stephen tradition is clearly not the only, or even the most important influence on Severus' text. The heavily biblical influence on the form and substance of the narrative has been noted. 82 There is a powerful aura of millenarian expectation which overlays the whole text. 83 Crucially for us, however, the Epistula Severi made its way into the manuscript tradition attached to the Stephen cult; however strangely this narrative may seem to us to fit with the cult of the Protomartyr, it became part of its textual tradition. 84 This happened via North Africa. Bishop Severus' letter travelled in 418 with a portion of the relics to the town of Uzalis. It was read out aloud in church on the day of the relics' adventus. This narrative thus became part of the Stephen story. We know this from the anonymous author of the Uzalis miracle collection, De miraculis sancti Stephani, composed c. 425. He tells us: On the same day on which the relics of the blessed Stephen entered the church, at the very beginning of the Scripture reading, a letter was delivered to us from a certain holy bishop, Severus by name, from the island of Minorca, and was read from the pulpit for the ears of the church to the accompaniment of great applause. It contained the marvellous deeds [virtutes] of the glorious Stephen, which he had accomplished on that island through the presence of his relics for the salvation of all the Jews there who believed.85

The Minorca story, in which Stephen is the great converter of the Jews, thus also becomes a part of the Uzalis collection of stories. The bishop of Uzalis, Evodius, was an ally of Augustine in the fight against Donatism and it is clear that Uzalis had formerly been a Donatist town, indeed the main basilica, in which Evodius placed the relics of Stephen, was called the ecclesia Restituta: the reinstated Church. 86 Augustine, writing in 425 on the necessity of promoting miracles, tells us that although Stephen's shrine was set up in Uzalis 'long before any in our city ... it is not the custom there to publish reports - or rather, it was not, for perhaps the custom has now been adopted'. 87 Indeed, it seems

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likely that the Uzalis collection of miracle stories dates from around then. The author of the Uzalis miracle collection seems to have been convinced of the utility of his project, and, moreover, seems to have acquired a solid grasp of the tricks of the miracle story trade. 88 He tells us that it is an important duty to narrate the works of 'our patron', Stephen, the first martyr. He assures his audience that they will be narrated without pompous words or ornate language; the task is simply, with humility (cum humilitate) to make an account of true events [Prologus]. 89 The U zalis collection bas a chronological structure of sorts. The first two miracles recounted are visions relating to Stephen and his relics. The second of these is particularly interesting: a virgin has a vision of a congregation celebrating the arrival of a martyr. She sees a large number of the populace singing psalms lit by candles and lamps in an atmosphere of great celebration as a small fragment is brought forward and the martyr acclaimed. Indeed, forty days later, the Protomartyr relics arrive in Uzalis,just as in the vision, presented by the bishop and welcomed by psalm-singing choirs. 90 As in the vision, the congregation are told 'Behold, you have the martyr' [1.2]. Even visions appear to evoke the deeply ceremonial and ritual nature of the cult of the saints, at least, and perhaps crucially, when recounted in a liturgical, episcopal document. Miracles proper follow the visions and the arrival of the relics, thirteen in the first book. There is quite a varied selection: the blind are made to see, paralytics are made to walk, prisoners are freed from their chains. In one story, Stephen appears before a grieving father in the guise of one of the foremost citizens of Uzalis. Stephen decides to ask the man if he knows who he is: 'But who am I?', he asked. The man replied, 'My master from Uzalis' (Dominus meus Uzalensis). 'You have said the right thing, for I am from Uzalis', said the other, 'But I am not who you think I am, for I am Stephen' [l.14].91

The next tale is of a mother whose son died before baptism, a story also told by Augustine [1.15.1].92 Stephen appears time after time in the guise of a compassionate friend. The first book ends with the narrator regretting that he cannot tell any more miracles, as his audience have already been listening for a long time because it is the martyr's festival. He adds the commonplace that there are so many virtutes of Stephen that they would make an exceedingly long book. He reminds the audience that the accounts are for their edification, and to lead them to devotion [1.15.2]. The second book of miracles provides something of a meta-text, a frame to what has gone before. The narrator starts by reminding his audience of

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the great spectacle they have witnessed. For when the first instalment of stories had been read, one of their subjects, the blind woman given back her sight by Stephen, had been produced before the congregation, leading to much excitement, followed by another of the stories' subjects: a healed paralytic. The whole congregation admired, rejoiced, and, indeed, wept. Testimony was provided not just in texts (non solum scriptis nostris testimonium perhiberent) but produced before one's own eyes (uerum etiam oculis aspectibusque uestris fidem ueritatis ingererent). With their ears the audience hear of God's uirtutes, or read them for themselves; but the miracles are also presented before their eyes. The narrator comments 'Truly, you would have thought not so much that past events were being narrated, rather that present events were being demonstrated' [2.l]. 93 We shall find an undeniably more sophisticated version of this theme below, in the preaching and writing of Augustine. We are lucky to have a key complement to the Uzalis text in the works of Augustine, the prime promoter of Stephen's miracles in North Africa. Commentators have never ceased to find it surprising that a thinker and writer of the depth of Augustine should include what has seemed to be a mixed bag of miracles in the City of God. This inclusion has traditionally been seen as symptomatic of a late antique decline into superstition and credulity. AH.M. Jones's judgement is not atypical: 'Such silly stories had no doubt always been believed by the common herd, but it is a sign of the times that a man of the intellectual eminence of Augustine should attach importance to them. '94 Other scholars, however, have dealt with the change in outlook towards miracles between the young and the old Augustine with the aid of contextualisation and somewhat more sympathy.95 In the strange yet resonant Book 22 of the City of God Augustine is much preoccupied with three related issues: relics, reassemblage, and resurrection. The question of bodily resurrection, it is clear, still constituted something of a problem for the Western Church. While its reality was perhaps not such a defining issue of theological fashioning as it was in the East, it continued to prove a stumbling block for many people, as Augustine's arguments show. In Book 22 Augustine deals with a range of question about and objections to bodily resurrection. His answers involve many seemingly bizarre (to us) discussions dealing with the state of the resurrection body, from the length of the resurrected person's hair, to their height. This discussion forms part of his broader argument, that thanks to the miracle of Christ's resurrection, we no longer need fear bodily dispersal after death, a widespread taboo in the ancient world.96 What Augustine also does in this book is reiterate, time after time, a connection between the miracles caused by the relics of the saints, and the miracle of bodily resurrection. He asks, rhetorically: 'To what do

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these miracles attest, if not to the faith which proclaims Christ risen in the flesh and ascended with His flesh into heaven?' 97 The bodily resurrection of Christ is the primary cause of all other miracles; its truth is also confirmed by these miracles. 98 Augustine's catalogue of miracles, which took place, for the most part, in the area around Hippo, is evoked to show the tangible transformative power of Christ. The martyrs had suffered and died, their mortal bodies were sleeping, but the power of even their dead flesh, even in specks of dust, gave a hint of the wonderful transformation to come, a hint of that time, when, 'we shall rest and see, see and love, love and praise'. 99 Martyrdom is of great importance in discussions of both miracles and bodily resurrection. Augustine writes that the martyrs were indeed witnesses (testes) of 'this faith', i.e. the bodily resurrection of Christ. 100 He then returns to a favourite theme: the difference between the martyrs and pagan gods, and tells us that we should put our trust in the martyrs because of both their words and deeds. They suffered because they spoke the truth, and because of this they can perform miracles. The first and foremost of these truths is, again, Christ's bodily resurrection, and Christ's promise that we shall all share in it. 101 For Augustine it was clear that the central miraculous power comes only from God, as revealed and exercised in the miracle of the Resurrection. 102 If miracles happen at shrines, via relics, Augustine seems to be saying, it is only because God sees fit to work it that way.103 Nevertheless, Augustine played a crucial role as promoter and creator par excellence in the case of the relics of St. Stephen, as I shall now discuss.

The bishop and the relics: Augustine and St. Stephen The role of Augustine in the propagation of Stephen's cult is confirmed by the epigraphic record of the expansion of devotion to Stephen, and the wide diffusion of his relics. It seems that the cult took root in the period 415-20 in two distinct areas: north-east of Proconsularis and north of Numidia Proconsularis, both areas with links to Augustine. 104 The epigraphic sources testify to the presence of the saint's relics. The most unambiguous text comes from Bulla Regia, where a fragment of marble announces 'Hie reli/quia.e s(an)c(t)i/ Stephan(i)'. 105 The transmission of relics is indissolubly linked to the transmission of cult. St. Stephen and his miracles play a dramatic role in Augustine's sermons. The first three Stephen sermons were obviously delivered prior to the arrival of the Protomartyr's relics in Africa. 106 They recap the narrative given in Acts and take moral lessons from Stephen's martyrdom. A great change has come about, however, by the fourth sermon, which tells us that Stephen 'has come to visit these lands', and

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is widely known in several places. Augustine is delighted that such a small amount of dust can draw such a big congregation, and asks them to imagine how wonderful Heaven must be if such great favours can be received even from the dust of the dead. 107 The occasion of the following sermon is the enshrining of the relics in their new home: the shrine/chapel built by Augustine's eventual successor, Eraclius. 108 Augustine tells his congregation that the body that was hidden was called to life, and evokes as comparison the famously excavated Milanese martyrs Gervasius and Protasius. He stresses the importance of this day and this place as new foci for devotion: the date and site of deposition. These are new memorial co-ordinates for the cult of St. Stephen. We do not know, therefore, whether the next Stephen sermon dates from the anniversary of the dedication of the shrine, or the anniversary of the saint's martyrdom.1 09 The stories to be told about Stephen have expanded. The discovery of Stephen's body has led to miracles, which have been preserved, textually, in leaflets known as Zibelli. These Zibelli are there to publicise the miracles, and promote the miracle doer(s). Augustine uses the example of a story contained in one libellus to demonstrate that Stephen is a persistent supplicator, who obtained a woman's request. 110 The textualisation of the cult is further suggested in Augustine's exhortation to the congregation to go into the shrine to see the verses written up there. Augustine wants them to read the verses, hold onto them, learn them by heart. He says that he wanted to have them there so that anyone could read them whenever they wanted, and he kept them short so that they could be read and remembered by all. He tells the congregation, 'There is no need to go looking for a book, let that room be your book.' 111 The maintenance of a textual record of the expansion of the cult of St. Stephen at Hippo is a key preoccupation of Augustine's. We might wonder how many of his Hippo population would have been capable of reading the verses, and can only assume that the proportion would have been small. Yet reading was a process very different from today, a skill to be performed aloud and shared. 112 As I shall demonstrate, in his promotion of the textualisation of the cult of St. Stephen, Augustine's emphasis was equally on the demonstration and extro-textualisation of the Protomartyr and his miracles. His 'package' of Stephen and his miracles is constructed around the interface of the textual with the visual. In this presentation, he consistently uses the language of the text. We can see this most clearly in the accounts of the miracles of Easter 426. 113 The famous events involve a brother and sister, Paul and Palladia, cursed by their mother with a terrible trembling condition, who had travelled across the Roman world from their home in Cappadocia in search of healing at various pilgrimage sites, thus far without success. They

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reached Hippo by Easter 426 where miraculously both were healed. Paul was healed first, some time before Easter Sunday, while Palladia was actually healed during the service on Easter Tuesday as Augustine was preaching about Stephen's other virtutes. These episodes provide striking examples of Augustine's approach to miracles in the community and their promotion, as well as his ideas about text and reading. The first sermon of the group takes place on Easter Sunday. Paul has already been healed, and Augustine presents him to the congregation, saying We are accustomed to hearing the leaflets (Zibelli) which describe the miracles God performs through the prayers of the most bleesed Stephen. This man's leaflet is the sight of him (aspect,u eat); first-hand knowledge (notitia) instead of some writing (scripturo), his face presented to you (demonstrotur) instead of a document (charta).

Augustine wants the congregation to read the change in Paul, he asks them to 'read what you see' (legite quod videtis); in this way what is written down in the libellus will be also be written down in the congregation' s memory.114 On the next day, Easter Monday, however, Augustine announces that there is more to be learned, this time in written form. Yesterday the libellus was the very sight of Paul, but in the meantime the bishop has been told other things, which must be made known, for the greater glory of God. He is, therefore, in the act of producing a libellus, consisting of everything that Paul has made known to him, which will be read aloud tomorrow, when it is completed. 116 The next day, Easter Tuesday, Augustine tells the congregation that they will now be able to hear, in the libellus, what they previously were unable to see. Seeing and hearing remain complementary however: at the same time he asks the brother and sister to stand before the congregation to provide a visual aid. 116 The narration now given, by the bishop, is Paul's libellus, as dictated to Augustine (and presumably given its linguistic and literary polish by its scribe). It tells the story of the siblings thus far, including things the congregation did not know, as well as those which they had observed. 117 The account is followed up by preaching, taking moral lessons from the story, and promoting the special powers of the local shrine. 118 As if this was not enough, Augustine is then beginning to tell the story of a miracle at nearby Uzalis when he is interrupted, causing him to foreshorten his sermon. 119 What has occurred is the miraculous healing of Palladia in the adjoining shrine of St. Stephen. It is only the next day that Augustine can finish his sermon, and finally conclude, praising the great virtues of the Hippo shrine, the site chosen to receive such miracles. 120

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This is a highly fertile environment, where miracle begets miracle: the atmosphere Augustine seeks to create in his miracle book in the City of God where these events are recapped. In re-telling the story the bishop does not leave out his role, or the interaction of text and action, words and deeds. The story is paradigmatic for Augustine's emphasis throughout the section on the imperative importance of publicising the miracles performed by martyrs. The famous section in the City of God begins with Augustine's insistence that miracles are still happening: through the sacrament and through the prayers and memoriae of the saints. What these miracles lack is only the publicity of their predecessors. Augustine regrets that they are known only very locally, and when they are related elsewhere they are not easily believed, even by Christians. This book provides an account not just of the miracles themselves but also of their proclamation, performance and repetition by Augustine. After recounting case after local case of local miracle, he asks: 'Who knew about this?' In the case of the healing of a devout noblewoman from Carthage, Innocentia, Augustine relates that he was 'extremely angry' that she had not publicised her miraculous healing from breast cancer. He tells us that he determined that Innocentia should be admonished and that therefore he went to speak to her friends, to check that they had been told. When he found they were in ignorance, Augustine went back to Innocentia, rebuked her and made her relate the whole story to her companions, who then marvelled and glorified God. 121 The centrality of narrative is only too clear. The accounts of further miracles also include the 'telling'. A miracle needs to be narrated if it is to be effective. Augustine describes his own efforts here. At Hippo miracles have been textualised as Zibelli - nearly seventy in less than two years - while elsewhere in North Africa negligence reigns. 122 In one case, Augustine had a healed man from Curubis brought to Carthage to tell his story in front of himself and the bishop there. 123 In the case of the shrine of Stephen at Uzalis, a site that had seen many miracles, he encouraged Evodius (successfully, as we know) to get a libellus published. 124 Contemporary miracles, Augustine reiterates, are not well known, 'nor are they beaten into the memory by frequent reading, like gravel into a path, so that they cannot pass out of the mind'. 125 Therefore, in the City of God he provides a paradigm for the promotion of miracles. Miracles do not just happen: in order to be truly effective they have to be communicated, repeated and textualised.

Conclusion: circulating

relics, circulating

narratives

In this chapter we have moved beyond traditional martyr narratives to trace a new process of development. As ecclesiastical networks multiplied and transported relics around the Roman world, a whole web of stories

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was told. These stories played as important a role as the complementary acta and passiones of the martyrs. They created new sacred co-ordinates of time and space, and bound community and clerics to their local churches in new and creative ways. The role of the bishop, in procuring the sacred objects, and indeed the sacred visitors, was correspondingly elevated. He was at great pains to assert that relics were a blessing for the entire community; the stories that were told were stories about and of this community, celebrating local time and space, and characters familiar to the congregation. In this sense, these stories worked differently from the stories of far-off and distant martyrs, who were, nonetheless, bound to the post-Constantinian Church through divine time, as well as shared history. I have demonstrated here the working out of certain key themes: the fertility of the narrative form, the endless multiplication of relics, the importance of telling, and also of seeing, and the role of the bishopinventor. We have seen the construction of a whole package, an episcopal production, with the interfacing of the textual and the visual, with narrative at its centre, working to construct the powerful 'charisma' of the martyr and his relics. This is an important episode in the history of the cult of the martyrs.

Felix of Nola

1

Martyrdom without bloodshed is acceptable, if mind and faith are ready to suffer and are ardent for God.2 Paulinus, Carmen 14.10-11

Felix of Nola is a martyr who was not a martyr, or, in the words of his most diligent promoter, Paulinus, a 'bloodless martyr'. 8 In the Natalicia, or birthday poems, written by Paulinus for his saintly patron, we have testimony for a new kind of saint as well as the new relic-centred piety we have been looking at in the previous chapter. Paulinus' construction of Felix represents something of a bridge from the cult of the martyrs to the cult of the ascetic saint. At first sight, the status of Felix as martyr is surprising, even paradoxical. Paulinus does not shy away from this. In his first Natalicia poem we are told that Felix was 'a martyr who shed no blood' (sine sanguine martyr) [12.9).4 How is this so? His vita, given in Cannina 15-16, relates how he twice escaped the martyr's fate (by God's will) and lived, instead, to old age, pursuing an ascetic existence. However, Paulinus speaks of Felix 'winning his heavenly crown as a martyr who did not shed his blood' [14.4). We might have expected the saint to be described as a confessor, but although Paulinus does use this term several times, it is not the title he generally uses to define and describe the saint. 5 According to Paulinus, the crucial defining factor is Felix's willingness to die: it is the will, we are told, that is sufficient. Due to this volition, Felix is equal to all blood-shedding martyrs [14.22-3). In a description of Felix's burial, Paulinus describes how the saint received a white and a rose-coloured crown, a white and a purple gown, the white testifying to his peaceful death but the martyr's purple due to his willing virtue [18.148-51). How unusual, exactly, was Paulinus' martyrisation of Felix? As I have shown, martyr ideology was always subject to both evolution and contestation. The idea of the will to die being as important as the death itself was not an innovation of Paulinus, but can be traced back through the history of martyr ideology.6 This notion could be important both theologically and politically, in defining who was and who was not to be accounted a martyr. 7 The technical term 'martyr', meanwhile, was never as precise as apologists might claim.8 For example, Cyprian, a founding

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father of martyrology, famously addressed living Christians as 'martyribus'. 9 In a post-Constantinian context, a comparable example is provided by the cult of the exiled bishop, Eusebius of Vercelli, as well as the promotion as martyrs of the popes Cornelius and Eusebius who had actually died in exile. 10 Nevertheless, Paulinus was not entirely successful in promoting Felix as a martyr: Augustine refers to him as a confessor, as does Paulinus' own biographer, Uranius; on the other hand Felix does appear in the Calendar of Carthage, the only non-martyr (apart from the apostles) to do so.11 Why did Paulinus choose to present Felix as a martyr? There were, after all, other options for saintliness available by the time he was promoting Felix.12 The ascetic movement was established in the Latin West by this time, as well as in the Greek East, aided by the arrival of such illustrious emigres as Athanasius. Moreover, a distinctively Gallic ascetic movement had produced its first superstar: the ascetic bishop and miracle-worker Martin of Tours. Paulinus' erstwhile friend and correspondent Sulpicius Severus was even more zealous in promoting Martin, his saint, than Paulinus was in promoting Felix.13 Sulpicius faces the problem of martyr-status head on, explicitly stating that Martin would share the glory of the martyrs, despite having lived in a time of peace. To stress his point, Sulpicius evokes, one by one, the torments that Martin would gladly have chosen, had he had the opportunity, and goes on, like Paulinus for Felix, to assert Martin's status as a bloodless martyr. 14 Sulpicius' strategies seem clearly to suggest that martyr status was still the summit of saintly perfection: it was through assimilation and comparison to the martyrs that the powers and virtues of ascetic saints could best be asserted. The local Italian context is a further significant element for understanding why Felix had to become a martyr. Around the time of Paulin us' promotion of Felix, many of his contemporaries were already busy using local martyrs to promote their cities and their episcopacies. Rome, of course, had Peter and Paul, leading a subsidiary host of local martyrs, such as Agnes and Laurence. Milan, meanwhile, had a number of more recent acquisitions, including Protasius and Gervasius, referred to by Paulinus' contact, Ambrose, as princes of the people (principes populi), perhaps consciously evoking the 'princely' status of Peter and Paul. 15 In Paulinus' own backyard, Naples, competition was provided by the work of Paulinus' contemporary, Bishop Severus. Severus had developed a cult site around the tomb of the martyred Bishop Agrippinus, linking a new basilica to the catacomb. Agrippinus himself, however, was shortly to be entirely overshadowed by the new martyr in town, with the translation of the remains of St. Januarius of Puteoli (the ever-popular San Gennaro) to Naples under Severus' successor, John 1.16 (It seems some-

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what ironic, in view of this competitive climate, that Uranius, in his laudatory account of Paulinus' death, tells us that Paulinus had visions of Martin and Januarius just before his death. 17) Paulinus was clearly ambitious for Nola, and proclaimed its status, somewhat hyperbolically, as a holy city second only to Rome, thanks to the martyr status of Felix [14. 85-92].18 Only a martyr saint, it seemed, would really make the grade in Italy at this time. Felix was a new kind of martyr; he also had a new collection of stories. In Paulinus' poems, the binary oppositions and violent confrontations upon which traditionally formed martyr narratives are predicated are, if not entirely absent, utterly transformed. The language of martyrdom is still there - it was essential in the construction of Felix's sainthood - but it has been re-fashioned. The model and stories of sainthood presented here were substantially innovative, and would be highly influential. 19 The language Paulinus used to describe Felix is a blend of the traditional and the innovative. 20 He employs traditional agonistic language: the persecution is an agon (contest), Felix receives the pal.ma (palm), corona (crown) and laurea (laurel wreath). Similarly he uses military terms and metaphors, such as proeliari (to fight). However, the emphasis has changed. Alongside this concentration there is also more stress on the special role(s) played by the saint in heaven in relation to his favoured client(s). The various titles used for Felix range from the medical (medicus: doctor) through the social (patronus: patron; praesul: protector) to the domestic and familial (pater: father; parens: parent; susceptor. guardian). Felix's role as intercessor is stressed, with a variety of terms used for his action (suscipere: to support; commendare: to favour; suffro,gari: to recommend). Nola is referred to as Felix's solium (throne, dominion) and as his domus (home). Paulinus, never very distant from the poems, as we shall see, is Felix's hospes (guest), alumnus (pupil, foster-son), famulus (servant) and sectator (follower, attendant). The role of suffering in the making of the martyr remains crucial, however. Paulinus often stresses the suffering undergone by Felix, and its theological significance. He reminds us that the suffering of the martyrs, constituting an imitatio Christi, is the key to their power, the secret of their special relationship with Christ (26.207-10]. It is this suffering which enables the martyrs to outweigh 'our evil deserts with the power of their outstanding merit' [26.216-18]. Moreover, Christ shares in the suffering undergone on his behalf: Christ is described as having shared Felix's suffering in exile [15.188-9; 16.205-6]. Felix's vita, as narrated by Paulinus in Carmina 15 and 16, concentrates on just a part of Felix's life. The story really begins with persecution, as it does for all martyrs. Indeed, this period seems to have been something of a heyday for Felix, who thrives with a new strength: as we know, persecu-

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tion is good for martyrs. We are told of the saint: 'His body now no longer confined him; he seemed a sanctified, greater being, and his eyes and countenance shone with heavenly glory' [15.175-6]. As in conventional martyr stories, Felix undergoes nasty punishments, but Paulinus makes it clear that such is his holiness that this suffering comes as a reward, not a punishment. 'The heavier his punishment, the more garlands of green he gained as he traversed heaven in journeying mind' (15.189-90]. While Felix's body was in chains, his spirit fled to Christ (15.191-3]. The message is that if suffering is undergone for the right reasons, according to God's will, it will be transformed. As a lesson in the need to obey God's will, Felix's happy suffering is contrasted with that of his unhappy bishop, Maximus. Maximus, we learn, fled Nola to avoid persecution. The physical torments he subsequently underwent in a bleak environment were compounded by 'bitter mental suffering' (15.21113]. The moral is only too clear: when persecution comes round again, Maximus, having learnt his lesson, tells his congregation not to flee. The story gets a little more complicated now. During this new outbreak of persecution, it is now Felix that flees. Paulinus' congregation might well be justified in feeling a little confused at this point. Paulinus has to make it clear that this escape was in accordance with God's will, and effected with divine assistance. Paulinus narrates the tale of Felix's miraculous escape: first he was transformed so that the pursuing guards did not recognise him then a spider aided his next escape. Felix's exile is represented entirely differently from that of the worthy but un-saintly Maximus. We are told how Felix was fed miraculously and that Christ came and chatted to him, so that he was 'ever rich in Christ's consolation' [16.195-7]. Felix returned to Nola at the end of this period of persecution and led a modest and holy life, reaching a ripe old age. His death was that of a saint and paradigmatic Christian: 'the span of his holy life was not ended, but rather transformed' [16.299]. Despite Paulinus' assurances regarding the holiness of Felix's death, it might still seem to lack something in comparison to the powerful deaths of conventional martyrs. This is why in his first Felix poem Paulinus is determined to prove Felix's equality with his forebears. Paulinus tells us that Felix's status is equal in both title and strength to blood-shedding martyrs - the proof lies in his exorcisms, in which Felix thrusts out demons with the power of his authority [14.21-4]. On another occasion, expounding the intercessory role and power of the saints Paulin us moves on to discuss the case of a possessed man healed by Felix. He addresses the saint: 'wondrous power, strong rod, lofty strength' (mira manus et virga potens et celsa potestas) [26.338]. A little further on he claims that his patron 'is girt with a right hand of power, and so with this strength he swallows up the assorted guile of the prince of darkness' [26.254-6].21

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The transformation of the violence inherent in the martyr story is one of the striking innovations in Paulinus' construction of Felix. The violence and confrontation in which Felix plays a part in the Carmina take place on the cosmic plane. Paulinus' lyrical verse is not lacking in anti-pagan polemic. In Carmen 19 Paulinus describes the role of martyrs' tombs in the destruction of paganism. He tells his audience that Felix is the physician who protects and cleanses Nola, previously polluted and plague-ridden, by tormenting demons, the pagan gods. This pollution is so vile that the life span of one mortal man would not be sufficient to fight it: hence Felix's activities continue even after his death [19.164306]. There is a strong emphasis on pollution and supernatural violence. But this is only one side of the story. Felix is the bloodless martyr, the golden saint. His miracles, as recounted by Paulinus, usually tend towards the whimsical. This saint even has a sense of humour: he is amused by the exasperation of his disappointed clients, and seems to have a penchant for animals. 22 On one striking occasion, potential bloodshed is averted by the power and protection of the patronus in the story of the robber who steals a precious jewelled gold cross from the basilica [19.515-603]. So the story goes, Felix, called upon by one of the guardians of the shrine, holds the thief fast when he is at risk from the righteous anger of the pious crowds. Felix is the ideal master: nurturing, giving, protecting [20.1-12]. We must, however, recognise the contingency between the two different roles of Felix: avenging and nurturing. The Carmina do not provide a purely benign account of Felix and his actions. The saint also appears in the guise of punisher, ultor, and the poems sometimes have a threatening edge.23 One story that is not as charming as it might at first appear is that of the fire at Nola (when an obstructive rustic's home is destroyed, but the religious complex is saved!), which demonstrates most clearly that, as Frend has put it, 'Felix was not an unmitigated blessing to the community' [28.62-166].24 This story is also revealing of the tensions that could rise from the conflicting demands and needs of the local population and the religious community focused around the local saint. Paulinus' development of Felix's cult encapsulates several diverse aims and themes. The cult formed the heart of the religious community founded at the saint's domus while at the same time playing a key role in the Christianisation of the countryside around Nola.25 It is the intimate relationship between Paulinus and his patron saint that has, however, attracted the most scholarly attention. First Pierre Fabre, writing of Paulinus and 'l'amitie chretienne' (Christian friendship), compared this relationship to those with Paulinus' more conventional friends. Fabre writes 'For Paulinus, Felix is living, living the sole true life,

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the eternal life', and tells us that what we find is a friendship, 'which is only paradoxical in its appearance'. 26 More recently, however, Catherine Conybeare has pointed out that this idea of friendship is not borne out by Paulinus' language: as even the brief survey above showed, the vocabulary that defined the relationship between the saint and devotee at Nola was clearly hierarchical. 27 The notion of the 'special relationship', however, is powerful. Peter Brown writes of a new relationship being forged by Paulinus between the human and the holy. Brown sees a new form of the invisible companion, different from other and earlier gods, angels and daimones. Felix has a human face. He could be recognised by Felix's readers in the form of a conventional Roman patronus and amicus. What seems to be most striking here is how the saint plays a role for Paulinus in the fashioning of his own identity. Brown comments that the patron saint, Paulinus' 'special friend', has 'the ancient quality almost of an unconscious layer of the selr. 28 The idea of Felix functioning almost as a 'layer of the selr for Paulin us can also be looked at another way. Dennis Trout comments on the elision of biography and autobiography in the Natalicia, writing that Felix is close to being 'an upward extension of [Paulinus]'. 29 A few years earlier Gennaro Luongo studied the parallelisms made by Paulinus between his own career and that of Felix. For Luongo 'The presbyter and confessor Felix of Nola is therefore the mirror of the experience of Paulinus, presbyter and monk. ' 30 Paulinus' Felix provided an ideal model for sanctity in an age of transition: in the peaceful Church where martyrs were nevertheless still being found, and while the heroisation of the pastoral and ascetic endeavours of monks, bishops and other ecclesiasts had begun. Ultimately, the significance of Felix is not so much as Paulinus' 'special friend', but as a constructed saint for a new Christian elite of ascetic men in clerical office.

6

Picturing Martyrs: Text and Image This book has thus far concentrated largely on textual representations of martyrs. However, a visual aspect has constituted an important theme in much of the diBCUssion;indeed I have often stressed a pictorial quality. I am now going to look more closely at this aspect and examine its implications thoroughly. I shall diBCUsspictures of martyrs, the actual images themselves, and texts which purport to describe images. It is already obvious that there is room for slippage, for ambiguity, when we talk about images and imagery: are we talking in terms of language or 'art,? (What does 'figurative' suggest? Or 'pictorial language,?) In late antiquity it seems that an especially pictorial, quality was a marked feature of much literary language, both 'pagan, and Christian. 1 My aim here is in part methodological, in that I wish to discuss and problematise the issues involved in the use of art historical data, in particular by those who are not art historians. The relationship between image and text will therefore constitute a special focus. I want to show how this text/image relationship might have functioned in the later Roman world within the context of the cult of the martyrs, how the two aspects together represented the saint.

Evidentia: bringing the subject before the eyes In Chapter 3 I examined one of Augustine's favoured analogies: his comparison of the act of reading/listening to the acts of the martyrs to looking, to spectating (spectare). In stressing the idea of visualisation Augustine was making use of a tenet of ancient literary theory that had become particularly popular in late antiquity. What he was aiming for was the effect of visual immediacy, for which the technical terms were enargeia, or evidentia. 2 Rhetorical textbooks praised this vividness as a prime quality; one described it as 'when an event is so described in words that the business seems to be enacted and the subject to pass before our eyes'. 3 The classical ekphrasis was the obvious location for this enargeia, a descriptio studied or composed by students of grammar or rhetoric, in accordance with certain rules, or using key techniques. 4 The common modern description of an ekphrasis as a description of a work of art is misleading. Subjects suggested in ancient books of rhetor-

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ical exercises include people, places, times and events. What is important in defining an ekphrasis is not the object described but the effect the description should have on its audience. It wishes to communicate the experience of the subject described, including the judgements and emotions of the describer, both a clear representation and a 'thick description'. 6 It can also be said to comprise a psychological aspect in its link to imagination and memory.6 It is important that we bear this broader definition of ekphrasis in mind when talking about pictorial images because it reminds us that authors were using figures from literary tradition as well as works of art, real or imaginary, to construct their ekphraseis. 7 Ekphraseis should not be read as 'objective', guidebook-style descriptions, but 'within the context of what we understand to be the cultural attitudes and literary system of their period and society'.8 Slippage between the image and the events depicted in the image is always likely, as the author is tempted, indeed obliged, to get his audience to see more than the painting. There is a clear sense, for both ancient authors and modern scholars, of a competition between the literary and figurative arts, with writers wishing to show that their powers of representation are better than those of the artist whose work they ostensibly set out to describe. 9 The study of ancient ekphrasis has undergone something of a critical renaissance in recent years. Literary scholars and art historians alike have called attention to the special textual concentration on the visual, which first flourished in the Second Sophistic. 10 More generally, ekphrasis has also received a new lease of life as an object of study as part of the contemporary scholarly interest in integrating readings of art and text, a theme I shall be returning to below.11 For cultural historians of the later Roman empire an interest in ekphrasis seems to be especially prescient: in the words of Michael Roberts, 'the stylistic norms of the ekphrasis informed the poetics of late antiquity' .12 A concern with the pictorial dimension of language, with repraesentatio, extended far beyond the boundaries of the textbook ekphrasis. The idea of late antiquity as a world of colour and excess and visual splendour has been one that has seized the historiographical imagination, going back to Auerbach's depiction of sensory overload. 13 The multi-hued baroque world of Prudentius seems to be especially interesting as a representative of this culture, and I shall turn to his ekphraseis for my detailed discussion. 14 The most quoted examples of ekphrastic descriptions of Christian art are descriptions of the tortures of the martyrs and the discussion of their value, especially those given by Greek preachers - Gregory Nazianzen, Gregory of Nyssa, Basil of Caesarea and Asterius of Amaseia. 16 Although my primary concern is with Latin Christianity, it will be instructive to

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consider briefly some of these passages. Basil's homily on the Forty Martyrs is particularly interesting and was also to be highly influential in later Byzantine thought and practice. Basil announces that he will: show to all, as if in a picture, the prowess of these men [the martyrs]. For the brave deeds of war often supply subjects for both speechwriters and painters. Speechwriters embellish them with their words, painters depict them on their panels, and both have led many on to acts of bravery. For what spoken narrative presents through hearing, this silent painting shows through imitation. 16 [my italics]

This last idea, that images of martyrs' sufferings were efficient as stimuli to imitation, would become an important tenet of visual theology. 17 Asterius of Amaseia's description of the painting of the martyrdom of St. Euphemia is justifiably famous. Asterius describes taking a stroll into a church and being captivated by a painting, which he then proceeds to describe. He gives a brief account of Euphemia's story and cult before moving on to the image itself. The scenes depicted, according to Asterius, depict Euphemia's trial, torture, imprisonment and execution. As he describes the painting he continually refers to his own viewing of it: he tells us that the painter set out to make the virgin comely but claims 'I see rather the virtue that adorns her soul' .18 Later he tells us how the painting moves him: 'now tears come to my eyes and sadness interrupts my speech'. 19 The emotion brought about by such images is a crucial element in ekphrasis. The highly rhetorical, literary nature of this passage is heightened further by Asterius' reference to the famous painting of Medea by Timomachus that was well known from such descriptions. 20 Hence the frequent citation of this passage as an objective 'description' of a 'real' work of art seems perhaps a little naive. Christian ekphraseis such as Asterius' were deeply indebted to classical rhetorical culture. Descriptions of torture were a frequent topic of description for pagan writers. For instance, (Pseudo?-)Libanius' description of the devouring of Prometheus is an ekphrasis of torture that claims to describe an artistic representation. 21 To take a Latin example, the Declamations in Seneca's Controversiae also show the use of such descriptions as rhetorical adornments. 22 As Maguire comments, 'such formal descriptions of torture and suffering found a natural place in early Christian homilies devoted to the torments of the martyrs'.23 As we shall see, this was as much the case with Latin as with Greek texts. Two ekphraseis of martyr imagery from Prudentius' Peristephanon provide fascinating examples of both the techniques and the function, as well as the problem of interpretation, of ekphrasis. They are also of historiographical interest in that for a century scholars have worried over

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whether or not they refer to 'real' images. These extracts therefore provide ideal case studies for my own readings. The first poem, Peristephanon 9, is dedicated to St. Cassian of Imola and relates the poet-pilgrim's visit to Cassian's tomb, where he views a striking image of the saint's martyrdom. 24 From the beginning it is clear that what we do not have is a 'straight' description, but a subjective account of the poet's experience of the painting, narrativised and historicised. It is while praying at the tomb, and meditating on his own 'wounds' [7] and 'stinging pains' (dolorum acumina) [9], that the narrator sees the painting. Prudentius tells us that he lifted his face towards heaven and there stood confronting me a picture of the martyr painted in colours, bearing a thousand wounds, all his parts tom, and showing hie skin broken with tiny pricks (9-12).

Here is a neat juxtaposition of the poet's own 'stinging' pains, and those of the martyr. The fact that the poet sees the painting while turning 'to heaven' (ad caelum) [9] further spiritualises and allegorises the description that follows. What the picture shows is the attack of 'countless' boys stabbing and piercing the body of the martyr Cassian with the styluses they normally used to take notes on wax tablets [13-16]. Prudentius, as narrativised observer, is at first at a loss as to the meaning of this image, but luckily there is help at hand in the shape of the shrine custodian. 25 The custodian immediately establishes the authority of the image, saying, 'What you are looking at ... ie no vain fable, no old wife's tale. The picture tells the story of what happened (historiam pictura refert); it ie recorded in books and displays the true faith of ancient times' (17-20).

What is made clear is that the image has authority in and of itself, though that of books is allied as a bolstering force.26 The custodian goes on to tell the typically gory tale of the martyrdom of the schoolteacher Cassian, whose persecutor designed the grim and grisly punishment of letting the teacher's pupils literally write their teacher's body to death. The narration of these torments comes from outside the painting: it is the custodian's narrative, expressed in his voice. We can find poetic echoes of the painting in Prudentius' description however, which is often concerned with colour, surface and texture. For example the poet stresses the 'brittleness' of the wax tablets (fragiles ), evokes 'blood-stained (cruentis rubetque) ... wet ... (umens) ... smooth and glossy (aequoris ... nitescens)' (47-54]. Furthermore, the

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V. Catacomb of Donatilla, Rome: arcolosolium fresco depicting Veneranda and Petronilla.

VI. Catacomb of SS. Marcellino e Pietro, Rome: 'Maiestas Domini' fresco.

VII. Gold glass depicting St. Laurence.

VIII. Catacomb of Commodilla, Rome: fresco from the 'Cubiculum Leonis' depicting Christ together with SS. Felix and Adauctus.

IX. Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, Ravenna: niche mosaic depicting St. Laurence.

X. Catacomb of S. Senatore, Albano Laziale: fresco depicting St. Laurence together with Christ and other saints.

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poetic techniques used by Prudentius conform to the classical instructions for composing an ekphrasis, as in the way he chooses to break up a scene into parts, known as leptologia or enumeratio per partes: for instance alii ... alii; pars ... pars. 27 Having finished the account, the custodian turns back to his audience: 'This ... is the story represented in clear/lively/liquid (liquidis) colours that you wonder at, this is the glory of Cassian' [93-4]. As well as having a successful aesthetic effect, this narrative functions proptreptically. Having finished telling the story of Cassian, the custodian urges the pilgrim narrator to unburden himself to the martyr, who will hear every prayer [95-8]. Prudentius tells us that he that he did so, and that his prayers were heard. He ends by proclaiming the martyr [99106]. The painting has thus worked, for Prudentius, the narrativised observer, in textbook fashion, stimulating devotion and spiritual improvement. The second Prudentian martyr ekphrasis, Peristephanon 11, again presents us with the poet pilgrim. 28 In contrast to Peristephanon 9, this time there is no external narrator: Prudentius himself narrates and interprets the painting. In this poem the description of the martyrdom and the description of the painting are fused. The scene is Rome, at the shrine of St. Hippolytus, according to Prudentius, a schismatic who returned to the True Church and suffered a martyr's death, in accordance with a grim irony, in the manner of his mythological homonym. 29 Therefore the Christian Hippolytus is torn apart by wild horses, his corpse scattered across the landscape. 30 Unlike Peristephanon 9, the history of Hippolytus is narrated in full and vivid fashion without reference to any painting. It is after the end of the narration, when we are left with the image of bits of Hippolytus' body hanging from rocks and bushes, that Prudentius tells us 'There is a picture of the outrage painted on a wall' [123]. This is situated, we are told, above the tomb of the saint. The poet evokes for us the vividness of the painting: 'showing in varied colours the impious deed' [123-4]. Prudentius' ekphrasis here plays a double game: stressing the verisimilitude of the representation, while simultaneously reminding us that it is, after all, just a representation. The details are depicted, they are porlrayed: 'above the tomb is depicted a lively likeness portraying in bright shades his bleeding body as he was dragged along' (picta super tumulum species liquidis viget umbris/ effigians tracti membra cruenta viri) [125-6]. This fits in with the comments of ancient literary theorists, who continue to stress that ekphrasis and enargeia almost produce the sight of what is narrated. 31 What Prudentius does, having introduced the picture as a picture, however, is to take us inside: he says 'I saw (vidi) the tips of the rocks dripping [127] ... one could see (cernere erat) ... the parts torn asunder'

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[132]. But he continues, at the same time, to remind us that this scene is a painting: 'a hand that was skilled in portraying (imitando) green bushes had also figured (effingere) the red blood in vermilion' [129-30]. Even more so than in the Cassian poem, Prudentius relishes his use of painterly language, and pays special attention to colour and texture. Having taken us inside the painting, Prudentius' narrative then goes beyond it, following the path of Hippolytus' 'loving people' who go about searching the landscape for fragments of the martyr's corpse [133-44]. Once all the parts are gathered, the brethren find a burial site, a cave not far from the walls of Rome [151-4]. Prudentius now proceeds to lead us underground, into the depths of the earth, where the martyr was buried [155-70]. He goes on to describe the present day shrine, evoking as well as the rejoicing mass of pilgrims, the adornments of the site itself, paying special attention to the gleaming surface of the shrine [183-210]. This site, however, is not big enough for all of Hippolytus' devotees [211-14]: a new, grand and noble church has been built nearby for the celebration of the saint's anniversary [215-26]. We have thus been led through a multiplying ekphrastic journey, from painting to shrine to martyr basilica. Scholarly debate over the 'reality' or otherwise of these two Prudentian paintings has done little to enlighten our readings and interpretations of Prudentius' own art. 32 I think that Prudentius is engaging in some sophisticated play regarding the relationship between art and text, and the role of the classical ekphrasis itself. 38 As I have pointed out, his ekphraseis conform to literary tradition in terms of their subject matter (torture) and their narrative context. The late antique poet has also performed the classical trick of implicitly improving upon the purported image, making it very much his own. However, there is an extra twist, perhaps in Peristephanon 11, where Prudentius seems to be undercutting his own ekphrasis in accordance with the new Christian context. The elegance of the martyr's shrine, the loftiness of the church's proportions, evoked for us by the poet, are ultimately rendered insufficient by the sheer volume of Christian pilgrims, of the people of God. The church has 'towering walls' [217], and the poet's description leads us ever upwards: 'Up the middle there stretches a broader passageway making open space under a high roof, rising to a loftier top' [223-4]. Yet despite the size, this building can scarcely contain what are evoked as the 'struggling waves [of people]' [227]. There is turmoil at the entrance, as 'Mother Church' seeks to take in her own [228-30]. The building's splendour has clearly been downgraded in: what has real power is the true Church, one which is not made up of panelling and pulpits, however nobilis. Prudentius, despite the flashiness and virtu-

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osity of his art, nevertheless shares a contemporary Christian concern for the spiritual over the merely showy.34 Prudentius ultimately limits the splendours of art and architecture, though his own poetic identity is never compromised.

Per picturae hiBtoriam: relating text to image Having outlined some of the important methodological and theoretical considerations regarding the relationship between text and image I shall now develop this discussion by considering the surviving archaeological record. In modem scholarship interpretation of images has consistently suffered from an overdependance on textual sources. All too often, images have been used by historians of religion merely to illustrate, as supplementary and secondary to textual sources. Archaeologists, art historians, and others who write about material culture have been attempting to redress the balance and I hope to apply some of their insights to the problems that I face.36 It is clear that constructions of martyrs were never purely literary or purely textual. A persistent tradition regards images functioning as alternatives or replacements for text. The earliest Christian discussion of iconography as a teaching aid comes from a text already familiar to us: one of the Carmina of Paulinus of Nola. Paulinus is describing his pictorial programme in the new basilica at Fundi and here he explicitly discusses the iconography as replacing the teaching value of words. He begins thus: 'You might perhaps ask what motive implanted in us this decision to adorn the holy houses with representations of living persons, an unusual custom' [27.542-4). He explains the decision as follows, in relation to the hordes of pilgrims visiting the church who are 'not lacking in faith but not skilled in reading' [27.548). These pilgrims tended to turn to drunken feasting during their visits, which did not please Paulinus and his fellow monks. The decoration plan was therefore an attempt to edify the visitors: 'This is why we thought it useful to enliven all the houses of Felix with pictures on sacred themes' the aim being to 'excite the interest of the rustics by their attractive appearances' [27.580-3). Paulinus goes on to picture the scene: his model 'rustics' study the pictures, in conjunction with the inscriptions above, thus feasting their eyes rather than their stomachs, and being inspired by saintly examples [27.585-95). The most significant proof text on this theme, however, is the famous letter written by Gregory the Great to Bishop Serenus of Marseilles c. 600. Serenus had been suffering more than a little local difficulty with his flock: upset by the idolatry of the figural images they had placed in the church he had taken them all down, only to be deserted by his entire congregation. In reply, Gregory told him he should allow the use of

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images, and in his explanation famously removed the possible idolatrous content of the images by likening them to written text: For it is one thing to venerate (adorore) a picture, and another to learn the story it depicts, which is to be venerated. For what writing makes present (praestat) to those reading, the same picturing makes present to the uneducated, to those perceiving visually, because in it the ignorant see what they ought to follow, in it they read who do not know letters. 38

Generations of historians, of both art and text, have followed a somewhat simplistic notion of ecclesiastical iconographic programmes functioning as biblia pauperum: bibles for the poor. It is a flawed understanding, based, as Madeline Caviness points out, on an eBSentially modern and protestant vision of the role of religious art. 37 The apologetic notion that the educated had no need for pictures ignores the profusion of illustrations in religious manuscripts. Moreover, the near ubiquity of the use of tituli, captions, with church images is problematic if one assumes that images are there for the unlettered. 38 As we saw above, even Paulinus' 'rustics' read the inscriptions along with the pictures, maltlng up a crucial part of the educative and devotional value of the decorative programme. It is now generally accepted that we need to blur hard and fast divisions between literate and illiterate in pre-modern societies. Herbert Kessler, for instance, has written of our need to investigate the nonverbal in terms of an 'essentially oral culture' and to understand 'the interactive conditions in which pictures were viewed'. 39 The use of tituli should indeed focus our attention on a world in which reading was 'a community experience in which the interpretation of the text any single listener or reader developed was the product, not of his understanding of the text alone, but of a combination of questions and insights supplied by others'. 40 It is this kind of process we need to try to envisage.

Repraesentatio: contextualising and problematising early Christian iconography Before moving to my chosen images for a close reading, I would like briefly to place them in their archaeological and historical context. This takes us immediately to the ever-problematic area of the origins of Christian art. This is not the place to re-rehearse all the questions and debates in this vast area. Particular controversies have raged, for instance, over the question of the relationship between Christian and Jewish art,•n the ecclesiastical prohibition (or not) of art in the early Church,• 2 and the role of Christianity in the 'decline' of art in late anti-

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quity.43 Here the crucial issue is more specific: the development of a specifically martyrological iconography. The most relevant developmental context (even if it is not the only one) lies in funerary art. Even if today the influence of the 'Roman School' has subsided and art historians no longer feel constrained to seek the origin of all Christian art in the catacombs of Rome, this funerary context is crucial to the development of martyr imagery: the funerary portrait is one of the major models for the portraits of the saints. 44 Furthermore, as we shall see below, the paucity of surviving works of early Christian art means that the rich stock of examples provided by the catacombs are bound to be of great importance. This paucity and, indeed, poverty of the artistic record in the early period is a problem for the visually minded historian. Putting our faith in 'lost' data, for instance, claiming that illustrated manuscripts provided models for mural painting, or that catacomb images represent copies of apse images, is not a methodologically sound means of proceeding. An interesting question still remains moreover: why did it take so long for Christian art to 'catch up' with the developments in literary representation? Early Christian art remained limited and stereotypical in its repertoire for a considerable period. One famous example, still surprising to non-specialists, is the late appearance of the image of the crucified Christ. The earliest examples are probably an ivory casket in the British Museum, dated to 420-30(?) and the slightly later version on the carved wooden doors of S. Sabina in Rome.46 My own concern is obviously with martyrial iconography, and this area presents a particularly stark contrast between the textual and artistic records. Martyrial images do not speak to us with anything like the same evocativeness, lyricism or expression as martyrial texts. However, I am going to discuss some of the most 'expressive' martyrological images from the period covered by my textual sources, i.e. the fourth and early fifth centuries. 46 Before moving onto the study of individual images I wish finally to highlight some issues of form and function which should remain consistent when we look at pictures from the archaeological record. In examining an image we should ask questions regarding its type: is it narrative, devotional, votive? Indeed, can such distinctions be made? Medium needs to be borne in mind as well as message: a narrative scene on a small piece of metal does not have the same impact as a narrative scene on a fresco. Moreover, different objects consistently have different imagery: for example, sarcophagi and wall paintings have different subjects. We need to consider the location and context of an individual image: there is a clear difference between viewing images in a catacomb and in a church. We would like to know wlw different images were for, who commissioned them and who viewed them. Finally, ideally we would

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know something of how images were viewed. While some, even many of these questions cannot be answered satisfactorily, they are worth keeping in mind.

Eloquentia: letting images speak for themselves? What I propose to do here is to examine just two items closely,but in this way to cover a range of issues and problems, including the relationship between text and image. I shall first look at the frescoes of a martyr confessio, which consist of a number of scenes, comprising elements of a martyr narrative. I shall then look at a problematic but highly suggestive medallion, which seems to provide a prototype for a later popular devotional artefact. The fourth-century Christian frescoes that lie beneath the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo in Rome are highly intriguing (Plate I). Much about their location and context, the archaeological and liturgical development of this site, remains contested and conjectural. The identification of the figures depicted in the scenes is also uncertain. Despite (and perhaps in part because of) these problems, I believe that the paintings are worth further investigation. The paintings decorated what is usually designated a confessio: in this case, a small room-shrine, without an altar but containing saintly relics. This context therefore provides an example of the potential for the key connection between the acts depicted in the martyr narrative and the act(s) of devotion. The painted confessio is located in the Roman domus that lies beneath the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo on the Clivus Scauri on the Celian hill in Rome. The history of this church is complex, but can be summarised with some degree of plausibility as follows.47 During the third century a luxury domus dating from the Hadrianic period was converted into a premises comprising both domestic and commercial premises. Most of the commercial premises were converted to purely domestic use at the end of the third and early in the fourth century. The redecoration of the domus at this time included a nympheum and fresco paintings, which are still visible today. These paintings include a number of figural as well as purely decorative themes including the striking 'room of the orant': the only known comparison for which is the villa at Lullingstone, Kent. 48 Interestingly, the nymphaeum paintings were whitewashed over at some point, which we might wish to relate to a putative 'Christianisation' of the owners of the domus. The 'confessio' paintings, meanwhile, seem to date from the second half of the fourth century, although their status as a unicum obviously hampers dating by comparanda. Finally, the upper part of the domestic premises was converted to ecclesiastical use, apparently at the start of the fifth century, a date which fits both

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archaeological and textual evidence. Our first reference to the church, from 499, refers to a titulus Pammachi: 49 this Pammachius is generally identified with the pious Roman senator who was a friend of Paulinus of Nola and Jerome and died during the Sack of Rome in 410.50 During the sixth century this titulus became known as the church of SS. John and Paul, which dedication it has retained up to the present day. Interpretation of the paintings of the confessio has been hampered by a number of problems, including several misconceptions which can fortunately be dealt with quite easily. First, the scenes of martyrdom depicted cannot relate to the titular saints of the basilica, John and Paul: their sixth-century passio is clearly an attempt to provide a an explanatory narrative for the presumed relics preserved in the church.61 Secondly, and most crucially, as Brenk has clearly demonstrated, the confessio did not form part of the fifth-century church, as was asserted by Krautheimer, and then followed by most subsequent scholars. 62Recent archaeological reassessment shows clearly that at the time of decoration the confessio remained in the private part of the house. 63 That is, it was a private relic chapel, and formed no part of the communal church and no focus for the communal liturgy until much later, in the sixth century, when the story of SS. John and Paul gave the relics a new lease of life. The confessio had always been presumed to have been an official, ecclesiastical shrine, the archaeological re-evalutation showing this not to have been the case is highly significant. On the one hand, an assessment of the significance of this shrine such as Krautheimer's, which saw it in terms of the history of the altar and the crypt, is disproved. 64 However, having lost this ecclesiastical significance, the implications of seeing the confessio as a private chapel are just as rich. In the previous chapter, looking at the power of relics, we saw that privatisation of relics was a key part of the story: it was always easier for those with money and influence to obtain their own personal access to fragments of the holy. The Giovanni e Paolo confessio now seems to provide us with a striking example of private possession of relics and private attempt at commemoration, in the form of the painted panels I am about to discuss. The extant paintings are ranged over two registers, although there were originally three: the shrine was decapitated during the reconstruction of the pavement of the church. The paintings cover three sides of the small room-shrine. The upper register on the back wall depicts two male figures (now headless) wearing pallia. As the confessio stands today, these figures stand on either side of a fenestella, through which the relics of the saints presumably were once viewed. However, fragments of intonacco tell us that originally the niche was sealed and frescoed: that is, when the shrine was first established, in the late fourth century, the reliquary was not visible or accessible to devotees.66 Beneath the niche the lower image depicts a figure

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in the orans position with two figures prostrating themselves at his feet in proskynesis/adorotio with a curtain providing a backdrop. The upper panels on the facing wall contain the remains of a martyr narrative. The left-hand panel seems t.o have showed the arrest of three figures, two men and a woman. The execution of these three, by decapitation, is depicted in the corresponding panel. The lower scenes, however, are of a different character. The lower left-hand panel depicts two men, one bearing a chalice, while the lower right-hand panel also shows two figures, this time women, one in the traditional attitude indicating sadness, the other probably making a gesture of encouragement or consolation. How are we t.o interpret these scenes? It seems clear enough that a martyr narrative is depicted, the initial stages of which (the third register) are now missing. Any attempt t.o identify the martyrs is most likely doomed to failure. Identifications based on the sixth-century passio of SS. John and Paul (according to which the martyrs are Crispin, Crispianus and Benedicta) are clearly anachronistic. Other scholars have identified the martyrs, from a fifth-century story, with a group martyred at Nicomedia: Cyprian (of Antioch!), Justina and Teoctistus. According to this tale, the relics of the saints were taken to Rome by a 'pious matron', Rufina. 56 Adding substance to this tale are two factors: the existence of a fifth-century graffito 'Rufina' in the confessio, and the fact that Pammachius' sister-in-law was called Rufina. 67 The 'historical' status of a group of martyrs including Cyprian of Antioch is clearly laughable; 68 whether or not the owners of the relics thought they belonged to these putative martyrs must ultimately remain an open question. Leaving aside the three personages depicted in the martyr narrative we are left with a number of other figures. There are the two saints on either side of the niche, which in the sixth century could well have been taken for John and Paul. It is often thought that they represent Peter and Paul, whose ubiquitous presence in Roman martyrological iconography seems to have stood as something as a guarantee for the martyrs they accompanied. Beneath these figures is a male orant, a familiar figure from contemporary funerary art: he could be an undefined, symbolic figure, or he could represent Christ, or indeed an unknown martyr. The figures prostate at the feet of the orant have generally been interpreted as representing the owners, or senior members of the domus, perhaps indeed Pammachius and his wife Paulina. These figures might well be replicated in the two of the male and female figures depicted on the facing walls: offering the chalice and showing emotion, respectively. This ensemble of paintings, as I have already noted, provides a unicum. It is unusual in depicting narrative martyrial art and for depicting the violent death of martyrs. The surviving scenes show only two episodes from the story of the martyrs: their arrest and execution. Whereas scenes

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of arrest are familiar from sarcophagi, the execution scene is surprising in its violence compared to other extant martyrial images.59 The right-hand scene presents three kneeling figures awaiting beheading. The scene showing the couple venerating the orant is intriguing. The orant stands before drawn curtains, which might reference an actual liturgical setting, as well as adding a dramatic epiphanic backdrop to the scene.60 In a brief but interesting discussion of the images, Cynthia Hahn describes this orant figure as icon-like: 'The icon is less a unique portrait of an individual saint than an object lesson in the function of a saint as intercessor. '61 What we seem to have here is a concern to pair the imagery of the martyrs themselves with that representing the devotion of the aficionado. Wilpert suggests that Pammachius and his wife Paulina are themselves depicted here, and again below, offering the chalice, and weeping respectively.62 This suggestion is interesting, although impossible to substantiate. The images at the confessio interpreted in this way would indicate a strong bond between saint and client. 63 Images of worshippers engaged in cult practices were common in Roman 'religious' art, which includes many scenes of offerings, sacrifices, processions and the like.&&Such 'reflexive' representations would become common in medieval art, especially in the late medieval period when lay people were encouraged to develop a highly internalised piety.66 For a more contemporary comparison, we could cite the Pola casket, which features a pair of devotees participating in a number of liturgical practices. These practices include a scene of adoratio at a confessio, generally considered to represent St. Peter's. Moreover, the casket is also a relevant comparison in that we should probably understand it as a private commission rather than an ecclesiastical object.66 What I wish to argue here is that we can trace in the decoration of the confessio an analogous process of repraesentatio to that attempted by Prudentius in his poetic descriptions of his viewings of martyr paintings. These 'thick' descriptions paired the acts depicted in the martyr narrative with the poet pilgrim's own devotions. The analogy to Peristephanon 9, where 'Prudentius' humbled himself in agony and tears before the saint's tomb, seems very neat. The confessio images seem to be aiming to perform this 'thick' description of their own accord: depicting both the act of the martyrdom and the act of veneration. Finally, the paintings need to be considered in their material context. They formed the decoration of a confessio, and were built around the relics of (presumed) martyrs. The proximity to the actual relics of the saint heightened the religious tension caused by the narrative image. The breakdown of the boundary between representation and reality was re-enacted by such close proximity. The images drew power from their closeness to the remains of the saints themselves.s 7

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The painted images of the confessio present a structured range of ideas or injunctions. Perhaps we can discern a palpable hierarchy in the subjects represented, a pattern which would become common in the early Middle Ages.68 The ordinary lay worshippers are on the bottom rung, the martyrs forming the subject of the passion narrative above. The figures depicted in the upper central space however are different again; it is the significance of this position that adds support to the idea that they represent the apostolic princes, Peter and Paul. 69 The images in the lower register present to the pilgrim/devotee an ideal devotional context, the proper counterpart to the martyr narrative above. The prostrating figures show the appropriate attitude to be taken. The weeping woman even suggests the correct emotional response of the devotee. The performativity to be found in the confessio images is striking but it is not unique. I shall now move to look at an analogous, but controversial image of a very different medium. The subject now at hand (Fig. 3) is a tiny, personal, commemorative object: a devotional medallion, meant to be worn about the neck. This is perhaps an unusually problematic artefact, to begin with, the original bronze medallion has, most unfortunately, been lost and we are left with a lead cast. 70 The authenticity of this object has been called into question many times, 71 though there have always been scholars ready to argue for its authenticity. 72 Objects such as this medallion are always difficult to place and to date: while a number of (presumably) late antique comparisons can be adduced, these too share similar methodological problems. 73 Notwithstanding such questions, I consider that this object, like the confessio, is illuminating and raises important issues relevant to this chapter. On one face the medallion depicts the punishment and crowning of a martyr. On the left-hand side there is a scene of judgement, on the right a man is being roasted on a grill over a flame, while a figure to the far right is turning the body.74 However, rising from the prone figure on the grill is an orant figure, while a hand descends from above bearing a crown. Symbols add to the decoration: a monogrammed cross and an n and an A. Lettering around the top of the medallion declares sucESSA VIVAS: 'Sucessa live!' Who is this Sucessa? A number of medallions, rings and other related objects bear such exhortatory inscriptions, relating to their wearer or owner, and we should see this inscription in just such a light. 76 The other side of the medallion bears the same lettering and depicts the memoria tomb of a saint, while a man to the left shows his veneration with his taper. 76 The martyrdom scene here is thankfully easier to interpret than the Giovanni e Paolo image: it clearly depicts the well-known story of the passio of the popular Roman martyr Laurence. 77 The narrative action on

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3. Drawing of a cast of a medallion, inscribed 'Sucessa Vivas' and depicting the martyrdom of St. Laurence and veneration at a shrine.

the medallion seems to the modern viewer to be absurdly compacted, but this compression is not unusual in Roman narrative art. Moreover, highly condensed narrative scenes are regularly found on early Christian jewellery and other artefacts: often miracles and other biblical scenes are represented. 78 For instance, an interesting third- or fourth-century gem depicts Daniel in the lion's den, the Good Shepherd, a dove with an olive branch and an abbreviated Jonah cycle.79 Interpretations of such compressed narratives vary. According to Eunice Dauterman Maguire, 'The reduction and the repetition of the imagery shows that the scenes did not serve to instruct, like the pictures in a book, but rather suggests that they were charms. ' 80 Clearly, in some sense this medallion acted in ways similar to a traditional amulet; however, it seems unnecessary to strip all narrative, and indeed educative function from this object. The Sucessa medallion is a highly suggestive object, compressing a number of important meanings into its depictions. The scenes of judgement and punishment have become triumphant as the martyr's soul is shown rising to receive his crown. Furthermore, the double-sidedness of the medallion is crucial to its meaning and its power. The obverse directly pairs the suffering and triumph of the martyr with veneration by a devotee. This side shows an elaborate memoria, a martyr's tomb decorated with garlands and flowers, probably for a feast day. Scholars have asked which tomb is represented here, assuming it is supposed to repre-

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sent a particular, real tomb: whether that of St. Laurence or the memoria of St. Peter.81 The image also recalls the trend for representing the devotee in the act of devotion, which would become common first in pilgrimage art, providing testimony and commemoration of the pilgrimage performed.82 A more direct and contemporary comparison is offered by the devotional/dedicatory scene on the 'Gaudentianus' medallion also published by De Rossi (Fig. 4).83 The medallion represents devotion very much as a performative act, and as something to be reflected upon. The pairing of the act of the devotion with the sacrifice of the saint establishes the crucial connection made so explicit in sermons given on the martyrs, exhorting the congregation to devotion. The Laurence medallion provides a succinct illustration of the central tenets of martyr piety as well as a direct analogy to both the Giovanni e Paolo confessio and the pilgrimage poems of Prudentius. Interestingly, we can see all of these responses in terms of private rather than ecclesiastical piety. The owners of the confessio, the poet-pilgrim narrator of Prudentius and the unknown Sucessa, bearer of the medallion, all constructed a personal relationship with martyrs through the performance, and the representation of performance, of devotion. I am not trying to argue that we can understand image and text as working in exactly the same way. What I am suggesting is that we need to understand the two media as functioning in a more symbiotic, interrelated

4. Drawing of a medallion inscribed 'Gaudentianus' and depicting veneration at a shrine.

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way than some scholars have realised.. Perhaps the longstanding notion of the competition between art and literature needs to be understood in a more playful, less prescriptive fashion. Modern historians who feel more comfortable with literary sources tend, instinctively, to privilege text in their accounts. I have been trying to show that it is misleading to do this in our accounts of early Christianity. The very ambiguity of these images is fascinating, representing innovative experiments in complex devotional representation. In the final section of this chapter I shall continue my exploration of the relationship between martyr text and martyr image with relation to the programme of Bishop Damasus in the catacombs of Rome.

Monumentalisation in Rome: the Damasan prog,-amme The reign of Pope Damasus (366-384) is arguably one of the most fascinating of all the pontificates, with its blend of scandal, schism, violence and corruption. 84 Damasus triumphed over his enemies and appears to have enjoyed a highly successful pontificate. Once secure in his position (or perhaps, rather, as part of his securing of his position), the pope secured the approval of hagiographically minded historians by adorning the Roman catacombs. 85 These two 'sides' of his reign were not unconnected. Damasus' moral authority was badly shaken after the violent showdown with his rival claimant to the papal throne, Ursinus, and his adherents. His martyr project linked his name to the history and heritage of the true Roman Church: the church of the martyrs, and its bishops who stood firm against idolatry and schism. 86 The Roman martyrs were politically central in Damasus' formation of his episcopal authority. The pope's project involved a (re)-appropriation of what were important sites for authority and resistance: we know from a number of sources that various 'schismatic' and 'heretical' groups such as the Montanists, Donatists and Manicheans used the martyr cemeteries for meetings. The Ursinian opponents of Damasus' papacy, according to one source, celebrated 'stationes' at the cemetery of St. Agnes on the Via Nomentana, which were broken up by Damasus' men.s7 This is not the place to go into a history of the Roman catacombs, which has been extensively covered elsewhere. It is clear that the first sixty years of the third century were crucial, for both Roman church and Roman catacombs. 88 It is at this time that the 'Crypt of the Popes' was developed in the Catacomb of Callistus, the burial place of many of the bishops of Rome. It is after Constantine, however, that the real impetus in the development of the martyr cult comes, in the catacombs and in new 'funerary' basilicas. 89 The tracing of pontifical intervention in the cult of the martyrs is not without its problems. The confident assertions

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of the Lfber Ponti{icalis about the martyrological activities of the popes in this regard cannot be taken at face value. 90 Later Christian writers projected back the martyrological interests of their own time. When it comes to Damasus, however, we find a pope promoting his own martyrological endeavours in the inscriptions he wrote and set up over the graves of the martyrs. Damasus inscribed himself into the post-mortem history of the martyrs. In his epitaphs he proclaims his role: in finding their bodies, in commemorating their graves, in narrating their stories, in leading veneration. The pope's claims to have 'discovered' the bodies of the martyrs should not be taken too literally. For instance Damasus claims a 'discovery' in the case of Protus and Hyacinth, writing 'The tomb lay deeply hidden under the fallen earth. Damasus brought it to light, for it contained blessed bones' (47]. However, the prior veneration of these two saints at the same spot is attested by the Calendar of 354.91 We might wonder then, about the epitaph for Eutychius (21], in which four lines are devoted to the finding and commemorating of the martyr, which takes on a deeply spiritual and inspired aspect. Damasus writes of a night vision, which revealed where the remains were hidden. Even where there are no claims of discovery, Damasus generally alerts the reader to his role. He asks readers of his elogium to the martyrs Nereus and Achilleus to believe by his testimony: 'Believe through Damasus what the glory of Christ may achieve' (Credite per Damas um possit quid gloria Christi) [7]. Elsewhere he refers to his verses as praise and homage, to his expression of the martyr's merits, to his vows and to his prayers. 92 A brief epitaph simply records 'To the most blessed martyr Januarius. Damasus the bishop made this' (Beatissimo martyri lanuario. Damasus episcopus fecit) (24]. Here the text is reduced to a simple but effective and crucial equation: the pairing of martyr and bishop. This chapter is in part concerned with the material, the monumental and the iconographical, so it is now appropriate to consider Damasus' project in terms of material culture. Damasus' inscriptions have tended to be viewed solely as (poor!) poetry, and their monumentality has been largely ignored. 93 The contribution of the pope to the material culture of the catacombs, to the material contexts of martyr cult, has generally been considered only by archaeologists, and not in conjunction with a textual approach. Literary scholars, discussing the epigrams qua poetry, have not generally thought about the relation of the epigrams to images that might have been nearby, whether set up before, at the same time, or shortly after the inscriptions. An attempt to contextualise the inscriptions, materially and iconographically, will deepen our analysis of the poetry and the whole project, and, moreover, contribute to the study of the interaction of image and text in late antique martyr representations.

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The cult site of the martyrs Nereus and Achilleus at the catacomb of Domitilla on the Via Ardeatina provides. an excellent starting point. The tombs of these two saints (along with that of St. Petronilla) were developed in the second half of the fourth century, with an enlargement of the area, the cubiculum, to facilitate access and veneration. This area was incorporated into a new basilica, dedicated to the saints, at a later date. 94 Fragments of the Damasan epitaph were discovered in 1874, but the whole text is known, as is so often the case, from early medieval pilgrims' accounts (Plate II). What makes this case particularly suggestive is the discovery of two columns, one of which bears a sculptured scene showing a beheading and accompanied by the legend 'Acilleus' (Plate III). The column seems to have been part of a commemorative monument, with a representation of the martyrdom of Nereus on the other front column and the columns holding up the canopy (Fig. 5). This survival is of key importance, providing a rare early iconographical depiction of an act of violence, the moment of martyrdom. As ever, dating is bound to be imprecise: I cannot that prove that the image is Damasan, but as I am considering the representations available to a late antique audience, this uncertainty does not pose any fundamental difficulty. The image seems to present faithfully key facets of Damasus' account of the two martyrs. The poem [7] tells us that the two saints were soldiers in the cruel services of a tyrant. Achilleus is being beheaded seemingly in the act of fleeing (we are told that the martyrs fled, having converted) and his simple tunic shows him shorn of military attributes. However, his assailant clearly wears the dress of a soldier, and also what appears to be the hat of a tetrarch. The crux invicta standing behind the scene seems to match the penultimate line of the poem: 'having confessed they rejoice to bear the triumphs of Christ' (Confessi gaudent Christi portare triumfos). This illustrated column is tantalisingly suggestive: can we assume that sculpted images generally formed part of the new monuments, if not always installed by Damasus, at least shortly afterwards? Fragments found at several sites suggest that the ciborium form of monument, as seen on the Sucessa medallion, was widely used by Damasus. 96 The poem written for Felix and Adauctus in the Catacomb of Commodilla [7] recounts that Damasus' presbyter 'constructed the tomb, decorating the dwellings of the saints' (composuit tumulum, sanctorum limina adornans ): the project involved both construction and decoration. Even without any other form of decoration the monuments would have been highly impressive. However, I would like to consider here a possible role for figural imagery as part of the Damasan programme. We can consider this imagery as both an influence on the programme, and as influenced l,y the programme.

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5. Reconstruction of the confessio of Nereus and Achilleus.

As the only possible example of surviving Damasan imagery is sculptural it makes sense to consider sculpture first. By the time of Damasus' episcopacy there were workshops producing very high quality Christian sculpture. The Junius Bassus sarcophagus is a particularly interesting (and famous) near-contemporary case; it is a beautifully made elite object

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(Plate IV). Moreover, we know a little about its commissioner and former occupant from the sarcophagus' inscription: Junius Bassus was of senatorial rank and held the office of prefect of the city of Rome; he was born in 317 and died, newly baptised, in August 359. It is a double register sarcophagus, featuring altogether ten intercolumnar scenes, six spandrel scenes, four end scenes and two lid scenes. It provides an excellent example of typological representations of death and salvation and includes popular paradigms for the martyr's death as well as depicting the two most famous martyrs of Rome, Peter and Paul. The ten intercolumnar scenes represent, from left to right, on the top register: the sacrifice of Isaac, the arrest of Peter, Christ enthroned over the universe, Christ giving the law, the arrest of Christ and the judgement of Pilate; on the bottom register: the distress of Job, Adam and Eve, Christ's triumphal entry, Daniel in the lions' den and the arrest of Paul. The spandrel scenes, in which humans are represented by lambs, show three youths in the fiery furnace, Moses/Peter striking the rock, the multiplication of the loaves, the baptism of Christ, the receiving of the law and the raising of Lazarus. The most interesting scenes in relation to martyr iconography are obviously those related to sacrifice and death. The scenes of Daniel in the lions' den, the three youths in the fiery furnace and the sacrifice of Isaac were frequently represented in the early Christian art of the catacombs. They have been linked to prayers of deliverance in the liturgy, but the earliest extant texts of such prayers date from the early medieval period. These scenes do, however, appear frequently in patristic texts relating to martyrdom. 96 While I do not wish to adopt a 'dictionary approach' to early Christian symbolism, it is clear that these scenes were paradigmatic of God's deliverance and sacrifice and provided important models for martyr ideology. Christ's death is clearly linked to that of his apostles, the martyrs Peter and Paul. The images present arrest and judgement rather than execution, itself rarely portrayed in iconography at this stage. However, it is clear what these scenes are meant to stand for: the martyrdom of the two apostles. Furthermore, these martyrdoms are typologically linked to the death and victory of Christ. Christ's arrest and suffering is presented as an event echoed or post-figured in the arrest and suffering of his early Church. As Elizabeth Struthers Malbon points out, Christian typology is always Christocentric, therefore even chronologically later events can only reflect rather than fulfil the reality of Christ. 97 Suffering and death are also represented in the depiction of the trials of Job and the image of the fallen Adam and Eve in Eden. However, the central depiction of Christ presiding over the Universe reassures the viewer of his triumph and power through and over death. 98 A whole series of Passion

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sarcophagi was produced in the years between 340 and 400. In these cases martyrdom is suggested only by scenes of arrest, and in one case, by Peter carrying a cross. Martyr iconography need not only be sought in sculpture, however. The catacombs which Damasus chose for his commemorative activities were among the most richly decorated in Rome. The catacomb of Domitilla where Nereus and Achilleus are commemorated had an impressive range of paintings, including representations of martyrs which seem to date from the first half of the fourth century. As would be expected in a catacomb, the traditional site of death cult, there are images associated with the intercession of/for the dead. 99 The most famous image in the catacomb, an arcosolium painting, depicts the legendary martyr and daughter of St. Peter, St. Petronilla, together with the deceased, a middle-aged woman called Veneranda (Plate V).100 Flowers to the left of the dead woman, who is depicted as an orant, show us that the two figures are in paradise; a basket of rotuli to the saint's right represents the holy scriptures. The painted text gives us the date of Veneranda's death and confirms the status of Petronilla: MART(YR).This painting provides a particularly touching representation of the idea of intercession, but is only one of a number of such depictions, though most from this period are not personalised in this way. One scene, for instance, painted on a vault, seems to depict the posthumous judgement of two deceased, with two saintly figures acting as advocates. 101 As well as images depicting martyrs in intercessory roles, others represent saints in glory with Christ. One painting, for instance, shows the arrival of six saints, three men and three women, in heaven. These men and women appear confident in their reception and their relationship to Christ, and raise their hands in a gesture of communication. They are assumed to be martyrs, whose reception in heaven was understood to be instant. Moreover, Christ holds out a laurel crown to the first woman. 102 Can we detect in these paintings literary themes found in Damasus' poems? The martyr's ascent from earth to heaven is often evoked: Adauctus hurried there, victorious [7], Felicissimus and Agapitus, as well as the Sixty-Two Martyrs, sought the heavens (aether) [25; 43]. The martyrs' intercession is requested several times, by the author of the inscriptions and commemorator of their tombs. Damasus speaks of his prayers to the martyr Saturninus, and of his vota (vows) to the saint [46], and begs the favours of Agnes [37]. The heavenly dwelling and coronation of martyrs is described in the elogium to Felix and Philip: 'they sought their eternal home and the kingdom of the pious/ having merited the crowns of Christ by their own blood' (aetemam petiere domum regna,que piorum,/ sanguine quod proprio Christi meruere coronas')

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[39]. These notions are all commonplace in martyrology, so I am not trying to claim any special influence for catacomb painting on Damasus' poetry. However, it is clear that influences could be iconographical as well as textual. We can look at the influence of Damasus' commemorative efforts on subsequent catacomb iconography in different ways. On the most basic level, it is clear that the presence of a Damasan inscription in a catacomb, not to mention a whole commemorative construction, directed the attention of donors and artists towards representing the martyrs in question. We have a clear example of this in the catacomb of Marcellino e Pietro. The tomb of these two saints was the beneficiary of a full Damasan intervention, in terms of its construction and access, with the addition of marble, a mensa, an inscription over the archway, and, probably, rich decoration. 103 The pope also commemorated two other martyr inhabitants of this catacomb: Tiburtius and Gorgonius, the latter (but not the former) already appearing in the Depositio of 354. All four martyrs appear in a painting in this same catacomb, which is generally dated to the end of the fourth century (Plate VI). The painting depicts Christ in glory with his saints, with an apocalyptic theme given by the presence of the lamb standing on a mount over the River Jordan (represented by running water and the letters IORDAS).104 While the catacomb housed the remains of a number of martyrs (demonstrated in the accounts of later pilgrims), the artist chose to represent those singled out by the pope. Can we trace the influence of Damasus' poems thematically in later paintings? Themes of triumph and of victory, which are clearly present in Damasus' poems, can be related to the paintings' concentration on the presentation of martyrs' crowns to Christ, and the martyrs' gestures of acclamation towards him. 106 These themes, however, were clearly present pre-Damasus. 106 Moreover, there are other key themes in the epigrams which do not appear in the paintings. Despite all the sub-Virgilian triumphalism of the elogiae, the poems do not ignore the workings of the percussor (assassin) and the camifex, nor the tormenta of the martyrs. A striking example is the poem for Eutychius [21] which provides a detailed account of horrible punishment, including a 'new punishment' involving pottery shards. 107 The Cubiculum Leonis in the catacomb of Commodilla on the Via Leonis depicts what can, nevertheless, be considered quintessentially Damasan themes in its pictorial decoration. 108 The cubiculum presents what Elsner sees as a distinctly Roman typology, presenting St. Peter, Christ and the two martyrs commemorated by Damasus nearby, SS. Felix and Adauctus [7]. All the figures appear twice: Christ is painted on the ceiling, the Alpha and Omega on either side of his bust; he is painted again on the far wall in the act of blessing, while holding a

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gospel codex. Felix and Adauctus appear on either side of Christ (Plate VIII); they also each appear on the entrance wall in a gesture of acclamation, holding crowns. Peter takes up the left- and right-band walls, in two of his most familiar guises: striking the water from the rock, and denying Christ to the accompaniment of the crowing cock. Elsner's comment that the saints act as 'witnesses to Christ's persecution and salvation, the saintly lineage which ensured the Faith's survival in the city' is apt. 109 The repetition and stereotypical nature of the martyrial iconography in the cubiculum here lends a certain power, indeed eloquence. The images of the local Roman saints are repeated over and over again to provide a rich overdetermination which works to construct the site as holy. A concern with Romanitas forms an important part of the enterprise of Damasus, though he was hardly the first or last pope to have such an interest. 110 Damasus praised the Roman martyrs in a language embedded in the tradition of Roman epic - most strikingly, of course, Virgilian. For instance, imagery is often warlike in character and the Roman citizenship of the martyrs is a recurrent theme. 111 A brief survey of the elogia fields an array of examples. A military tinge can indeed be found: martyrs in the papal crypt bear trophies (tropaea) taken 'from the enemy' (ex hoste) [16), reference is made to milites [17), and often to victory. Perhaps the most striking poem in this context is the inscription for SS. Felicissimus and Agapitus [25). These comrades (comites) were attendants (ministri) of the unconquered cross (crux invictus), who won the 'kingdom of the pious' (regna piorum). Damasus stresses that these saints are the possession of the Roman people, and of the Roman people only: 'the glory of the Roman people rejoices in these alone' (unica in his gaudet Romanae gloria plebis). This people, under their leader (dux), Sixtus, had merited Christ's triumphs (triumphos). The world evoked by Damasus' poems is one of heavenly glory and triumph. The martyr's triumph 'shows the glory of Christ' [21). The martyrs have won the palm of victory [17), and the crowns of Christ by their blood [39), sometimes one after another [47). What I have been attempting to show here is the symbiosis between text and image, poetry and iconography in the catacombs of Rome. This was evidently a dynamic symbiosis: the period I have been discussing, the latter half of the fourth century, was a crucial period in the transformation of the catacombs: from locus of family cult to hieratic site of veneration and pilgrimage. The poems of Damasus played an important role in this transformation, but they did not do so in isolation. Images of the martyrs as well as texts had power, marking out a site as holy, and constructing the heroes of the Church buried at that site. 112

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Conclusion My conclusions are not all apparently compatible at first sight. I have argued for the importance of a very visual poetics in late antiquity, for the importance of the figural and the pictorial in poetic and rhetorical language. I have shown that this trend had specific application and use in the case of the cult of the martyrs, where we can trace a concern for effective and appropriate repraesentatio. l have shown that in my chosen case studies we can see our texts (the poems of Prudentius) and images (the confessio of SS. Giovanni e Paolo and the Laurence medallion) working in similar ways, towards the same end. However, I have also tried to separate, methodologically, the visual from the textual. I have argued that ekphrasis is not to be taken as evidence for material artworks, and, more generally, that we err if we always take the literary to be prior in constructing representation. I believe that these observations can, however, be synthesised. The power of visual representation was acknowledged to be great in this period; the concern of poets to be seen to be 'outdoing' the figural only testifies to this power. Augustine, Prudentius, their readers and listeners lived (as do we) in a world which engaged both their eyes and their ears. The task for late antique writers was to call upon both these sensory organs to conjure up their chosen repraesentatio. We too need to be alert to all the possibilities.

Laurence 1 Almost the equal of the apostles The Archdeacon Laurence, Martyr with an equal crown, Consecrated by the faith of Rome. 2 Ambrose, Hymn 13.1-4

Upon entering the so-called Mausoleum of Galla Placidia in Ravenna one's eyes are assaulted by an array of colour and imagery, but immediately facing the entrance is the figure of a white-robed man, holding a cross over his shoulder, a codex in his left hand; to the far left is a bookshelf containing the gospels, to the near left a flaming grill (Plate IX). While the very designation of the building itself is controversial, the interpretation of this image is particularly fraught: the identification of St. Laurence in the mosaic is by no means universally accepted. This striking image does provide, however, an excellent entry into an examination of representations of the Roman martyr. Art historical debate over interpretation of the mosaic is revealing of both the major problems and the blind alleys into which the scholar of hagiographic imagery can run. 3 Does this young man represent Christ, or a martyr? He bears a cross on his shoulder; is this in reference to Christ's crucifixion, or its paradigmatic repetition through the death of a martyr? If the figure is a saint, rather than Christ, why is he not named? Fortunately we have several comparison pieces to help us secure the identification. A fourth-century Roman gold-glass image shows us St. Laurence bearing a cross in exactly the same manner as the figure in the mosaic (Plate VII), as do a late fifthcentury fresco painting from the catacomb near Rome (Plate X), and a bronze medallion dating from around this time (Fig. 6). 4 What about the codex in the saint's hand? Does it stand for a particular book, or generically for the scriptures, or perhaps for the role of the deacon Laurence in managing the holy books of the church? There are roughly contemporaneous images of martyrs holding books; 5 moreover, patristic writers made a connection between reading the Gospel and the witness of the martyr. 6 The books on the shelf can be seen in a similar way. Grabar has linked the image with a text of Cyprian's,

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6. Drawing of a medallion depicting St. Laurence.

which refers to the euangelium Christi unde martyres fi,unt ('the gospel of Christ whence martyrs are made'). 7 The grill in the centre of the image has caused the most controversy among art historians. 8 The burning question is whether it is to be regarded as the graticula of Laurence's torments at all: for why does it have wheels? It could also be a fire for heretical books, such as the volume carried by the figure, or a burnt offerings altar for sinners. If the scene represents the Last Judgement it could represent the altar flame, or a fire of purification. Even if scholars are willing to identify the man as St. Laurence there is still room for debate: should the grill be seen as representing the historical grill on which the martyr was roasted, or merely as an attribute? This is part of the wider question of interpretation: should the image be read in a purely symbolic or a narrative sense? Such a distinction seems to me both unnecessary and invalid.9 I think the Galla Placidia image represents St. Laurence and his martyrdom, his witness. It provides important testimony for the existence of a concrete and distinct iconography and for its diffusion outside the city of Rome in the course of the fifth century. We know that the cult of St. Laurence had travelled across the western half of the empire, although this is not our primary concern. 10 The events recounted in his passio possesseda clear resonance for Christian writers and preachers, malring Laurence one of the most striking heroes of the Church in late antiquity.

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During the Decian persecution Laurence, so the story goes, was a deacon of Pope Sixtus. He somehow escaped execution along with his fellow clergy, but met Sixtus on his way to martyrdom when Sixtus promised his deacon that he would follow his destiny in three days' time. Brought before the Roman authorities, Laurence was asked to hand over the riches of the Church in his capacity as custodian of its treasury. He returned with a horde of the poor and suffering. In consequence he was sentenced to a terrible death, to be slowly roasted on a grill. This torment he received with remarkable equanimity, managing even to make a quip to his torturer, which went, in Ambrose' original formulation, 'I am cooked, turn me over and eat.' 11 This story is recounted, with only a little variation, in a whole range of late fourth- and fifth-century texts from Rome, Northern Italy and North Africa.12 The original source for this version of the tale remains elusive, however. Damasus, who wrote an epigram for the saint, does not seem to know this version: his account of the martyrdom refers briefly to flames and chains and we can assume that he would not have passed up on such a good tale, had he had the chance. The earliest source for what would become the canonical account is therefore Ambrose's De officiis ministrorum, dating from c. 386-94. (However, we might well choose to assume that Ambrose himself was dependent on a passio, and assume further that this passio was of Roman origin.) The dates therefore suggest the invention of a striking and witty narrative about St. Laurence some time in the 370s or 380s. A fascinating polemical context has been suggested for the fashioning of this narrative in a context of religious competition in Rome, and in particular by the topographical challenges presented by the catacomb cult sites of rival Christian groups. Recent work has suggested a particularly close battle on the Via Tiburtina, where ecclesiastical politics and propaganda worked overtime to promote the respective martyrs: the 'schismatic' Novatian versus the 'orthodox' Laurence. The martyred deacon of Pope Sixtus II is not entirely an invention: Cyprian's Epistola 80 provides contemporary testimony regarding the death of the pope and four of his deacons in 258. The Depositio of 354 records the veneration of Sixtus in the cemetery of Callistus and that of two of his deacons, Agapitus and Felicissimus, in the Cemetery of Praetextatus. These two named martyrs were beneficiaries of a Damasan epitaph [25], as were some further 'comrades of Xystus' (comites Xysti) elsewhere in the cemetery of Callistus [25 and 16]. Laurence is not one of the original group, but his cult became particularly important. So why did Laurence become the hero of the day? For one scholar, Roberto Giordani, the answer is clear: as the result of a concerted 'ideological and programmatic' campaign of promotion. 13 Laurence's

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importance became paradigmatic, as he stood to represent the legitimate succession from Sixtus II (highlighted in the prophecy and charge from pope to deacon in the story) against the illegitimate genealogy of the Novatianists. This is the context, according to Giordani, in which we should understand the sudden burst of publicity surrounding a figure that would otherwise be indistinguishable among so many Roman martyrs. 14 While Giordani's thesis is seductive, it remains very much hypothetical. 16 In any case, the story of Laurence took on a life of its own, while the cult of Novatian, along with the 'Novatianists', slipped into obscurity in the next century. Laurence seems to have been the Roman saint par excellence, for a while perhaps even eclipsing the fame of Peter and Paul. 16 In any case, he was consistently associated with the two chief apostles, in both images and texts.17 Augustine, in his sermons on St. Laurence's feast-day, continually refers to the saint's importance for Rome: 'The Roman Church commends this day to us' and further 'In Rome today has dawned as one of the greatest feasts there, which is celebrated by a great concourse of the people' .18 Laurence's popularity and his Romanitas are attested by the frequency of his appearance in gold glass. Laurence appears with Peter and Paul, with Agnes, with Sixtus, Hippolytus and Timotheus, in combinations of these and on his own. 19 Laurence's importance and popularity are further illustrated in gold-glass portraiture by the existence of distinctive iconography and personalised inscription on the individual portrait glasses, showing a developed cult. A glass in the Metropolitan Museum in New York depicts the distinctively dressed deacon saint bearing a cross, accompanied by an inscription which exhorted the owner to 'live in Christ and Laurence' (Plate Vll). 20 As we have seen, the story of St. Laurence was highly successful. The ingenious and horrible punishment of the gridiron clearly caught the imagination of writers and preachers. Patristic authors did not miss the opportunity to make a comparison, or dichotomy, between the external flames which burned the martyr, and the internal fire, of devotion to Christ, which burned within his breast. 21 The extremity of the punishment provided, as ever, an opportunity for the subject to show his imperviousness to physical torments in pursuit of the martyr's triumph. 22 It is this imperviousness that is demonstrated in the martyr's famous quip, taken up by so many patristic writers. It is the earlier example of the mordant humour of the martyr, which is arguably the more interesting motif of the story, however. The episode where the deacon presents the unsightly poor in lieu of treasures resonated as a crucial theme and problem for the early Church. Prudentius, as is so often the case, provides the most interesting account of this episode in his Peristephanon 2. In his version, playful and para-

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doxical language turns the fable into a showdown between the differing notions of value held by the martyr and the prefect of Rome.23 The Roman prefect pictures a Church full of sinister wealth (54-6; 65-88] which the saint builds on (113-16; 169-76], only to confound his opponent's expectations by presenting him with a 'chain of paupers' in lieu of gold and silver; which he compounds with a scornful diatribe (189-202] and a challenge (203-4]. Prudentius' text points to a tension regarding the status and custodianship of wealth in the Church. The prefect thinks that the Church extorts money from its brethren and is rich, but instead the deacon presents him with a Church that gives. Laurence is the symbol of this Church: as steward he administers funds to the poor. Instead of being presented with a wealth of riches, the prefect is confronted with the din of the appeals of a horde of beggars, all fed, rather than starved, as the prefect alleged, by the 'Mother Church'. This story makes a reappearance in De o{ficiis where Ambrose is arguing that the Church has money for all the right reasons: 'The Church has gold, not to keep but to pay out, and to give aid in necessities' [2.137]. He returns to the story of Laurence to illustrate this point [2.140-1]. He then returns to the considerable wealth of the Church. If the holder of ecclesiastical office spends money for his own profit it is bad, but he can use it to distribute to the poor, free prisoners, and build churches (2.142]. Ecclesiastical discourses on wealth and renunciation necessitated walking an interesting tightrope of symbiosis and dichotomy. Individual acts of renunciation were able to coexist with vast institutional wealth. The Church, under the aegis of the bishop, distributed this money as it saw fit. Poverty provided a valuable justification for the wealth of the Church. Prudentius' version of this story also brings out an important theme of this book, in Laurence's construction of the suffering body as full of value and the conventionally healthy body as sick and worthless [22592]. It takes us to Judith Perkins' important assertion that we should understand the Church's representation of itself as a suffering body as a claim to power.24 We can understand this argument on various levels. As Peter Brown has pointed out, the championing of the poor by urban bishops quite literally increased their constituency. 25 The episcopal power base was extended. The importance of the urban poor is revealed by late antique sources that relate tales of episcopal lynchings as well as acclamations. The inclusion of the poor also extends the boundaries of the power base conceptually: a new universe is configured in Christian thought. This inclusion demonstrates a new extended boundary, a more total claim to power. The element of contradiction and paradox when it comes to the wealth/poverty axis in Christian discourse is inherent at the linguistic

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level. Worldly riches were attacked in a language that still invoked a hierarchy of riches, which still made up part of a treasure aesthetic. 26 This is most apparent in the writings of Prudentius, a poet whose style has been labelled 'jewelled'. Elsewhere, too, however, beggars are jewels, rag-clad hermits appear in visions in purple robes, worms become pearls. Traditional notions of value were not transformed by Christianity, but rather inverted. The story of Laurence is a fable that worked on different levels to different ends. Laurence was the Roman martyr par excellence, legitimate heir to the ecclesiastical succession, and symbol of the Church's rightful custody of worldly riches.

7

Conclusion Martyrdom was not a Christian invention. However, during the first centuries CE, Christian apologists and ideologues worked hard to develop martyrological ideology and theology, tropes and narratives, which have been unwoven in the course of this book. It is now clear that as well as responding to periods of persecution, Christian writers were also constructing a world in which martyrs were heroes, Christians were pitted against the powers of darkness, and the Devil was ready to corrupt the unsuspecting believer. This world was constructed, to a large extent, through narrative: through the martyr act. The much-vaunted charisma of the martyr was constructed, to a great extent, through representation. Largely ecclesiastically produced representations - narrative and rhetoric, liturgical performances and rituals, images and cult spaces have provided much of the focus of this book. Martyrs were not unmitigated blessings to the Church. The body that had ascribed them with their power sought also to control this power, through its institutions and its texts. AB we saw most strikingly in our North African examples, disciplina and auctoritas were both problems in themselves and watchwords for the episcopal authorities. Discourses that labelled some as heretics and others as saints and decried 'voluntary' and 'false' martyrdoms played a key role in the writing of the history of the early Church. The Peace of the Church did not bring consensus to the problems associated with martyrdom. It did bring about, ironically, a huge growth in the number of martyrs, in the literature celebrating these martyrs, and in the liturgical celebration of martyr cult. In these new festivals and texts the Church provided an alternative to the profane entertainments still taking place across the Roman world. The martyrs were the heroes of an aspiring Christian culture, posited as the opponents of traditional, 'profane' heroes. Drama and spectacle were constituent elements of the promotion of this new culture. The exponential growth in the martyr business was in itself problematic: it needed to be controlled. The Catholic Church insisted that it alone had the power to create and define martyrs. The problem of 'false' martyrs became all the more critical when the Church had the backing of the state. False or problematic martyrs came in various guises: dubious

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bones and shrines, schismatic or heretical heroes, even over-enthusiastic anti-pagan zealots. A tangled web of writings testifies to the crisscrossing of debates and discourses in which power and authority were at stake. The possibility of martyrdom outside the Church became more threatening as the Church tried to extend its orbit ever wider in an era of intense religious competition. Violence and suffering lay at the heart of a burgeoning martyrological literature, a focus that overlapped fruitfully with a late antique concern with judicial violence. At the same time, however, there was a parallel development: a new type of martyrological narrative, centred on martyrs' miracles and shrines, where violence was suspended and transformed. In both cases a logic of multiplication, of intensification, governed this growth. In both cases, the established Church sought to maintain its control over cult and representation. Stories about martyrs were fundamentally all the same: therein lay much of their strength. But different martyr representations also spoke to different debates, to different histories, to different audiences. Martyrs were represented across a range of media: in sermons and hymns, in painting and sculpture, in churches, catacombs and their own chapels. Innovative experiments in repraesentatio sought to depict martyrs in new and ever more powerful ways. The figure of the bishop has rarely been absent from the subjects discussed in this book. It is undoubtedly the case that this figure has often been assigned undue power and influence by scholars, themselves mislead by the power of the episcopal (selO constructions which make up such a large part of our late antique source material. 1 However, the bishop/martyr relationship is undoubtedly one of the central cornerstones of martyrology. Cyprian is only the most striking example, the bishop-martyr par excellence. We have read a number of acts of other bishop-martyrs, such as the passiones of Fructuosus and Marculus. We have also observed the explicit linkage of episcopal status with the procurement and veneration of martyrs, as in the cases of Ambrose, Damasus and Victricius of Rouen. The bishop and the martyr do not represent opposite poles, traditionally designated as charisma versus ecclesiastical authority; instead, their powers should often be seen as contingent, rather than opposed. 2 Bishops, as well as martyrs, were the heroes of the late antique Church. A number of complementary themes and issues have run through this book. My emphasis on martyr texts as performing was influenced by a theoretical approach to narrative but also responded to a strong element in classical culture and, most importantly, to the Christian textual initiative which grew up in that culture. The theme of spectacle, meanwhile, covered a range of aspects, from the violent entertainments that

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Christian representation was so indebted to, to the concern of late antique Christian writers with visualisation: with modes of seeing, and being seen. Drama was a fundamental part of the martyr act (as well as of its sister texts), staging opposition and resolution before its audiences. This book has focused on the figure of the Christian martyr, his or her narration and representation, mostly over a time-span of roughly one hundred years, from the mid-fourth to the mid-fifth century (the key figure of Cyprian provided an obvious exception here). However, rather than attempting to follow evolution in the longue duree, chapters tended to focus upon clusters of texts which formed around certain key flashpoints, both 'historical' and discursive. Historical events, therefore, have not been cited to 'explain' texts: the relationship has been shown to be a dialectical one. The advantage should be clear: in traditional historical terms, for example, it is something of a problem to explain why the figure of the martyr became so important after persecution had ceased. The period under examination witnessed an huge increase in the production of martyrs and their representations, both in spite and because of the attendant dangers and ambiguities. My readings have shown that martyr ideology was never a simple product of external circumstances but instead constituted a powerful discourse - literally so, in that it assigned power to certain individuals, institutions and texts. The underlying story of the heroes of the Church, of what happened to the martyrs, is based on the fundamental contradictions of power inherent in their status. The individual heroism of the martyrs became more and more at odds with the powerful ecclesiastical trend towards centralisation and hierarchy as the Church consolidated its power in the fourth and fifth centuries. We see these two contradictory aspects at work in martyr narrative. One key aspect, as I have shown, was the growing tendency to feature ever more numerous and impressive miracles, ever more and nastier tortures. We can contrast this tendency, on the other hand, with the central unchanging fact: that these stories were highly repetitive and were all predicated on the model of the imitatio Christi. That is, the paradoxical logic of the martyr act worked both to elevate the hero and, at the same time, to contain this elevation. Moreover, bishops narrated these stories of horror, wonder and heroism, and then told their congregations that they could themselves imitate the martyrs by abstaining from sex, or avoiding magical charms. Hyperbole was followed by bathos. This was a crucial dialectic for the peacetime Church, the avowed heir of the persecuted Church. This book has been, to a large extent, about power: the power of narrative, the power of representation, the power of author and audience alike. Martyrs, I have argued, were almost uniquely powerful figures in the fourth and fifth centuries. Everyone wanted a piece of this power; the

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authorities, both ecclesiastical and secular, needed to control this power. The martyr narrative was predicated upon a power contest, its writing was a re-writing of a power equation. With each reading, each performance, this contest was re-enacted in a changing world. The relationship between a given text or image and its context was complex. While a historical background to an initial performance, reading or viewing, can be established (for example, Augustine's first delivery of a sermon) this instance does not exhaust the possibilities of and for reception. In the same way, historical context cannot necessarily explain or determine either the content or the reception of a given text or image. Patristic scholars (in many ways following in the footsteps of the first Christian scholars: the Church Fathers) traditionally sought to identify clear genealogies. They aimed to lay out legitimate traditions, and at the same time to identify those who broke with these traditions. My approach in this book has been somewhat different. In this sense my dissertation forms part of a broader contemporary scholarly movement (a new patristics, as it were) which seeks to deconstruct traditional narratives of the history of theology and of the Church, narratives which privilege the winners and label the losers. Martyrs seem to me to be a highly appropriate subject for such a project: the losers who became the winners. Stories about martyrs still have power today. An obvious parallel comes in the form of 'suicide bombers': designated diversely as martyrs, heroes, villains and terrorists. Meanwhile, if less obviously, we are also currently witnessing a martyr-making boom perhaps unmatched since late antiquity. (In the course of his pontificate Pope John Paul II has canonised 401 martyrs at the time of writing, out of a total of 474 saints. 3 ) History, its institutions, texts and images, continue to designate and create heroes and villains, winners and losers. The historian's job is to unpack these constructions and the narratives that give them power.

Appendix: A Literature Review To avoid tiring the non-specialist, discussion of the history of scholarship on late antique martyrs and martyrology has been added as an appendix. However, this section is not just an 'add-on' or a merely obligatory exercise in academic self-justification. The subject of this book clearly falls within the rather old-fashioned sounding realm of hagiography. There is an interesting, and informative, ambivalence about the meaning of this term. For the Oxford English Dictionary, hagiography refers to 'the writing of saints' biographies; saints' biographies as a branch of literature or legend'. The history and literature dealing with the lives of the saints the dictionary designates as hagiology. However, those writing from within the patristic tradition, from within the hagiographica/, world, call both the raw material, and the discipline of its study hagiography. Hence in Victor Saxer's entry in the Encyclopaedia of the Early Church we find the following: 'Hagiography is a branch of the historical disciplines, born specifically to study scientifically the lives, cults and legends of the saints.' According to the first definition, the notion of a 'scientific' or 'critical' hagiography would be oxymoronic, according to the second, it is essential. 1 It is of course 'hagiography' in both senses that has constituted the subject of this book. The 'critical' study ofhagiographical material can be dated back to the sixteenth century, when Heribert Rosweyde planned a critical edition of the lives of the saints, based on authentic sources. It was, however, the 'Bollandists' who would see this project through - generations of Jesuit scholars, named after their founder, John van Bolland, original editor of that crucial compendium of hagiographical material, the Acta Sanctorum. The Bollandists combed the archives and libraries of religious communities, assembling all their material in a special museum in Antwerp. Despite earlier opposition, and, indeed, cessation during the suppression of the Jesuit order, their work still continues: supplements to the Acta are still being published to this day in the journal Ana/,ecta Bollandiana. 2 The most eminent Bollandist of the twentieth century, Hippolyte Delehaye, laid out the principles for hagiographical study in a number of important and influential works, most clearly in 1934 in Cinq l~ons sur la methode hagiographique. The first 'lesson' involves the isolation of 'hagio-

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graphic co-ordinates', the crucial elements for identifying a saint: the place and time of his/her deposition. For Delehaye, the literary component of a saint's dossier was very rarely of use in establishing a saint's 'co-ordinates'. Indeed, Delehaye hit back at his critics on both sides, whom he referred to as 'conservative' and 'hyper-critical' respectively, seeing them as ultimately following the same method, and remaining irrevocably tied to the literary text. According to Delehaye (and his successors), even the undermining of the claims to veracity of a given hagiographical text does not necessarily undermine all claims of the saint to his or place in the liturgy and traditions of the Church. However, throughout the first few hundred years of their work the Bollandists were continually under attack for being too 'critical' in their work on the saints. The Bollandists aimed for a 'scientific' study of all historical material pertaining to the saints. The production of critical hagiographical texts forms the basis of this enterprise. This involves a great deal of technical, critical work: manuscripts must be analysed and the evolution of different stages in a text's evolution identified. Once these problems have been worked out, there can be a judgement of the text's 'literary genre', which then helps the scholar discern the 'trustworthiness' of a given genre. Delehaye published in 1921 Les passions des martyrs et les genres litteroires in which he distinguished between 'historic', 'romantic', 'panegyrical' and 'epic' martyr acts. Again, it must be acknowledged that this application of concepts of literary genre to the lives of the saints was a radical project for its day. The Bollandists traditionally set themselves the task of producing the most 'authentic', the most 'historic' accounts of the martyrs that could be found. Secular, as well as monastic scholars, continue to produce 'selected' editions of the most 'authentic' martyr acts, translating them so as to reach the widest possible audience. 3 Secular, as well as monastic scholars are also interested in making distinctions between 'authentic' and 'non-authentic' acts. On the one hand, the scepticism of the secular historian is of long standing: Gibbon wrote of the 'total disregard of truth and probability in ... the representation of ... primitive martyrdoms' .4 However, some modern scholars retain an interest in the historicity of the martyr accounts and their value as historical sources in a traditional way. Glen Bowersock, for example, writes that documentary evidence embedded within these texts 'allows the historian to integrate the martyrdoms within the larger fabric of society and administration in the Roman empire'. 5 Scholars continue to use modern critical methods in order to dissect the claims of historical probity ever further, as with Gary Bisbee's form-critical study which established conclusively that even the most basic martyr acts, which claim to be court records, or commentarii, have been heavily edited.6

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Critical hagiography, as established by Delehaye, insisted on looking beyond the narrative text. The historiography of martyr cult has been even more controversial than that of the martyr act. While it has been widely accepted that martyr cult practices derive from the cult of the dead, the debate regarding 'pagan' elements has been considerably more fraught. Late antique 'pagans' themselves criticised the cult of the martyrs as an only superficially Christian continuation of traditional cults and beliefs. 7 This line of critical enquiry was still strong in scholarship at the start of the twentieth century, notably in both German Protestant and the French folklorist traditions. These scholars stressed syncretic continuities such as the building of Christian churches at former pagan cult sites and the identical dates of old and new festivals. 8 Much scholarly effort was expended investigating the apparent replacement or substitution of individual pagan divinities with Christian saints, for instance an apparent replacement of the goddess Athena with St. Thecla. 9 A Catholic back.lash set out to rehabilitate the Christian nature of the cult of the saints, led by the formidable Pere Delehaye. In Les origines du culte des martyrs, published in 1912, Delehaye made a counter-attack. His response set out a strident challenge with regard to both the criteria and methodology of his colleagues in the field. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Delehaye concluded that the comparisons and equivalences made by his colleagues were unconvincing. He wholeheartedly rejected the premise that the cult of the saints was used as a tool of Christianisation, that old pagan holy spaces and divinities were replaced by Christian substitutes by some cunning form of subterfuge or by 'une sorte de compromis tacite' as Lucius and others had argued. Instead, Delehaye wrote, when there was continuation of a traditional god's cult or site with that of a saint it was done openly to combat paganism. 10 He was confident enough to state: 'Nous sommes en droit de conclure ... que le paganisme n'a eu aucune influence sensible sur la creation de l'objet du culte des saints.' 11 Delehaye's attitude towards martyr cult, as it developed in late antiquity, was one of respectful, regretful, paternalism. For Delehaye, the cult had lost both grandeur and simplicity when the translation and division of relics began, 12 but he reminded his readers that 'rien n 'est beau comme le culte du martyr' at its origins. 13 The doggedness of his approach in Les origines provides something of a contrast to the sophisticated subtlety of his other works. However, Delehaye's concentration on Christian innovation rather than pagan descent in the cult of the saints has continued to constitute the most fruitful direction of research. In the last thirty years or so, scholarly interest in hagiography and its practitioners has enjoyed a revival, mostly due to the academic growth industry that is the world of late antique Christianity, and, indeed, late

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antiquity in general. 14 The work of Peter Brown has undoubtedly been the most influential in this field. Brown has cast his shadow over late antiquity so successfully that it is almost impossible to discuss the period without acknowledging his work. 15 It is over twenty years since the lectures that formed his seminal The Cult of the Saints were delivered. 16 Brown's powers of description and evocation, as well as his broad interpretative lines, have ensured that this work, like his others, is widely read. It will be useful, therefore, to give further space to Brown's arguments here. The Cult of the Saints begins with a full-hearted attack on what Brown calls the 'two-tiered' model of religion, part of our post-Enlightenment intellectual heritage. He attacks the interpretative line that divides 'elite' and 'vulgar' beliefs, going back to Hume, present in the work of Delehaye (especially in Les origines du culte des martyrs), and still prevalent in unreflective discussions of 'popular religion'. 17 Brown sets out to debunk the notion of a pure Christianity being tainted by a landslide of the 'vulgar' entering the Church through mass conversions under Constantine. Instead, he argues for the consistent and crucial role of elites, notably episcopal elites, in the development of the cult of the saints. For Brown, if there was a 'democratisation' of religious culture in late antiquity it worked top downwards, rather than the other way around. 18 Brown's discussion focuses on both religious and social elites, arguing for the former's co-option of the latter, a process not without conflict. 19 He analyses the development of traffic in relics in terms of the workings of a shared elite culture and elite networks working across the late Roman world. 20 Brown consistently approaches the cult of the saints in terms of social relations. He is especially keen to make us see the relationship between the heavenly saint (object of veneration) and the earthly Christian (the venerator) in terms of that between patron and client. 21 His focus is often on the function of the saint as regards both community and individual. His readings of various episodes in the history of martyr cult in this light show the figure of the saint provoking resolution or helping the community cope with division. 22 It is the sensitive and evocative crystallisations of particular moments or aspects of late antique martyr cult which are often the most persuasive. Brown's discussion of the psychological connection between veneration of a saint and personal identity, as focused for illustration on the relationship between Paulinus of Nola and St. Felix, is particularly elegant and nuanced. 23 Equally evocative is his beautiful description of the meeting and collapsing of time and space at the tomb or relic of the martyr. 24 It is this strength of Brown's approach, his commitment to and affinity for the metaphorical, the allusive and the elusive, which makes

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him a delight to read but a difficult scholar to use, much less to imitate. A recent scholar working on hagiography comments appositely on the paradox that so many scholars have drawn from an approach that thrives on 'discontinuity, dissonance, or at least ambiguity'. 26 Peter Brown's work on the late antique cult of the martyrs formed part of a wider historiographical movement which developed during the 1970s and 1980s. Its focus was on 'popular' religion, saints and witches, miracles and magic. This work was greatly influenced by the 'sociological turn' in history.26 Approaches to the cult of the saints varied, from those stressing the need for area studies, for specificity, to those aiming at a broad synthesis and universal definitions of 'sainthood'. 27 The saint's roles as intercessor and as patron were stressed while saints were also seen both as figures of control for the dominant classes and as figures of opposition used by the oppressed classes.28 Brown's attack on traditional notions of 'popular' religion has been influential but was itself part of a broader trend, led by early modernists. 29 That scholars have been able to progress in the ensuing years is partly thanks to the work of Brown himself. Inevitably, research in this field has moved on, leading to a change of emphasis in several areas. For instance, Brown's vision of the role of ecclesiastical elites as 'impresarios' (Brown's term), and his interpretation of their successful co-optation of the social elite in their control of martyr cult have been disputed. 30 The Cult of the Saints remains, however, an essential port of call for any related enquiry. Current work on saints and their images tries to analyse 'meaning' without arriving at too reductionist an answer, but rather a pluralistic view, where saints can be seen as signs with shifting signifiers, as 'polysemic' symbols.31 Changes in the intellectual climate in general, and the historiographical climate in particular, mean that historians today are less likely to be convinced by functionalist approaches to historical phenomena than during the 1970s and 1980s.32 Over the last twenty years the influence of functionalist, then symbolic anthropology has been progressively edged out by an approach that owes more to the methods and philosophy of literary criticism and literary theory. Indeed, Peter Brown's 1995 essay on Christianisation was concerned with 'narratives and processes'. 33 Recently, scholars have begun to ask how Christianity represented itself to the world, how its texts constituted the world, and to look at the power of texts such as the ascetic treatises and the vita.eof saints to construct this representation. 34 In a slightly different vein, Robert Markus has perceptively shown the relationship between texts and institutions while focusing on institutional change in the postConstantinian world.35 Outside the realm of Anglo-American scholarship in particular, mean-

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while, the field of hagiography has always been interdisciplinary, to a certain extent, engaging the disciplines of archaeology, epigraphy and art history alongside the skills of textual criticism, to uncover the history of the cult of the martyrs. Work on the catacombs of Rome and elsewhere has always constituted a crucial part of this work. Beginning with the massive labours of exploration and excavation undertaken by de Rossi in the nineteenth century, published in his Roma Sotterranea, work on the catacombs has continued under the auspices of the 'Pontifical Institute for Christian Archaeology' whose new excavation reports and associated studies are still published in the Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana. Outside Rome, area studies focusing on the findings of archaeology and epigraphy have broadened the picture further. Yvette Duval's immensely valuable monograph, Loca sanctorum A{ricae, looks at an especially rich range of martyrological epigraphy and other material remains. 36 Art historical study of the representation of martyrs in late antiquity, meanwhile, has generally been embedded within general survey accounts of the development of Christian iconography. The great exception is the two-volume study of Andre Grabar, Martyrium, published in 1946. The first volume focused on the development of the martyrion and the architecture of martyr cult. The second volume dealt with the iconography of martyrdom, in an often confusing fashion, making great leaps in geography and chronology to illustrate particular themes, such as devotional or triumphal imagery. Studies of martyrological imagery are hampered, overwhelmingly, by huge gaps in the surviving evidence, for which resort to ancient ekphrasis cannot hope to substitute. Historians, meanwhile, to their detriment, have tended to ignore the artistic record. 37 That is one shortcoming this book is, in part, designed to remedy. The history, the historiography, indeed the making, of the martyrs has travelled a long way. The influence of the work of many of the above scholars can clearly be seen in my own book, which is of course greatly indebted to the labours of my illustrious predecessors in the field.

Notes Introduction 1. Gibbon (1909 [1776), vol. 3, 161) commented: 'The reason of the present age may possibly approve the incredulity of Justina and her Arian court; who derided the theatrical representations which were exhibited by the contrivance, and at the expense, of the archbishop.' For a taste of other approaches to the story see McLynn (1994), 203-17; Brown (1981), 36-7, Zangara (1981); Dassmann (1975). 2. For Ambrose's version of events see Ep. 20 (to his sister, in 385) and 21 (to Valentinian II, in 386). 3. Paulinus, V.Amb. 14; Augustine, Conf. 9.7.16. 4. Ambrose, Ep. 22.1: 'statimque subiit veluti cuiusdam ardor praesagii'. 6. Ambrose, Ep. 22.2: 'ossa omnia integra, sanguinis plurimum'; Augustine, Conf. 9,7.16 tells us that the bodies had lain 'per tot annos incorrupta'. 6. Paulinus, V. Amb. 14. 7. The testimony of the demons of the possessed contra the denials of the Arians is commented upon ironically by Ambrose, Ep. 22.16; 20; cf. Paulinus, V.Amb. 15. 8. Ambrose, Hymn 11. Ambrose' introduction of antiphonal hymn singing into the Western Church is mentioned by Paulinus, V. Amb. 13 and Augustine, Conf. 9.17.15. Two further Ambrosian hymns will be considered in 'Agnes' and 'Laurence' below. 9. Hymn 11, 11-12: nequimus esse martyres/ sed repperimus martyres. Cf. Ambrose' similar statement, with respect to himself alone, at Ep. 22.12: 'quia ipse martyr esse non mereror hos vobis [Ambrose is preaching to his congregation] martyres acquisivi'. 10. Cooper (1999), 298. 11. Seethe Appendix for a discussion of The Cult of the Saints in its historiographical context. 12. Brown (1995), eh. 1. 13. Seehere the key work ofTheissen (1974). 14. Hopkins (1999), 150, 298; cf. Theissen (1974), 257 and see Chapter 5 of this volume. 15. Hopkins (1999), 115 comments further on the martyr act 'The story was the best (and often the only) performance'. 16. Wyschogrod (1990), 6; cf. the related discussion in Valantasis (1995). 17. Apophthegmata Patrum, Prologue, trans. B. Ward. 18. Cameron (1991), 93. 19. White (1980) has claimed that narrative inherently carries a moralising message. For some scholars this message is explicitly conservative, e.g. Jameson (1981), 52-3, while others have sought to identify 'oppositional' strategies in narrative, e.g. Bhabha (1990). 20. The idea of the redundant, 'readable' (lisible) text comes from Barthes (1975).

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21. See Altman (1975) and Elliott (1987), eh. 1 on this structure. 22. Suleiman (1983), 146; cf. Heffernan (1988), 16-21. 28. The martyr act, traditionally presenting itself as the official proceedings of the court, begins by stating the date of the trial, contextualised by the name of the political office holder of the moment. 24. See Cameron (1991), 116-17; this continuity of time is seen as of key importance in Markus (1990), eh. 7. 25. Pollock (1988), 6. Pollock herself is influenced by the cultural criticism of Raymond Williams. 28. A striking example from another period can be found in Clark (1997) which examines early modem witchcraft beliefs, stressing the constitutive power of language rather than resorting to functionalist explanations. 27. See here Asad (1983), 244, 252, for an interesting and incisive critique of Geertz (1973).

2. A Brief History of Martyrdom 1. The book begins 'Die Idee des Martyriums und die Vorstellung des Miirtyrers find christlichen Ursprungs', Von Campenhausen (1964), 1. 2. Frend (1965), also stressed by Baumeister (1980). 3. Bowersock (1995), eh. 1. The M. Poly. provides the first extant use of the 'specialist' meaning. On the development of martyrological vocabulary see Reitzenstein (1917) (Greek) and Hoppenbrouwers (1961) (Latin). 4. Boyarin (1999), eh. 4 discusses a distinctively late antique Jewish discourse of martyrdom. 5. Cf. Henten and Avemarie (2002), a recent collection of martyrological source material, also choosing a 'functional' definition: p. 3. The collection of essays in Cormack (2001), meanwhile, take a still broader perspective on 'martyrdom'. 8. This has been convincingly demonstrated by contemporary scholars: see, with specific reference to martyrdom, Boyarin (1999) esp. Introduction. 7. E.g. the 'suffering servant' texts of Isaiah 40-55, and the narrative of profane rule near the close of the age in Daniel; see Brettler (2001) and Droge and Tabor (1992), eh. 3. 8. See Nickelsburg (1972). 9. See Henten (1986) for the problems dating this text. 10. E.g. John Chrysostom, who adopted the Maccabees' shrine in Antioch for the Christians. Augustine gave several sermons on the feast day of the Maccabees: Serm. 300-1; Denis 17. 11. Rajak (1997) studies the 'martyr's portrait' in this text and identifies a distinctive Jewish-Greek literary tradition of martyrology. 12. Trans. H. Anderson. 13. Boyarin (1999), 115-17 sees 4 Mace. as coming out of the same religious environment as Ignatius of Antioch, the M. Poly. and the M. Lyons, noting in particular the extraordinary similarity in the tone of the martyrdom descriptions. 14. On Jewish martyrdom during the imperial period see Herr (1972) and Lieberman (1944). 15. See J.M. Cooper (1999), eh. 23 and Droge and Tabor (1992), eh. 2. 18. E.g. Bowersock (1995), 65. 17. Droge and Tabor (1992), 20-2; cf. J.M. Cooper (1999), 524-6. 18. Tertullian, Apol. 50.5-9; Ad mart. 4-7. See Chapter 4 of this volume for

164

Notes to pages 11-13

further discu88ion of the influence of the deecriptions of the paradigmatic resistance of such figures. 19. Tertullian, Apol. 50.14: 'Multi apud vo, ad tolerantium doloris et mortis hortantur'. 20. See Straw (2001) on the Christian use of classical exempla.. 21. Tertullian, Scorp. 8. Scorpiace has traditionally been marginalised as representing 'Montanist' rather than 'orthodox' opinion (a 10mewhatmisleading distinction in any case) but the work has been convincingly re-dated (to 203-4) by Barnes (1971), 34-5; 171-2. 22. Tertullian, Scorp. 9-15. 23. Luke's Act, contains accounts of Jewish attempts to stir up trouble, with varying degrees of success, for the apostles. One problem with using this text as a source is its evidently apologetic, pro-Roman stance. 24. See Tacitus, Ann. 15.44 and Suetonius, Nero 16.2. Later, this persecution would always be cited by those wishing to demonstrate that only 'bad emperors' persecuted Christians, as argued by Lactantius in De mort. pers. 21. Pliny, Ep. 10.96-7. Trajan famously wrote to Pliny, 97, that Christians were not to be sought out: 'Conquirendi non sunt'. Hopkins (1998), 190 convincingly downplays the seriousness of Pliny's 'persecutions' and sees Trajan as advocating 'an almost benign neglect'. 28. M. Poly; M. Pion. 27. Account given in Eusebius, H.E. 6.3. 28. Tertullian, Ad Scap. 3.4; see Barnes (1971), chs 7 and 11. 29. The most recent bibliography on the Decian persecution stresses its concern for Roman religion, rather than seeing it as a specifically antiChristian measure: e.g. Rives (1999). The focus of the Decian inquiry appears, strikingly, to have been universal; the Valerianic persecution, however, passed over the general mass of Christians, focusing instead on the higher clerical orders. 30. In much of the West the persecution only lasted for two years. De Ste Croix (1954) forcefully downplays the scale and intensity of the 'Great Persecution'. 31. This latter date does not provide us with the 'Edict of Milan', as a persistent, and apologetically informed, error has it (stemming from a denial that the pre-'conversion' Constantine issued any pro-Christian legislation); on this legislation see Barnes (1998). 32. The first Edict, posted in Nicomedia in 303, ordered the destruction of all Christian church buildings, the handing over of church books, and the confiscation of church property, while church meetings were banned. 33. Over thirty years ago Barnes (1968) (a) argued for a decidedly minimalist approach to the evidence, claiming that most modem literature on the judicial basis of persecution was 'worthless'. 34. See Frend (1965), 536-7 for estimations: suggesting vaguely c. 2500-3000 for the East and 3000-3500 for the West. De Ste Croix (1954) 104 concluded that no estimate was possible for the number of victims of the 'Great Persecution', but thought it likely to be 'not large'. 35. See Dodds (1965), 111. This accusation would have a long shelf life, see, e.g. Julian, Contra. Gal. 38. Tacitus, Ann. 15.44: 'quos per fiagitia invisos vulgus Christianos appellabat'. See also Minucius Felix, Oct. 7-9. 37. Tertullian, Apol. 40.2. 38. Garnsey (1984), 9. 39. E.g. Frend (1965), 480, although he believes we probably will never know

Notes to pages 13-18

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the causes. Diocletian's edict against the Manichees, Coll. 15.3, is a key example of this approach; cf. Fogen (1993), 12-13 and passim who sees such laws as witnessing to a trend towards an imperial 'monopoly of knowledge'. 40. See Potter (1993). 41. Hopkins (1998), 198 notes that the fastest period in growth in Christian numbers coincided with persecution: 'In other words, in terms of number, persecution was good for Christians.' 42. A favourite theme of Cyprian's, on which see below. 43. A key theme of Lactantius, e.g. De mort. pers. 4.1 (on Decius): 'quis enim iustitiam nisi malus persequatur?' 44. De Ste Croix (1963), 21 and (1954), 83. Butterweck (1995) was written in direct response to de Ste Croix seeking, somewhat unsuccessfully, to 'prove' that most early Christian martyrdoms were not voluntary. 46. Pagan discussion of the persecution of the Christians is scarce, limited to brief disparaging comment, e.g. Marcus Aurelius, Med. 11.3; cf. Lucian, Peregrinus. SeeWilken (1984), esp. xi-xvii. 46. See de Ste Croix (1963); Bisbee (1988), 10-26 and Barnes (1968a). 47. Pliny, Ep. 10.96, wants to check whether he should be proceeding merely on the basis of the nomen ipsum. 48. Pliny says he proceeded in this way: Ep. 10.96. 49. E.g. Cyprian, De lap. 8; 27. 50. On the torture of martyrs see Chapter 4 of this volume. 51. Bowersock (1995), eh. 3 stresses the importance of the urban milieu. However, as our sources bias elite urban history, this is not to say that martyrdom did not take place in the countryside. 52. E.g. P.Perp. 18-21 and 1 Clement 6; see here Coleman (1990). 53. Potter (1993), 67. 54. See Kyle (1998), chs 4-5, 8 on disposal of victims' bodies and Chapter 5 of this volume on veneration. 55. See for instance the description of Christ's death at John 19.30. 56. Matt. 26.39; 10.23. For examples of twisty exegesis of these passages see Origen, Exhort. ad mart. 29; Tertullian, De fuga 6-10. 57. Acts 6.8-7.60. 58. Phil. 1.21-2, trans. New English Bible. 59. 1 Cor. 4.9. On Paul's use of the agon motif and its later development see Pfitzner (1967). On the patristic development of the idea of martyrdom as spectacle see Chapter 3 below. 80. The dating of Ignatius' epistles is not without its problems. It was traditionally believed that he was martyred under Trajan; on 'lgnatian problems' see Bammel (1982). 61. De Ste Croix (1963), 23 speaks of Ignatius' 'pathological yearning for martyrdom'. 62. Trans. J.A. Kleist. 63. As noted by Brent (1999), eh. 6. 64. Ep. ad Poly. 2.3; 3.1. 65. See here Shaw (1996). 66. Ep. ad Troll. 10.1. Cf. Ep. ad Smym. 2-4. 67. Origen, Exhort. ad Mart. 28-9, trans. ACW. 68. Origen, Exhort. ad Mart. 39. 69. Tertullian, Scorp. 6.9. 70. Cyprian, Ep. 19.2.3; De lap. 13. 71. According to the 'Hippolytan' Const. Ap. 20.1-2 confessors who had been

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Notes to pages 18-23

imprisoned automatically became deacons or presbyters, without need for ordination. Cyprian controversially ordained some Carthaginian confessors: Ep. 29; 38-9; 40. 72. Origen, Exhort. ad mart. 50. 73. Origen, Exhort. ad mart. 28. 74. As in De lap. 17-19; see 'Cyprian' in this volume. 75. Origen, Exhort. ad mart. 21. 78. Cf. Tertullian's Scorpiace, written to strengthen wavering Christians against 'Gnostic' opponents of martyrdom. 77. Clement, Strom. 4.4. 78. Tertullian, De fug. 12.5. 79. See the differing perspectives in De fuga; De pat. 13.6; Ad ux. 1.3.4. 80. Eusebius, H.E. 6.2. 81. Clement, Strom. 4.4; 4.10. 82. Clement, Strom. 4.4. 83. See A Eupli. and the Greek M. Carp. Cf. the later Latin recension of the M. Carp. where, interestingly, the story is changed and Agathonike is formally sentenced and interrogated. 84. M. Poly. 4, trans. Musurillo. 85. So-called voluntary martyrdoms would become problematic again after the Peace of the Church; see Chapter 4 and 'Marculus' below. 88. Tertullian, De fug. 2-4. 87. Cyprian, Ep. 11; De lap. 5-6. 88. E.g. Ep. 11.1.2: 'vapulamus, itaque ut meremur'. 89. Origen, Exhort. ad mart. 32. 90. There was a distinction, in terms of ecclesiastical discipline, between those who had obtained their certificates of sacrifice by bribery and those who had actually denied Christ; see, e.g., Cyprian, Ep. 55. 91. Eusebius, H.E. 5.1, trans. G. A. Williamson (1989). 92. Eusebius, H.E. 5.1. 93. Origen, Exhort. ad mart. 15. 94. On the 'epic passions' see Delehaye (1921). 95. The Calendar of martyrs' feasts developed in conjunction with that of the Depositions of Bishops; the latter could profitably feed off the former. This is, of course, a crucial connection. See Chapter 3 of this volume. 98. Perpetua repudiates her father: P.Perp. 3; an old soldier rejects his venerable military career: P.Iul. 97. M. Carp., trans. Musurillo. 98. The martyr Sabina laughs and tells her persecutors that 'those who believe in Christ will laugh unhesitatingly in everlasting joy': M. Pion. 7. The famous torture-scene quip of St. Laurence is discussed below in 'Laurence'. 99. E.g. Sardella (1990), Shaw (1993). 100. P. Perp. 13. 101. Cyprian, Ep. 15.2.1. All translations ofCyprian's letters are those of G.W. Clarke. 102. See the address to Ep. 10 and the comments of Clarke, vol. 1, 228-29, nn. 1-2. 103. For discussion of confessors/martyrs see 'Felix of Nola' in this volume. 104. Ep. 12.1.2. 105. Compare the difference in tone of Ep. 15 and 27. 108. Ep. 23. 107. See the Appendix.

Notes to pages 23-26

157

108. For a comprehensive study of the evidence for North Africa (the best documented case) see Saxer (1980). 109. Cyprian, Ep. 12.1.2. 110. M. Poly. 18f.; furthermore, this does not mean that the practice was universal. 111. Cyprian, Ep. 12.2.1. 112. Later, ecclesiastical authorities attempt.eel to crack down on these traditional practices, as in the cases discussed by Brown (1981), eh. 2. 113. Cyprian, Ep. 9.1.2. 114. It is nevertheless clear that some accounts are more obviously fictional than others, a distinction, moreover, which was accepted by some key figures in late antiquity. Interesting in this context is a letter of Augustine to Ambrose's biographer, Paulinus of Milan (Ep. 29*), on the subject of writing new Acta. 115. This theme will be covered in Chapter 3 of this volume. 118. Eusebius preserved a substantially similar version: H.E. 4.15. 117. Bisbee (1988), 132. 118. 'Voluntary' martyrdom is forbidden: M. Poly. 4 (cf. the anti-Marcionite insertion in the 'Alternative Ending'); the Jews are represent.eel as being especially violently keen on Polycarp's death: 12-13; 17-18. 119. This seems highly unlikely; note, in particular, a miraculous episode concerning a dove, found in the manuscripts but rejected by modem editors (at 16), as well as the alternate anti-Marcionite ending, and the reference to the privileged burial and liturgical commemoration (18) which is presumably a later interpolation. Buschmann (1998), however, accepts the text's integrity, believing the whole to be anti-Montanist. 120. Perkins (1985), 222. 121. See Robert (1994) and Lane Fox (1986), 460-8; Musurillo (1972), xxviiixxx is more circumspect. 122. In the M. Pion. there is continued emphasis on the sinfulness of Christians sacrificing to save themselves, as at 4, 10, 15-16 and 18; the speech at 4 is purportedly addressed to the Jews and pagans of Smyrna in the crowd, while Pionios' second major speech is concerned with Christians attending the synagogue (13-14). 123. The bibliography on this text is extensive, only a small selection follows. On the text see Fridh (1968); on genre see Halpom (1991); on Perpetua's dream visions see Miller (1994), eh. 6 and Robert (1982). 124. See Lazzati (1956), 29-31. 125. See Chapter 4 of this volume. 126. For instance, Maximian is avenged with a vile incurable malady in which his body goes into a meltdown, rotting throughout a whole year before he issues a permissive edict on his deathbed: De mort. pers. 33-4. 127. Hence Gibbon's (1909 [1776]) famous 'melancholy truth', vol. 2, 147, that 'the Christians, in the course of their intestine dissensions, have inflict.eelfar greater severities on each other than they had experienced from the zeal of infidels'. 128. E.g. the Council of Ancyra in 314 established a range of measures for dealing with differing sins and levels of sin relating to apostasy and traditio: Canons 1-9. 129. Implicit in Hopkins (1999), 111-33. 130. E.g. in the M. Pot. the martyred Potamiaena appears in people's dreams and, in consequence, 'many ... in Alexandria are reported to have gone over to the word of Christ in a body' (trans. Musurillo). 131. The Novatianist and Melitian schisms also result.eel from persecution.

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Notes to pages 27-30

Cyprian 1. Cyprian's own works form a substantial corpus: 81 letters remain; treatises include the autobiographical Ad Donaium; of notable importance on the issue of martyrdom and lapsing, De lapsis; on the role of the bishop, De catholicae ecclesiae unitate. Pseudepigraphic works under his name are also manifold, for which see below. Ancient Latin narrative texts with Cyprian for a subject include the Catholic Acta Proconsularia, and a Donatist recension, the Cypriani Passio, Pontiu~• Vita Cypriani, Prudentius' passio in Peristephanon 13 and Augustine's sermons on Cyprian: Berm. 309-13, Guelfer 26-8, Denis 14 and 15. 2. 'Certe durum erat, ut cum maiores nostri ple'beis et catecuminis martyrium consecutis tantum honoris pro martyrii ipsius veneratione debuerint, ut de passionibus eorum multa aut ut prope dixerim paene cuncta conscripserint, utique ut ad nostram quoque notitiam qui nondum nati fuimus pervenirent, Cypriani tanti sacerdotis et tanti marlyris passio praeteriretur, qui et sine martyrio habuit quae doceret.' This is a difficult passage with added textual problems: some MSS add at the end. I am grateful to Stephen Oakley for his help with text and translation. 3. I take this phrase from the work of Stephen Greenblatt, pioneer of the concept of self-fashioning in early modem literature; on the 'improvisation of power' and the role of narrative therein see Greenblatt (1980), 227, 234. 4. Von Campenhausen ( 1969), eh. 11 argues for the key role of Cyprian in providing a political, legal and sacramental base for the claims to authority of the episcopacy; cf. Brent (1992) passim on Cyprian and the 'monarchical episcopacy'. Cyprian's Ep. 33 (and to a lesser extent, 45) is a key text for such discussion and Cyprian's De cath. ecc. un. was an important text in the Reformation, on which see Walker (1968), eh. 5. Recently Bums (2002) has usefully shown the crucial connections between Cyprian's theology and his episcopal status. 5. For background and outcome of the controversy see further Bums (2002), chs 2-3. 6. Trans. M. Bevenot. 7. This military language is popular; Cyprian's most striking use of military metaphors, suffused with paradox, is in his Ep. 10 to the imprisoned confessors at Carthage; on this language see Hummel (1946), 56-90. 8. Several letters are concerned with Cyprian's response to the unilateral issuing of certificates of reconciliation to the lapsed by confessors at Carthage; Ep. 15 is the bishop's careful admonishment of the Carthage confessors for this practice while Ep. 27 is an angry letter to a Roman colleague on the same subject. 9. Cyprian is here attempting to clarify a dangerously ambiguous point, as discussed in Chapter 1 of this volume. 10. On disciplina, a key word for Cyprian in his attempt to impose authority amongst the confessors, see Ep. 11; 13, 14, 28. 11. Ep. 20.2.1. 12. Ep. 20.1.1. Translation ofletters: G.W.Clarke. 13. Ep. 20.1.2. This is something that Cyprian would often stress in self. defence. Cf. Ep. 7.1: as a reason for fleeing; Ep. 14.1.2: as a reason for staying in hiding; Ep. 59.6.1: self-dramatising in a letter to Cornelius. 14. Ep. 59.6.1. 15. Ep. 20.1.2. 16. E.g. Ep. 16.4.1. Cyprian often alludes to the revelations he receives, but rarely reveals any details. Jacqueline Amat (1995), 112 discusses the disciplinary,

Notes to pages 30-32

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pastoral use to which he puts them: 'L'originalite de Cyprien consiste principalement a fonder sa direction pastorale en droit divin.' 17. Ep. 28.2.5. The idea that the glory of the martyr is shared by the whole Church is an important theme in early Christianity. 18. Ep. 13.1. 19. E.g. Ep. 66.7.2 (to Puppianus); cf. Ep. 46; 49; 51 during the Novatian affair. 20. Ep. 81.1; cf. Matt. 10.19f., a passage which Cyprian refers to three times in the course of this short letter. 21. Cf. Ignatius of Antioch who claims, in bonds, to speak 'with God's own voice', Ep. ad Philad. 7.lf. 22. In Ep. 60.1.2 he had praised Cornelius for having confessed on behalf of his flock. 23. Jerome, De vir. ill. 68. 24. Harnack (1913) asserted the Vita to be the first Christian biography; Reitzenstein (1913), 52 located it within the classical tradition; more recently, on genre see Van Uytfanghe (1998). Its indebtedness, or otherwise, to the P. Perp is discussed by Aronen (1984). 25. Cyprian is also important in the P. Perp. derivatives: he appears as visionary authority in P.Mar. 6 and P.Mon. 11; 21. 28. This poses the question: to what, exactly, was the V. Cyp. responding? Was there a 'lay' literature? Sardella (1990) sees the P.Perp. as a marginal, polemical text, with clear anti-institutional positioning, but she overstates her case. 27. The V. Cyp. gives Cyprian's own explanation for his final flight [14.6] and, like Cyprian, makes great capital out of the gloria of his proscription [7.1]. 28. The death of Bishop Sixtus is paradigmatic here: arrested while exercising his pastoral function, as recounted by Cyprian himself in Ep. 80.4 but especially as given in later versions, e.g. Damasus, Epigr. 15: 'Ostendit Christus, reddit qui praemia vitae,/ pastoris meritum, numerum gregis ipse tuetur.' 29. On over-enthusiastic celebration of the feast of Cyprian see Augustine Serm. 311; P. Max. 3 gives an account of an ad sanctos burial; later, during the Vandal occupation, Cyprian was still reputed to appear to protect his people: Procopius, Vand. 3.21.17f. 30. See Saxer (1980), 183-97 and Duval (1982), 674-81. 31. 'non seulement le chef, mais l'ame, presque la conscience', Monceaux (1901-23), vol. 2, 368. 32. The Donatist claim to Cyprian was refuted countless times by Augustine; his Guelfer 28 is a head-on attack on Donatist claims, using the A Cyp. to stress Cyprian's stand against voluntary death and against separation, which Augustine claims to be the hallmarks of the Donatists. 33. See Reizenstein (1914) on a (probably) Donatist collection of Cyprianic

texts. 34. Cyprian was used as a peeudepigraphic authority in texts on opposing sides of the controversy on re-baptism: Ad Nov. versus De rebap. 35. He was venerated in Rome, appearing in the Roman calendar of 354, and henceforth linked with Pope Cornelius, as in the Mart. Hier. and in the Cemetery of Callistus: see Ruysschaert (1966). There is also testimony to his cult in Spain and Ravenna. 38. Prudentius, Per. 13 and Greg. Naz., Drat. 24. 37. See Palmer and More (1936). 38. Scholars have formulated a number of solutions to the 'problem', e.g. Coman (1961) and Sabattini (1973). 39. Another possible reincarnation for Cyprian (of Antioch?) will be examined

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Notes to pages 33-37

below in Chapter 6, in the context of a private relic chapel from late fourthcentury Rome. 40. As Brown (1967), 214 comments: 'Both sides appealed to the authority of St. Cyprian; but they applied his answers to very different questions. The times had changed.' See now also Burns (2002), eh. 9: 'Cyprian's African Heritage'.

3. Performing Texts 1. Apuleius, Met. 10.29-35. 2. P.Perp. 20-1. 3. Competing versions of the history of the schism go back to the two parties themselves. Modem accounts include the ever-controversial Frend (1952a) and most recently (1997); alternative versions include Tengstrom (1952) and Lancel (1967). Markus (1972) provides a useful summary. Shaw (1992) attempts a new perspective, rejecting Catholic terminology. Most recently Tilley (1997a) has taken a theological, hermeneutically focused, approach to the Donatist Church. 4. Tilley (1997b) argues that the martyr identity of the Donatists lost its importance once persecution was over, but this seems to me to be incorrect, while I accept her argument in (1997a), esp. 65, 175-8 that there was more to Donatist identity than martyrdom; Frend (1997) continues to argue for the centrality of martyrdom to Donatism, especially in Numidia. 5. See Frend (1952a), 172-7; (1952b), 87-9; Diesner (1963). The history of the Circumcellions is highly problematic, its reconstruction relying almost entirely on hostile Catholic comment. See recently Rubin (1995), which persuasively breaks down the category. 6. 'Donatist' status has sometimes been ascribed to martyrological and other texts on less than sure grounds; further research would be useful here. 7. See Lietzmann (1903). 8. On textual issues see Kirsch (1924); see also Salzman (1990), 42-50. 9. Augustine, Denis 13.1. 10. See Saxer (1980) for a comprehensive study of the evidence of martyr cult in North Africa in our period. 11. For example, a martyrological inscription from Haidra includes the names of 34 local martyrs from the Dicocletianic persecution, which cannot be identified from any other sources: Duval (1982), no. 51. 12. Duval (1982), 473-4. 13. Duval (1982), 458, 483-4; for an early attempt to count martyrs honoured in Africa (coming up with a total of around 450 martyrs and confessors mentioned in African texts), see Monceaux (1901-23), vol. 3, appendices I and II. 14. E.g. Augustine, Denis 13.4. See also Poque (1968). Augustine also attacks the debauched martyr celebrations of the Donatists, e.g. Guelfer 28.5. 15. Augustine, Berm. Mainz 5.5. All translations of Augustine's sermons are taken, with occasional alterations, from E. Hill. 16. The previous passage comes from Augustine's approving discussion of reforms made by his episcopal colleague Aurelius, also at Berm. Mainz 5.5, although the unruly congregation are still scarcely a model flock: Augustine chastises them at the end of his sermon (23) 'discernatis ecclesiam dei a theatris'. The problem of behaviour at martyr vigils was not limited to North Africa: John Chrysostom and Basil of Caesarea also attacked drunkenness, dancing and lasciviousness, see here Girardi (1990), 201-8. 17. See de Gaiflier (1954). The often-cited testimony of the Gelasian Decretal,

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banning the reading of acta, is not of official status, nor does it relate to Rome as often stated: see here de Gaiffier (1964) and (1969). Evidence is lacking for our period in Gaul and Spain, although in the sixth century Caesarius of Aries refers to the reading of martyr acts: 2,122 while the early medieval Mozarabic rite in Spain seems to reflect earlier liturgical readings of passiones. 18. Breu. Hipp. 393, 36: 'Liceat etiam legi passiones martyrum cum anniversarii dies eorum celebrantur'; Reg. eccl. Garth. 46. 19. Augustine's Ep. 29* to Paulinus of Milan is also intriguing: Augustine appears to be responding to a request to write some martyr acts himself, which he declines to do, while praising those of Bishop Ambrose. 20. Augustine, Serm. 284.5. 21. Lazzati (1956), eh. 2 stresses this, as does de Gaiffier (1954), 165-6. (N.B. the same liturgical use and adaptation can be seen for the Donatist as for the Catholic Church.) 22. Augustine's sermons preached for the feasts of the Church bulk large in the corpus as a whole, and those de sanctis form a sizeable proportion. See Lambot (1949) and Scorza Barcellona (2001). 23. See here La Bonnardiere (1970). 24. See for instance Perler (1969). 25. On Tipasa see Christem (1968); furthermore, on the pilgrimage site at Tebessa, Christem (1976) and on the archaeological evidence for martyr cult in basilicas across North Africa, Fevrier (1970). 28. Matching textual references to archaeological remains is a difficult process and much remains unclear, perhaps especially on the issue of whether a cult space is Catholic or Donatist. 27. Augustine, Serm. 319.7: ' ... camera illa codex vester sit'. 28. See here Dunbabin (1978) 188-95. 29. Augustine's disapproving reference to Christians who worship (adorant) columns and walls remains intriguing: Mainz 62.10; 62.16; Duval (1998), 194-6 suggests we should think in terms of decorated capitals, and other sculptured stones. 30. In this sense, martyrology can be compared to modem 'genre' literature, from romance to James Bond; this latter 'narrative pleasure' has been discussed by Umberto Eco as follows: 'Le plaisir du lecteur consiste a se trouver plonge dans unjeu dont ii connait les pieces et les regles, et meme l'issue a part des variations minimes', cited in Elliott (1987), 8. 31. SeeDelehaye (1921), 239-311 on the elements of the martyr acts and their arrangement. 32. See Elliott (1987), chs 1-2; cf. Altman (1975). 33. As stressed by Lazzati (1956), eh. 2. 34. We are told that the other Christians asked Fructuosus to remember them: 'rogans ut eos in mente haberet': P. Fruct. 1. 35. The shoe detail is also to be found at M. Poly. 13: Polycarp takes off his own sandals for the first time at the scene of his martyrdom. 38. P. Fruct. 2.8-9: 'Aemilianus praeses Fructuoso dixit: Episcopus es? Fructuosus dixit: Sum. Aemilianus dixit: Fuisti.' 37. Augustine, Serm. 273.2. 38. Augustine, Serm. 334.1; cf. Serm. 315.6. On Augustine's homiletic techniques see Oberhelman (1991), chs 5-6. 39. Elliott (1987), 13; 19. 40. The recently discovered Mainz sermons make this state of affairs very clear, notably Serm. Mainz 62; see here Chadwick (1996).

162

Notes to pages 41-43

41. Elliott (1987), 25. 42. P.Fruct. 2. 43. Augustine, Berm. 273.3. 44. Augustine, Berm. 273. 7-8. (The story is from Acts 14.8-18.) Cf. Augustine's defence of martyr cult against Manichean accusations of polytheism in Contra Faust. 20.21 and Lambot 26.2, where Augustine reminds his congregation: 'martyres sunt, sed homines fuerunt'. He reminds his flock that martyrs are to be honoured and imitated but not worshipped, in simple language which echoes that of Fructuosus and his deacons. 46. Serm. 273.3. 46. 'Ideo, charissimi, veneramini martyrea, laudate, amate, praedicate, honorate: Deum martyrum colite', Berm. 273.9. 47. Augustine, Berm. 301.1; Denis 17.7. 48. Tertullian, De spect.; Novatian, De spect.; Quodvultdeus, De symb. 1. On the relationship between Latin patristic writers and the spectacles see Jurgens (1972) and Weismann (1972). 49. Novatian, De spect. 4.4. 60. Tertullian, De spect. 2.9. 61. Quodvultdeus, De symb. 1.2.1. 62. Augustine, De civ. D. 1.32; 2.11-13; 27-9. 63. Augustine, Conf 3.2. Augustine's concern is consistently with the theatre proper, rather than with the games or the chariot races. Quodvultdeus deals with all three forms of spectacle in tum: De symb. 1.2. 64. On the theatre see Barnes (1996); on the spectacula, Lim (1999). 55. On mosaics see S. Brown (1992); examples of diptychs can be found in Volbach (1952) e.g. pl. 60; for detailed discussion of terracotta artefacts see Salomonson (1979). 66. Salomson (1979) argues that there is a transformation in these scenes from 'realistic' representations of violence to 'miraculous' scenes, which he wants us to interpret in the context of ecclesiastical programme. I find this fascinating speculation, but the iconographical evidence is not entirely convincing. On further (re)presentations of spectacular violence, both traditional and Christian, see Chapter 4 of this volume. 57. Novatian, De spect. 9: 'Habet christianus spectacula meliora si velit'. 68. Schnusenberg (1988) passim. 59. Augustine, Berm. 51.1: reference to absences due to the spectacles; In ps. 143.15: contrast between those present at church and those at the theatre; In ps. 80.23: in his closing words Augustine begs his congregation not to go to the theatre the following day, but instead to come to the church to celebrate a martyr's feast. 60. The town of Bulla Regia is also severely attacked for its theatre-going proclivities; Augustine's sermon on the Maccabees culminates in a simple prohibition 'Hoe vobis praestate vos, christiani: theatra nolite intrare', Denis 17.7. However, as noted above, we must be aware that Augustine's sermons may well have been delivered, additionally, at other locations and on other dates than those traditionally assigned. 61. Reg. Eccl. Carthag. 6.61: 'De spectaculis, ut die dominico vel ceteris sanctorum festivitatibus minime celebrentur'. 62. Augustine, Denis 14.3. This is assuming we accept the dating given for this sermon by Perler and others. See Van der Meer (1961), 48-53; Perler (1969), 23435; Markus (1990), 121-3. 63. Therefore, I find Peter Brown's recent insistence that Augustine wished to

Notes to pages 43-46

163

de-dramatise martyr cult mrprising: see Brown (1967 [2000a)), 254 ('He made the feasts of the martyrs leBBdramatic, so as to streBBthe daily drama of God's working in the heart of the average Christian'); see also Brown (2000). 84. Augustine, In ps. 39.9; cf. Novatian, De spect. 2-3. Quodvult.deus was evidently impressed enough with this analogy to borrow it: De symb. 1.2.14; he was almost unstoppable with his analogies, such as a comparison of Elijah's ascent to heaven with chariot racing: De symb. 1.2.7-9. 66. See Weismann (1975). Unique iconographical evidence for the popularity of Genesius comes in the form of a gold glass from late fourth-century Rome which features his portrait: see Morey (1959), no. 79. 88. 1 Cor. 4.9 as cited at Senn. 51.2 and again at In ps. 39.9. 87. Who would, of course, have greatly enjoyed, as they were meant to, the entertainment set before them: see Potter (1993). 88. Augustine, Denis 15.1; 4; cf. Senn. 280.2. 89. Augustine, Berm. 51.2. 70. Augustine, Caillau 1,47.1. NevertheleBS, an intensification of concentration on the martyr's suffering was a striking theme of late antique martyrology, as will be discussed in Chapter 4 of this volume. 71. Augustine, Senn. 274. 72. See also Augustine, In Evang. Johann. 7.6: 'illi oculis carnis vident vanitatem, nos cordis oculis veritatem'. 73. Roberts (1993), 140. This idea ofviBUalisation will constitute a significant theme of Chapter 6 of this volume. 74. Augustine, Senn. 51.2: 'Haec vos cum in ecclesia leguntur, libenter spectatis oculis cordis. Si enim nihil spectaretis, nihil audiretis.' 76. Augustine, Berm. 275.1. 78. Augustine, In Evang. Johann. 7.6. 77. Augustine, Senn. 51.2: 'Bed duo genera hominum talia spectacula spectant; unam carnalium, alteram spiritualium'; cf. 274 (spectavimus oculis fidei); 301.1 (oculos fi,dei nostri). Cf. Jerome's different take on the 'eye of faith', a mode of perception through which one could 'enter' biblical time: Ep. 108.10; see also Frank (2000), 12-13. 78. Augustine, Senn. 275.1. 79. Augustine, Denis 14.3; Quodvult.deus speaks of 'nostra sancta, sana, suavissima spectacula': De symb. 1.2.5. 80. In De civ. D. 2. 13; 27 Augustine asks why the theatrical games are seen as honouring the gods, while the actors performing in them are stigmatised. On the problematic status of the actor in Roman culture see C. Th. 15.7; Jiirgens (1972) 194-207 and Edwards (1993), eh. 3. 81. Plutarch, Moralia 554b; trans. Loeb; see further Barton (1989) and Coleman (1990). 82. Barton (1994), 41 sees ambivalence in both the 'admirable' martyr and the 'shameful' gladiator, commenting that both 'operated within an ambivalent vocabulary of emotion and gesture - the vocabulary of the condemned, the defeated, the dishonoured'. 83. Augustine satirises the partisan cliques of theatrical fans in De doct. Christ. 1.30; Senn. 332.1. 84. Augustine, Denis 17.7. 85. Augustine, Denis 14.3; cf. Mainz 62.3. 86. Augustine, Senn. 302.1. 87. Augustine, Senn. 273.8. See Poque (1968) on behaviour at martyr's feasts and the response of Augustine. Although Augustine is scathing concerning

164

Notes to pages 46-50

drinking at martyr vigils, 'holy drunkenness'eeems to have been a phenomenon with a long and respectable pedigree in African Christianity: eee Frend (1952a), 174-5. 88. Augustine, Denia 13.4. 89. Augustine, Berm. 274. 90. Augustine, Berm. 325.1. 91. Berm. 325.1. 92. 'Le panegyrique du saint etait surtout un ~texte a rkriminations ou invectives', Monceaux (1913), 162. 93. P. Dat. I quote from Tilley's translation of the Donatist martyr acts, with occasional alterations. 94. See now on this text Dearn (forthcoming), which suggests dating the Acts to the aftermath of the Conference of Carthage in 411. 95. P. Isaac 18. 96. E.g. Optatus, De schis. Don. 3.6: the very names of Donatist martyrs provoke 'rabid spleen'. 97. Gesta. coll. Carth. 3.433; 444-7; Augustine, Brev. coll. 3.32-3. SeeMarculus in this volume. 98. From denial to justification: e.g. Optatus, De schis. Don. 3.6; Augustine, Ep. 185.10-11; 16; Contra lit. Pet. 1.63.141-2; 64.143-4. 99. Optatus, De schis. Don. 2.18-19. 100. E.g. Contra lit. Pet. 2.141-6. 101. Optatus, De schis. Don. 3.1. 102. As in the polemical context of Contra Gaud. 1.31: 'possumua etiam verissime dicere ipsos quoque Donatistarum temporibus catholicoll quos occidunt ad supplementum illius numeri pertinere'. 103. Text given in Duval (1982), 182-3; see also Sanders (1989). 104. '[v]erum martyrium vera est pietate probat(um)', l. 8. 105. E.g. Berm. 275.1; 283,4; 285.2; 325.2; 327.1; 328.4; 335.2; Lambot 2.12; Lambot 15.2; Mainz 45.6-7; Ep. 185.9. 108. Dolbeau discusses the dating and context in his excellent edition of Berm. Mainz 5. 107. Augustine does not actually mention them by name, but leaves absolutely no doubt to whom he refers. 108. Mainz 5.13ff. 108. Mainz 5.16-17. 110. Guelfer 28. 111. Guel/er 28.4; 5; 6. 112. 'Audistis, cum eius passio legeretur, eum dixisse proconsuli: cum disciplina prohibeat, ut se quisque offerat', Berm. 28.5. Cf. A Cyp. 1: 'cum disciplina prohibeat nostra ne quis se ultro offerat'. Despite this assertion, however, A Cyp. 5 nevertheless relates that the crowd of Christians watching the bishop's execution shouted: 'Et nos cum eo decollemur'! 113. For the 'cliff-jumping' jibe see 'Marculus' in this volume. 114. Guelfer 28.6. 115. Guel/er 28. 7. These were indeed the final words of Cyprian in the Catholic Acts, A Cyp. 4 whereas in the Donatist P. Cyp. the bishop's last words are the 'Donatist war cry' Deo laudes. 118. Brisson (1958), 308 writes of the 'conception guerriere de la condition chretienne'. 117. For Petilian's accusation: Contra lit. Pet. 1.93-202. 118. Augustine, Berm. 303.2.

Notes to pages 50-55

165

119. Augustine, Serm. 286.7; 328.8; Lam.bot 6.6; Cf. also Mainz 60.7: 'In lecto es, et athleta es. lnfirmus es, et pugnas, et vincis.' Augustine also talks about conquering through resistance to temptation in general, and thus winning a 'secret victory': Serm. 4.36; cf. In ps. 63.1 See de Vogii~(1989) and Straw (1999) on this theme. 120. Augustine, Serm. 286.7. 121. On which see Chapter 6 of this volume. 122. Cf. Augustine' story in De civ. D. 22.8 of the woman who tried to heal herself with a 'superstitious' hair girdle and ring; see Brown (1967), 413-18. 123. Cf. Rousseau (1994), 46-8; 182-8 on Basil of Caesarea's martyr homilies, and their pastoral context. 124. Augustine, Berm. 311.4. 125. See Roberts (1993), 189-97 on 'sacred space and time and poetics of martyrdom'; cf. Brown (1981), 81-2 on how the passio abolished time and brought the past into the present. 126. 'nisi ubi corpus au aliquae reliquiae sunt aut origo alicuius habitiationis uel possessionis uel passionis fidelissima origine traditur', Reg. eccl. Carthag. 83. 127. Augustine, Denis 15.4: 'multi ex ipsis persecutoribus, qui viderunt beatissimum Cyprianum fundentem sanguinem, genua fl,ectentem, cervicem percussori proebentem, hie viderunt, hie spectaverunt, hie de tanto spectaculo exultaverunt, hie, hie morienti insultaverunt'. 128. Duval (1982), 457-8; Brown (1981), 10-11. 129. Duval (1982), 735-6 discusses the 'nom vague et ambigu de memoria'. 130. Here I am thinking again of Asad's critique of Geertz, especially his comment (with reference, moreover, to Augustine) that 'it is not mere religious symbols that implant true Christian dispositions, but power': Asad (1983), 242.

Marculus 1. The textual dossier for Marculus includes his Passio and references to his

martyrdom in Optatus, De schismate donatistorum and Augustine, Tractatus in Evangelium lohannis; Contra Cresconium and Contra litteras Petiliani. The single epigraphic testimony is published in Duval (1982), no. 75. 2. 'Item recitavit: "Dativus episcopus Novapetrensis". Cumque accessisset, idem dixit: "Mandavi et subscripsi. Et adversarium non habeo, quia illic est domnus Marculus, cuius sanguinem Deus exiget in die iudicii."' 3. Shaw (1992), 28; see also on the Council Tilley (1991a). 4. Optatus, De schis. Don. 3.6-7. Donatus ofBagai's name comes up with that of Marculus again in Augustine's In Evang. Johann. 11.15 but unfortunately no passio survives for him. 5. Gest. Coll. Carth. 3.433; 447. 6. I quote from Tilley's translation of the P.Marc. 7. This kind of conversion narrative is familiar from Christian literature; most relevantly we can compare it with the case of Cyprian. Cyprian had provided his own autobiographical conversion narrative in his Ad Donatum, a nuanced, if inevitably Pauline account, which describes his transformation from rhetor to Christian. 8. This period of imperial repression of the Donatist is a red-letter period in North African Christian polemic. Optatus, De schis. Don. 3.4 is very careful in considering and countering Donatist allegations of Catholic sanctioned persecution. He claims that the Circumcellions caused violent terror and it was the

166

Notes to pages 55-60

Donatist bishops who appealed for military force against their own people. Augustine repeats this accusation: Contr. lit. Pet. 3.29. 9. The claim that the authorities acted secretly is a clearly a counter-claim aimed at Catholic assertions that imperial repression was merely a Donatist fiction. 10. The other bishops have disappeared from the scene of the narrative: they have no role to play in this story of individual triumph. 11. This image is Pauline (cf. 1 Cor. 6.15) and is typical of a Donatist text, where the suffering body is constructed so insistently as the subject and centre of the Christian in imitatio Christi. The same image is used in P.Isaac 5. 12. Cf. the vision of Marculus' executioner at [10]. Visions vouchsafed to martyrs are a common motif in North African martyr acts: the archetype is P. Perp. 4; 7-8; 10-13 but see also the imitations in P.Mar. 6-8 and P.Mont. 7; 8; 11. On martyrs' dreams in general see Amat (1985); Mertens (1986). 18. See Chapter 4 of this volume for di8CU88ionof this motif. 14. Cone. Garth. 348, 2. 16. Augustine, In Evang. Iohann. 11.15. Translation: Fathers of the Church. 18. Augustine, Contra. Creac. 3.54. 17. Cf. Contr. lit. Pet. 2.32; 2.46; 2.195; Guelfer 28.6. Cf. a similar accusation in Filastrius, Divers. her. lib. 85. 18. Nonetheless, Berthier's (1942), 215-18 interpretation of 64 Numidian epitaphs as 'suicide inscriptions' makes for curious reading. 19. Duval (1982), no. 75; 158-60. 20. See Cayrel (1934); Delehaye (1935). 21. Duval (1982), 160. 22. Both excavators of the 'Donatist' basilica suggested that Ksar-el-Kelb should be identified with Roman Vegesela where Marculus and his fellow bishops were tortured: Cayrel (1934), 139-40 and Courcelle (1936), 176-8. This interpretation seems to me to rely somewhat unwisely on the historicity of the account given in the P. Marc. 23. Tilley (1997a and 1997b). 24. Cf. the inscription for the Donatist martyr Robba, dated to 434, erected in a basilica built ad sanctam by the Donatists during the period of peace they enjoyed under the Vandal occupation. The inscription records the martyr's death at the hands of the traditores: see Duval (1982), 408-11.

4. Courtroom Dramas 1. Gibbon (1909 [1776]), vol. 2, 144. 2. There are of course moral pitfalls implicit in writing about such things; Dubois (1991) 141 claims to have resisted 'perverse pleasures' and 'lyricising the tortured body' in her book on torture. 8. De Ste Croix (1984), 22. 4. De Ste Croix (1984), 23. 6. Gewirtz (1996), 4, see further the other essays in Brooks and Gewirtz (1996). 6. Brooks (1996), 17. This also calls to mind the function of the narmtio in classical rhetoric. 7. Herodotus, 1.30-3. 8. On traditional and classical Greek tales see Compton (1990); for Roman examples see MacMullen (1966), eh. 2.

Notes to pages 60-64

167

9. Relevant Greek texts include the Acta A/,exandrinorum and Philostratus' V. Apollonii while Jewish martyrological texts, such as 4 Maecabees, are obviously also relevant; see Fuchs (1964) for discussion. 10. Cicero, Tusc. 2.22.51-3; Valerius Maximus, 3.3.ext.2-6. I discuss Seneca below. Cf. the famous case of Anaxarchus: Diog. Laert. 9.59. 11. See Beard (1993) and Gleason (1995) passim. 12. Quintilian 2.10.3-6. 13. Ps. Quintilian, Declamationes maiores. 14. Apuleius was still a popular and controversial figure in late antiquity. He is described as a magician by Augustine De civ. D. 18.18 and Ep. 138.18-19 and Lactantius, D.1. 5.3.21. 16. A procession takes Lucius to the courtroom, which is too small for the crowd so the action moves to the theatre. Lucius' own performance is highly theatrical, and this theatricality increases until the dramatic climax which reveals the genre, unbeknown to the victim, to be comedy rather than tragedy: Apuleius, Met. 3.1-12. There are clearly connections between this episode and Apuleius' 'own' Apology; on the difficulties of characterising the Met., however, see Winkler (1985) passim. 18. The date of the Aithiopika is controversial; a fourth-century date (based on the possible use of Julian's description of the siege ofNisibis in his Orationes) would be interesting in terms of the comparisons I am making here. 17. Charikleia is interesting here because of her affinity with Christian heroines such as Thecla and the virgin martyrs; the iconic image of her being burned on the stake is clearly comparable. For discussion of the relationship see Hagg (1983), eh. 6. 18. See Musurillo (1955), 258-66 for discussion. 19. MacMullen has been the most insistent proponent of this thesis see especially MacMullen (1986). 20. Harries (1999a), 119 and passim; (1999b). 21. Matthews (1989), 266. 22. C. Th. 1.16.7; 9.7.6; 9.24.1; 10.10.2. 23. Matthews (1989), 262. The imposition of these penalties is, of course, another matter. Perhaps we could not unreasonably compare present-day strident anti-crime rhetoric from governments which often fails to be backed up by corresponding practical measures. 24. In Ammianus, as in other ancient historical works, powerful individuals rather than structures are held to blame, as noted by Matthews (1989), 258. 25. Amm. Marc., Res Gestae 29.1.27, trans. Loeb. 28. As demonstrated conclusively by Garnsey (1970); cf. Garnsey (1968); see more recently Grodzynski (1984). 27. DuBois (1991) passim but especially 63-4. 28. As narrated in Suetonius, August. 27.4; Tib. 62 and alluded to by Seneca, Ep. 14; 24; 76-8 as discussed below. Testimony relating to elite torture in the early empire has generally been given insufficient weight in accouqts positing late decline but see Brunt (1980). 29. Harries (1999a), 119 n. 5. 30. See Clark (1991). 31. See, polemically, MacMullen (1997), eh. 1: 'Persecution'. 32. The Pauli Sententiae, for instance, which include new penalties, date from c. 300; see again Garnsey (1968). 33. See P. Brown (1992), eh. 2: 'Paideia and Power'. On Thessalonica and Theodosius see also Matthews (1976), 234-7.

168

Notes to pages 64-70

34. Thus the rehabilitated Theodosius, active against pagans and heretics, becomes one of Rufmus' most Christian monarchs: H.E. 11.34. 35. C. Th. 16.10.21. required imperial officials to be Christians. 36. E.g. Augustine, Ep. 138. 37. Augustine, De civ. D. 19.6. 38. E.g. at Ep. 133.2 where he asked Marcellinus, as a Christian judge, to fulfil the duty of an affectionate or mindful father: lmple, christiane judex, pii patris offi,cium. See also Ep. 134; 88.9. 39. For the theological statement: Augustine, Serm. 13.8; for a more practical discussion of the advisability of clemency see Ep. 133 and 139. 40. Ambrose, Ep. 25.2. 41. Paulinus of Milan, V. Amb. 7. Note Ambrose's neutral comment on the utility of torture in obtaining confessions: 'lnde in judiciis saecularibus impositi equuleo torquentur negantes, et qWU!dam tangit iudicem miseratio confi,tensis', De Cain et Abel 2.27. 42. 'Spectantem satis horreo; iam de iubente quid dicam?', Pseudo-Pelagius, De div. 6.2. 43. Winstead (1997), 3; 22. 44. See Shaw (1996). 45. Perkins (1995) passim. 46. The seminal work here remains Hopkins (1983) while the influence of Foucault (1977) is palpable in all recent discussions. 47. Compare Seneca, Ep. 7.2-6; 95.33; Cicero, Fam. 7.1.3 and Tertullian, De spect. 12; Augustine, Con(. 6.8. 48. Hopkins (1983), 30. 49. 'Mise en scene de cruautes revoltantes, description de supplices extraordinaires, exageration enorme de la duree et du mode d'application des supplices connus, tels sont les moyens couramment employes par les hagiographes pour faire briller l'intrepidite du heros.' Delehaye (1921) 284. 50. ' "Quaestionem n intellegere debemus tormenta et corporis dolorem ad eruendam veritatem', Dig. 47.10.15.41. While there was debate regarding the status of evidence gained in this way, from Cicero, Part. or. 34.117-18, to the jurists, e.g. Digest 48.18.l.23f., this debate always stopped short of rejection of torture. 51. Foucault (1977), 33-5. 52. Foucault (1977), 49. 53. On the ritual elements of ancient public punishment see Potter (1993) and (1996). 54. Scarry (1985), 27-8. 55. Seneca, Ep. 14.6; cf. 24.14, trans. Loeb. 56. The text's editor considers the A Gall. to be of fourth-century North African provenance and immune from medieval interpolations and reshaping. 57. The second session may result from a secondary recension of the text. 58. See Harries (1999a), 126. 59. The translations are (largely) Tilley's, as before. 60. P.Isaac 5. 61. P.Dat. 6. 62. P.Dat. 10. 63. P.Maxima 6. 64. P.Dat. 6. 65. P.Isaac 7. 66. Tilley (1991b). A short passage in Tertullian's De pat. 13.8 could suggest

Notes to pages 70-76

169

such a thing: he writes that Christians need to strengthen the flesh, preparing for the trials they will have to face, 'ut verbera ut ignem ut crucem bestias

gladium constantissime toleret'. 87. As evoked, for instance, by Tertullian, De spect. 30, which joyfully pictures the apocalyptic conflagration which will engulf the present world. 88. Shaw (1996), 312. 89. Heffernan (1988), 58 comments 'hyperbole is one of the stock rhetorical figures of medieval sacred biography', becoming, paradoxically, a barometer for judging its reliability. 70. Prudentius has recently undergone a revival in literary studies: three recent monographs focus on the Peristephanon alone: Malamud (1989); Palmer (1989); Roberts (1993). 71. See here Saxer (1989). 72. Augustine, Berm. 276.1: 'In passione, quae nobis hodie recitata est, fratres mei, evidenter ostenditur judex ferox, tortor cruentus, martyr invictus. Cf. Serm. Mainz 5.13: 'quae tormenta ... quam ingentia, quam multa, quam densa!'. 73. Augustine, Serm. 274; 276.3; 277.2; Caillau 1,47.1. 74. All translations of the Peristephanon are based on those of the Loeb edition. 75. See here Ross (1995), 336-7. 78. Cf. Per. 10.1126-7 for the ploughing of St. Romanus' wounds. 77. Cf. Ross (1995), 338-40 on the flowering fecundity of the bodies of female martyrs in the Peristephanon. 78. The 'new punishment' is a common conceit in late antique martyrology: the proliferation of martyrology brings with it a necessarily compulsive logic of the search for novelty and excess. 79. Foucault (1977), 34. Cf. Jerome, Ep. 1.13 for another case. 80. Shaw (1996), 309. 81. It is by a very Christian alchemy that Prudentius can speak of terrible torments with dulcibus linguis. 82. See here Brown (1981), 108-12. 83. See further 'Felix' in this volume. 84. Carm. 14.21-4. 85. Carm. 26.338; 354-6. 88. Victric., De laud. sanct. 11: the language is strikingly similar language to that of Prudentius. Cf. Augustine's brief discussion of martyrial exorcism: De civ. D. 8.26. 87. Brown (1981), 109. 88. Strictly speaking, according to Roman jurisprudence, punishment and tormenta were distinct although summa supplicia seem to have combined the two aspects. Contemporary writers on torture, however, tend to follow Scarry (1985) in seeing it as purely punitive in aim. 89. See Harries (1999a), eh. 7: 'Punishment' for discussion. 90. After sentencing in the heavenly courtroom of course: as Victricius ends his oration he evokes this courtroom where the saints act as advocati; he urges his congregation to make a confession of their sins: 'facile elicit misericordiam iudicantis non extorta confessio', De laud. Sanct. 12. 91. Callu (1984). 92. E.g. Per. 2 276-92 which imagines a reversal of suffering; on which see 'Laurence' below. 93. E.g. at 8.5 and 8.9 See Christensen (1989) on Rufinus' adaptation of Book

8.

170

Notes to pages 76-82

94. Resulting, for instance, in the contradictions in the accounts of the 'martyrdom' of three evangelising clerics in the still largely pagan Val de Non in 397, as discussed most recently by Forlin Patrucco (1997). Note also the stipulation in the canons of the Council of Elvira in 300 that anyone killed for breaking idols was not to be counted as a martyr: Canon 60: 'non recipi martyrum'. 96. Scolies Ariennes 13-14. 96. Paulinus of Milan, V.Amb. 33.4, translation: B.F. Hoare. 97. Perkins (1995), 8. 98. See further Gaddis (1999), introduction and passim.

Agna 1. The texts consulted here are Ambrose, De virginibus and Hymn 8, Damasus 37, Prudentius, Per. 14 and the fifth-century Paasio Agnetis. Agnes is also discussed briefly by Augustine: Senn. 273.6. 2. Agnes sepulcrum est Romulea in domo,/ fortis puellae, martyris inclytae. 3. On the complex see Frutaz (1969). 4. See L.P. 34 and 37 on the basilica and catacomb in the fourth century. The basilica was later rebuilt and restored by popes including Symmachus (498-513) and Honorius I (625-638), who are both depicted together with Agnes in the seventh-century apse mosaic. 6. For catalogue and reproductions see Morey (1959); on hagiographic imagery on gold glass see now Grig (2004). 6. Cf. the famous image of the Donna Velata in the Catacomb of Priscilla; on martyrs as orants see Grabar (1946), vol. 2 esp. 48-50. 7. Morey (1959), no. 85. 8. Thecla provides a role model for virgins in a whole range of late antique texts, including Augustine, De sanct. virg. 45 and Gregory of Nyssa, V.Macrinae 2. For the ancient cult of Thecla, raising a host of pertinent i88Ues,see Davis (2001). 9. On the later Roman virgin martyr accounts see Dufourcq (1882-1910); Consolino (1984); Cooper (1996), eh. 6; for medieval interest in virgins see Winstead (1997) and Mcinerney (2003). 10. Prod. Per. 3; see Petruccione (1990); see also Franchi de' Cavalieri (1899) 312-17. 11. Our extant texts clearly display variances in the tradition in the varying methods of execution carried out on Agnes: by fire, by beheading, or both! 12. Although these phrases obviously also represent literary conventions. 13. See Malamud (1989), eh. 6. 14. The P. Agnetis seems to date substantially from the early fifth century (although its proclaimed Ambrosian authorship is clearly bogus), with the exception of its later chapters which deal with the foundation of S. Costanza. See Franchi de' Cavalieri (1899), 323-54 for a thorough discussion of these issues. 16. In Prudentius' version she must supplicate before the altar of another famous virgin, Minerva: Per. 14.26-8 (ac de Minerva iam veniam rogat,/ quam virgo pergit temnere uirginem). 16. This combination death is perhaps a way to iron out the inconsistencies in the earliest accounts: while Damasus' Agnes dies by the flames, in the accounts of Prudentius and Ambrose she is killed by the sword alone. Of course, this kind of inflation is also common in the passiones of the period.

Notes to pages 82-84

171

17. Several modem commentators have not been slow to label martyr stories like this one as pornographic: e.g. Miles (1989), 156: 'religious pornography'; Boyarin (1995), 22: 'a sort of religiously sanctioned pornography'. 18. This obviously calls to mind Aphrodite. 19. Wogan-Browne (1994), esp. p. 174. 20. Damasus' account (probably known to Prudentius) has a less elaborate, less dramatic version, Epigr. 37.7: 'and naked she let her loosened hair fall over her limbs/ nudaque profusum crinem per membra dedisse'. 21. The issue of the gaze with regard to female martyrs has recently been embraced with some enthusiasm, taking its theoretical impetus from the field of feminist film theory, most seminally Mulvey (1988); see Castelli (1995) and Wogan-Browne (1994). 22. Parallels can also be found in the deaths of traditional Roman heroines. Keith (2000), 123 sees Ovid's Polyxena's concern to preserve her modesty in death (a detail also taken up with regard to Agnes: e.g. Hymn 8.7-8) as implying 'that the piercing with a sword is analogous to the sexual defloration of the virginal bride'. Moreover, Joplin (1990), 67 claims that the stab to heart, 'the showable wound, serves as a double for the vagina, the natural opening that must be covered'. Cf. Shaw's interpretation of the piercing of Perpetua's neck as a\ symbolic oral rape: Shaw (1996), 305. 28. E.g. the editor of the Bude text, Lavarenne, complains that the speech 'manque fAcheusement de simplicite'. 24. Burrus (1995), 43 sees Agnes as being 'unable to escape the control of the dominant narrative whose opposition gives it birth'. 26. See here for interesting comparisons and discussion Loraux (1987), eh. 1. 28. Both Burrus (1995), 46 and Malamud (1989), 171 and (1990), 81-2 read Agnes' beheading as an emasculating act (even a symbolic castration), as refeminising a potentially subversive virgin in relation to a phallic Christ. It is surely relevant that in the Ambrosian Hymn 8.8 Agnes rearranges her dress to preserve her feminine modesty as she falls, emulating her classical forebears, e.g. Ovid, Met. 13.4 79-80. 27. Cf. Ovid, Met. 13.479-80; Euripides, Hecuba 568ff. 28. As medievalists have done: e.g. Winstead (1997) and Wogan-Browne (1991). 29. See here the discussion of Cooper (1996), passim, but especially eh. 3. Much of the work on readership in the ancient world has been focused on ancient novels, which have been thought to have implications for the Apocryphal Acts: on women as both heroines and readers see Egger (1999). 30. See Cooper (1996), eh. 6; Consolino (1984). 31. This work can be fitted into a genre of that goes back to the third century and flourished in both East and West: see Duval (1974) and Savon (1989). However, Boyarin (1999), eh. 3: 'Thinking with Virgins', suggests, intriguingly, that Agnes functions more as a model for ma/.ethan female ascetics. In this light see Ambrose's Ep. 37 .36-8 where he aims the example of heroic maidens specifically at men; cf. Augustine, Serm. 345.6. 32. Trans. NPNF. 33. Burrus (1995) 30. 34. See Henry (1999), eh. 6. 36. Jerome, Ep. 130.5. 38. Cf. Ambrose, De virg. 1.2.9. 37. Cf. Damasus, Epigr. 37.9-19: 'You whom I must venerate, holy heroine of chastity, hear favourably the prayers of Damasus, I beg, noble martyr' (0

172

Notes to pages 84-88

veneranda mihi sanctum decus alma pudoris/ ut Damasi precibus faveas precor inclyta martyr). 38. P.Agnetis 13; cf. P.Fruct. 4.3: 'in signo tropaei Domini'.

5. Multiplying Texts 1. See Heinzelmann (1979) on the texts produced by and for these events. 2. For this theme see MacMullen (1984a) and Theissen (1974), 4 and passim. 3. 'Wundergeschichten konnten an die Stelle von Wundem treten', Theissen (1974), 257. See also the elaboration of this theme in Hopkins (1999), 150; 298. 4. On the first libelli miraculorum see Delehaye (1910) and (1925); for early medieval developments, Petersen (1984), passim. 5. See Ward 0987), 173. 6. See Delehaye (1921), 287-303 for discussion; his focus is primarily on Greek accounts. An examination of the miracles recounted in later acta and passiones of the martyrs could perhaps reveal something about martyrs' miracles and their tradition. 7. On the background to relic cult see Hermann-Mascard (1975), 12-15 and Angenendt (1994); for more detailed study see Speyer (1990) on Greco-Roman and McCane (1991) on Jewish antecedents. 8. See Chapter 2 of this volume. 9. M. Poly. 18. Cf. the collection of the cremated ashes of Bishop Fructuosus by the brethren: P.Fruct. 6. 10. P.Perp. 21.5. 11. A Gyp. 5.4. 12. A Gyp. 1.7 refers to an imperial law prohibiting Christians from entering the cemeteries. 13. For North Africa the custom of celebrating the Eucharist for martyrs is attested by Cyprian: Ep. 12.2; 39.3.1. See more generally Hermann-Mascard (1975) 143-7. On the controversial subject of the relic/altar link see Deichmann (1970) and Brandenburg (1995). 14. See Duval (1991) and (1988). 15. I shall discuss the private confessio under the Roman church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo in Chapter 6 of this volume. 16. Kotting (1955), 63. 17. Greg. Nyss., In hom. XL mart. 11. 18. Markus (1990), 145-6; cf. Brown (1981), 1-2. 19. G. Th. 9.17. 7, issued at Constantinople in February 386. Traditional accounts which seek to posit a sharp divide between western and eastern practice are more apologetic than accurate. 20. Lizzi ( 1990) discusses Ambrose's cultivation of a network of North Italian bishops in which the distribution of relics was involved. 21. The striking variety of these secondary relics is suggested by the wide range of vocabulary used to designate them, e.g. pignora, sanctuaria, beneficia, brandea, palliola: see here Hermann-Mascard (1975), 45-9. 22. See for example Paulinus, Garm. 17.38-9; 21.586-95; of the North African miracles discussed below, a great many were achieved through contact with relics, or with objects that had touched relics: e.g. De mir. S. Steph. 1.12; 2.3. 23. Augustine, De opus monachorum 28.36: alii membra martyrium venditant, si tamen martyrium.

Notes to pages 88-91

173

24. Optatus De schis Don. 1.16, trans. M. Edwards. 25. For example, Augustine's scathing comment: Ep. 52.2. This assessment

was accepted by historians for a long time, e.g. Monceaux (1901-23), vol. 5, 35-8. 26. Reg. eccl. Garth. 83. 27. See Kotting (1966), 73. 28. Greg. Naz., Or. 4.25-7. 29. In February 363 Julian issued an edict forbidding daytime funerals and affirming earlier legislation against the violation of tombs: C. Th. 9.17.5. 30. Julian, Contra Gal. 201e. 31. Contra Gal. 335b-340a, trans. Loeb. Julian cites Matt. 23.27. 32. Jerome's earlier text regarding Vigilantius is Ep. 109. 33. The Council of Elvira: Canon 34 banned daytime candles; night-time vigils were notorious for immoral behaviour (as we saw in Chapter 3); Jerome has to concede the point. 34. Trans. NPNF. 35. Augustine had originally argued that miracles did not take place in the present age for they were no longer necessary; their place had been in the apostolic age when their function was to convert unbelievers: Dever. rel. 26.47; see also Serm. 88.3; cf. Retract. 1.13.7. Famously, Augustine changed his mind, as we shall see below. 36. An interesting modem comparison comes in an anecdote related by Bentley (1985) 190 recalling his contemporary pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Catherine of Alexandria on Mount Sinai; he narrates how the smell of the relic was appalling, but also that his guide, the Archbishop of Sinai cried 'with evident pleasure "What a superb aroma!" '. 37. Jerome makes some highly unedifying slights, for example sneering at him for being afraid during an earthquake in Jerusalem years before (11] and accusing him of being possessed by a demon (10]! 38. Hunter (1999). 39. Gennadius, De vir. ill. 36. 40. Eunomius was an Arian theologian, against whom Basil of Caesarea wrote; we know nothing else of his views on martyr cult. 41. Jerome, Ep. 109.2. 42. A few years previously, in 402, Exuperius had consecrated a basilica dedicated to the bishop martyr Satuminus at Toulouse. On Exuperius see the EEC. Hunter (1999) 410 thinks that the Passio Satumini is a defensive apologetic text, which should be read as a response to the criticisms of Vigilantius. 43. Trans. E.G. Clark (1999). 44. The text was transmitted amongst the writings of Ambrose. Victricius was also a correspondent of Paulinus of Nola. 45. Paulinus, Ep. 18.6. 46. As referred to by Paulinus in Ep. 18.5 and by Victricius himself, De laud. sanct. 3; see also Brown (1981), 99. 47. Frank (2000), 177-8 stresses the importance of the visual here: Victricius talks about 'gazing' on relics whereby 'physical seeing is the first step to reconstituting wholeness from a fragment'. 48. Chrom., Serm. 26.1; Gaudent., Tract. 17.35-6. See Ferraglio (1997) and Hunter (1981), 272-5 on this theme. 49. Cf. Miller (1998), 123: relic cult is 'better described as an aesthetic in which division was paradoxically also multiplication'; see also Miller (2000). 50. See Saxer (1980), 289. There soon developed the notion that the portion of relics really was the saint, in a personal way: see Geary (1978), 38-9 on this theme.

174

Notes to pages 91-96

51. On this theme see the discussion of E.G. Clark (1999), 2-4. 52. Victricius then gives brief accounts of the sufferings of some of these martyrs, identified by the editors of the Latin text as Porphyry, a Palestinian martyr, the prophet Isaiah and St. Alban; one of the female martyrs might be Perpetua. The use of fabula for a martyr narrative is unusual. 53. For virtutum an alternative translation would be 'miraculous power'. Another Gallic author, Sulpicius Severus generally used virtus (rather than mirocula) of Martin of Tours, which Stancliffe (1983), 161 compares with the Greek dynamis. 54. The terminology includes hostes, arma., acies, signa., bellum. 55. Brown (1981), 95. Cf. Ambrose's comments in his Ep. 22 that his inventio was a sign of special, episcopal grace. 56. Unfortunately, the archaeological record is less illuminating. SeeChierici (1957) on his excavations at Cimitile. Seealso Goldschmidt (1940) for commentary on the relevant poems, and the related articles of Junod-Ammerbauer (1978) and Lipinsky (1976). On the problems of ekphrasis as 'evidence' see Chapter 6 of this volume. 57. Paulinus, Carm. 18.29-37. 58. Paulinus, Cann. 19. 378f. 59. Paulinus, Cann. 18.38-9; 21.586-9. 60. These include depictions of male and female martyrs as well as holy men and women from the Bible: Carm. 27.511-44; 28.202-7. 81. SeeFelix in this volume. 62. Paulinus, Carm. 19.358-62. 83. Paulinus, Cann. 19.351-2. 84. Paulinus, Cann. 19.309. 65. Paulinus, Carm. 19.364-71. 66. Paulinus, Cann. 27.406-39. 67. Paulinus, Ep. 32.17; these martyrs made up the standard consignment sent by Ambrose to those within his privileged network. 88. Paulinus, Cann. 19. 608-76; the poem ends addressing andpraising the cross. 89. Paulinus, Ep. 31.1. Considering the supposedly endless multiplicity of such relics, his response seems a little mean spirited! 70. Paulinus, Ep. 31.1. 71. Paulinus, Ep. 31.4. 72. For an incisive discussion of the events and texts below see Bradbury (1996), 16-25. 73. The Latin text has been reconstructed from two different recensions: see Martin (1958). 74. John presided over the Council of Diospolis (which found Pelagius innocent of heresy) in 415. 75. The Epistula Aviti ad Palchonium. 78. I have used the French translation of the Georgian version of the Passio provided by Van Esbroeck (1984). 77. Of course expansion of the canonical biblical accounts was not new: the 'apocryphal' Acts and Gospels provide an early example of this tendency. 78. Cf. Rev. 12.1. 79. This chronology is calculated by Bradbury (1996), 24-5. I shall quote from Bradbury's text and translation 80. Other scholarly accounts include Brown (1981), 103-5 concentrating on 'clean' and 'unclean' power; Hunt (1982) whose concern is Jewish-Christian relations and Hoium (1995) who is interested in Christianisation.

Notes to pages 96-101

175

81. Hunt (1982), 114. 82. Hunt (1982), 113. 83. See Bradbury (1996), 51-3 for comments. 84. See Bradbury (1996), 72-7 on the manuscripts. 86. De mir. S. Steph. 1.2, trans. Bradbury. 88. De mir. S. Steph. 1.7; on Uzalis see Maurin and Peyras (1971), esp. 51. 87. Augustine, De civ. D. 22.8. 88. See however the unsympathetic judgement on Evodius of Brown (1967), 418: '[his] collection of miracles is a vivid record of the trivialities of life in Uzalis, but hardly a very impressive argument for the supernatural'. 89. The stress on simplicity is itself, of course, a rhetorical strategy, consistently employed by hagiographers in late antiquity, as di8CU88edby Cameron (1991), 111-13. 90. Cf. the procession of the relics evoked by Victricius; Augustine mentions another local procession with the Protomartyr's relics at Aquae Tibilitanae: De civ. D. 22.8. 91. We have already seen the common use of the title 'Dom[i]nus' for martyrs in North Africa, e.g. in the case of Marculus: Gest. Collat. Carth. 1.187.69-72; Duval (1982), no. 75. 92. Senn. 314. 93. Two of the miracles have been discussed by Brown (1981), 44; 102-3. 94. Jones (1964), 963. 96. Especially Brown (1967), 413-18; see also on Augustine's change in attitude, Van der Meer (1961), 540-1; de Vooght (1939a). 98. Augustine, De civ. D. 22.14: babies will reach the size they would have reached; 22.15: our bodies will not be the same size but the same age as Christ; 22.19: all bodily defects will be rectified. For fears of bodily dispersal see, for instance, Seneca, Phaedra 1105-1114 and its Christian reworking in Prudentius Per. 11.133-51. Christian fears for bodily integrity are internally negotiated in the M. Lyons and made explicit in Lactantius, D.1. 4.26.32-3. 97. De civ. D. 22.9.1-3, trans. R.W.Dyson. 98. Augustine also and crucially argued that all miracles were part of the original miracle of creation; on his miracle theology see de Vooght (1939b). 99. De civ. D. 22.30; cf. Senn. 317.1. 100. De civ. D. 22.9.3-4. 101. De civ. D. 22.10. On the importance of martyrdom in controversy over bodily resurrection see Pagels (1979), eh. 4; Bynum (1995), 105 n. 174; cf. however the comments of Perkins (1985), 211. 102. As at De cura 22. 103. Augustine himself showed extreme caution in De cura on the subject of the relationship between the dead martyr and living devotee: see Retract 2.64 for the context, De cura 19; 22 for his discuBSion. 104. Duval (1982), 625-32. 106. Duval (1982), no. 43. 106. Senn. 314-16. On Augustine's Stephen sermons and their theological aspects, see Mayer (1989). 107. Senn. 317.1. 108. Senn. 318. We do not know what form this memoria took: the archaeological interpretation of its location remains controversial: while Erwan Maree believed he had discovered this chapel (1958), 113-18 other archaeologists have been sceptical, e.g. Duval (1982), 627. 109. Senn. 319.

176

Notes to pages 101-106

110. Berm. 319.6. 111. Serm. 319.7. 112. On reading, and the relationship between the spoken and the written word in Augustine see Stock ( 1996), 5-6. 113. For an earlier account of these events see Van der Meer (1961), 549-53. 114. Serm. 320. 115. Serm. 321. 116. Serm. 322.1. 117. The li'bellus is preserved at Berm. 322.2. 118. Serm. 323.1-2 119. Serm. 323.3-4. This miracle occurs in the Uzalisoollection [1.15]; it tells the story of the mother whose catechumen infant eon died, to be resurrected to receive baptism: it is the only story that is told both by Augustine and the Uzalis text. 120. Serm. 324. 121. De civ. D. 22.8.160-71. 122. De civ. D. 22.8.353-7. 123. De civ. D. 22.8.188-91. 124. De civ. D. 22.8.364-9. 125. De civ. D. 22.8.398-400.

Felix of Nola 1. Paulinus' Natalicia constitutes the dossier here for Felix. 2. 'Martyrium sine CO£deplacet, si prompta ferendi/ mensque fid.esque deo

caleant.' 3. Paulinus did not actually create Felix's cult from scratch but took over the existing cult (testified to by Damasus' Epigr. 59, on which see Lehmann (1995)) very successfully. 4. Translations of Paulinus are taken from Walsh's ACW edition. 5. Felix as confessor: Carm. 15.188, 230; 16.247, 255. 6. E.g. Cyprian, De mort. 17: 'aliud est martyrio animum deesse, aliud animo defuisse martyrium '. 7. As apparent in the North African sectarian debates, discussed in Chapter 3. 8. See Chapter 2. Fevrier (1991) demonstrates the breaking down of supposedly hard and fast distinctions. 9. E.g. Ep. 15. 10. Eusebius of Vercellii was the object of a laudatory sermon attributed to Maximus of Turin, Serm. 7 and an acrostic inscription, which spelt EUSEBIUS EPISCOPUS ET MARTUR: CIL 5.6723. Pope Eusebius was the recipient of Damasus' epigram 18: 'Eusebio episcopo et martyri'. Also relevant in this context is Paulinus' letter to Bishop Victricius of Rouen, Ep. 18, evoking and praising the latter's sufferings under persecution, which is replete with martyr tropes. 11. Augustine, De cura 1.1; 1.19; Uranius, Ep. 1.2; XVIIII Kal. Feb. sancti Felicis Nolensis. 12. See Kampert (1998) on the development of the Latin hagiography regarding 'bloodless martyrs', with particular reference to death accounts, although, tellingly, he does not include Felix in their number. 13. There was a certain rivalry between the two biographers regarding their patrons: see Paulinus, Ep. 17.4 and Sulpicius Severus, Dialog. 2.17. 14. Sulpicius Severus, Ep. 2. Cf. Malone (1956) for citations of martyr tropes in texts relating to non-martyr saints (mostly Greek).

Notes to pages 106-112

177

15. Ambrose, Ep. 22.7. 18. On these Neapolitan activities see Arthur (2003), 64. 17. Uranius, Ep. 1.3. 18. Cf. Carm. 19.141-51: comparison with Carthage. 19. See here Evenpoel (1989) and Van Uytfanghe (1998). 20. See R.P.H.Green (1971), 92-4. 21. Cf. Chapter 4. 22. See Trout (1995) for a discussion of Paulinus' animal miracle stories and their Christianising purpose. 28. See here Kirsch (1983). 24. Frend (1974), 121. 25. See here Trout (1995). 28. 'Pour Paulin, Felix est vivant, vivant de la seule vie veritable, la vie eternelle ... qui n'est paradoxal qu'en apparence': Fabre (1949), 345. 27. Conybeare (2000), 88-90. 28. Brown (1981), 54-6. 29. Trout (1999), 168-9. 30. 'Il presbit.ero e confessore Felice di Nola e dunque lo specchio dell'esperienza di Paolino presbit.ero e monaco': Luongo (1992), 94.

6. Picturing

Martyrs

1. The significant modem critical work here is Roberts (1989); most recently see Frank (2000), passim, on the importance of the visual in lat.e antique piety. 2. Quintilian, Inst. lists a range of Latin definitions or translations of enargeia, including evidentia, inlustratio (6.2.32); reproesentatio (8.3.61); sub oculos subiectio (9.2.40). 3. 'demonstratio est cum ita verbis res exprimitur ut geri negotium et res ante oculos esse videatur': Rhetorica ad Herennium 4.55.68. This is cit.ed and translat.ed by Roberts (1993) whose discussion of these themes in relation to Prudentius (eh. 5) I have found highly stimulating, and hence have wished to expand. 4. Descriptiones formed a major part of ancient t.extbook collections of rhetorical exercises: progymnasmata or praeexercitamina, such as Pseudo-Libanius, Prog. For lat.e antique (Greek) handbooks and rhetorical theory see Kennedy (1983), eh. 2. 5. As formulat.ed by Becker (1995), 4-7; 27-9. 8. See Webb (1997); Dubel (1997). We have already seen the importance of appeals made to both imagination and memory in martyrological representations, e.g. by Augustine. 7. See Maguire (1981), 28, emphasising the role of lit.erary over artistic models. 8. James and Webb (1991), l. 9. One early example is Pindar's claim that poetry surpasses sculpture: 5.1-6. A lat.er dramatisation of this 'competition' can be found in Lucian's De domo. 10. See for instance Goldhill (1994), esp. p. 223. 11. But for a sharp critique see Brilliant (1998). 12. Roberts (1989), 55. 13. Auerbach (1968); more recent examples include MacCormack (1981) on a world suffused with spectacle, where panegyric and iconography worked together and Janes (1998) on the colour and splendour of the lat.e antique Church.

178

Notes to pages 112-117

14. I am influenced here by Segal (1984), who uses the adjective 'baroque' to describe Senecan ekphrasis; many of its characteristics he defines in this way also seem appropriate to Prudentius' poem. Cf. Miller (1998), 133: the 'mutual inherence of art, poetry and relics in a tangled signifying network is nowhere better illustrated than in the Peristephanon'. 15. E.g. John Chrysostom, De laud. mart; Greg. Naz., In laud. Mace. See now for English translations and discussion of these texts Leemanns (2003). 18. Basil, De xl mart. PG 31 508C-509A, trans. C. Mango. 17. The 'imitation' Basil has in mind clearly operates on different levels: the painter and the viewer are both concerned to imitate in their own ways. 18. In laudem S. Euphemiae col. 336, trans. C. Mango. 19. In laudem S. Euphemiae col. 337. 20. In laudem S. Euphemiae col. 337. Asterius says he used particularly to admire this painting, but has now transferred his admiration to the painting of Medea. See Mango (1963), 65 on how Asterius was merely repeating the literary conventions of the day. 21. Pseudo-Lib., Prog. ed. Foerster, vol. 8, 511-16. 22. E.g. Seneca, Controv. 2.5.6. On violence in classical ekphrasis see Morales (1996). 23. Maguire (1981), 35. 24. See also on this poem Roberts (1993), 132-48; Goldhill (1999) 110-17. 25. This is in accordance with classical tradition, most obviously in the case of Philostratus, Imagines. A closer comparison is provided by the beginning of Achilles Tatius' Leucippe et Clitophon, which describes a violent painting of the rape of Europa, then continues as a conversation with a fellow viewer, who provides the ensuing narrative. 28. The question of authority was a consistent one, as we have seen. In martyrological texts an appeal is often made to 'tradition'. Cf. the formulations of another martyrological poet, Damasus, e.g. 'fama refert' [37; 48]; 'haec audita refert Damasus .. .' [35]. 27. See Roberts (1993), 141-4 for analysis of Prudentius' use of literary techniques. 28. See also on this poem Malamud (1989), eh. 4; Roberts (1993), 148-67; Viscardi (1997). 29. On the problem of the historical Hippolytus see most recently, Brent (1995). 30. The original Hippolytus: Euripides, Hipp. 1173-1254; Ovid, Met. 15.497546; Seneca, Phaed. 2.1080-1114. Seneca provides a gory account of the death; it seems inconceivable that Prudentius was unaware of this description. For Malamud (1989), 86 the painting 'is the medium that allows [Prudentius] to step from the world of Christian history to the world of classical myth, for the work of art forms a space where the two worlds meet'. 31. See Becker (1995), 27-8 on this point, citing Aelius Theon and Hermogenes. 32. Most scholars have accepted the 'reality' of the painting, from de Rossi (1882), 171 to Rousselle (1997). More sceptically Bovini (1943), 39-40 writes of Prudentius' 'geniale infingimento poetico'. 33. Cf. Viscardi (1997), 365, on the ekphrasis as 'une meditation sur l'esthetique'. 34. Augustine, De doct. christ. 4 discusses the ways in which Christianity modifies the traditional canons of style. 35. See now, for instance, Jensen (2000).

Notes to pages 118-123

179

36. Greg. Ep. 11.10. 37. Caviness (1992), 104. 38. Paulinus made tituli to accompany the pictorial decoration of his new church: Carm. 27.511-41, and others for Sulpicius Severns' new church at Primuliacum: Ep. 32; cf. also Prudentius' Dittochaeon. 39. Kessler (1989), 1. 40. Susan Noakes cited in Camille (1985), 33. 41. Here the finds at Dura Europus have been crucial, although their significance is controversial; for a summary of scholarly interpretations see Gutmann (1987). 42. The one official stricture comes from the Council of Elvira, Canon 36: 'Placuit picturas in eccleaia eBBenon debere, ne quod colitur et adoratur in parietibus depingatur'; but its context is impossible to recover; for discussion see Grigg (1976). For convincing (differing but ultimately complementary) refutations of the idea that the early Church was comprehensively 'anti-art' see Murray (1981), 130-6 and (1977) and Finney (1994), esp. eh. 7. 43. See for instance Engemann (1989) and Trilling (1987) on 'Christianisation' and 'late antique' respectively. 44. See here Belting (1994), eh. 5. 45. See Jeremias (1980), 60-3. 48. Secondary literature on martyr iconography is inevitably overshadowed by the massive two volume work, dealing with architecture as well as art, of Grabar (1946). More recent, shorter studies include Provoost (1995) and Bisconti (1995a) and (1995b). 47. My account is indebted to Brenk. (1995), which cuts cogently through many of the misconceptions relating to domzu, titulus, church and its titular saints. 48. On these paintings see Mielsch (1978), 154-64; on Lullingstone see Liversidge (1987). 49. See Pietri (1976), 481-90 and Kirsch (1918), 26-33. 60. For Pammachius see Pietri and Pietri (2000), 1576-81. Brenk. (1995), 202 suggests the church might have been founded by a different Pammachius but I do not see why this is necessary. 51. The fact that these saints are homonymous with two apostles is of course significant: the identification and history of the martyrs venerated here is as complex as elsewhere in Rome. See Amore (1975) on the problems involved in establishing a history of Roman martyrs. 52. Krautheimer (1937), 283-6. 53. Access to the confessio was only possible from the domus and the space of the mini-chapel was in any case too constricted for communal, liturgical use. 54. Krautheimer (1937), 302. 55. Brenk. (1995), 191. H. See here Wilpert (1937), 520-52 and Franchi de' Cavalieri (1915b) and (1935). 57. A photograph of the inscription is given by Brenk. (1995) 202. For Rufina see Pietri and Pietri (2000), 1923; on the 'Rufina trope' in Roman hagiography see also Cooper (1999). 58. As demonstrated in 'Cyprian' above. 59. Cf. the discussion of the sarcophagus of Junius Bassus and the scene of the martyrdom of Achilleus below. 60. The orants at Lullingstone also appear in front of curtains, as do the paired orants on the Pola casket, on which see Angiolini (1970). 81. Hahn (1997), 1093-5, esp. 1095.

180

Notes to pages 123-127

62. Wilpert (1937), 519. 63. Cf. the depiction of the worshipper offering a chalice in a devotional medallion (Plate V). 64. Beard, North and Price (1998), vol. 2 reproduce a number of these images: sacrificial scenes: 6.1.a-f; other cult celebrations: 5.6.a and d; 12.4.e. 66. The images and essays in Van Os (1994) provide an insight into the participatory urge visible in late medieval devotional art. 66. Again see Angiolini (1970),passim. 67. An interesting comparison is provided by the images in the chapel of San Vittore in Ciel d'Oro in Milan, on which see Mackie (1995), 98. 68. For instance the mosaic decoration of the oratory of St. Venantius, built at the Lateran in the seventh century (but heavily influenced by fifth-century frescoes at Salona), depicts Christ at the top of the apse, with Mary beneath, flanked by Peter and Paul, with papal donors and provincial saints ranging outwards, in hierarchical order: see Dyggve (1951), 85-6; fig. IY.48. 69. Cf. the constant legitimating presence of Pet.er and Paul among other Roman saints depicted on gold glass, as discussed in 'Agnes' and 'Laurence'. 70. Moreover, there is an antiquarian drawing of the medallion which differs from the cast on several key points: see Maffioli (1999), 554-9. 71. Most recently Bisconti (1995a), 252-3; (1995b), 552-4 has argued that the medallion is a fake on a number of grounds which are nevertheless refutable. The very rarity of the object in fact makes a fake less likely; the personalised inscription is supposedly incompatible with mass production, but this is far from unique, and, in any case, mass production cannot be assumed; the compressed narrative scene is not improbable for this period;the violence of this scene is also not unique. While I cannot prove the authenticity of the medallion, there is no need to assume that it is a forgery. 72. See for instance De Rossi (1869) and Grabar (1946), 77-8 aJ}d most recently Maffioli (1999). 73. See the entry in theDACL: 'Amulettes'; Marucchi (1887); De Rossi (1869). 74. The drawing in the Durazzo collection, published by Maffioli (1999) has this scene reversed. 75. For instance, a number of late antique Italian rings in the British Museum collection bear such inscriptions as 'MARFINIANVS VIVAS' and 'ARGYR VIVAS'; see Dalton (1912), 2-3. 76. In the Durazzo drawing the man holds a martyr's palm. 77. See 'Laurence' in this volume for discussion of the story as well as other artefacts representing the saint. 78. Late antique homilies, as well as surviving material artefacts, testify to the depiction of sacred images on rings, bowls, spoons, walls, doors and even clothes: see Maguire (1989), 24-31. 79. This gem from the British Museum is reproduced in Elsner (1998), 233. 80. Maguire (1989), 31-2. 81. E.g. Laurence: De Rossi (1869), 51; Peter: Maffioli (1999), 570. 82. See Ousterhout (1990) on the commemorative art of Byzantine pilgrimage. 83. De Rossi (1869), 49-50, pl. II, n. 5. 84. For the events of the troubled Pontificate see the contrasting antique accounts: the disapproving pagan observations of Amm. Marc., Res Gestae 27.3.11-15; the versions ofDamasus' opponents in the (difficult-to-date) Collectio Avellana and the later 'authorised version' at L.P. 37. For a balanced modem account see Pietri (1976), 408-83; but see also the mostly convincing downplaying of the violence of the schism by McLynn (1992), 16-19.

Notes to pages 127-133

181

85. It is the Pope'smartyrological endeavours that form the focus of the recent Saecularia Damasiana (1986). The groundwork for modem analysis of Damasus'

epigrams is provided by the edition and commentary ofFerrua (1942). Inscription numbers and texts are taken from Ferrua's edition. 86. Note Damasus' commemoration of the anti-schismatic pope Eusebius [18) and the 'reformed schismatic' Hippolytus [35). Brent (1995), eh. 6 discusses Damasus' version of the Hippolytus affair. See also 'Laurence' in this volume. 87. Coll. Av. 1.12. On the 'Ursinians' and the schism see M.R. Green (1971) and Saghy (1998), eh. 5 and (2000) 88. See Rebillard (1997) for an interesting revisionist account of the limited role of the Church in the development of the catacombs. 89. As clearly demonstrated by Alchermes (1989) which describes the development from cult of the dead to martyr cult in Rome, mostly from an archaeological viewpoint. 90. One example is L.P. 20, the entry regarding Anteros (235-6), which claims that this bishop was martyred, and also that he 'carefully sought out the acts of the martyrs from the notaries and deposited them in the church'. His own martyrdom is highly dubious, and there is no trace of such an archival effort at this time. 91. This is also the case with Peter and Marcellinus [28). 92. Cf. the epitaphs for Peter and Paul [201, Eutychius [211, Felix and Philip [39] and Agnes [37). 93. On his poetry see Fontaine (1986); Guyon (1995). 94. See Krautheimer etc. (1959-77), vol. 4, 128-39; Pergola (1986), Fasola (1989). 95. See the entry 'CIBORIA' in DACL 3.2: 1588-1612. 98. E.g. Origen, Exhort. ad mart. 33 on the choice of martyrdom or idolatry under Nebuchadnezzar; Tertullian, Scorp. 8 detailing the history of persecution in the Old Testament; more contemporaneously, Augustine, Mainz 60.9. 97. Malbon (1990), 47-9. 98. There are other interesting aspects of this sarcophagus, such as its blending of 'pagan' and Christian elements, which can be paralleled in the Projects casket and the 'mixed' paintings of the Via Latina catacomb; I have found helpful the suggestion of Elsner (1996), 271-80 regarding the latter, that we allow an 'allegorical' context, which permits the co-existence of apparently antipathetic themes. 99. A large number of intercessory inscriptions remain from the catacombs: see Marucchi (1912), pt. 2, eh. 4 for examples, including, specifically, invocations to the saints as interce880rs: 2.4.3. 100. Most recently on this fresco see Giuliani (1994). 101. Nestori (1993), 69; Wilpert (1903), 196. 102. Wilpert (1903), 447-9; pl. 124. 103. On the development of this crypt by Damasus see Guyon (1987), 381-415. 104. See Deckers (1987), vol. 2, 199-201. 105. See here Paleani (1986), 372; 378. 106. The iconographical theme of crowning is common: it is especially omnipresent in the stereotypical themes of the vetri a fondi d'oro: saints are frequently depicted as being crowned by Christ, see for instance Morey (1969), nos 161-3. 107. Virgil is ever-present, however, in the Epigrammata: note in Eutychius' inscription that the 'vias ... mille nocendi' echoes 'mille nocendi artes' at Virgil, Aen. 7.338.

182

Notes to pages 133-138

108. See Deckers (1993), vol. 1, 89-104 for description, photographs and bibliography. 109. Elsner (1998), 156-7. 110. For focus on the promotion of Rome, for example through the figures of Peter and Paul, see Pietri (1961); cf. Huskiow>n (1982) passim, although the concept of concordia apostolorum is probably well overdue substantial revision. 111. See here Fontaine (1986), esp. 142. 112. An interesting comparison is provided by the development of the catacomb of San Gennaro in Naples in the fifth century. This is a case where the literary sources are posterior to the archaeological, so we are forced to look more carefully at the material, to see how space was demarcated, and cult fostered, most strikingly by the use of paintings and mosaic. There is, unfortunately, a lack of modem bibliography on this site; the best account is Fasola (1975).

Laure-nee 1. The textual dossier for Laurence includes Peristephanon 2; Ambrose, De officiis 1 and Hymn 13; Damasus, Epigr. 33 as well as the testimony of Augustine, Serm. 302-5; Denis 13; the fifth-century (?) P.SS. Xysti Laurentii et Yyppoliti and the later Passio Polychronii, probably dating to the tum of the sixth century. 2. Apostolorum supparem,/ Laurentium archdiaconem/ pari corona martyrum/ Romana sacravit fides. 3. I do not propose to delineate the ins and outs of the controversy on the mosaic: see Deichmann (1974), 75-9 for a summary of scholarship up until the 1970s; more recently see Mackie (1990). 4. For description and discussion of the Laurence gold glass: Grig (2004); on the fresco: Marinone (1973); on the bronze medallion: Marucchi (1887). Dagens (1966) proposes a further contemporary pictorial representation of Laurence in the Catacomb of Praetextatus, in the company of Peter, Paul, Sixtus, and Pope Liberius; Nestori (1993) fails to identify the martyr, as did I, when I examined the arcosolium in September 2002. 6. The obvious points of comparison are the late fifth-century mosaic depictions of martyrs in S. Vittore in ciel d'oro in Milan: SS. Victor, Nabor and Felix all bear codices. 6. E.g. Cyprian Ep. 38.2.1; Prudentius takes up the theme of writing/inscribing martyrdom several times: Per. 1.1-2; 3.135-40. 7. Grabar (1946), 36. 8. See, for instance, Courcelle (1948). 9. This formulation is more to the point: 'Cette mosaique combine curieusement le reel et le symbolique, l'image et le commentaire', Grabar (1946), 36. 10. We know of shrines to Laurence at Hippo (an apparent reference at Augustine, Serm. 302.1) and at Ravenna (mentioned in Augustine's dramatic Berm. 322). The location and form of these shrines is not known; on Ravenna see Deichmann (1969), 23-4; (1974), 65; 339. 11. Assum est, versa et manduca: De off. 1.207. This line is treated in some detail by Franchi de' Cavalieri (1915a). Varying versions of the line appear at Ambrose's Hymn 13 31-2 (Versate me ... I vorate, si coctum est, iubet), Augustine Serm. 303.1 (coctum est; quod superest, versate me, et manducate) and Prudentius Per. 2 401-2; 406-8 (converle partem corporis/ satis crematam iugiter ... coctum est, devora/ et experimentum cape,/ sit crudum an assum suavius). 12. The textual history is as complicated as ever. The recently discovered P.

Notes to pages 138-141

183

Xysti does not include Laurence's quip, so we can 888\llDe its author to be unaware of the tradition. The account of Laurence is mixed up with those of a whole host of other martyrs in the composite Passio Polychroni; the basics are the same but Laurence gets to rest in between torture sessions, in which time he also manages to heal a blind man and convert his prison guard, who then goes on to be a martyr himself. This episode is referred to in a Pseudo-Augustinian sermon: PL. 39 2351-2. Meanwhile, Delehaye believed the even later account at L.P.25 to be independent: Delehaye (1933), 53. 13. 'un chiaro indirizzo ideologico e programmatico', Giordani (1992), 251. 14. 'innumerevoli altri martiri di quella o di altre persecuzioni', Giordani (1992), 257. 16. Moreover, identifying the 'anonymous' catacomb on the Via Tiburtina with either the martyr Novatian or 'Novatianists' is not possible. 16. Huskinson (1982), 96-7 suggests this might have been the case during the fifth century, noting the burial of mid fifth-century popes in the Basilica of St. Laurence. 17. In the bronze medallion published by Marucchi (1887), Peter and Paul are on one side, Laurence on the other (Fig. 6); in the catacomb of Albano Laurence is pictured with Christ, Peter and Paul, and another unidentified saint (Plate X); Ambrose's Hymn 13 begins by calling Laurence 'Apostolorum supparem'; Augustine's Serm. 296.6.5 unites the three as the protectors of Rome. 18. Augustine, Serm. 304.1; Denis 13.1. Cf. Serm. 303.1, at an unknown location, where Augustine, obviously exasperated, complains about the smallness of the congregation and contrasts the situation with the popularity of Laurence at Rome: 'Laurence's martyrdom is famous, but at Rome, not here; such, I mean, is the smallness of the congregation which I see. Just as Rome cannot be hidden, so Laurence's crown cannot be hidden. But why it should still escape the notice of this city, I cannot tell.' 19. E.g. Morey (1959), no. 283 (with Agnes), 240 (with Hippolytus, Peter, Paul, Sixtus and Cyprian). 20. '-NE VIVASIN CR[... ] LAVRENTIO'; cf. also a glass in the Vatican with the similar inscription '-VICTO[rviv]ASIN NOMINE LAVRENTI'. See Morey (1959), nos 460 and 40 for catalogue entries and also Grig (2004) for a detailed discussion of Laurence's representation on gold glass. 21. Max. Tur., Serm. 4.1-2; 24.3; Augustine, Serm. 304.4. 22. Augustine, Serm. 302.8 refers to the terrible tortures of the saint, claiming 'it is quite horrifying to hear about them' but tells us that 'he overcame all these bodily afflictions with the sturdy strength of his charity'. In In Evang. Johann. 27.12. we are told 'tormenta non sensit', and Serm. 303.1 refers to his 'patientia

tranquilla'. 23. Prudentius playfully uses the language of business and finance here; both prefect and saint employ punning fmancial vocabulary, e.g. 93-108; 125-3 and 139-40. For other 'playful' aspects of Laurence's language and persona in this poem see Conybeare (2002). 24. Perkins (1995), passim 26. P. Brown (1992), eh. 3; see also now Brown (2002). 26. See Janes (1998), eh. 5.

184

Notes to pages 143-149

Conclusion 1. Note the reflections of Brown (1967 [2000)), 491: 'I have lost nothing, over the years, of my original fascination with the rise of Christianity in the late Roman world. But, on looking back, I would say that I was unduly fascinated by the role played in that development by the Christian bishops. They were not the only agents in the process.' 2. Von Campenhausen's Ecclesiastical Authority and Spiritual Power is only the most cogent and elaborated exposition of a polarity which remains implicit throughout the works of a host of nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars. 3. A significant number of these are twentieth-century martyrs, including the victims of communist regimes, Nazi Germany and Spanish republicans. For biographies and further information see the Vatican website: www.vatican.va/news_services/liturgy/saints/index_ saints_ en.html. The Orthodox and Protestant Churches are also interested in this theme. The interest in making martyrs at the tum of the third millennium appears to combine triumphalist, exhortatory and apologetic aims not so dissimilar, strange as it may seem, from those of late antiquity.

Appendix: A Literature Review 1. Philippart (1994), 9-12 still insists upon the 'scientific' nature of hagiography. 2. See Delehaye (1922) for an understandably apologetic history of the Bollandists; cf. Aigrain (1953), 329-50. 3. The most recent European (Italian) edition is Bastiaensen (1987). 4. Gibbon (1909 [1776)), vol. 2, 103. 6. Bowersock (1995), 28. 6. Bisbee (1988); this study goes beyond previous attempts, such as Barnes (1968b). 7. E.g. Julian, Contra Gal. 20le. 8. See for instance Lucius (1904), esp. 1-13, and Saintyves (1907), passim. 9. Lucius (1907), 205-14. 10. Delehaye (1912), 462-4; 466-7. 11. Delehaye (1912), 470. 12. Delehaye (1912), 61. 13. Delehaye (1912), 478. 14. See for instance Coon (1997) Stancliffe (1983) and Van Dam (1985) and (1983). 16. See Brown (1997), Howard.Johnston and Hayward (1999) and the somewhat ungenerous critique of Treadgold (1994). 16. For a recent return to the theme see Brown (2000). 17. Brown (1981), esp. 12-17, but more generally chs 1-2. 18. Brown (1981), 48. 19. Brown (1981), eh. 2 discusses episcopal interventions against elite privatisation of the holy. 20. Brown (1981), eh. 5. 21. Brown (1981), esp. eh. 3. 22. Brown (1981), esp. eh. 5. Work such as that of Raymond Van Dam (1985) and (1993) on Gaul is heavily influenced by Brown's discussion of the saint in the community, as the author is ready to admit, providing his own critique of the Cult of the Saints in (1993), 4-7.

Notes to pages 149-151

185

23. Brown (1981), eh. 3. 24. Brown (1981), eh. 4. 25. Kitchen (1998), 5-6; 10. 26. Social anthropology was the discipline most plundered; see the use of Evans-Pritchard's classic work on the Nuer by Brown (1972); Thomas (1971) was the most influential work of this period to use a range of social science approaches and apply them to a historical study. Quantitative as well as qualitative social science methods were also used in this field, e.g. Weinstein and Bell (1982). 27. See the essays collected in Wilson (1983), which compare Christian saints with intermediary figures in other religious systems. 28. E.g. Browning (1981), 127 on the Byzantine saint of 'popular' hagiography as 'the counter-hero of the dispossessed'. 29. For a classic critique see Zeamon-Davis (1974); for a lively account of how 'elite' and 'non-elite' shared the same forms of piety see Duffy (1992). 30. See Fontaine (1982) and Pietri (1984) for discussions of these very points. Fontaine and Pietri also criticise Brown for paying insufficient attention to the Christological aspect of the cult of the martyrs, and lay a charge of reductionism with regard to Brown's use of a social relations model. Cf. Hayward (1999), who argues for a more complex relationship between the elites who sponsored cults and their devotees. 31. See, for example, Ashley and Sheingom (1990). 32. An example is Clark (1997), a stunning dismantling of sociologically informed scholarship on witchcraft beliefs. Clark's linguistic approach leads him to reject 'functionalist' interpretations of the beliefs he discusses. Note also the comment of Cameron (1999), 36 that in recent late antique scholarship 'social power is seen to rest ... on a wider nexus than functionalism itself would allow'. 33. Brown (1995), 1-26. See also Brown (1998) for autobiographical reflections on developments in recent intellectual history and its implications for his own work and its legacy. 34. E.g. Cameron (1991), Perkins (1995) and E.A. Clark (1999). 35. Markus (1990), passim. 36. Duval (1982). 37. See now, however, Davis (2001) which takes a wide ranging approach to the cult of St. Thecla in late antiquity.

Bibliography of Works Cited

Patristic texts Acts of the Christian Martyrs, ed. and trans. H. Musurillo, Oxford 1972 Acta Eupli Acta Maximiliani Acta Proconsularia S. Cypriani Passio Juli Veterani Passio S Crispinae Passio SS. Fructuosi Episcopi, Auguri et Eulogi Diaconorum Passio SS. Mariani et Jacobi Passio SS. Montani et Lucii Passio SS. Perpetuae et Felicitas Passio SS. Scillitanorum The Acts of Carpus, Papylus and Agathonice The Letter of the Churches of Lyons and Vienne The Martyrdom of Agape, Irene, Chione, and Companions The Martyrdom of Pionios The Martyrdom of Polycarp The Martyrdom of Potamiaena and Basilides Acta Galloni, ed. P. Chiesa, AB 114 (1996), 265-8 AMBROSE

De Cain et Abel (CSEL 32) De offrciis ministrorum, ed. and trans. I.J. Davidson, 2 vols, Oxford 2001 De virginibus (PL 16.187-97) Expositio de psalmo 118 (PL 15.1197-1261) Epistolae (CSEL 82) Hymni, ed. and trans. J. Fontaine, Paris 1992 Apophthegmatapatrum (PG 65.71-410) ASTERIUS OF AMASEIA

In laudem S. Euphemiae (PG 40.333-8) AUGUSTINE

Breviculus Collationis cum Donatistis (BA 32) Confessiones (CC 27) Contra Cresconium (CSEL 52) Contra Faustum Manichaeum (CSEL 25) Contra Gaudentium (CSEL 53) Contra litteras Petiliani (CSEL 52) De civitate Dei (CC 47-8) De cura pro mortuis gerenda (CSEL 5) De doctrina christiana (CC 32) De sancta virginitate (CC 44) Devera religione (CC 32)

187

Bibliography of Works Cited

Enarrationes in Psa/,mos (CC 38-40) Epistolae (CSEL 34.1-2, 44, 57-8, 88) Retractiones (CC 57) Sermones (CC 51; PL 38); Sermones Denis, ed. G. Morin, Paris 1930; Sermones Guelfer, Sermones Lambot (PLS 2); Sermones Mainz, ed. F. Dolbeau, Paris 1996; Sermo Caillau-Saint-Yves 1,47 (PLS 2) Tractatus in Evangelium lohannis (CC 36) BASILOF CAESAREA

De xl martyribus Sebastenses (PG 508-25) CHROMATIUSOF AQUILEIA

Sermones (CC 9A) CLEMENT OF ALEXANDRIA

Stromata (SC 30) Codex Theodosianus, ed. T. Mommsen and P. Meyer, Berlin 1905 Collectio Avellano (CSEL 35) Concilio Africae (CC 149) Breviarium Hipponense Registri ecclesiae Carthaginensis excerpta Constitutionem apostolorum, ed. and trans. G. Dix, London 1937 CYPRIAN

Ad Donatum (CC 3A) De catholicae ecclesiae unitatae, ed. and trans. M. Bevenot, Oxford 1971 De lapsis, ed. and trans. M. Bevenot, Oxford 1971 De morta/,itate (CC 3A) Epistolae (CC 3 B-C) DAMASUS

Epigrammata, ed. A. Ferrua, Vatican City 1942 De miraculis sancti Stephani protomartyris (PL 41.833-54) De revelatione corporis S. Stephani (PL 41.833-54) Digesta, ed. T. Mommsen and P. Krueger, Berlin 1954 Epistola Aviti ad Pa/,chonium (PL 41.805-8) Epistola Uranii Presbyteri (PL 53.859-66) EUSEBIUS

Historia Ecclesiastica (SC 31, 41, 55) FILASTRIUS

Diversarum hereseon liber (CC 9) Four Maccabees, trans. H. Anderson, in J.H. Charlesworth, Testament Pseudepigrapha, vol. 2, London 1985

ed., The Old

GAUDENTIUSOF BRESCIA

Tractatus (CSEL 68) GENNADIUS

De viris illustribus (Teubner) Gesta collationis Carthaginiensis anno 411 [Gesta. Coll. Carth.] (CC 149A) GREGORYI

Epistolae (CC 140-140A) GREGORYNAZIANZEN

Orationes (SC 284) GREGORYOF NYSSA

Encomium in xl martyres (PG 46.774-8) Histoire des conciles d'apres les documents originaux, ed. J. Hefele and H. Leclercq, 10 vole, Paris 1907-52 Vita sanctae Macrinae (PG 46.960-1000)

188

Making Martyrs in Late Antiquity

IGNATIUS OF ANTIOCH

Epistolae (SC 10) JEROME

Contra Vigilantium (PL 23.337-52) De viris illustribus (Teubner) Epistolae (CSEL 54-6) JOHN CHRYSOSTOM

Dess. martyribus (PG 50.617-28) LACTANTIUS

De mortibus persecutorum, ed. and trans. J.L. Creed, Oxford 1984 Divinae lnstitutiones (SC 205-5, 226, 337, 377) Lex Dei sive Mosaicarum et Romanorum Legum Collatio, ed. S. Riccobono et al., Fontes Juris Romani Antejustiniani, vol. 2, Florence 1968 Liber Pontificalis, ed. L. Duchesne, 2 vols, Paris 1886-92 Lietzmann, H., ed., Die drei iiltesten Martryrologen, Bonn 1905 Maier, J.-L., ed. and trans., Le dossier du donatisme, 2 vols, Berlin 1987-9 Cypriani Passio ex die qua martyr Cyprianus martyrium tulit; ordo autem haec lectione demonstratur et declaratur Passio benedicti martyris Marculi, die Ill Kal. Decembris Passio lsaacis et Maximiani Passio SS. Dativi, Satumini presbyteri et aliorum Passio SS. Maximae, Secundae et Donatilla Mango, C., ed. and trans., The Art of the Byzantine Empire, 312-1453, London 1986 MAXIMUS OF TURIN

&nnones (CC 23) MINUCIUS FELIX

Octavius (CSEL 2) NOVATIAN

De spectaculis (CC 4) OPTATUS OF MILEVIS

De schismate donatistorum (CSEL 26) ORIGEN

Exhortatio ad martyrium (PG 11.564-637) Passio Agnetis (PL 17.735-42) Passio Polychronii Parmenii Abdon et Bennes Xysti Felicissimi et Agapiti et Laurentii et aliorum sanctorum mense augusto die X, ed. H. Delehaye, AB 51 (1933), 72-98 Passio sanctorum Xysti Laurentii et Yppoliti, ed. G.N. Verrando, Augustinianum 30 (1990), 184-7 Passio Stephani, trans. M. van Esbroeck, AB 102 (1984), 101-5 PAULINUS OF MILAN

Vita Ambrosi, ed. and trans. AAR. Bastiaensen, Milan 1997 PAULINUS OF NOLA

Carmina (CSEL 29) Epistolae (CSEL 30) PONTIUS

Vita Cypriani, ed. and trans. A.A.R. Bastiaensen, Milan 1997 Praedestinatus (PL 53.583-627) PRUDENTIUS

Dittochaeon (CSEL 61) Peristephanon (Bude)

Bibliography of Works Cited

189

PSEUDO-CYPRIAN

Ad Novatianum (CSEL 3) De Laude martyrii (CSEL 3) De rebaptismate (CSEL 3) PSEUOO-PELAGIUS

De divitiis (PLS 1.1380-1418) QUODVULTDEUS

Sermones de symbolo (CC 60) RUFINUS

Historia Ecclesiastica, ed. T. Mommsen, Eusebius Werke, Leipzig 1903-9 Scolies ariennes sur le concile d'Aquilee (SC 267) SEVERUS OF MINORCA

Epistola ad omnem ecclesiam, ed. and trans. S. Bradbury, Oxford 1996 SULPICIUS SEVERUS

Dialogorum libri II (CSEL 1) Epistolae (CSEL 1) Vita Martini Turonensis (CSEL 1) TERTULLIAN

Ad martyros (CC 1) Ad Scapulam (CC 2) Ad uxorem (CC 1) Apologeticum (CC 1) De fuga in persecutione (CC 2) De patientia (CC 1) De spectaculis (CC 1) Scorpiace (CC 2) VICTRICIUS OF ROUEN

De Laudesanctorum (CC 64) Vita Melania Junioris (SC 90)

Reference works Bibliotheca Hagiographica Graeca, 3rd ed., ed. F. Halkin, Brussels 1957 Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina, ed. Societa Bollandiana, Brussels 1898-9 (1992) Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina, Novum supplementum, ed. H. Fros, Brussels 1986 Bibliotheca Sanctorum, Rome 1961-70 Dictionnaire d'archeologie chretienne et de liturgie, Paris 1907-53 Encyclopaedia of the Early Church, ed. A Di Berardino, trans. A. Walford, Cambridge 1992

Secondary works Aigrain, R. (1953) L'hagiographie: ses sources, ses methodes, son histoire, Paris Alchermes, J.D. (1989) 'Cura pro mortuis and Cultus martyrum: Commemoration in Rome from the Second Through the Sixth Century', unpublished NYU Institute of Fine Arts PhD dissertation Altman, C.F. (1975) 'Two Types of Opposition and the Structure of Saints' Lives', Medievalia et Humanistica n.s. 6: 1-11

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Index Acta Alexandrinorum, 25, 61, 167 n. 9 Agnes, martyr, 79-85, 139 Ambrose of Milan, 2-3, 64, 76-7, 81, 82,83-4,88, 106,138,140 Ammianus Marcellinus, 62-3 Apuleius, 34, 61 architecture, early Christian, 38, 93, 116-17, 151 art, early Christian, 79-80, 93, 113, 118-20, 136-7, 151 ascetic, -s, -ism, 4, 95-6, 91, 105, 106, 110, 150 Asterius of Amaseia, 113 Augustine of Hippo, 2, 11, 32, 36, 37, 38, 40-2, 43-6, 48-52, 57, 64, 71, 88,97-103, 111,139 body, the, 69-70, 73, 82, 99-100, 140, 166 n. 11 Bollandists, 146-7 Brown, Peter, 3, 4, 75-6, 92-3, 110, 140, 149-50 calendars, martyrological, 36-7, 79, 106, 156 n. 95 Carthage Conference of (411), 35-6, 48, 54 Council of (358), 57 Synod of (401), 43, 51-2, 88-9 Cassian, martyr, 114-15 catacombs, 119, 127-34, 138, 151, 181 n. 88, 182 n. 112, Plates V,VI, VIII, X charisma, 1, 6, 23, 52, 104, 142, 143 Christianisation, 1, 3, 4, 34-5, 38, 501, 65-6, 148

Circumcellions, 36, 48, 50, 160 n. 5, 165-6 n. 8 Clement of Alexandria, 18, 19, 20 Confessors, 22, 105-6, 176 n. 5 courtrooms, 60-1 Cyprian of Antioch, magician, bishop and martyr, 32, 122 Cyprian of Carthage, bishop and martyr, 14, 15, 18, 20, 22-3, 2733, 36, 44, 49-50, 52, 87, 105-6, 136-7, 143, 183 n. 19 Damasus, bishop of Rome, 79, 81, 82, 127-34, 138, 158 n. 28 dead, cult of, 23, 87, 148 Donatist, -s, -ism, 26, 32, 35-6, 47-50, 54-8, 69-70, 88, 97, 127 ecclesiastical history, 19, 25, 76, 142, 145 ekphrasis, 71, 93, 111-17, 151 Elvira, Council of, 170 n. 94, 173 n. 33, 179 n. 42 epigraphy, 38, 48-9, 52, 58, 100 Eusebius of Caesarea, 25, 76 Felix of Nola, 'bloodless martyr', 75, 93-4, 105-10, 149 Frend, W.H.C., 8, 109, 154 n. 34, 160 nn. 3, 4, 5, 164 n. 87 Fructuosus, martyr, 39-41 Gallonius, martyr, 68-9 Genesius, martyr, 43-4

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Gervasius and Protasius, martyrs, 23, 88, 91, 94,101,106 gold glasses, 79-80, 139, Plate VII Hippo, Council of (348), 37 Hippolytus, martyr, 115-16, 139

19-20, 157 n. 118, 159 n. 3 miracle, -s narratives 4, 86-7, 94-103 performed by martyrs, 40, 50, 57, 73, 81-2, 109 performed by relics, 93-4, 97-9 theology of, 99-100

Ignatius of Antioch, 17-18, 153 n. 13 narrative, 4-5, 39-40, 60, 77, 103-4 Januarius, martyr, 106-7, 128 Jerome, 84, 89-90, 163 n. 77 Julian, emperor, 63, 89, 154 n. 35 Laurence, martyr, 36, 124-6, 136-41 Maccabeean martyrs, 9-10, 17, 36 Marculus, martyr, 54-8 Martin of Tours, 106, 107, 174 n. 53 martyr acts, 5, 23-5, 39-53, 60, 71, 147 martyrs criticism of cult, 89-90, 148 cult of, 23, 35-8, 51, 84, 127, 148-51 imitation of, 4, 46-7, 50, 51, 84, 113, 144, 162 n. 44 intercession of, 18, 26, 37-8, 80, 84, 90,96, 107,108,115,123 relationship with bishops, 3, 22, 2733, 92-3, 116, 127-8, 143,149 shrines of, 36, 38, 52, 89, 93, 116, 120-6, 132, 150, 175 n. 108 martyrdom Greco-Roman martyrdom, 1-11 Jewish martyrdom, 8-10 martyrdom as imitatio Christi, 16, 17, 39, 40, 107, 144, 166 n. 11 terminology of martyrdom, 9, 1056, 107 theology and ideology of martyrdom, 10, 16-20, 29 'voluntary' martyrdom, 13-14, 18,

Optatus ofMilevis, 48, 54, 88, 164 n. 96 Origen, 18-19, 20, 21, 155 n. 56 Paulinus of Milan, 2, 157 n. 114, 161 n. 19, 168 n. 41 Paulinus of Nola, 75, 90, 93, 105-10, 117-18, 149 Pelagius, Ps-Pelagius, 64-5, 95 Perpetua, martyr, 22, 24, 34, 81, 156 n. 96, 171 n. 22, 174 n. 52 persecution of Christians 11-15, 25-6, 35 of pagans, heretics and schismatics, 26,48,55 Pliny the Younger, 12, 14 Prudentius, Peristephanon, 71-5, 79, 81, 82-4, 112, 113-17, 123, 126, 139-41 relics, cult of 58, 86-104, 123, 148, 149 rhetoric, 44, 49, 59-60, 111 sarcophagi, 119, 123, 130-2 Seneca, 11, 65, 67, 175 n. 96, 178 n. 14 Sixtus, bishop and martyr, 138, 139, 159 n. 28 spectacles, 42-6, 66 Stephen, protomartyr, 16, 94-102 suicide, 11, 57, 145 Sulpicius Severus, 94, 106

Index Tertullian, 11, 12, 13, 18-19, 20, 42 torture, 9-10, 15, 55, 59, 62-5, 67-78, 112, 113, 144

207

Victricius of Rouen, 75, 90-3, 169 n. 90 Vigilantius, 89-90 Vincent, martyr, 44, 71-3