Painting in the Shadow: Hidden Writing and Images in Manuscripts and Portraits (Boethius, Cassiodorus, Justinian, Theodora, Theodoric) [1 ed.] 9783737016254, 9783847116257

Citation preview

Fabio Troncarelli

Painting in the Shadow Hidden Writing and Images in Manuscripts and Portraits (Boethius, Cassiodorus, Justinian, Theodora, Theodoric)

With 94 figures

V&R unipress

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available online: https://dnb.de. © 2023 by Brill | V&R unipress, Robert-Bosch-Breite 10, 37079 Göttingen, Germany, an imprint of the Brill-Group (Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands; Brill USA Inc., Boston MA, USA; Brill Asia Pte Ltd, Singapore; Brill Deutschland GmbH, Paderborn, Germany; Brill Österreich GmbH, Vienna, Austria) Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Brill Wageningen Academic, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau and V&R unipress. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher. Cover image: © British Library Board licence CC-BY: Attribution 4.0 International. London, British Library, Stowe 955, f. 9r, Pierre Sala “Petit Livre d’Amour”. A man painting a portrait of a jester (the wise man and the fool). Paris and Lyon (France), 1st quarter of the 16th century. Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht Verlage | www.vandenhoeck-ruprecht-verlage.com ISBN 978-3-7370-1625-4

Je suis comme un peintre qu’un Dieu moqueur condamne à peindre, hélas! sur les ténèbres. C. Baudelaire, Les fleurs du mal, Les ténèbres, vv. 5–6

Contents

Acknowledgement . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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I. Eusebius . . . . . . . . Neverland . . . . . . . Once upon a time . . . Touch of evil . . . . . The secret garden . . . Vivarium and his fate Angelic tongues . . . . The dead . . . . . . . Farewell . . . . . . . .

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15 15 22 31 39 46 48 57 64

II. Eusebius and Boethius . . . . . . . . Hidden drawings . . . . . . . . . . . Forbidden memory . . . . . . . . . . The last of Boethians . . . . . . . . . The legacy of Eusebius and Boethius

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71 71 75 93 105

III. Appendix . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Late Antique Portrait of Boethius . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Boethius’ grave . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

137 137 146

List of figures and plates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

159

Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

239

Index of names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

255

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Acknowledgement

I must acknowledge the many friends, colleagues, students and librarians who assisted, advised, and supported my research and writing efforts over the years. Especially, I need to express my gratitude and deep appreciation to John Magee, whose friendship have supported and enlightened me over the many years of our friendship. I am grateful to other persons who shared their memories and experiences, especially the late Marco Buonocore, the Late Mario Geymonat, Arnaldo Marcone, Massimiliano Vitiello, Danuta Shanzer, Philip Edward Phillips, Vladimir Mazhuga, Gianni Cattagni, Guido Rhodio, Antonio Tarzia, Domenico Condito, Salvatore Cosentino, Cetty Muscolino, Felix Heinzer, Andreas Haug and for his invaluable knowledge of the English language, Alexandros Giannankoulas, who translated the book. A special thank to Stephan Heilen. My wife Maria Paola Saci has been my best reader and my best advisor.

Foreword

Many studies have been published recently on scarcely visible or even hidden texts in epigraphs, manuscripts, and paintings1. An emblematic case of such “secret” messages are the invisible images of a hitherto unknown painter, an enigmatic, almost entirely forgotten character named Eusebius. As it was customary in Late Antique and Byzantine times,2 Eusebius left trace of his presence in self-portraits and in several signatures and monograms embedded in 6th century mosaics and manuscripts.3 He belonged to the clergy of the church of San Pietro in Armentario near Ravenna, now extant only in ruins. He was probably a Goth, born in Moesia4, who converted to Catholicism from Arianism, and was active in Ravenna during the first half of the sixth century and in Vivarium in the second half. Eusebius’ biography may be broadly divided into two distinct phases: the first takes place in Ravenna during the earlier part of the sixth century, while the second is to be located in Vivarium after the middle of the sixth century when he was in close contact with Cassiodorus. The chronological limits we can piece together with a reasonable level of certitude have as a starting date the year AD 1 Campus, A. – Marchesini, S. – Poccetti, P. (Eds.), Scritture nascoste, scritture invisibili: quando il ‘medium’ non fa passare il messaggio (Roma, 2020). 2 Lidova, M., “Manifestations of Authorship. Artists’ signatures in Byzantium”, Venezia Arti 26, 89–105. See also Bricke, B., “Artifex and opifex. The medieval artist”, in Rudolph, C. (Ed.), A Companion to Medieval Art: Romanesque and Gothic in Northern Europe (Oxford, 2017), 45– 69. 3 Fiorilla, M., Marginalia figurati nei codici di Petrarca (Florence, 2005), 31–32. This is not the only known case of a “fetishistic” imitation of marginalia and other apparently insignificant details on behalf of copyists trying to reproduce a highly prestigious archetype: we can mention, for instance, the earliest copy of Priscian’s Institutiones (8th–9th century), now preserved in the Landesbibliothek in Kassel (catalog number 2nd Ms Philol. 15 c), written in Insular minuscule, but displaying late-antique marginalia in a unrefined imitation majuscule, far removed from the insular traditions, highlighting the keywords in each passage (for more about this manuscript, see Bischoff, B. (1988), Katalog der festländischen Handschriften des neunten Jahrhunderts 1 (Wiesbaden, 1988), 275. Other fragments from the same manuscript are in Fritzlar, Dombibliothek (Ms. 125, 1; Marburg, UB, Ms. 375). 4 Oxford, Bodl. Auct. T II 26, f. 171r.

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Foreword

525, when Eusebius must have been very young, and AD 592, at which point he was very old and Cassiodorus was already dead.5 His annotations and drawings are often invisible to the naked eye and can recovered only through special photographic reproductions, examining enlarged details photographed at high resolution under ultraviolet light. Eusebius was an illuminator in the workshop of the Goth bokareis Viliaric6in Ravenna. He had a name of Greek origin but, again, was probably a Goth who converted to Catholicism.7 This can be inferred from his steady loyalty to the Amal dynasty and their descendants, and from his longstanding collaboration with the Gothic stationarius in charge of the workshop in which he worked, of whom he has left some small, portraits depicting him as a grumpy and benevolent father (Figures 1–2). Eusebius’name, whether full or curtailed, recurs consistently both within particularly elegantly illuminated ini5 Our chronological framework is supported by two codices which can be dated with relative precision: the first one is a Carolingian copy, very faithful to its archetype written before AD 535, Orléans, Méd., 270, where Eusebius’ name appears in an initial letter in page 92 (see Troncarelli, F., “L’ombra a mezzogiorno. Teodora, Giustiniano, i demoni”, Litterae Caelestes XI, plate 9); the second one is the Vat. Reg. lat. 2077, written before AD 585 and adjusted and reworked in the Vivarium until 592, when it was donated to the bishop of Squillace, in whose margins Eusebius’ name appears for the last time (Troncarelli, F., “Osservazioni sul Reg. lat. 2077”, Scriptorium LXVIII, 79–101). 6 Campana, A., “Il codice ravennate di S. Ambrogio”, Italia medioevale e umanistica 1 (1958), 15–64, esp. 36; Petrucci, A., “Scrittura e libro nell’Italia altomedievale”, Studi Medievali III (1969), 15–213, esp. 191; ID., “Un altro codice della bottega di Viliaric”, in Maracchi Biagiarelli, B. – Rhodes, D. E. (Eds..), Studi offerti a Roberto Ridolfi direttore de “La bibliofilia” (Biblioteca di bibliografia italiana 71), (Florence, 1973), 399–406; Nordenfalk, C., “Die spätantike Zierbuchstaben”, (Die Bücherornamentik der Spätantike 2), (Stockholm, 1970), 100–101; Tjäder, J.-O., “Der Codex argenteus in Uppsala un der Buchmeister Viliaric in Ravenna”, in Hagberg, U. E. (Ed.), Studia Gotica. Die eisenzeitlichen Verbindungen zwischen Schweden und Südosteuropa. Vorträge beim Gotensymposion im Statens Historiska Museum (Stockholm, 1972), 144–164; ID. (1954), Die nichtliterarischen lateinischen Papyri Italiens aus der Zeit 445–700 II (Acta Instituti Romani Regni, 19), (Lund, 1954), 96–97. The attribution of Uppsala’s Codex Argenteus, which includes Wulfila’s Gothic translation of the Bible, to Viliaric’s scriptorium, although supported by a few scholars should be seen as sheer fantasy: regarding this issue, see Bertelli, C., “Codici miniati tra Goti, Longobardi e Franchi”, in Pugliese Carratelli, C. (Ed.), Magistra barbaritas: I Barbari in Italia (Milano, 1984), 571– 601, in particular 571. See also Cavallo, G. “La cultura scritta a Ravenna tra antichità tarda e medioevo”, in Carile, A. (Ed.), Storia di Ravenna II, 2. Dall’età bizantina all’età ottoniana. Ecclesiologia, cultura e arte (Venice, 1992), 79–112, in particular 84; Troncarelli, F. (2017), L’antica fiamma. Boezio e la memoria del sapere antico nell’Alto Medioevo (Temi e Testi, 162) (Rome, 2017), 167–173 (but see also the updates concerning some hypotheses in Troncarelli, F., “Scripta latent. Firme nascoste nelle iniziali di codici tardoantichi”, Litterae Caelestes X (2019), 60–61. 7 “One of the most commonly used religious names among the Goths was ‘Eusebius, Eusebia’, a Greek name meaning ‘pious’, which seems associated to converting to Catholicism: Theodoric’s mother, Ereleuva, accordingly took ‘Eusebia’ as a second name on the occasion of her conversion, and Eusebius is also the second name of the Catholic Riccitanc” (Francovich Onesti N., I nomi degli ostrogoti (Florence, 2007), 11.

Foreword

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tials and in marginal pictures made with a wide range of techniques, often erased by some later hand. In addition, it is worth noting the presence of his monograms or initials in the world-famous mosaics in San Vitale, and in the preparatory drawings hidden beneath the apse in the Basilica of Sant’Apollinare in Classe (Figures 3–4). The letters of his name are often decorated with imaginary figures, exactly as we find in his drawings (Figure 5). In Ravenna, Eusebius was in contact with influential social figures of his time, including Iulianus Argentarius, who financed the construction of San Vitale and Sant’Apollinare in Classe. Later he carried out the same functions as illuminator and corrector of texts at Vivarium: we find his subscriptions, revision notes, drawings, and miniatures in Vivarium manuscripts such as BAV Vat. Lat. 5704, Oxon. Bodl. Auct. T II 26, BAV Vat. Reg. Lat. 2007, St.-Petersburg, Rossijskaja Natsionalnaja Biblioteka, Q v I, 6–10, and Verona Bibl. Capit. 39. Eusebius in effect left us a gallery of portraits of his famous contemporaries, identifiable by their abbreviated names, such as Iulianus Argentarius, Theodoric, Vitiges Eutaricus Cillica, Boethius, Symmachus, Mataswintha, and Cassiodorus. The portraits and his notes to them are a visual commentary of the history of the sixth century. Living between two ages, without belonging to either this solitary man, who was born an Arian but died a Catholic, at once both Goth and Roman Latin, represents the fullest embodiment of a type of cultural “hybridisation” that is well attested throughout history, especially in the age of geographical discoveries. Eusebius is a spiritual brother of those “hybrid” artists to whom Serge Gruzinski has dedicated unforgettable pages, and who have left extraordinary examples of “grotesques” populated by fantastic beings – chimeras with multiple heads, sirens, monsters, living hieroglyphs of their own contradictory, exuberant, and vital identity.8 Having survived Cassiodorus, whose teachings he seems to have understood better than others at the time, Eusebius exerted a beneficial influence on the monks of the Vivarium, living to a ripe old age. We may imagine that he passed away “old and full of days,” like Job, after having embodied for so long the unbiased tolerance which motivated him in his collaborations with a very diverse range of men and which had been the core of his own life and those of his companions in Ravenna: that mixture of confidentiality, intelligence, pointed irony, fantasy, and – why not? – touch of madness which had helped him to navigate through the troubled waters of his age, always leaving at the margins the demons who haunted him, and fully accomplishing what Cassiodorus consid-

8 Gruzinski, S., La pensée métisse (Paris, 1999), 153–199.

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Foreword

ered the soul’s destiny of the soul, to fly free as birds and to “cross the abyss” (transcurrit abyssos9).

9 Cassiodorus, De Anima, ed. J. H. Halporn (CCSL, XCVIII), (Turnhout, 1973), IV, 100–114, 541.

I.

Eusebius

Neverland We are well acquainted with the Fantastic Middle Ages thanks to Jurgis Baltrusˇaitis’ research10, but our knowledge is more limited when it comes to the lateantique roots of the phenomena analysed by that same French-Lithuanian scholar. And yet, all the countless variations of the drôleries disseminated on the margins of manuscripts and in the sculptures and paintings of the Romanic and Gothic ages are well attested in Late Antiquity, which is unsurprising given the origins of such fantastic images in the grylloi of Graeco-Roman art11. These representations, which had a fundamentally apotropaic significance, flooded wall paintings, mosaics, gems, cameos, jewels, and all sorts of artistic manifestations with an inextinguishable phenomenal fantasy12. In the ancient and late antique world, there was a widespread belief that the universe was populated by a multitude of invisible beings. Neoplatonism and Orphism both fostered this traditional opinion with new arguments, stressing the presence of daimones scattered between heaven and earth, mediating between man and deity13. Frightful masks, possessed faces, deformed beings, and human 10 Baltrusˇaitis, J., Le Moyen Âge fantastique: antiquités et exotismes dans l’art gothique (Paris, 1995); ID., Réveils et prodiges: le gothique fantastique (Paris, 1960). 11 Randall, L. M. C., Images in the Margins of Gothic Manuscripts, (California Studies in the History of Art, 4), (Berkeley – Los Angeles, 1966); Nordenfalk, C. (1967), “Drolleries”, The Burlington Magazine 109, 418–421; Demus, O. (1969), Pittura murale Romanica (Milan, 1969); Kroll, L. – Sterger, H. (Edds.), Mein ganz Körper ist Gesicht: groteske Darstellungen in der europäischen Kunst und Literatur des Mittelalters (Freiburg im Brisgau, 1993); Wirth, J. (2008), Les marges à drolleries des manuscrits gothiques (1250–1350), avec la collaboration d’I. Engammare – A. Bräm – H. Braet – F. Elsig – A. Fisch Hartley – C. Fressat (Genève, 2008). 12 García Avíles, A., Imágenes encantadas. Los poderes de la imagen en la Edad Media (Vitoria Gasteiz, 2021). 13 Di Nola, A. M., Il diavolo. Le forme, la storia, le vicende di Satana e la sua universale e malefica presenza presso tutti i popoli, dall’antichità ai nostri giorni (Rome, 1987);Il diavolo nel Medioevo, (Settimane di Studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 36) (Spoleto, 1989); Pricoco, S., Il demonio e i suoi complici. Dottrine e credenze demonologiche

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bodies generated from animal bodies spread across frescoes, goldwork, objects, glyptic, concealing arcane presences recalled through the play of a decorative style superficially devoid of deeper meaning. The painters, sculptors, and carvers who devoted themselves to portraying such entities were true specialists in the depiction of daimones who knew how to vary and rework a wide iconographic repertory of imaginary beings. Against such ideas, as interpreted by Apuleius (De deo Socr. 3) and others, came a stern warning on from Augustine, the Christian theologian nearest to Platonism, the philosophical tradition which he came to regard as best among ancient alternatives because closest to Christian truth14. But Augustine’s condemnation nothwistanding, ancestral faith in the presence of demons and their power persisted through the centuries between the end of the ancient world and the modern age, as testified by all sorts of examples, beginning with a large number of apotraic amulets and gems in which Christian and Pagan elements blend effortlessly, and ending with the countless formulas from magic rites in which Christian elements and, more significantly, prayers for angelic intercession against demonic influences intermingled, prayers at once recognized by the Church but also branded as heterodox by its religious authorities15. For these reasons, it is not uncommon to find in the margins or blank spaces of codices depictions of demons destined to occupy precisely such spaces, the limina dividing the human world from the daemonic underworld.

Searching for mystery Eusebius strategically placed his hidden images and words in the mosaics, so that only those who hold the key to their mystery may be able to spot them: they are often outstretched on the heads of the characters portrayed and follow the line of their skull or their hair, within which some distinctive traits of the mysterious shadow which inhabits them are sometimes depicted, such as ears or horns. The hair themselves can be shaped as to form some of these evanescent images, according to the same optical illusions sought in late antique art (PLATE 1 a).

nella tarda antichità (Soveria Mannelli, 1995); Pasquini, L., Diavoli e inferni nel medioevo. Origine e sviluppo delle immagini dal VI al XV secolo (Padua, 2015). 14 Augustinus, De civitate dei, ed. C. Bergogno, (Rome, 1952), 1, VIII, 16, 17, 18, 396–400; Markus, R. A., “Augustine on Magic: a neglected semiotic theory”, Revue des Etudes Augustiniennes 40 (1994), 375–388. 15 Troncarelli, F., “Il diavolo nello specchio. I disegni di Alcuino nel codex pagesianus”, Litterae Caelestes VIII (2017), 75–112.

Neverland

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Sometimes, on the other hand, fantastic beings hide in the shadows of rocks, between the branches of a bush, and in the multi-coloured clouds on the background (PLATE 2 b). Elsewhere we find them nestled in the footwear, in the embroidery of dress, in the clasp of a robe, even in the halos of rulers and prophets. It must be stressed that the same images we find in the mosaics are also scattered on the margins of the several manuscripts which passed through Eusebius’ hands: the painter seems obsessed by the same features, the same fantastic bodies tangled up in the codices with the same swarming they display in the mosaics. The most interesting aspect of this complex vision is the technique with which the drawings have been made: an ever-changing and so ever-disturbing technique. In some instances, the figures are actually carved on the parchment with a thin tip, and multiply in front of our eyes almost without our noticing, because we mistake them for the natural folds of a wrinkled, coarse membrane. In other cases, by contrast, a very pale ink has been used, alerting us to he presence, on the page, of something quite undefined: what we perceive is not clear, and we struggle to recognise undefined shapes, on account of both their scarcely visible colour and the fact that they are made of unfinished lines, points detached from each other, sometimes slight ink smears made on purpose, simulating an actual blot and deceiving inattentive readers. In other cases still, on the contrary and quite unexpectedly, the bodies seem to be depicted almost in relief, because some detail has been marked with white lead and stands out clearly on the darker background of the page. The result of this whirlwind of techniques is to surprise the reader with a phantasmagoria of images which are not apparent at first sight, but which suddenly emerge, surfacing from a neutral background, like a sort of mysterious apparition. There is also another reason why hidden images are difficult to perceive with the naked eye: they are often very small and efficiently simulate gems or amulets made up with more figures, revealing the skilful hand of a professional carver well acquainted with the traditional repertoire of such artefacts16. The infinite variations on the theme of the figures included in that repertory have a deep meaning: as Attilio Mastrocinque brilliantly put it: “To own a magical gem was, in some respects, tantamount to privately managing a portable temple, and this gave access to personal favours on behalf of the gods, through prayers and rites. Magic, in general, is a private rituality, conceived to mimic public religion.”17

16 For a first introduction on these subjects, see the two fine volumes titled Sylloge gemmarum gnosticarum, I–II, edited by A. Mastrocinque (Bollettino di Numismatica. Monografie 8, 2, I; 2, II), (Rome, 2003 and 2007). 17 Ibid., I. 56–57.

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Eusebius

It then becomes possible to understand the reasons behind the negative reaction towards the proliferation of such figures and why, very often, Eusebius’ drawings have been accurately erased or covered in ink by later hands, complicating the task of those who try to identify them. But this is not the only problem: even the figures which, having survived such censorships, are still visible to us, are difficult to identify because they are, so to speak, “polymorphic”. They seem to be individual beings, monsters, men or animals, but sometimes the lines of each one of them overlap with those of other ones, creating the impression of different effigies arising from one another. With a peculiar expedient, aimed at bewildering the observer, generating many optical illusions at the same time, what could have been mistaken for a single shape doubles, triples, multiplies disclosing the profile of smaller beings within it: sometimes this produces the effect of a series of recurring “Chinese boxes” overlapping with one another; in other cases, one comes to realize that different figures gathered together gave birth to the starting figure, as it happens with the so-called “improper portraits” by Giuseppe Arcimboldo, where fruit and produce skilfully placed next to each other create the effect of a face or a body. A similar ambiguity concerning the depicted subject can complicate the task of those who try to highlight the main figure in order to replicate it in photograph: it is even possible, on occasion, to reconstruct a picture featuring characters with different types of nose, chin, and eyes, one within another, all equally possible (PLATE 1 b-c). Keeping in mind all these issues, we thought it appropriate to follow a rigorous albeit flexible line of inquiry. All the drawings we have identified have been indexed and differentiated from one another even when they feature on the same page or in the same fragment of space. To every picture corresponds at least one life-size, high-resolution photo. The photos have later been doubled in size and, if necessary, replaced with new ultraviolet or ultrared photos. Photos with more easily recognisable figures have been divided and catalogued one by one, according to their subject or decorative motif; then we separated and catalogued the less clear pictures as well, after thoroughly analysing, scanning and graphically processing them in more or less regular squares, according to the case. In this way, each image has been broken up into a grid comparable to the preparatory drawings made by ancient painters and, even more, to the grids used by modern restorers in order to single out the sections within a painting or mosaic for which their intervention is required (Plate 12 a-b). With this system, we can be sure to isolate the profile of the drawing inside each square of the grid and, eventually, reassemble the whole figure in a non-arbitrary way. In some instances, we have tried to attain the best possible view for the fragments and, subsequently, for their suitably recomposed whole, enhancing the clarity of each image through the development of high-contrast pictures, or

Neverland

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by employing different background hues, in order to improve the accuracy of the details. After gathering a conspicuous amount of images in this way, we proceeded by comparing the ones showing resemblances: a blurred image obviously benefits from the comparison with a clearer one. Subsequently, and with the outmost care, we looked for the possible sources for each drawing or, more simply, for consonances between some themes or motifs and comparable examples in ancient, Late-Antique, High-Medieval and Late-Medieval art. Through this kind of procedure we can be confident about the correct interpretation of the picture even when it is not clearly visible. In this, we must stress that some resemblances are quite impressive. Some of the characters drawn by Eusebius are identical, or almost identical, to their portraits in LateAntique and Medieval ivory works and miniatures, for instance Theodoric, Cassiodorus, Symmachus and Boethius (PLATE 13, a-b; 15). In the same way, many other fantastic beings, which can already be found in Roman art and which recur with endless variations until the end of the Middle Ages in miniatures, sculptures, mosaics, and frescos (Figure 6), appear to be similar when not completely identical. It is clear that Eusebius draws from a pre-established iconographic tradition, which he may innovate or change according to the case, but definitely not invent. For all these reasons, we can assume that our interpretation was correct, both for the easily recognisable images and for the more confused and contradictory ones, so that we may also be confident about the reconstruction of the other figures we have identified, even when they lack (for the moment, at least) validation from other possible depictions. If the artist who created them took inspiration from iconographic repertoires belonging to a solid, trusted tradition, it is unlikely that he created what he painted out of thin air, even though we are at times unable to recognise his sources. In our catalogue, we have selected a relevant amount of drawings, deliberately choosing the ones which can be more clearly perceived, since we are aware that we would not be able to replicate all of our findings unless we were committed to publishing the countless multitude of shadows forming in front of our eyes – as when looking in a kaleidoscope – every time we examine a manuscript in which a contribution from the painter we are dealing with can be recognised. The goal of such a selection is to facilitate a first reading and interpretation of Eusebius’ art, and to stress its importance.

20

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Trompe-l’oeil The images I have selected obviously were created with a manifest, strong intent to achieve a constant trompe-l’oeil effect18. The roots of this ambition are ancient, as is the method employed for merging the bodies, almost wedging them into one another: classical Roman and Late Antique art provide plenty of examples of this kind of illusionism in frescoes, gems, candelabra, vases, and common objects. It is especially developed in the glyptic, chiefly in the gems chrarged with an apotropaic, astrological or magical/religious value, in which it is very often possible to find figures incorporated into others, the so-called grylloi, and also optical illusions based on the pareidolia, such as a series of faces sharing one or more elements with each other, or change their appearance when we turn them upside down. As I have already said, in the mosaics we can find the same fabulous images that are in the manuscripts, hidden in the friezes, within the folds of a dress, inside the objects, among rocks, branches, leaves. They compose that ‘moving life’, populated by zoomorphic rocks and by monsters, so evocatively described by Baltrusˇaitis19: daemonic shapes with precise correspondences with the drôleries scattered in the margins of the manuscripts decorated by Viliaric and Eusebius, replicating, with countless variations, the procession of spirits and demons marching alongside the human beings. The imaginary fauna which populates the friezes and landscapes of the Ravenna mosaics is just one manifestation of the principle of pareidolia, exploited by a multitude of painters from Giotto to Mantegna, to suggest the presence of fantastic beings in the clouds, in the rocks, in the walls, in the mirrors, even in the clothes of the characters depicted20, which we find not only in Western Medieval 18 Calabrese, O., Il trompe l’oeil (Milan, 2013). 19 Baltrusˇaitis, J., Le Moyen Âge fantastique, 228–238. 20 Berra, G., “Immagini casuali, figure nascoste e natura antropomorfa nel’immaginario artistico rinascimentale”, Miteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Instituten in Florenz, 43 (1999), 358–419. The phenomenon of pareidolia and its use by painters has been known since the remotest antiquity. Pliny the Elder discusses it in the first book of his Naturalis historia, mentioning the so-called “Nubium imagines” and, in the second book, he states that “varietates colorum figurarumque in nubibus cerni, prout admixtus ignis superet aut vincatur” (Naturalis historia, II, LXI – 61). In the same way, Lucretius speaks of the “rerum simulacra” of the air, in which we believe to see giants, mountains, monsters and all sort of forms undergoing constant transformations (De rerum natura, IV, 133–142). Philostratus, in his Life of Apollonius of Tyana (II, 22), explicitly advocates a connection between the optical illusion of the pareidolia and painting; this will become a common trope in many Medieval treatises. In the Humanist Period, quite a few authors wrote about this same subject: here it will suffice to quote a well known passage by Leonardo: “If you look at walls splashed with a number of stains, or stones of various mixed colours… you can see there resemblances to a number of landscapes, adorned with mountains, rivers, rocks, trees, great plains, valleys and

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art, but also in the art of Byzantium21and of the Renaissance22,as it recovered the secrets of the Ancient World. As Baltrusˇaitis wrote, ancient art “possesses two faces: on the one side, a world of gods and men where everything is heroic and noble in the disclosure of a powerful, organic life; and, on the other side, a world of fantastic beings with complex origins, often coming from very far away and displaying a mixture of bodies and heterogeneous natures.23”. The faces and the bodies we can glimpse are those of the daimones, well known in Classical culture. As already stated, these figures have an apotropaic connotation: the evil demon is exorcised through its representation, as if, thanks to some sort of incantation, it could be imprisoned in an image in order to serve its owner. Nevertheless, besides this function, the daimon, the genius, and the angel (guardian or tempter), exerting all kinds of influences on individual humans, often acquires an allegorical meaning and becomes a sort of heraldic emblem of the character depicted, highlighting the latter’s virtues and vices. The existence of the “good genie” surfacing within us justifies and stimulates the creation of the “portrait” of the character around whom the demons gather: a portrait centred on a single daimon who occupies the soul of the person depicted, of whom the daimon is an exact double, that corresponds his or her own “genie”, but that can also contain other demons within itself, embodying specific vices or typical features of the one who is being evoked. A man with a strong character can be likened to a dignified and noble animal and yet, if we take a closer scrutiny will be seen to display the head of a lion, stressing the more violent and dangerous aspect of his character, or the head of an untamed horse, standing for his haughtiness: or the head of an aggressive bull, of a ravenous wolf, of a malevolent fox, testifying to the negative influences of the demons governing belligerence, cruelty, and wickedness. This ambivalence can be linked to the more general ambivalence or, rather, “polysemy” of Medieval symbols24, which often show opposite and complementary features and values.

21 22 23 24

hills, in various ways. Also you can see various battles, and lively postures of strange figures, expressions on faces, costumes and an infinite number of things, which you can reduce to good integrated form. This happens on such walls and varicoloured stones, (which act) like the sound of bells, in whose peeling you can find every name and word that you can imagine.” (Leonardo Da Vinci, Libro di pittura: Codice Urbinate latino 1270, ed. I. C. Pedretti, (Florence, 1995) f. 35v, cap. 66). Maguire, E., H., “The profane aesthetic in Byzantine art and literature”, Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 53 (1999), 189–207. Chastel, A., La grottesca (Turin, 1989); Campione, F. P., La regola del Capriccio. Alle origini di un’idea estetica (Palerm, 2011). Baltrusˇaitis, J., Le Moyen Âge fantastique, 43. Cardini, F., “Mostri, belve, animali nell’immaginario medievale”, Abstracta 5 (1986), 46–51. On these topics, see also: L’uomo di fronte al mondo animale nell’Alto Medioevo (Settimane di

22

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In the following pages, I will discuss the presence of many of these fantastic representations analysing their meaning in relation to the characters they depict: for that purpose, I will devote attention primarily to the more meaningful and emblematic images, leaving aside the multitude of other figures emerging from one another without a break, whose description would require many more volumes.

Once upon a time The Latin papyrus 14 of the Vatican Apostolic Library (henceforth, Pap. 14) is a well-known document recording the sale of a 20-acre area of farmland in the Faenza countryside to a vir strenuus named Pelegrinus by a woman of Gothic origins, Thugilo, and her children Domnica and Deutherisuus. The contract was drawn up in AD 539, probably in Ravenna, in the presence of local characters of some distinction, including the renowned Julian Argentarius who commissioned the construction of the Basilicas of San Vitale. As is to be expected, there is an extensive bibliography devoted to this precious artefact, and by extremely authoritative scholars.25; nevertheless, some of the problems it entails remain unresolved, starting with the reading, or rather, with the decipherment of the text itself, given the difficulty of reading the documentary cursive script of the time. This may sound hard to believe, considering the level of the scholars who have devoted themselves to this task; and yet here more than ever it seems befitting to quote Horace: “sometimes even great Homer nods”. In particular, I am referring studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo 36), (Spoleto, 1995); Kappler, C., Demoni, mostri e meraviglie alla fine del medioevo (Florence, 1983). 25 Maffei S., Istoria diplomatica che serve d’introduzione all’arte critica in tal materia (Mantua, 1727), 151–155; Gori, A.F., Io. Baptistae Donii, Inscriptiones antique nunc primum editae notisque illustratae et XXVI indicibus auctae ab Antonio Francisco Gorio (Florence, 1731), 480–484; Terrason, A., Histoire de la jurisprudence romaine (Paris, 1750), nr. 86, 69– 70; Toustain, C.F. – Tassin, R.P., Nouveau traité de diplomatique (Paris, 1750), III, 626–627, pl. 63, n. 3; Marini, G., I Papiri Diplomatici (Rome, 1805), 172–174 and 329–336; Spangeberg, E. (Ed.), Juris Romani Tabulas Negotiorum sollemnium: modo in aere, modo in marmore, modo in charta superstites (Leipzig, 1822), 236–242; Tjäder, J.-O., Die nichtliterarischen; II, n. 32, 30–61; III, pl. 100–105, republished in Tjäder, O. – Petrucci, (Eds.) (1982), Chartae Latinae Antiquiores (Ch. L. A.), 20 (Zurich, 1982), n. 706, 48–61. A transcription of the text made by Giacomo Grimaldi in 1617, on request of Pope Paul V, is in Vat. lat. 6064, ff., 14r– 19r. Many scholars have discussed the document, including: Tjäder, J.O., “Some ancient letter-forms in the later Roman cursive and early mediaeval script of the notarii”, Scrittura e civiltà, 6, (1982) 5–22; Bovini, G., “Giuliano l’Argentario e il munifico fondatore di chiese ravennati”, Felix Ravenna, I, (1970), 125–150, esp. 135–136; Del Corso, L. – Pintaudi, R., “Papiri tardoantichi nei Papiri diplomatici di Gaetano Marini: un elenco”, in Buonocore, M. (Ed.), Gaetano Marini (1742–1815) protagonista della cultura europea: scritti per il bicentenario della morte, (Studi e testi, 492), (Vatican City, 2015), 799–898, esp. 802.

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to the misunderstanding of the last three lines of the papyrus whose handwriting, as already noted by Marini,26 would suggest that they were added by a different scribe. They seem to be some kind of closing note to the text, which has been a source of problems since early times, in that almost everyone has admitted to being unable to read them in full. The few intelligible words have been interpreted in different ways by a string of distinguished palaeographers and textual scholars ranging from Maffei to Tjäder, but the latter is the only one who has tried to transcribe them all. The result cannot be described as satisfactory, notwithstanding the good intentions and the unquestionable skills of those who have taken up this task: a look at the last three lines of the papyrus is sufficient to reveal that the letters are more than those appearing in the modern transcription; moreover, the words which can be glimpsed do not always correspond to those which have been reconstructed. For example, “Armentarius” in the vol. 20 of the Chartae Latinae Antiquiores ( enceforth Ch.L.A.) edition, who in the papyrus is called “Armentario”, as previously read by Marini: the same word which, in the line-spacing, is preceded by “in”, handwritten by the same scribe. “Armentario” does not correspond to the personal name “Armentarius”, in the nominative case, but to the name of a place, in the ablative case, called “Armentario” and preceded by “in”. This is immediately confirmed in the Pap. 14, since the character I am discussing, Eusebius, is said to be “de ipso loco” (as Marini correctly reads, pace Tjäder): that is, from the same place quoted in the previous line, being “de ipso loco” that was “in Armentario”. Similarly, the title of “obsonator” for one of the witnesses which has drawn the attention of historians,27 is utterly implausible: not only because it is the product of an interpretive conjecture, which should be presented between brackets, sc., “obs(onator)” or, better, “obs[onator]” rather than “obsonator” without brackets; but also, and more relevantly, because a more careful observation of the Pap. 14 both in natural light and under ultraviolet rays clearly reveals that the “b” is not there at all and that instead a rounded “n” of the uncial type is to be read, just like an “e” should be read instead of the alleged “o”. Therefore, we are dealing with the letters “e+n” instead of “o+b”. (Figure 7). I think that it would be advisable to restart from scratch, and to try to reread the passage under ultraviolet and infrared rays and natural light, on the reproductions made by the photo lab of the Vatican Apostolic Library.

26 Marini, G., I papiri, 329. 27 For instance, there is the good paper by Cosentino, S., “L’approvvigionamento annonario di Ravenna dal V all’VIII secolo: l’organizzazione e i riflessi socio-economici”, Ravenna da capitale imperiale a capitale esarcale (Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 17), (Spoleto, 2005), 405–432, where the Vatican papyrus in occasionally discussed.

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For the convenience of the reader, I have broken up the last three lines of the papyrus into several segments, providing a diplomatic transcription, line by line (Figures 7–12). In this reconstruction, the text is as follows (differing, in several regards, from the one provided in the former editions of the papyrus): “Candidianus, v(ir) l(audabilis)28, quibus presentibus traditio facta est, nullo contra[dicente] v(iro), id est Generoso augustale. In armentario, v(iri) v(enerabilis)29 Eu(sebii), de ipso loco, est; qu(od) (restituendu)m30 est, vir(o) strenu(o) Peleg(rino), d(omino) n(ostro).31 Eusebius.”.

After the words we have read, an autograph underwriting follows: “Eusebius” (the name is repeated, in its extended or shortened form, more than once). Some letters detached from the other words have been written on the right margin, using smaller characters. The letters are: “I S E R” and, more than once, “Eu” or “Eus”. The formula “ISE” recurs in epigraphs32and stands for “(H)IC SITUS EST”. The “R” is a shortening normally used for “Ravenna-Ravennae”. As for the letters “Eu” and “Eus”, they are obviously shortenings by truncation of “Eusebius”, mentioned in the document.

In Armentario Scholars have highlighted that the Vatican papyrus originates from a very peculiar historical and social context. Compiled in AD 539, one year before the final collapse of the Gothic kingdom and the Byzantine conquest of Ravenna, this deed of sale points out, with its obsolescent wording, to a world approaching its own sunset, just like those who wrote it and who commissioned it:33 the family of Goths who sold the farm, or the neighbours, also of Gothic origin; or the man who buys the farm, the vir strenuus Pelegrinus, a soldier by trade; or the witnesses to the deed, linked to the social and political elites that thrived in the Italy under the 28 The acronym “v.l.”, which until now scholars have always read “v(ir) l(audabilis)”, is common in ancient and Medieval documents. See Cappelli, A., Lexicon abbreviaturarum. Dizionario di abbreviature latine ed italiane, 7th edition (Milan, 2011), expanded and updated by Geymonat, M. – Troncarelli, F., 549, column 1. 29 The acronym “v.v.” is normally used for “v(ir) v(enerabilis)”: see Cappelli, A., Lexicon abbreviaturarum, 399, column 2. 30 The abbreviation by truncation “rest” for “restitui” is common, as are similar forms: see Cappelli, A., Lexicon abbreviaturarum, 327, column 1 and 581, column 1. 31 The abbreviation “dn” is commonly used for “domino nostro”: see Cappelli A. (2011), Lexicon abbreviaturarum, 104, column 1. 32 Cappelli, A., Lexicon abbreviaturarum, 553, column 2. 33 Ch. L. A., 20, 48.

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Amals and their successors.34 Among the latter, the renowned banker Julian Argentarius stand certainly out, who in Ravenna financed the construction of the Basilicas of San Vitale, Sant’Apollinare in Classe and San Michele Acifrisco.35 To the many observations from authors mentioned so far one may add a few further considerations, taking the new reading of the last lines of the text as a starting point. First and foremost, it should be stressed that the deed is stored in the archives of San Pietro in Armentario on account of its not being registered in the usual form in one of the public offices: and this procedure, albeit not the most common one, is not unusual. As Nicholas Everett has noted, quoting this very document: “It was necessary to register donations of ‘rural or urban estates’ before three councilors (curiales) and either a magistrate or a defensor civitatis… Indeed the papyri show a more casual curia, in terms of personnel, as the sixth century progresses… We also see a penchant for registration in some of the Ravenna papyri that went beyond Roman laws… that… suggest Ravenna’s enthusiasm for registration, which Tjäder noted. The political uncertainty of the times… may… has played a role. Either way, registration was… a cultural imperative not a legal one, just as it was not legally required for sale in Justinianic law… a year before Belisarius took the city, a Gothic widow Thulgilo and her children sold land in Faenza to a soldier (vir strenuus) named Pelegrinus… While the charter was not registered, Thulgilo states that she has properly drawn up a letter of conveyance (dyploma vacuole) and that the sale was performed with the customary imperial nummus and with Serapio vir strenuus acting as sale-holder (libripens) and Opilio vir strenuus as the special witness (antetestator), both of whom are present to sign below the witnesses.”36 If, then, the sale was closed with an informal procedure that did not require registration of the deed, it becomes understandable why, instead of being stored in one of the official archives, the document ended up in a unofficial institution such as the ecclesiastical archives of the church of San Pietro in Armentario; and understandable as well that it was entrusted to someone who could manage such 34 Ibid., 48. See, as a general reference, Cirelli, E., “Élites civili ed ecclesiastiche nella Ravenna tardo antica”, in Hortus Artium Mediaevalium, 13 (2007), 301–318. On the identity and the roles of the individual characters mentioned in the document, see the entries devoted to each one of them in Cosentino, S., Prosopografia dell’Italia bizantina I–II (Bologna, 1996–2000), ad vocem, and Lilie, E., R.-J., Ludwig, C., Prats, T. – Rochow I., Prosopographie der mittelbyzantinischen Zeit, I. Abteilung (641–867) (Berlin-New York, 1999–2002), ad vocem. 35 Deichmann, E. W., “Giuliano Argentario”, Felix Ravenna, Third series 56 (1951), 5–26; Bovini, G., Giuliano l’Argentario, 125–150; Cosentino S., “Banking in early Byzantine Ravenna”, Cahiers de recherche médiévale et humaniste 28 (2014), 243–254; ID. “Giuliano Argentario e l’economia di Ravenna del VI secolo”, in Augenti, A. – Bertelli, C. (Eds.), Santi, banchieri, re. Ravenna e Classe nel VI secolo. San Severo ritrovato (Milan, 2006), 43–48. 36 Everett, N., “Lay documents and archives in early medieval Spain and Italy, c. 400–700”, in Brown, W. – Costambeys, M. – Innes, M. – Kosto, A. (Eds.), Documentary Culture and the Laity in the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2013), 63–95 and esp. 79–80.

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an archive and who was also there when the deed was written down. And this is the task that was entrusted to Eusebius, the person who added the last three lines. He is a vir venerabilis, a title normally reserved for man of the Church,37 and the church to which he belongs (“de ipso loco, est”) is “in Armentario”. Apparently, the vir venerabilis Eusebius had the institutional possibility to keep and store documents: a role that, in the more important churches and monasteries, was a prerogative of the so-called custos cartarum, who was responsible for the archive of the community and, occasionally, also acted as its librarian.38 The church mentioned, San Pietro in Armentario, was located about ten kilometers north of Ravenna itself, close to the outlet of the river Po: it was a very ancient foundation, possibly dating back to the 4th century, whose remarkable archaeological remains have been excavated and which through the centuries was of strategic importance due to its position along the road connecting Ravenna to Aquileia in the north and to all the other cities of the hinterland which could be reached through the river Po.39. It seems reasonable to surmise that the choice of this church’s archive on behalf of the farm’s buyers had a specific meaning: apparently the vir strenuus Pelegrinus already had some properties in that area and was probably the main owner of the land on which the church was built, since Eusebius remembers him as “dominus noster”. If this is the case, the decision to buy some farmland in this area makes good sense. Scholars have been unable to identify neither the Concordianus plot, neither the pagus Painatis on whose territory the plot was located, just repeating that it was somewhere in the Faenza province, as stated by the notary who wrote down the deed. It is nevertheless possible to be more specific about these pieces of information and to determine that the land was not very far from San Pietro in Armentario. This hypothesis has already been cautiously advanced by Stefano Cremonini on linguistic grounds, linking the name Painatis to Padinatis, from Padinum (= of the Po valley), from which Painum through the weakening of the 37 Schoolman, E. M., “Vir Clarissimus and Roman titles in the early Middle Ages: survival and continuity in Ravenna and the Latin West”, Medieval Prosopography, 32 (2017), 1–39. 38 Vernet, A., “Du ‘chartophylax’ au ‘librarian’”, in Weijers, O. (Ed.) Vocabulaire du livre et de l’écriture au Moyen Âge. Actes de la table rotonde, Paris 24–26 septembre 1987, (Comité international du vocabulaire des institutions et de la communication intellectuelles au Moyen Âge 1), (Turnhout, 1989), 155–167, esp. 161; see also Huygerbaert, N., “Hugo Tornacensis ecclesiae cancellarius. Examen critique de la charte de fondation de l’abbaye de Phalempin”, Bulletin de la commission royale d’histoire, 128 (1962), 183–273; Wilkin, A., “Gérer les archives, maîtriser l’espace au Moyen Âge. Le cas de la cathédrale Saint-Lambert de Liège”, Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire, 89 (2011), 961–989. 39 Novara P., S. Adalberto in Pereo e la decorazione in laterizio nel ravennate e nell’Italia settentrionale (secc. VIII–XI), (Documenti di archeologia, 3), (Mantua, 1994), 11–24. See also Patitucci Uggeri S., Carta archeologica medievale del territorio ferrarese, II, Le vie d’acqua in rapporto al nodo idroviario di Ferrara, (Quaderni di archeologia medievale V, 2), (Florence, 2002), 80–92.

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intervocalic dental sound.40 Padinum is a name used in the Middle Ages for the region around the river Po: one may mention, for instance, the homonymous town, now rechristened Bondeno, near Ferrara; or the canal connecting the river Po to the harbor of Ravenna, called Padosolum, that is, Paisolo.41 An ancient epigraphic inscription, in the Bagnacavallo area, supports Cremonini’s hypothesis, proving that the plot was under the jurisdiction of the important parish of Saint Peter in Sylvis in Bagnocavallo, which during the Middle Ages owned a large amount of land in this area.42 Cremonini’s hypothesis is actually further corroborated by an important piece of textual evidence: the Vatican papyrus records that the plot called Concordiacus bordered with a fundum called Salectum, belonging to the Gothic scutarius Witterit: that very plot still existed in the 11th century, and a document from the archive of Sant’Andrea Maggiore in Ravenna mentions it being under the jurisdiction of the Saint Peter in Sylvis parish (“de plebe Santi Petri, qui vocatur Transilva… fundum et locum qui vocant Salecto”).43. The borders of the lands belonging to San Pietro in Sylvis were not far from those of the lands of Saint Peter in Armentario, at a distance of about ten kilometers, and, more importantly, it was easy to reach them by water. These lands, as we have already seen, were inhabited by Goths and appear, as scholars have noted, to have been awarded to former soldiers as a prize for serving in the Gothic army,44, as in the case of the scutarius Witterit who owned the fundum Selectus bordering on the plot acquired by Pelegrinus, another soldier in the Gothic army. It is not altogether impossible that Pelegrinus himself was a Goth: there is indeed a character with the same name, translated into Gothic, who appears next to Viliaric bokareis, i. e. antiquarius – probably the same antiquarius for whom Eusebius worked. The man was named Sindila, translated into Latin as Pelegrinus: a name that could be used by Arian Goths with the same symbolic and religious meaning applied in Catholicism.45

40 Cremonini, S., Maccaretolo: un pagus romano della pianura (Bologna, 2003), 154. 41 Novara, P. – Corbara, F., Alle origini di Sant’Alberto: materiali per una ricerca (Ravenna, 2000), 43, 91. 42 Ibid., 154. 43 Ravenna, Archbishopric Archive, S. Andrea 11371 (A), published in Benericetti, R. (Ed.), Le carte ravennati de secolo undicesimo: Archivio di Sant’Andrea Maggiore (Faenza, 2009), no. 417, 4–7. 44 “Witterit… was probably one of the many subordinate soldiers stationed in the garrison of Ravenna, tied to the territory through the grant of a parcel of land”: Carile, A. (Ed.), Storia di Ravenna, 2, 1, 119. 45 Francovich Onesti, N., “I nomi gotici dei papiri di Napoli e Arezzo”, Goti e vandali: dieci saggi di lingua e cultura medievali (Rome, 2013), p. 23.

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This suspicion, paired with Tjäder’s, sc., that the main copyist of the Vatican Pap. 14 too was a Goth,46 indirectly supports a Gothic origin for Eusebius himself, as suggested earlier. Indeed, it only seems natural, in a transaction between Goths, likely written down by a Goth, for the document testifying to the event to be entrusted to a Goth. Besides, the papyrus provides evidence for a close cooperation and osmosis between Arian Goths and Catholics, all of them eminent members of the robe nobility and the palace bureaucracy, making up the backbone of the non-aristocratic upper classes of Ravenna,47either of Greek ancestry, like Julian Argentarius, and of Latin ancestry, like, it would seem, other witnesses included in the deed. This cooperation, which pervaded the world preceding the arrival of Belisarius’ troops, never ceased to exist; on the contrary, after the Byzantine conquest it evolved into something new, enduring, in a fragile balance, into the Indian summer of the ancien régime embodied by the Ravenna of Victor and Maximianus until 560, when the Goths were marginalized, their goods requisitioned, and the new bishop Agnellus installed according to Justinian’s orders. In this regard, Carile spoke of a tendency to “blend in” on behalf of the Goths.48 This operation might be seen as nothing more than a tactical device, but the reality is more complex. Despite the fierce opposition on both sides, which brought about open confrontations as in the case of Athalaric’s upbringing, we should start to admit that in Amal-ruled Italy: “The Gothic church cannot be seen as an ethnically Gothic institution or one that stood outside of Italo-Roman population.”49 46 Ch. L. A. 20, 61. 47 Cracco Ruggini, L., Economia e società nell’Italia Annonaria. Rapporti tra agricoltura e commercio dal IV al VI secolo d.C. (Milan, 1961; reprinted in Bari, 2005), 448–45; Carile, A., “La formazione del ducato veneziano”, in Carile, A. – Fedalto, G. (Eds.), Le origini di Venezia (Bologna, 1978), 164–167; Mauskopf Deliyannis, D., Ravenna in Late Antiquity (Cambridge, 2010), 144–146. On the phenomenon of Romans and Goths cohabiting in the countryside of Ravenna, see Pohl, W., “Social cohesion, breaks, and transformations in Italy 535–600”, in Balzaretti, R. – Barrow, J. – Skinner, P. (Eds.), Italy and Early Medieval Europe: Papers for Chris Wickham (Oxford, 2019), 30–31. See also Porena, P., L’insediamento dei goti in Italia (Rome, 2012). 48 “While the Gothic landowners who had survived the war rushed to blend into the new society, converting to Catholicism and, sometimes, gaining the support of the Church by donating part of their estates, following the example of the noblewoman Ranilo, who waited until April 4th, 553, before ensuring for herself the protection of the church of Ravenna; the possessions of the Arian church were handed over by Justinian to the church of Ravenna, both as a reward and a guarantee for their loyalty to Constantinople; while the possessions of the Ostrogothic crown – the patrimonium – and those of the Goths who had died during the war ended up replenishing the land endowment of the treasury.” Carile, A., “Il bellum gothicum dall’Isonzo a Ravenna”, Antichità Altoadriatiche, XIII (1978), 47–193, esp. 188. 49 Swain, B., “Goths and Gothic identity in the Ostrogothic kingdom”, in Bjornlie A., J. J. – Sessa, M. S. K. (Eds.), A companion to Ostrogothic Italy (Leiden, 2016), 225–226. See also, as a

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Therefore, it does not seem strange that the first steps were taken towards a premature, inconsistent, and yet lively process of cultural integration which should be understood in terms not only of political history but also of ethnology,50 and which recalls, by analogy, those processes of actual social and cultural “hybridization”, to use an expression dear to Serge Gruzinski, and well known among anthropologists.51 In this perspective, even the presence of characters like Viliaric and Eusebius in the mosaics of San Vitale and Sant’Apollinare in Classe, to which we will come later and which may strike us as absurd, is actually nothing more than one among the possible manifestations of a contradictory overall phenomenon, but vital to the coexistence of integration between only apparently opposed ethnic components. After all, if this were not the case, how could we explain the production of extremely elegant manuscripts such as the one produced in Viliaric’s workshop? Manuscripts which could be read or even commissioned by Catholics and Arians alike without anyone being outraged? It seems clear that, in the society and culture of 6th century Italy, such products were not regarded as an anomaly and found readers and admirers among the whole range of society, beyond any contradiction or divisiveness which might otherwise have compromised the relationships between individuals.

Fantastic Late-Antique The hand that added the last lines belonged to a seasoned scribe, who wrote in a cursive with few ligatures, and in which capital and semi-uncial letters appear unexpectedly, flexibly mixed within the text. We cannot determine with certainty whether that hand belonged to the same Eusebius who subscribed the text, but it is possible to say that the letters in Eusebius’ signature can be found, identical in form, in several manuscripts featuring his handwriting, as we shall see shortly (Figure 14). In the several shortenings or “signatures” sporadically added to his subscription of the document Eusebius displays the same eclectic mixture of scripts as can be found in his manuscripts; more precisely, the same unique method of general reference, Mathisen, R. W. (2014), “Barbarian ‘Arian’ clergy, church organization, and church practices”, in Berndt, G. M. – Steinacher, R. (Eds.), Arianism: Roman heresy and barbarian creed (Ashgate, 2014), pp. 145–192. 50 See, for instance, the attempt to develop themes with an ethnological character in the volume The Ostrogoths from the migration period to the sixth century: an ethnographic perspective. Studies in historical archaeoethnology, Barnish, S. J. B. – Marazzi, F. (Eds.), (Woodbridge, 2007). 51 Gruzinski S., La colonisation de l’imaginaire: Sociétés indigènes et occidentalisation dans le Mexique espagnol (XVIᵉ–XVIIIᵉ siècle), (Paris, 1988); ID., La pensée métisse (Engl.trad. The Mestizo mind: The intellectual Dynamics of Colonization and Globalization (London, 2002).

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arranging the letters on the sheet, writing them both from left to right and from top to bottom depending on context, pairing them with unusual figurative elements such as the two “columns,” topped by diminutive figures and crowned by an “E,” which in the papyrus follow the subscription (Figure 15). Moreover, besides these two little figures, concurrently added after the signature as a sort of special, very personal signum recognitionis, the papyrus features many other drawings by the same individual, displaying analogous letters inside themselves or further shortenings, all of them going back to the same name. Nevertheless, they were added later, sometime after the signature, using a much paler ink than the one used for it or with different techniques, implying a slower work, longer than the short moment required when adding a signature. Among these images one can single out the portrait of Julian, whom Eusebius depicts in a drawing right next to Argentarius’ signature. Julian’s figure is accompanied by two shortenings of his name, functioning as a caption of sorts: “YAON” = YO(uli)AN(us); “IS AGES” = I(oulianu)S A(r)GE(ntariu)S. The shortenings of the name are worked out in a way which recalls Julian’s monogram in one of the capitals in the upper gallery of the apse in the Basilica of San Vitale, which is reproduced several times52 (Figure 16). The portrait, on the right of the signature in the document, is accompanied by two shortenings of his name (“YAON” = YO[uli]AN[us]; “IS AGES” = I[oulianus] A[r]GE[ntariu]S). As a point of comparison, Julian’s monogram has been included in one of the capitals in the upper gallery of the apse in the Basilica of San Vitale: there are clear similarities with the first of the two shortenings in Eusebius’ drawing. Other drawings clearly resemble the drôleries in the Medieval manuscripts and testify to the long endurance of some fantastic images. The subjects they represent, very diverse and clearly inspired by Classical Roman and Late-Antique art, largely belong to the iconography of grotesque figures53 which will be revived in the “grylloi” from the Romanic and Gothic ages.54 These are the beings crowding the margins of the papyrus: greedy birds, elephants, mice, snakes ready to strike with their bite, human heads. The swirling in this frenetic ballet of shapeless forms is enhanced by a game of concurrent optical illusions: sometimes, indeed, a monster encloses another monster, which makes its appearance immediately after the first one. In other moments, we can almost glimpse one single, creepy shadow, but all you need to 52 Deichmann, F.W., Giuliano Argentario. 53 Iozzia, D., Aesthetic themes in pagan and Christian Neoplatonism: from Plotinus to Gregory of Nyssa (London-New York, 2015); Sheppard, A., The poetics of phantasia: imagination in ancient aesthetics (London, 2014). See also, on these topics, Baltrusˇaitis, G., Réveils et prodiges, 227–275; Gombrich, E., Sense of order, 401–449. 54 Randall, L.M.C., Images in the margins of Gothic manuscripts.

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do is to keep your eyes open and – lo! – here is a cluster of figures, emerging from the first one. Both fantastic and lifelike depictions crowd the blank space at the end of the papyrus, almost highlighting that there is a break, aiding the reader in sorting out the writing space and telling it apart from the lower part, an almost sacred area where nobody would dare to write

Touch of evil Eusebius, we have seen, worked for a long time as a copyist in the workshop of the renowned Viliaric. He worked also in other workshops: we find his name in manuscripts of the 6th Century or in faithful carolingian copies of ancient archetypes, some certainly made under Viliaric’s supervisions and some made indipendently, such as the famous codex arcerianus of the Agrimensores (Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelff. 36. 23, Augusteus 2), in which we find several signatures by Eusebius in different ways (plate 3)55. It was not unusual for a vir venerabilis to work in such capacity; during the Middle Ages, there are examples of men who held clerical rank – not always clearly defined, perhaps, but nevertheless associated with a church – and worked as paid copyists and readily moved between places in order to increase their modest incomes: Letgaudus, custos of a church in Orléans, copying codices for Adalgaud of Fleury; the Albinus clericus who performed the same task for Lupus of Ferrières; or the Lotharius custos of the church of the abbey of Saint Amand, who was responsible for the liturgical books and was praised by Alcuin for his work as a copyist.56 We shall see that, in Viliaric’s statio, Eusebius’ colleagues included characters like the Goth Minnulus, who had a role as a “reader” in the church of Saint Euphemia and who had no issues with also working as a copyist and illuminator.57 These links with the Church did not prevent these men from working in other capacities, for theirs were not full-time tasks: men such as Minnulus, Leutgaldus, and Eusebius himself had limited roles within the ecclesiastical structures of which they were part; roles which, moreover, had to do with how books useful for the religious community were used and preserved, which automatically involved the need to transcribe them again and again, partially or in full, whenever they had been damaged by use or by some accident. These men, in short, were skilled in everything related to the manuscripts used in the environment in which they 55 Troncarelli, F., “Un altro codice annotato e decorato da Eusebio di San Pietro Armentario” (in press). 56 Troncarelli, F., “Fecit Adalgaudus Leutaldo. Il lungo viaggio di due codici di Orléans (Vat. lat. 3363 e Ott. lat. 35)”, Miscellanea Bibliothecae Vaticanae, XXV (2019), 469–524. 57 Cosentino, S., Prosopografia, 396–397.

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worked, and were able to reproduce the codices and, if necessary, to illuminate, index, and decorate them. The step towards replicating manuscripts and adorning them with elegant initials on behalf of others is not rare. After all, such an activity was all too natural for Eusebius, since he had already developed his skills as a painter before becoming a librarian. His relationship with Viliaric certainly precedes his affiliation with Saint Peter in Armentario and dates back to at least AD 525, as already mentioned: we can go back to this date through an attestation of his name within a “traced” initial in the Early Medieval copy of an archetype from Viliaric’s workshop. As we know from some fortuitously preserved annotations, the codex had been commissioned by Symmachus, the father-in-law of Boethius, who died ca. AD 52558. The two other Late-Antique codices attributed to Viliaric, Laur. Plut. 65, I and Paris BNF, lat. 2335, both featuring Eusebius’ name, were produced shortly thereafter59. This chronology is hardly surprising. The task of copying the manuscripts was normally entrusted to young men, and it is therefore plausible that Eusebius, too, started working with Viliaric in his youth, years of apprenticeship in a work demanding control and skills. It proved to be a fruitful initiation: it is not an exaggeration to say that Eusebius learned his trade extremely well, to the point that the initials he handwrote and signed in the Laurentian Orosius are stylistically indistinguishable from the ones produced and signed by Viliaric and his collaborators. It would appear that the workshop was ruled with an iron discipline and that its members were required to attain extremely high standards in a uniform, homogeneous manner, as can be deduced also from luxury manuscripts originating in other scriptoria:60; it would also appear that Eusebius would be unable to forsake such a regime even when he eventually worked on his own. But discipline was not the only thing bonding an inventive character such as Eusebius and a skilled antiquarius such as Viliaric: on the margins of both of the surviving codices from his workshop, we can find the same fantastic creatures,

58 Troncarelli F., L’antica fiamma, 153–183. 59 “The Laurentian codex is the work of a single hand in an uncial ‘new style’… which I believe can be dated back to the early decades of the 6th century, rather than the middle ones”: Cavallo, G., “La cultura scritta a Ravenna”, 84. 60 An emblematic case is that of the codices in semi-uncial made within the castrum lucullanum which, according to Bischoff, are the product of “a calligraphic discipline of the highest level, which can only be acquired through strenuous practice and an absolute submission, on behalf of the individual, to the style of the scriptorium.”: Bischoff, B., “Scriptoria e manoscritti mediatori di civiltà dal sesto secolo alla riforma di Carlo Magno”, Centri e vie di irradiazione della civiltà dell’Alto Medioevo (Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 11), (Spoleto, 1953), 479–504, republished in Mittelalterliche Studien, II (Stuttgart, 1967), 312–327.

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signed by both the head of the atelier and by Eusebius, proving that they shared the same passion for this genre of figures. Hence it does not seem strange that Eusebius, after distancing himself from his master and working as a chartularius in Saint Peter in Armentario, went back to his old trade in Ravenna, for a special occasion requiring a special commitment on behalf of a team of close-knit co-workers sharing the same stylistic ideals. Viliaric’s workshop not only produced and decorated manuscripts but was also active in designing – and, perhaps, the actual making – of the mosaics in Ravenna, as testified by the many monograms and abbreviations of the antiquarius’ name, alternating with Eusebius’ and other illuminators from his atelier, scattered within the wall decorations in the basilica of San Vitale, clearly showing his participation, together with other mosaic artists and other workshops, to the realization of the Ravenna mosaics61 (Figure 18). It is commonly held that mosaics such as the ones in the Basilica of San Vitale, so close to the Constantinopolitan work and so different from the style of 5thcentury Ravenna, were the product of artists and craftsmen who came from Justinian’s capital. More than one scholar, however, has stressed that, in the lack of more precise sources, it would be more reasonable to assume that stylistic traits from Byzantium had been assimilated by the local workforce. And that such an apprenticeship fully fits within a more general trend: the formation of a “complex and charming cultural koiné characterizing Justinian’s golden age”, in which “different centres of parietal mosaic production emerge, sharing common ideas but also displaying considerable differences.”62 Since, to this date, such an activity has never been recognised or documented, it is understandable that the more conservative scholars may have doubts about all this, especially since many mosaics have been repeatedly restored and partially 61 The bibliography about this subject is immense: here it will suffice to mention a few authoritative titles about San Vitale and Sant’Apollinare in Classe, with an exhaustive bibliography: Deichmann, F. W., Ravenna: Geschichte und Monumente (Wiesbaden 1969); Angiolini Martinelli, P. (Ed.), La basilica di San Vitale a Ravenna (Modena, 1997); Muscolino, C. – Carbonara, E. – Agostinello, R., Il leone di Bisanzio a S. Apollinare in Classe (Ravenna, 2008); Novara, P., L’edilizia di culto ravennate dei secoli VI–XI: fonti e ricerche (Ravenna, 2008). See also, on more specific topics: Farioli Campanati, R., Pavimenti musivi di Ravenna paleocristiana (Ravenna, 1975); Andreescu Treagold, I. – Treagold, W., “Procopius and the Imperial Panels of S. Vitale”, The Art Bulletin 79 (1997) pp. 708–723; Cosentino, S. (2016), “Il patrizio Germano e la famiglia imperiale nel VI secolo”, in Creazzo, T. – Crimi, C. – Gentile, R. – Strano, G. (Eds.), Studi Bizantini in onore di Maria Dora Spadaro (Acireale-Rome, 2016), 115–131. 62 Rizzardi, C., “I mosaici parietali di Ravenna di età giustinianea e la coeva pittura occidentale e orientale”, in Spadoni, C. – Kniffitz, L. (Eds.), San Michele Africisco e l’età giustinianea di Ravenna, Proceedings of the Conference “La diaspora dell’arcangelo, San Michele in Africisco e l’età giustinianea”, Giornate di Studio in Memoria di Giuseppe Bovini, Ravenna, Sala dei Mosaici, 21–22 April 2005 (Ravenna, 2007), 93.

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modified, with the result that, sometimes, reading every single detail becomes difficult.63 Being fully aware of this possibility, I have been particularly careful in the choice of the example I am going to analyse, leaving out the ones which may have been altered by later handling and reworking. It is well known that an extremely accurate “mapping” of the restorations in San Vitale is provided by the “Plates” developed by Corrado Ricci and his assistants during the 1930s on the bases of extensive and reiterated in-situ exams during the restoration works and of an extremely rich archive of reports, letters and drawings documenting with extremely high accuracy the interventions of restorers in the past. After a careful analysis of this fundamental publication, it can be said with confidence that the portions of the mosaics featuring the monograms and the hidden figures discussed here have never been “remade” or interpolated (Figures 19–21). Nevertheless, such a preliminary evaluation does not prevent us from conducting further checks: Ricci’s plates sometimes show little errors, and this, both because they are drawings rather than photographs and because certain details may have escaped the skilled illustrators and the very skilled Ricci himself. Therefore, I have carefully looked for further confirmation in the most updated and authoritative sources, largely the product of contemporary restorers who have egregiously worked in Ravenna during the last thirty years, with whom I have been in contact for any possible clarification. To such control I have added a comparison, for all the details, with all the photographs I have been able to trace in some specialised archives and in several publications; pictures taken by different photographers in different years and different situations, which may confirm that some figures have remained unaltered throughout the years even if they have been cleaned and reinforced with various techniques during later restoration efforts. It is unquestionably true that from a theoretical standpoint caution is due when discussing such topics. When, however, it comes to hard reality, as long as our analysis is built upon certain elements and we are confident that neither ancient restorations nor, what matters the most here, the modern ones, which are more scientifically grounded, have altered or compromised the parts we are 63 Iannucci, A. M. – Fiori C. – Muscolino, C. (Eds.), Mosaici a S. Vitale e altri restauri: il restauro in situ di mosaici parietali, Proceedings of the National Conference on the in-situ restoration of parietal mosaics, Ravenna, October 1–3 1990 (Ravenna, 1992); Muscolino, C. (1997), “Restauri ai mosaici parietali nel Presbiterio di S. Vitale”, Quaderni di soprintendenza 2, pp. 16–21; Alberti, L. – Muscolino, C. (2000), “Il catino absidale di S. Vitale a Ravenna: uno sguardo sulla tecnica di esecuzione. I materiali utilizzati ed una ipotesi sulle maestranze”, in Guidobaldi, F. – Paribeni, A. (Eds.), Atti del VI Colloquio dell’Associazione Italiana per lo Studio e la Conservazione del Mosaico, Venezia, Italy, 20–23 January 1999 (Ravenna, 2000), 595–600; Ranaldi, A. – Novara, P. (Eds.), Restauri dei monumenti paleocristiani e Bizantini di Ravenna patrimonio dell’Umanità (Ravenna, 2013).

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directly interested in, we cannot be skeptical. In some instances, in regard to which there is no room left for doubt, there is evidence we cannot afford to ignore: on the one hand, fantastic images which have never been manipulated by anybody (for instance, the ones hidden within the hair of the people depicted); on the other, explicit attestations of the names of Viliaric, Eusebius and some other individual belonging to the statio of the Gothic bokareis, sometimes within the preceding images, sometimes in other figures. Most of these attestations can be found in the mosaics in San Vitale; but it is significant that they appear also in the preparatory drawings found in the 1970s, beneath the current layer of the apsidal mosaic in the basilica of Sant’Apollinare in Classe,64 sketches which nobody ever had a chance to restore or manipulate since they were covered by the later mosaic. If this is true, it is possible to question what has been said so far only by running headlong against the truth. Let us start with the preparatory drawings. During the recent restoration works aimed at reinforcing the apsidal dome of Sant’Apollinare in Classe, large fragments of some preparatory drawings for the mosaic have been found, made directly into the brickwork, which were later left aside in favour of a different type of decoration. These preparatory drawings, carefully removed from the walls, are now stored in the National Museum in Ravenna and feature several monograms and abbreviations of the names of Viliaric and Eusebius, together with images resembling those created by Viliaric and Eusebius himself in other mosaics and on the margins of Late Antique manuscripts (Figures 22–24). Bearing this material in mind, it becomes possible to understand how similar images were made in the mosaics discussed here. In the mosaics, what we can see in the preparatory drawings from Sant’Apollinare in Classe comes to full fruition. At the outset, a preparatory drawing is made. In it, we can already see the daemonic figure drawn with the same tool and with the same colour of the others. Afterwards, when the picture was covered by the craftsman tasked with placing the tiles on the wall, it was skilfully hidden within a golden background, or of a different colour, highlighting its profile by means of peculiar tiles, such as a rounded one representing the eye of some animal or a triangular one representing its ear. Following the outline of the chosen tiles, it becomes possible to recognise the hidden figure, which can occasionally be even further enhanced by means of rows of tiles with different colours, forming double lines for the same silhouette. If one looks closely at the details of the mosaics, as reproduced in suitable photographs and carefully chosen among those clearly unaffected by the 64 Mazzotti, M., “Sinopie classensi I”, Studi Romagnoli XIX, (1968), 309–319; Id., “Sinopie classensi II”, Felix Ravenna 103–104 (1972), 212–222; Bovini, G., “Qualche nota sulle sinopie recentemente rinvenute sotto il mosaico absidale di S. Apollinare in Classe di Ravenna”, Atti dell’Accademia delle scienze dell’Istituto di Bologna, Classe di Scienze Morali, 62, 2 (1974), 95– 107.

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restorations and reworking,65the profiles of the images hidden on the background become recognisable.

The demons To outline the presence of demons around the Byzantine monarchs bestows a specific religious and cultural significance, one enriched by a further political undertone, an actual challenge to the established power, albeit a carefully hidden one. As is well known, the triumphalism of Justinian and Theodora came with a counter-melody, faint and yet persistent, as reflected by the Secret History of Procopius of Caesarea, who gathered critical comments on the emperor and the empress which had been secretly published in the East and the West alike. The main theme in this bitter and outraged libel is the belief that “the government was an actual tyranny”66 and that Justinian and Theodora were monsters resembling ferocious beasts and demons in human form (Figure 25). In this perspective, it is not a coincidence that Procopius compares Justinian to a “lazy donkey”67 and Theodora to a “scorpion”,68 as he did with Belisarius’ wife Antonina.69And it is not a coincidence that Eusebius and Viliaric do the same thing, carefully hiding the images of the donkey (Plates 2b; 7a-b) and the scorpion next to the official images of the two monarchs and the woman in Theodora’s procession, who might be Antonina, as many have suggested, or Theodora’s sister (Plate 5 a-b; 6a). Eusebius hints that Justinian, Theodora, and those gravitating around them are demons in human form, hostile to God and therefore to the human beings whom they attack with a resolution worthy of Lucifer’s followers. From this point of view, the “caption” hidden within the hair of the character standing on Justinian’s right in the San Vitale mosaic, which nobody has read until now, is emblematic. The man is called “Asmodeus” (Plate 4 a-b), like the demon who tormented Sara, preventing her from marrying before being defeated by Tobias 65 Iannucci, A.M., “Problemi di restauro e conservazione dei mosaici parietali di Ravenna”, in Farioli Campanati, R. (Ed.), Atti del primo colloquio dell’Associazione per lo Studio e la Conservazione del Mosaico, Ravenna 29th April – 3 May 1993 (Ravenna, 1994), 175–187. See also Cetty Muscolino’s brilliant and authoritative contributions on the subject such as: Muscolino, C., “Restauri ai mosaici parietali”, 16–21; Alberti, L. – Muscolino, C., “Il catino absidale”, 595–600. See also Iannucci, A. M. – Fiori C. – Muscolino, C. (Eds.), Mosaici a S. Vitale e altri restauri; Ranaldi, A. – Novara, P. (Eds.), Restauri dei monumenti paleocristiani. 66 Procopius Caesarensis, Historia quae dicitur “arcana”, in Opera Omnia, ed. J. Haury, III (Leipzig, 1906) [addenda et corrigenda adiecit G. Wirth, Lipsiae, 1964]. 67 Ibid., VIII, 91. 68 Ibid., IX, 101. 69 Ibid., I, 48.

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with the aid of the Archangel Raphael. This assessment is fully consistent with the most recent proposal about the identity of the character, advanced by Salvatore Cosentino,70, who in these traits sees a portrait of Germanus, the cousin of the emperor. Indeed Germanus, like Asmodeus, prevented the marriage of Mataswintha, the daughter of Theodoric kept under surveillance in Constantinople, by marrying her himself on the urging of Justinian. The marriage was purely political, aimed at a union between the Byzantine imperial dynasty and the royal lineage of the vanquished Goths, forcing peoples previous enemies into obedience and loyalty. Eusebius saw this diabolical deal as a plot concocted by Asmodeus, a religious judgement about a political event, which can be compared to the one made by Cassiodorus in the De anima, according to which Theodoric was possessed by a devil who forced him towards his destruction.71 The assessment is reinforced by a further detail: on the sleeve of the same character the tissue folds in a shape resembling a huge fish. A comparison between this hidden form and traditional representation in Ancient and Late Antique art reveals that we are dealing with a whale. (Figure 26).The presence of a whale highlights the diabolical nature of this character, both on account of the whale being regularly associated with the devil in medieval bestiaries, and because in this precise context the whale reminded contemporary observers of the dreadful whale nicknamed “Porphyrion,” a true scourge for the inhabitants of the Bosporus and for those of Byzantium in particular (Procop., De bell. III, 39). Scholars have pondered in vain the actual meaning of its monster: in my personal opinion, the monster was named after the most merciless among the giants fighting against Zeus, remembered in many ancient reliefs, called Porphyrion. By associating the “new Asmodeus” to Porphyrion, his cruelty towards the woman was reasserted and the “violence” of his union with Mataswintha was stressed. Marcellinus and Iordanes wrote, as a tribute to Justinian’s policy, that Vitiges had married Mataswintha “plus vi quam amore”: but the truth, Eusebius suggests, is that the new husband of the unfortunate offspring of the “new Asmodeus” Theodoric is in fact the one who resorted to force rather than love, as is typical of those who emulate the fierce giants. The majority of those who participated in Justinian and Theodora’s procession are marked by similar references and associated with demons suggestive of their actions, as we know from Procopius: the empress is escorted by the shadows of bears and geese, allusions to her father’s disgraceful trade and her own obscene shows (Anekd., 9, 2–7); the woman identified as Antonina stands in the shadow of a horse, which may recall the humble origins of her father, a charioteer in the hippodrome (Anekd. I, 1). Or, if we are dealing with a different person, the horse 70 Cosentino, S., “Il Patrizio Germano”. 71 Troncarelli, F., L’antica fiamma.

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might be a reminder of her violent, belligerent personality; other characters are accompanied by wolves, snakes, harpies, as would befit the members of an army of darkness. In the right sleeve there is the hidden figure of a whale, similar to those commonly found in Roman art (like the one in the Triton mosaic in the Baths of Banasa, El Gherb, Morocco, reproduced here). It contains beings with a double nature: there is a man with a Phrygian hat, a symbol of freedom and of the individual genius which features constantly in ancient apotropaic amulets and symbolises Mithras, the god of rebirth. Inside the latter, however, there is a little devil with a pointed nose. The small dragon in Germanus’ beard is the typical dragon that accompanies Medea, common in Greek art (Cleveland Museum: 1991. 1, n. 102 D) and often reused in medieval Latin codices of the Apocalypse (Trier, Stadtbibliothek, ms. 31, f. 38r). A detailed analysis of all the fantastic beings hidden in the folds of the clothes and within the hair of the characters depicted would require more space than is permitted here. The subject deserves to be treated separately. However, it is worth stressing the meaning of some details which come to our aid in the identification of the depicted characters. On the lobe of the ear of the character depicted next to Germanus-Asmodeus it is possible to spot a small “A”, which confirms the hypothesis of those scholars who have suggested an identification with Anastasius, Theodora’s grandson (Figure 27). Within the hair of the character on Justinian’s left one can read “Ius”, which may be a shortening by truncation from “Iustinus”, thus confirming the identification suggested by Salvatore Cosentino (Figure 28). On the face of the deacon on the right of Maximianus it is possible to read the letters “ES”, which may correspond to “SE”, a shortening by truncation of “Senator”, thus confirming the identification of this character with Cassiodorus the Senator, as I have suggested elsewhere72 (Figure 29). Within the hair of the first character on Theodora’s right one can spot the letter “E” (maybe “EG”): it is therefore possible that the man depicted is the Eugenius in Antonina’s service whom Procopius describes as extremely corrupt and murderous (Anekd. I, 48). The evil nature of this character is highlighted by the image of a wolf depicted behind his shoulders, keeping company with other daemonic beings such as the lion and the snake (Figure 30). The character who moves the curtain in order to let Theodora pass is accompanied by monsters hidden within his hair, in the middle of which a “C” and an “L” around the ear can be spotted (Figure 31). The letter may hint at the name 72 Troncarelli, F., “Corpus intellegi sine loco non potest. La biblioteca della memoria di Cassiodoro e la basilica di San Vitale a Ravenna”, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, 3rd series, 75 (2020), 188–189.

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of Callinicus, a particularly vicious eunuch who acted as a procurer for Theodora (Procop., Anekd. 3, 58; 5, LXXVII). Within the hair of the woman many scholars have identified as Antonina there is a scorpion of a special kind described by Isidore of Seville (Etym. 11, 30), with the shape of a legless worm. It is disguised in the shape of a “hairpin”. Beside the woman the shadow takes the form of a horse (Plate 6 a). Attached to the ear of the character identified as Antonina there is an “N”-shaped earring. The ear is rendered with an unnatural shape in order to represent an “A”. The two letters “AN” are the first ones in Antonina’s name and their presence would confirm the identification proposed by scholars. It should be remembered, however, that even if the woman is Theodora’s sister Anastasia rather than Antonina, as proposed by Cosentino, her name would still begin with “AN”. (Figure 32). The second woman on Theodora’s right deserves to be discussed separately; many different theories have been proposed regarding her identity. If we trust the letters hidden within her face, she is Mathasunta, Vitiges’ widow who ended up marrying Germanus. We can indeed read “AL”, an abbreviation of “A(ma)l(a),” and “MASUN”, an abbreviation of “Ma(ta)sun(ta)”, beside the ever-present “E” standing for “E(usebius)”. (Figure 33). Around her head there are several hidden images which recall the iconography of the Queen of Sheba, an allegory of wisdom73. (Plate 10 a), and which contain the name of Amalasuintha (Figure 34), whom Cassiodorus himself (Variae, X, 6) compares to the Queen of Sheba. The daughter of the queen who visited Salomon74 had no chance to live up to her mother and fell pray to Germanus-Asmodeus, as indicated by the image hidden on the right of the face (Figure 35), depicting a monster swallowing a diminutive being with a Phrygian hat, which in gems, amulets and Eusebius’ drawings is an allegory for the creative genius of the individual.

The secret garden We cannot discuss in detail all the implications of Eusebius and Viliaric’s role in the creation of the mosaics of San Vitale, nor can we assess the paradox of the defeated Goths’ contribution to a masterwork celebrating their conqueror, but they pair this depiction with images of demons representing the shadow of their conquerers; I will deal with this problem in an upcoming volume, with exhaustive photographic documentation. For the time being, until I can go back to the 73 Battiato, F., Hartman, D. – Stabile, G., La regina di Saba: un mito fra oriente e occidente. Acts of the seminar supervised by Riccardo Contini, Napoli, “L’Orientale” University 19th November 2009–14th January 2010 (Naples, 2016). 74 Morris, J. – Jones, A.H. – Martindale, J.R., The prosopography of the later Roman Empire, III (Cambridge, 1992), 851–852; Cosentino, S., Prosopografia, 351.

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subject and explore it more extensively, it will suffice to say that Eusebius’ transfer to Vivarium, leaving aside his previous life, does not seem a random choice. On the contrary, it looks like a direct consequence of the embryonic attempt at a “cultural hybridisation” already mentioned here. Indeed, everything changed after AD 560. In the Ravenna of the imperial restoration, the city where the Bishop Agnellus requisitioned all the possessions of the Goths and censored the Theodorician mosaics in the basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo, there was no place for men like Eusebius or those who worked with him in Viliaric’s workshop; moreover, it seems likely that by then Viliaric, who was older than his copyists, had already been dead for some time. After he and many of his former co-workers arrived in Squillace, which Cassiodorus likens to the mythical insulae fortunatae (Islands of the Blessed), Eusebius lived a second life, creating miniatures for the codices of Vivarium and filling their margins with drawings (Plates 12a-b), among which the portraits of Cassiodorus and Theodoric stand out (Plate 13 b). The same manuscripts are covered with corrections by the pictor, who apparently also acted as a proofreader. In his many marginal interventions the vir venerabilis often states that he corrected the work, page by page, starting from a trustworthy archetype, using formulas like “legi archetypum meum” (Figure 36).

Ancient variants and ancient editions Eusebius did not limit himself to revising religious books, he also corrected meticulously secular texts, an activity which could only be pursued in a rich, diverse library such as the one at Vivarium: his hand can be spotted on the margins of almost every page of Marcellinus’ Chronicon in the Bodleian Library (Auct. T. II 26, 6th century),75 but also in medieval copies of archetypes from Vivarium, extremely faithful to the originals, e. g., the Orléans, Méd., 267+Paris BNF, Nouv. Acq. Lat. 1511, with the corpus of Boethius’ works on logic collected by Martius Novatus Renatus (Figure 37). The presence of Eusebius’ monograms and notes confirms what John Magee has suggested, raising some valid points, about the archetype for this codex, attributed to Vivarium for both historical and philological reasons.76. Moreover, 75 For the attribution of these codices to Vivarium, see Troncarelli, F. (1999), Vivarium. I libri il destino (Instrumenta patristica, XXXIII), (Turnhout, 1999); Id., “Posui vos ut eatis. Uomini e libri dal Laterano a San Pietroburgo”, Miscellanea Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae, XXXVI (2020), 407–443. 76 Magee, J., “The Text of Boethius’ De Divisione”, Vivarium 32 (1994), 1–50; (1998), “Introduction”, in Boethius, De Divisione, ed. J. Magee, (Philosophia Antiqua, 8), (LeidenBoston-Köln, 1998).

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it confirms what I have written elsewhere about the diffusion of Boethius’ works on logic in the Byzantine context.77 Renatus’ initiative in having Boethius’ corpus transcribed in Constantinople by Theodorus, a pupil of Priscianus, arose from the need to divulge in the East the works of an author who in the West was destined to oblivion; this fact rules out eo ipso the possibility that Renatus brought to Ravenna the archetype of the codex transcribed in Constantinople, possibly from an autograph original and circulated it, as though nothing had happened, in an environment as hostile to Boethius as Gothic Italy was. It is not by coincidence that Renatus had his codex transcribed in Constantinople by an individual linked with the Anicii and Symmachus, condemned in the West like his son-in-law Boethius. This operation was carried out on account of the implicit albeit relentless damnatio memoriae in Italy against Boethius and Symmachus, which was overruled only after the defeat of the Goths after having prevented the circulation of the works of the Roman philosopher. The presence of this codex in Vivarium and the fact that Eusebius corrected it prove that Theodore’s codex came back to the West thanks to Cassiodorus, who brought it to Italy after 554 and guarded it jealously, something which would have been difficult before the end of the Gothic war, when Boethius’ enemies and people hostile to the Anicii were still active. Nor is it by coincidence that in Ravenna during the first half of the 6th century Boethius’ translation of Euclid’s Geometry circulated anonymously, since to name its author would have been problematical:78; finally, neither is it by coincidence that Boethius’ tomb in the vicinity of Pavia, a city which remained in Gothic control until the end of the war, was inaccessible to his heirs to the point that it was impossible to transfer his remains to Rome: instead, a cenotaph celebrating both the philosopher and Symmachus was erected in Ravenna and was still visible in the days of bishop Agnellus (Lib. Pont., c. 39). The point above all is that for the anti-Byzantine party in Gothic Italy the names of Symmachus and Boethius remained a source of embarrassment, as proven by the episode of the destruction of the statues of Theodoric in Rome, during the Gothic War, for which the Goths blamed Boethius’ widow Rusticiana (Proc., De bell. Goth., III, 20). The real problem was, indeed, the memory of Theodoric, which meant the memory of his good government and the right to occupy Italy on behalf of the Goths, a recurrent theme in Procopius’ De bello Gothico, which records dozens of public speeches by commanders such as Totila, who emphasized the legitimacy of Theodoric’s rights over Italy. Only if the Goths could be physically eradicated from Italy would it be possible to move Boethius’ remains and to rehabilitate his public figure. But 77 Troncarelli, F., L’ombra di Boezio. Memoria e destino di un filosofo senza dogmi (Naples, 2013), 93–126. 78 Troncarelli F., L’antica fiamma.

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when that finally happened, after Narsete’s victory, Rusticiana was very old and very far from Italy, and she could not undertake the costly and demanding endeavour of translating her husband’s remains, not even if she wanted to. Boethius’ name did not fade away among his relatives or supporters like Cassiodorus, but there was not much talking about him. It is not by chance that Pope Gregory, with diplomatic scepticism, blocked the initiative of a public celebration in Saint Peter aimed at celebrating the name of the Anicii and consecrating, in some measure, their reputation for holiness; instead, the Pope exhorted the granddaughter of the philosopher, who was also called Rusticiana, to settle for a private cult.79 Nor is it by chance that the Pope himself, when he wrote the Dialogues, in which Theodoric’s demise is painted in dark colours, stated (Dial. IV, 31–32) that his soul had been thrown inside the burning crater of the Etna by Symmachus and Pope John, without even mentioning Boethius, who was burdened by the tarnished reputation of a non-Christian philosopher.

The mark of Jonah Nevertheless, the memory of the injustice suffered by Symmachus and Boethius did not die out. And Eusebius can claim no small share in the preservation of their pious, lasting, noble memory. One example will suffice here. In the lower half of the right margin of the f. 49 r. of Vat. Lat. 5704 (Plate 9 a–b), Eusebius depicted Symmachus as Jonah emerging from the jaws of the gigantic fish who had swallowed him.80 The image, partially cancelled with ink, is still visible under ultra-violet rays and corresponds precisely with similar late-antique and medieval representations of Jonah and other depictions of Symmachus in ancient ivories, and in other manuscripts in which we can find other drawings by Eusebius. Indeed, f. 97v of Vat. Reg. Lat. 2077, full of drawings by the vir venerabilis, features a profile of Symmachus with a close correspondence to the one in Vat. Lat. 5704, adjacent to a passage about his consulship (Figures 39–40). Similarly, 79 Troncarelli F., “L’epitafio di Helpis”, in Carbonetti, C. – Lucá, S. – Signorini, M. (Eds.), Roma e il suo territorio nel Medioevo. Le fonti scritte fra tradizione e innovazione, Proceedings of the International study congress of the Italian Society of Paleographers and Diplomaticists (Rome, 25–29 October 2012) (Spoleto, 2015), 541–552. 80 The “great fish” that swallows Jonah, according to the Hebrew text and Saint Jerome’s translation, has often been turned into a sort of sea dragon (the pistrix), or into a whale similar to a whale, and has been associated to the figure of the Leviathan. For a first approach to the subject: Riccioni, S., “Dal ketos al senmurv. Mutazioni simboliche del ketos dall’Antichità al Medioevo (secolo XIII)”, Hortus artium medievalium, 22 (2016), 130–144; Gurevitch, D., “Symbolism and fantasy of the Biblical Leviathan. From monster of the abyss to redeemer of the prophets”, Journal of interdisciplinary studies of Monotheistic Religions, 10 (2015), 58–68.

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the portraits of Boethius in the same codex, closely resemble the one in the Diptych of the Muse and the Poet81 (Figures 39–40). There is a further hint supporting the identification between Boethius’ fatherin-law and Jonah: the tail of the fish swallowing the prophet is an actual calligram, formed by some letters which can be rearranged as follows:

Their meaning is:

The marginal drawing we are looking at is a sort of “visual comment” on the Song of Songs. And it is not by chance, for the text to which it corresponds is a reflection on a passage (3, 7) interpreted as an allusion to the Patriarchs and Prophets of Israel, among which Jonah too is to be counted (Epiph., In cant., LXXXI). The assimilation of the celebrated Roman philosopher to the Biblical prophet finds a precise correspondence in an anecdote recorded by Procopius, whose source nobody has been able to trace so far. Recalling the demise of Theodoric, the Byzantine historian states that the king, shortly before death, upon seeing Symmachus’ head inside the head of a large fish which had been brought to his table and becoming overwhelmed by terror, publicly repented for his crime (Procopius, De bell. Goth., I, 1, 10). This optical illusion, in which the shadow of a figure appears within another figure, is a subject worthy of Eusebius’ drawings and inevitably brings back his depiction of Jonah’s head emerging from the jaws of the fish. If this is correct, then it is also true that Theodoric’s repentance on the threshold of death may recall the king of Nineveh tearing apart his own clothes at the sight of Jonah coming out of the fish (Jon. 3, 6).82 81 Troncarelli, F., “La consolazione del dolore: nuove ipotesi sul dittico del Poeta e della Musa”, Arte Medievale, 4th series, 1 (2010/11), 9–29. 82 Kiilerich, B., “Symmachus, Boethius and the Consecratio Ivory Diptych”, Antiquité Tardive, 20 (2012), 205–215 (with bibliography); Troncarelli F., “L’apoteosi di Boezio”, in, D’Agostino, M. – Pieralli, L. (Edds.), Φιλόδωρος εὐμενείας. Miscellanea in memoria di Paul Canart (Vatican City, 2021), 687–704.

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In this way, the reference to Jonah has a double meaning. On the one hand, to identify the Biblical prophet with Symmachus was tantamount to an indisputable condemnation of Theodoric’s actions; on the other hand, this harsh judgement was somehow mitigated by the possibility of “repentance” on the king’s part, as also in the case of the king of Nineveh.83 Such an invitation to repentance pointed forward to a hope for redemption, in accordance with the patristic exegesis which read Jonah’s episode in this light.84 It is not surprising then that, inside the belly of the great fish, surrounded by the heads of devils of all kinds, there are two hidden characters one would not expect to find in this place, identified by the abbreviation of their names: queen Amalasuintha, whom Cassiodorus compared to the queen of Sheba and the evangelists (Mt. 11, 42; Lc. 11, 31) mention alongside Jonah; and Vitiges, the last king of the Goths, who styled himself “Amalasuintha’s avenger”. The text inside the figure provocatively calls the monarch “Amalus”, a title he could only claim among the Goths on the basis of his marriage to Mataswintha, daughter of Amalasuintha (Plate 8 a-b). Pro-byzantine historians labelled this wedding as a form of violence, accomplished “plus vi quam amore” (Jordanes, Rom. 273; Add. Marcellini Com. ann. 536/37). But, to the eyes of men like Eusebius, this remained a legitimate means of perpetuating the dynasty of the Amals and preserving the right to royalty in Italy, which might yet emerge as Jonah did from the fish.85 After Vitiges’ ultimate defeat and the enforcement of Byzantine order in Italy, such hopes were doomed to fade away: but in truth it was a ghost destined to haunt the most undecided souls, as shown by the favour the Romans accorded to Germanus, Mataswintha’s new husband, unscrupulously called Amalian and Anician and worthy, on account of this doubtful kinship, to embody the prototype of the new Italian monarch. As we have seen, this position, doomed to a precocious failure, was utterly rejected by Eusebius: and yet it still testifies to the political survival of the myth of the Amals, albeit in a revisited and adjusted form. The same myth Eusebius still believed in, although with different motivations.

83 Gertoux, G., Jonah vs. King of Nineveh: chronological, historical and archaeological evidence, (Morrysville 2015). 84 Duval, Y.-M., Le livre de Jonas dans la literature chrétienne grecque et latine: sources et influence du Commentaire sur Jonas de saint Jérome, 2, (Paris 1973). 85 Momigliano, A, “Cassiodorus and the Italian Culture of his Time”, in ID., Secondo contributo alla storia degli studi classici e del mondo antico (Roma, 1964), 191–229; ID., Gli Anicii e la storiografia latina del VI sec. d.C., Ibid., 231–253; Troncarelli F., “Boezio a Costantinopoli”, 191–225; Cosentino, S., “Il patrizio Germano”, 115–131; Vitiello, M., Theodahad: a Platonic king at the collapse of Ostrogothic Italy (Toronto-Buffalo-London, 2014); ID., Amalasuintha. The trasformation of queenship in the post-Roman world (Philadelphia, 2017).

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In Eusebius we can find further evidence of this confused survival of a dubious reputation. It will suffice here to mention an extremely relevant example. In the margins of the Additamentum to Marcellinus’ Chronicle in Oxford, Bodleian Auct. T II 26, f. 163v the vir venerabilis commented on Theodoric’s arrival in Italy with a weird drawing. The image, composed in the form of an apotropaic gem, is shaped as a dolphin-like fish, surmounted by a long horse’s head in whose tail a second head can be spotted, that of a doe or a roe doe: this bizarre creature fights with a crocodile (Figure 41). Eusebius recalls the coming of Theodoric as a positive event, and the fight between the dolphin and the crocodile, recurrently standing also elsewhere for the fight between good and evil, represents the victory against the army of darkness opposing the Goths. But there is more to this. Those who are familiar with the complex and chaotic Saga of Theodoric, repeatedly re-elaborated by different authors throughout the Middle Ages, will recall that in some of its versions the figure of the king is presented in a way completely consistent with Eusebius’ image. Indeed, in the mythical cycles about him, Theodoric descends from a doe, a sort of totemic animal protecting his family line;86 on the other hand, according to the Chronicon imperatorum et pontificum Bavaricum (13th century), Theodoric is the son of a beast from the sea and, after descending to hell while still alive, he emerges from the sea to fight his enemy Witiges.87 In the Dresdener Heldenbuch (15th century) Theodoric is forced to fight against dragons until Judgement Day. This outcome, albeit representing a punishment, still leaves the door open for a possibility of redemption. Eusebius’ drawing hints at this aspect of Theodoric’s myth; an aspect which, many centuries later, will re-emerge within the jumble of legends which came to surround his image, counter-balancing the “black legend” of the Amal ruler developed in the Christian context.88 It seems clear that such legends were already active and were circulating, albeit in obscure ways, already by the time of the inglorious death of the king who had ruled over Italy, rivaling the greatness of the Roman emperors.

86 Zimmermann, H.J., Theodoric der Große – Dietrich von Bern: die geschichtlischen und sagenhaften Quellen des Mittelalters, Dissertation (Bonn, 1972); Haefs, H., Thidrekssage und Nibelungenlied. Vergleichende Studien. Forschungen zur Thirdrekssaga. Untersuchungen zur Völkerwanderungszeit im nördlichen Mitteleuropa (Bonn, 2004); Dalle Mule, A., La cavalcata infernale di Teodorico, Inaugural-Dissertation zur Erlangung des Doktorgrades der Philosophie an der Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität (München, 2016). 87 Chronicon imperatorum et pontificum Bavaricum, ed. G. Waitz, MGH, SS, 24 (Berlin, 1879), 220–225, esp. 222. 88 Heldenbuch: altdeutsche Heldenlieder aus dem Sagenkreise Dietrichs von Bern und der Nibelungen, ed. F. F. Von Der Hagen (Leipzig, 1854), 296–315.

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Vivarium and his fate In the early 550s Cassiodorus founded a monastery at his ancestral home and named it Vivarium after some fishponds which he had constructed nearby. His aim was to educate his monks in both sacred and classical pagan culture and to spread this knowledge to posterity. Cassiodorus and his monks transcribed biblical and classical manuscripts, edited and assembled a text of the complete Latin Bible, wrote commentaries and marginal notes for many books of the Bible, and translated works of the Greek theologians into Latin. Vivarium was a Christian school centred on a late antique library. It was a kind of Christian university, similar to the university that Cassiodorus had tried to create in Rome in 535–536. Cassiodorus created something unique at Vivarium: an old-fashioned library designed for very cultivated monks, intellectuals who were to be trained for the future according to standards of the past. Pope Gregory I and Isidorus of Seville, although betraying no apparent debt to Cassiodorus’ effort, nevertheless were his heirs. Vivarium was an important scriptorium. But what is meant by “scriptorium”? The Benedictines loved to copy manuscripts in large rooms, but the Cistercensians and the Carthusians preferred small cells. In the “officia Ecclesiastica” the “scriptorium” is described as a small, enclosed room. In abbeys such as Durham, the small “scriptoriolum” was separated from the big “scriptorium”. The manuscript of a “scriptorium” can be beautiful, written in a standard script, which all the scribes are able to write in the same way. In this case we speak of “a calligraphic school”. It is also possible that the manuscripts, carelessly written, do not show a calligraphic uniformity. In this case we speak of “a graphic atelier”. As regards Vivarium, we should speak of “a graphic atelier”, even though its scribes were occasionally able to produce beautifully decorated and historiated manuscripts. In general the scriptorum was intended to supply the monastic library as efficiently as possible with correct texts; only in some cases was the intense activity of copying and correcting manuscripts interrupted to produce slow and complicated masterpieces for some special reader. As regards Vivarian manuscripts we have today a different perspective based upon new discoveries. The discovery of the autograph of Cassiodorus is a turning point. His signature occurs in manuscripts already associated with Vivarium and becomes a strong criterion for the identification of works not previously associated with the Calabrian foundation. Cassiodorus’ signature is in shorthand, as one would expect from a busy man with a strong sense of time management. It testifies that Cassiodorus reviewed (Cassiodorus legi) or verified (perlegi Cassiodorus) a text. We have some notes and corrections written by Cassiodorus, the most important are in Bibl. Ap. Vat.

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Lat. 5704. In some manuscripts we can identify the hands of other scribes active at Vivarium. They were not simply copying orthodox texts but critically examining works written by controversial and even heterodox authors. The Vivarian manuscripts display different features. Several are text studies, written in a simple way, respecting Cassiodorus’ exhortations concerning the proper shape of the page and correctness of the text. No more. Only a few show beautiful illuminated initials and a more careful script: they were intended for special purposes, such as the archetype (lost) of the Institutiones, whose copy is faithfully preserved in Bamberg Patr. 61. At any rate the manuscripts were full of what Leonard Boyle called “Cassiodorian tricks”.89 We know that Cassiodorus was fond of botrionum formula notes representing grape clusters (Inst., 1. 3. 11) but he also cherished the imago of a vase or a glass. We find in several Cassiodorian manuscripts images of drinking glasses, vases, and cups, which had important words written inside and which are linked to the symbolism of the ancient “Cup of Wisdom” tradition as well as to Christian symbolism (cfr. Apuleius, Florida 20: sobriam uini ebrietatem; Augustinus, Conf. 5. 13, 23). Sometimes marginal notes were written inside cups, glasses or vases, as can we see in many manuscripts. Symbolic figures are present in the manuscripts written at Vivarium in the 6th century and also in copies made from archetypes once at Vivarium. Mnemonic illustrations constitute another feature to be investigated. We find allegorical illustrations of Christian origin and imagines agentes that possessed mnemonic value for medieval copies of the Institutiones90. Cassiodorus and his team of writers/translators were working assiduously on texts by Church Fathers and heretics, analysing them, taking from them what could be suitable, reading everything. In this sense, Vivarium was a militantly Chalcedonian monastery but also one in which the alternatives were duly studied and annotated. Who were the monks of Vivarium? We know nothing about them. The different hands who wrote in the margins of Vivarian manuscripts display a graphic and cultural education of high level. They use many technical abbreviations such 89 Boyle, L. E., “The ‘Basilicanus’ of Hilary Revisited,” in Condello, E. – De Gregorio, G. (Eds.), Scribi e colofoni: le sottoscrizioni di copisti dalle origini all’avvento (Spoleto: Centro italiano di studi sull’alto Medioevo, 1995), 93–108, esp. 98: “certainly many of the corrections and notes of the unial part of the manuscript show some of the exegetical tricks and techniques described by Cassiodorus in the Institutiones and which to be noted in one of the vary few manuscripts that are attributable in a way or another to Vivarium area: Leningrad Q v I 6– 10”. 90 Troncarelli, F., La lettera rubata. Segni speciali e immagini simboliche nei codici di Cassiodoro (Rome, 2020).

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as the “notae iuris” typical of legal manuscripts. They perhaps came from the legal world, as did ‘Mutianus dissertissimus’ who translated works for Cassiodorus. They also employ ‘notae tironianae’ and write the ancient cursive and some perhaps possessed notarial and possibly even chancery experience. Some of the monks at Vivarium may have had the same background, professional experience, and pattern of life as Cassiodorus himself 91.

Angelic tongues The same manuscripts from Vivarium whose margins the magister Eusebius filled with fantastic creatures or sublimely elegant initials also bear witness to the activity of his former workshop companions. Three names recur frequently: Bellator, Minnulus, and Martinus.92 In the Laurentian codex produced in Viliaric’s atelier (Plut. 65, 1) they are only mentioned by their shortened forms or by their initials, but it is possible to reconstruct them from other manuscripts, where they appear either in their full forms, or in shortened but unequivocal forms. In the Laurentianus there are several allusions to “Bellator” in abbreviated forms consisting of the letters “B, L, A, O” (for instance, f. 126v and 129r of the Laur. Plut. 65, 1 and in f. 4r of the Par. Lat. 2234). As for “Minnulus”, the abbreviations are variously formed with the letters “M, I, N, U, L, S” (sometimes, but not always, all present at the same time) and recur more than once (for instance, f. 3v, 178v of the Laur. Plut. 65, 1). Martinus’ name too features repeatedly in Laur. Plut. 65, 1 (e. g., on f. 95r). The names of several of the illuminators we have met so far appear also in the initials and the figures in the codices from Vivarium, both in the few surviving originals from the 6th century and in some authoritative Early Medieval copies, such as, Bamberg, Staadsbibliothek, Patr. 61, directly traced from the “codex archetypus” explicitly mentioned in a subscription. The name Bellator is attested through abbreviations featuring, in different combinations, the letters “B, E, L, L, A, T, O”. Even if the letters do not always appear all together, the name can still be obtained by adding up the different shortenings featuring common letters (Figure 42). The name “Bellato(r)” insistently recurs in initials from 6th century Vivarium, in several codices: Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare 39; Saint Petersburg, Rossiyskaya Natsional’naya Biblioteka, Q V I, 6–10; Paris BNF, Lat. 12190, f. 1r. And also

91 Troncarelli, F., Vivarium, i libri, il destino, 79–90. 92 Troncarelli, F., “Scripta latent”.

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in the initials found in faithful copies like London, British Library 2668, f. 22v; Bamberg, Staats. Bibl., Patr. 61, f. 27v; Paris BNF, Lat. 7530, f. 267 r. The same codices listed above feature both the shortening of the name “Minnulus” and, sometimes, the name in its full form (for instance Saint Petersburg, Q v I, 7, f. 1r: Bamberg 61, f. 39v). The name “Martinus” appears twice in its full form in London British Library, Harley 2688, f. 22v, and in its shortened forms through different combinations of the letters “M, T, I, U, S” (sometimes, not always, all present at the same time) in codices like the Bamberg, Patr. 61, in the copy of the renowned miniature in which (nomen omen) the church of San Martino in Vivarium is depicted (Bamberg Patr 61, f. 29r) and in the first miniatures of the Codex Amiatinus, f. 7r, 8r in its shortened form through the letters “M, T, I, U, S” (Figure 43). Unless I am mistaken, the names of the characters mentioned so far correspond to those of people known from other sources. Bellator is mentioned several times in the Institutiones (I, 1, 9; I, 5, 5; I, 6, 4), where he is described with the words “religiosissimus presbiterum”.93 He was a devout associate of Cassiodorus, well versed in Greek and likely highly educated, being able to write authoritative commentaries on the Bible. Not much remains of his activity in the field of theology: the Ambrosian Library in Milan preserves the Recensiones biblicae in Macchabeorum, attributed to him, but still unpublished, in the codex E 26 inf. If one considers his activity in Viliaric’s workshop it can be assumed that he hailed from Ravenna. A connection between a Catholic and a Gothic presbiter should is unsurprising: the manuscripts produced in Viliaric’s atelier imply a broad readership, unlikely restricted to Arian Goths. In any case, as already stated, the relationship between Goths and Latins in Ravenna after the conquest was not always one of contrast but occasionally involved a process of integration or amalgamation characterised by regular contacts and fruitful cooperation. This explains the presence in Vivarium of a Goth who acted even as a lector and a “copyist” in the Arian church of Sant’Eufemia. We here have in mind “Minnulus,” a moniker for “Willienant” as he is explicitly mentioned in Bamberg, Patr. 61, f. 39v. Someone bearing the same name and, remarkably, the same moniker is indeed mentioned in the renowned papyrus from Ravenna, now in Naples and dating to AD 551 (Ch.L.A. XX, 704), which features Viliaric as well.94

93 Cosentino, S., Prosopografia, I, 225. 94 Cosentino, S., Prosopografia, II, 396–397.

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Creators and customers Among the subscriptions of ancient and Medieval pieces of art it is not uncommon to find the name of the individual who commissioned and conceived the work, sometimes recorded separately from the name of the person who physically made it, sometimes along with it: this practice resembles the one of associating, within the same subscription, the name of the person who commissioned the work and the name of the artist. This is why it is also unsurprising to find, in the illustrations and the decorations of the codices we are dealing with here, the name of Cassiodorus, who somehow inspired and sponsored the images we see. We have several examples of the presence of his name in the initials and in the illustrations in the 6th century manuscripts from Vivarium, and in the High Medieval copies of other works from the same environment (for instance in Saint Petersburg, Q v I, 6, f. 1r; Bamberg Patr 61, f. 33v, 41v). In addition to Cassiodorus’ name, in certain images we find also the names of at least two more abbots from Vivarium, Gerontius and Felix. For reasons of space, I will limit myself to some comments on Gerontius. He was one of the two co-regent abbots from Vivarium mentioned in the Institutiones (Inst. I, 32, 1) and survived the founder of the abbey.95 His name (which can be reconstructed through initials or shortenings featuring different combinations of the letters “G, N, I, U, S”) appears in the miniature depicting the churches of Vivarium in Bamberg Patr. 61, f. 29v and in the renowned illustration, in the Temple of Jerusalem, reproduced in the Codex Amiatinus, f. 3r, suggesting that he might have had a role in the inclusion of additional images in the copies of works by Cassiodorus, like the well-known depiction of Vivarium, in which we find the sentence “G(erontius) dedit” Bamberg Par. 61, f. 29v; Florence, Laur. Amiatinus 1, f. 7r).

Gerontius abbas Gerontius’ name also recurs in other codices from Vivarium (figure 44), and it is linked to an authoritarian turn in the abbey of Vivarium, one that runs parallel with the authoritarian turn within the Latin church between the end of the 6th century and the first half of the 7th. There are, indeed, several elements indicating some form of censorship aimed at the works of Cassiodorus and even at the memory of the man himself after his death. I will limit myself to one case which can be dated with certainty. 95 Ibid., II, 60.

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I have already mentioned the fact that the Vat. Reg. Lat. 2077, copied in Vivarium,96 includes a very peculiar text, a chronicle in many ways like Cassiodorus’ own Chronicon. The anonymous, incomplete chronicle builds upon materials from Cassiodorus and reused formulas typical of him97, so that everything would suggest an incomplete work of his authorship. Nevertheless, in it we can find certain details which are incompatible with Cassiodorus’ thought and conform instead to the views of the papacy under Gregory the Great. The first suspicious element is in the accompanying Easter calculation. The Reginensis includes a ratio Paschae with the calculation procedure developed by Victorius of Aquitaine, contested by the ratio Paschae of Dionysius Exiguus included in the Phi version of the Institutiones. The two systems of calculation were incompatible with one another: the first one represented the traditional calculation of the “Latins”, whereas the second was the last example of the calculations of the “Greeks”. The return to Victorius’ calculation in Reg. lat. 2077, which was transcribed when Cassiodorus was no longer alive to object, is at odds with what Cassiodorus himself advocated while alive. The founder of Vivarium indirectly recommended using Dionysius’ method through the ratio paschae of the Phi edition of the Institutiones and, explicitly respecting the memory of Dionysius himself, in the Omega edition of the Institutiones, which was considered the final one. To undo the latter would be to deny what Cassiodorus advocated; here we may discern a hint of the conservatively confusion among the second generation of the monks at Vivarium.98 The calculation of the “Greeks” was regarded with suspicion at the end of the 6th century, the same suspicion Gregory the Great displayed towards everything linked to Greek culture. Even more unlikely for Cassiodorus is the sudden allusion to the Antichrist in the chronicle. Theodoric’s one-time secretary in the 96 Troncarelli, F., “Il consolato dell’Anticristo”, Studi Medievali, third series, XXX (1989), 567–592, esp. 569–580. 97 Ibid., 73–578. The text has been published by Caspari, C.P., Briefe, Abhandlungen und Predigten aus den zwei letzen Jahrhunderts des kirchlichen Altertums und dem Anfang des Mittelalters (Christiania, 1890), 208–220. A passage is especially worthy of attention: “Iam regnum Romanorum tollitur de medio et Christianorum imperium traditur Deo et Patri; et tunc venit consummatio, cum coeperit consummari Romanorum regnum” (213). The passage ought to be compared to what Cassiodorus says in the Complexiones: “Perversa tempora… tunc… revelanda, quando Romanum imperium quod nunc tenet, de medio fuerit, ordine veniente, summotum”: Cassiodori Senatoris Complexiones Epistularum et Actuum Apostolorum, P.L., 70, col. 1351. On these issues see Verhlest, D., “La préhistoire des conceptions d’Adson concernant l’Antichrist”, Recherches de Théologie Anciennes et Médievale 24 (1973), 52–103, and in particular, for the Dicta S. Efrem, 97–98. 98 Cuppo Csaki, L., “Contra voluntatem fundatorum: il monasterium vivariense di Cassiodoro dopo il 575”, Acta of the XIIIth International Congress for Cristian Archaelogy, 1997, II (Vatican City-Split, 1998), 551–586.

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Complexiones explicitly speaks out against the idea that the Antichrist had already come, accepting the thesis that he cannot show himself since the Roman Empire still stands.99 Cassiodorus, of course, is well acquainted with the most important millenarian treatises (whose reading he recommended to his monks), which display rather inconsistent positions in this regard. Nevertheless, the final judgement of the author stands firm and coincides with that of Augustine, according to whom one should not strive to calculate the year of the end of the world.100 The chronicle of the Reginensis, on the contrary, presents an attempt at this very calculation, albeit disguised as an invective against the delirantes who indulge on this sort of speculation: indeed, although the author of the chronicle does not literally elaborate on these opinions, his confused and bizarre reasoning subtly suggests that the Antichrist was born at the time of Theodoric’s descent into Italy. The chronicle twice reminds us that some have suggested that the Antichrist has already been born: according to a first group of people this happened in AD 493, the year of Theodoric’s arrival in Italy; according to others, it happened in AD 496, the year of his definitive victory. In both cases, since the Antichrist is expected to appear thirty years after his birth, mirroring the life of the Christ, the text suggests that both groups believed that the Antichrist would appear thirty years later, in two dates meaningful for the history of Italy: AD 523, the year of Boethius’ arrest and his alleged death according to an ancient tradition, assimilating Boethius and Symmachus to the figures of the “two witnesses” murdered by the Antichrist as described in the Apocalypse;101 or AD 526, the year of Theodoric’s death. Let us stop here for a moment: it is clear that the work rejects these calculations, discarding them as the opinion of delirantes. And yet, since said delirantes are unmentioned elsewhere, it is also clear that, for whoever authored the chronicle, their opinion was of some relevance. But why? All becomes evident by linking the chronicle to a small treatise included in the same codex, De duobus testibus.102 The text declares that the Antichrist had indeed arrived and that he had appeared at the beginning of the Gothic war, the year of Belisarius’ consulate, AD 537. This date is unquestionably different from the one advocated by the 99 Ibid., 590 n. 63. 100 Cassiodori Senatori Complexiones, P.L. 70, col. 1415: “Mille annis… per figuram synedoche a parte totum dicitur, quando eius finis omnimodis habetur incognitus.”. 101 Troncarelli, F., “Il consolato”, 587–588; McGinn, B., L’Anticristo (Milan, 1996), 148, note 27. 102 The text has been published by Mommsen, with some blunders which prevent us from fully understanding the sources which inspired the anonymous author: see Troncarelli F., “Il consolato”, 589–590.

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delirantes, but it is nevertheless a date for the coming of the Antichrist. Hence no matter what calculation is behind this date, we are not as far from the delirantes as the author would have us believe. The text elaborates a complex and contradictory theory, which might raise some suspicion on behalf of the reader; however, it is a theory which does not differ significantly from the opinions of Gregory the Great, which are themselves equally complex and contradictory. The inclusion of this short treatise in the manuscript is therefore due not to a random choice, and its distancing from the delirantes is not as sharp as one might be tempted to believe at first. All this is completely alien to Cassiodorus. Let me try to make this clearer. The short treatise De duobus testibus describes the killing of Enoch and Elias by the Antichrist, dating the beginnings of his activities during the consulship of Belisarius. Afterwards, once the two witnesses are dead, the final battle will commence.103 This said, with a sudden twist the treatise adjusts its course and explains that, although the age of the Antichrist has begun with the consulship of Belisarius, the end of time is nevertheless not so near, and the world is still going to last for period which cannot be calculated with precision – a view which will later be adopted by Bede.104 At first, this might sound like a contradictory statement: how can one claim that the last days have come but also that they will not come soon? This is made possible by a subtly introduced apocalyptic theory, first attested in the Latin context with Commodianus and Lactantius. According to this theory, there will be, not one coming of the Antichrist, but two: the first one “at the beginning” of the end times, the second “at the end” of the end of times, so to speak. The figure of the double Antichrist is counterbalanced by a double Elias and a double Enoch, facing the Lord’s adversary twice. The two witnesses, Enoch and Elias, will come a first time and be killed by the Antichrist; next, the devil will be captured and the short-lived “kingdom of the saints” will ensue as stated in Scripture. The world will then come to its end and the 6.000-year cycle predicted by Hippolytus will be over (Hic sextus millesimus annus implevitur”). What follows after this date, however, is not the end of times, as might be logical to assume: instead, and in a very illogical way, a “novissimam 103 Troncarelli,F., “Il consolato”, 589–590. I would like to remark that, in page 590, after the words “et tribus” the words “et aliis sub” have been skipped. Here are some more typographical errors: p. 568, the date “AD 599” should be adjusted to “AD 593”; p. 589, after “Symmachus and Boethius” the sentence “after a short time, although not in AD 523” is missing (the text, as it is, lets the reader assume that according to the Liber Pontificalis Boethius and Symmachus were both killed in AD 523); pp. 576–577, “Avranches” should be corrected as “Avanches”. 104 Chronica, in Chronica minora, ed. T. Mommsen in MGH, Auct. Antiq., XIII, (Berolini, 1898), 323–324.

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hebdomadam” will begin, a phase of uncertain duration, again with Elias and Enoch – the second Elias and the second Enoch – and again the Antichrist, the second and last one (“Deinque novissimam hebdomadam dividit in Heliae tempore et Antichristi”).105 Only then the real end of everything will arrive, as stated in the Gospels, “cum viditis abominatione desolationis… stante in loco sancto.”106 This confused sequence of apocalyptic scenarios therefore ends up coinciding with the equally confused but no less dogmatic sensibilities of Gregory the Great, who repeatedly states that the end of times is very near but not immediately impending. The pope insists on the end of times but without siding with those who claimed that by then history had reached its end. Gregory constantly repeats that history “is about to end”, but he never states openly that it will end shortly107. We find the same contradictory eschatology in Vat. Reg. lat. 2077. The goal of this institutionalised confusion is to condemn any leniency towards all things earthly, first and foremost any form of compromise with secular culture: if the world is indeed about to end, it would seem reasonable to shed its dead weight, any burden which might delay our path or march toward the last days. Unfortunately, though, such a radical rejection of the old world in the name of a new one applies only to the eradication of what gets in the way of the partisans of the new world, who are then given a free hand while waiting for a new world destined to come at an unspecified time. It is indeed very convenient to style ourselves as the heralds of the future while discarding the past in full awareness of the facts that the future is not imminent and that, after getting rid of all of our obstacles and those who impede us, we end up in the meantime being the masters of everything, with no one to demand the return of what has been discarded. All this is alien to the spirit of Cassiodorus. And yet the Reginensis codex ambiguously lets the reader believe that he could have approved of such opinions, incompatible with those of Gregory the Great. By essentially cloaking himself in the auctoritas of Cassiodorus, the author of the treatise circulated apocalyptic ideas which Cassiodorus

105 This is the correct reading, rather than the one proposed by Mommsen (see Troncarelli, F., Il consolato, 589–590) as shown by the source quoted in this passage, that is Hier., In Dan. III, IX, 24): “Novissimam quoque hebdomadam point in consummation mundi, quem divisit in Helia tempore et Antichristi.”. 106 Gregory of Tours says the same thing at the beginning of the Historia Francorum: De fine vero mundi ea sentio quae a prioribus didici, Antechristum prius esse venturo. Antechristus… in templo Hierusolimis statuam suam collocate adorandam, sicut Dominum dixisse legimus: “Videbitis abhuminationem desolationisstantem in loco sancto. Sed… De die autem illa nemo scit”: Gregory Episcopi Turonensis Libri Historiarum X, eds. B.Krusch – W. Levison), MGH, SRM, I, (Hannover 1951), Preface, 14. 107 Hester, L. K., Eschatology and pain in St. Gregory the Great: the Christological synthesis of Gregory’s Morals on the Book of Job (Paternoster, 2007).

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himself would have rejected on the grounds that they entail accepting that the end of times was imminent and the Roman empire gone108.

De relictis de senatore Who is responsible for the inconsistent mélange of texts examined so far? His identity is revealed by two notes, so far left unread. On the lower left margin of f. 98r, under the list line of the chronicle known as the Paschale Campanum, we read: “Ex r(e) l(ic)tis de Sen(atore). Haeres, meum (implicit: legi). G(ero)n(ti)us a(bbas)”. (Figure 45). Therefore, the legitimate heir (“heres”) of Cassiodorus found the chronicle among the “revised and corrected” notes (“ex relectis”) of the founder of Vivarium. The same concept is reiterated in a note on the verso of the same folio, written beside the date of AD 585 in the same chronicle: “V(ir) c(larissimus) et con(versus) Cas(siodorus) S(en)a(tor) legit. G(erontius) a(bbas)”. (Figure 46). Both annotations stress that the text has been “revised and corrected” by Cassiodorus, and this is indirectly reaffirmed through an unambiguous “Legi meum” on the central right part of the same page, handwritten by the copyist of the text, who hints at a rereading of the text by an unspecified party on the basis of an authoritative archetype, which in such cases is indicated by an elliptical “meum” or “meus” (sc., “archetypum” or “archetypus”). It ought to be evident that this is all false. Eusebius, for his part, reacted to this attempt to attribute to Cassiodorus ideas which he did not share and, on the margins of the chronicle, he drew a range of figures questioning its contents. He was even more explicit with the treatise De duobus testibus, skilfully associated to the chronicle falsely attributed to Cassiodorus, as a perfect pendant: in this case, the pictor drew a crocodile swallowing the poisonous words in the text (Figure 47), accompanying this image with the depiction of a complex “apotropaic gem”, in which Cassiodorus’ head appears (Figure 48). The meaning of the gem, as with any apotropaic element, is to cast away the diabolical influences looming in the air all around us. In addition, Eusebius reacted with a burst of pride which raises our admiration to this day. Besides the title alluding to Enoch and Elias as the witness of the Apocalypse, he drew two small portraits of Symmachus and Boethius (Plate 15), almost invisible to the naked eye, which serve as a virtual scream amidst dead silence, one all the more clear for those who know how to read it, and all the more obscure to the eyes of those unable to understand. Through the image of the two Roman nobles, right where Enoch and Elias are discussed, Eusebius wanted to tell the reader: “Open your eyes. Look behind the curtains. These are Enoch and Elias 108 Troncarelli, F., Il consolato, 590–592.

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born again.” Moral outrage and a feeling of pietas towards the two martyrs of the conscience led him to say something that ended up coinciding, in fact, with the opinions of the delirantes. To state the truth, in other words, Boethius and Symmachus were not the witnesses to the end of the world but to the end of a world, their own one in which there were still nobility of spirit and wisdom, the attributes of the Anicii which, it is not by chance feature in the portrait of Anicia Juliana in the Vienna Dioscurides, with the names of phronesis and megalopsychia. But in those hard times it was not strange for someone to believe that once the old world was over, everyone’s world was over, and forever. This applied not only to the delirantes but to all those who did not fit in the new order and saw Justinian as a demon. The similarity of those positions, expressed by Procopius, with those of the apocalyptic extremism, inspired an extremely authoritative scholar like Bernard McGinn to conclude: “Even though Procopius does not use the term Antichrist, he undoubtedly attributes to Justinian some elements from the legend of the Antichrist. Did he really believe the cunning emperor to be the Antichrist, or was he simply exploiting every rhetorical tool to smear someone he loathed? It is difficult to say… In any case, this seems to be the earliest identification of a monarch with the Final Enemy.”109 Procopius’ opinions resonate also in the chronicle included in Vat. Reg. 2077: as McGinn correctly remarks: “There is a further source believe to represent a possible link between Justinian and the Antichrist. A chronicle… closely linked to Cassiodorus’ environments [in Vat. Reg. 2077].”110 If so, then we cannot be surprised that Eusebius too gives space to such opinions by suggesting that Justinian was the Antichrist. On the margin of f. 97v of Vat. Reg. lat. 2077, the vir venerabilis made two small drawings representing an elephant and a devilish head alongside the news about the birth of the Antichrist in the chronicle. Above them we read the letters UIVIAS, which rearranged correspond to the sequence IUSIAV = IUS(tini)A(n)V(s) (Figure 49). In this case, too, it seems legitimate to ask whether Eusebius really believed Justinian to be the Antichrist or whether he was just exploiting every available rhetorical tool to denigrate him. And, in this case, too, it is difficult to provide an answer.

109 McGinn, B., L’Anticristo, 116. 110 Ibid., 148.

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The dead Among the comments and observations that Eusebius scattered across different manuscripts, two marginal notations in particular stand out; they are written in extremely small letters and are discernible only with the aid of ultraviolet light. They can be found in f. 98v of BAV, Reg. Lat. 2077, shortly before the abovementioned note by Gerontius (Figure 52).

The first notation The first notation corresponds to AD 577, a year mentioned in the chronicle included in the codex (and marked by the scribe in order to differentiate it from the other;111 the text was copied sometime between AD 587 and 592.112 The vir venerabilis wrote: “SMM/MSV ES/M ES G/V AED V/U S SE”, then he undersigned his words with “E u u S E = Euse(bi)u(s)”, besides his usual “E”. These apparently incomprehensible shortenings are actually very clear to anyone with a grasp of epigraphy: “SMM” corresponds to the formula, “Sanctae memoriae”, which was extremely common (Capelli, Lexicon Abbreviaturarum, p. 585, col. I); “MVS” corresponds to “monumentum vivens sibi”, an equally common expression (Ibid., p. 564, col. II); the acronym “M ES G” corresponds to “M(emoria) e(iu)s g(loriosa)”, a simplified form of the expression “Memoria eius sit in benediction gloriosa” (Ibid., p. 561, col. I); and the two “Vs” have varioius possible meanings (Ibid., p. 591, col. I) but when paired with a common acronym such as “AED” (Ibid.,p. 513, col. II) can only mean “V(ivus) aed(em) v(oluit)”, reiterating the same concept conveyed by “monumentum vivens” “monumentum vivens sibi”. As to “US”, which can also have more than one meaning, the fact that we find it joined to a “SE = Senator”113 means it must convey some appropriate qualification for the latter: and, in this context, I believe it appropriate to put forward the hypothesis that it stands for “Vir sanctus” (Ibid., p. 595, col. II), consciously rejecting possibilities such as “vale salve”, or “votum solute”, or “vir spectabilis”,114 which would be utterly inadequate, or for “vivens sibi [statuit]”, 111 The number corresponding to the year is written with a much larger sign compared to the others. For the chronicle and the codex, see Troncarelli, F., La lettera rubata, 120–157. 112 Ibid., 131–137. 113 The shortening “Se”, alternated to “Sen” and standing for “Senator”, recurs many times in notes scattered on the margins of the codices from Vivarium: see, for instance, Vatican Library, Vat. lat. 5704, f. 54v (left margin): Se = Se(nator). 114 The title of “vir spectabilis” does not fit well as an honorific for Cassiodorus, who would be entitled to be styled as “vir illustris” or “vir clarissimus”, in accordance with the prestigious positions in his cursus honorum (see Schoolman E., Vir clarissimus, 1–39.

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which would reiterate for the umpteenth time the concept already expressed with “vivens sibi monumentum” and “vivus aedem voluit” (not to mention the fact that all these expressions would also not grammatically agree with the preceding sentence).115 The note should therefore read: “Sanctae memoriae monumentum vivens sibi [implied: fecit] Senator. Memoria eius gloriosa. Vivus aedem voluit vir sanctus Senator” (Figure 53). This sentence, reminiscent of many similar expressions in Roman and Paleochristian inscriptions, recalls the well-known conclusion of the pars secunda of the so-called Anonymus Valesianus, which says: “[Theodericus]… se autem vivo fecit sibi monimentum (An. Val., pars secunda, 16).” Although the text of the Anonymus Valesianus is a high medieval reworking of earlier chronicles, it seems plausible for the memory of Theodoric’s mausoleum, similarly described by Andreas agnelus Agnellus. If this reconstruction is correct, then Eusebius deliberately stressed a difference between the mausoleum of Theodoric and that of Cassiodorus: indeed, the latter alone would be the work of a “sanctus vir”. After all, such an unfavourable comparison for the Amal ruler is customary for the time when Eusebius’ note was written: as I have pointed out elsewhere,116 Theodoric was represented in the role of the “iniquus rex” in the Dialogi attributed to Gregory the Great. A further parallelism which can be stressed is the one between the sentence discussed here and an Aragonese inscription now in Squillace, engraved above one of the windows of the so-called “House of Cassiodorus” (Figure 54). My interpretation is based on the identification of both some of the words written in full and some of the abbreviated ones. The first two letters of the first line are a small “S” with a small “m” next to it, touching the top of the next letter and surmounted by a horizontal wavy line of shortening. As we have seen, in the inscriptions this shortening corresponds to “S(ancte) m(emoriae)” (Capelli, Lexicon abbreviaturarum, p. 585, col. I). The two words that follow can be clearly read as: “Vanti[as] Vanita[tum]” (Eccl. 1, 2). Next, the second line begins with two letters, formed by an oblique line topped by a small “u”. I think it would be plausible to read the “IU” in the inscription as “Iustus Uir” (Ibid., p. 553, col. II). The words which follow in the second line are “F”, ex115 Writing “vivus aedem voluit”, the only possible agreeing expression would be the one referring to the subject of the sentence, which, as said above, cannot be “vir spectabilis”, and must therefore be “vir sanctus”. If, on the other hand, we were to read the shortening “vs” in a different way and used formulas like the one just mentioned, there would be no coordination within the sentence: what would indeed be the sense of a sentence thus conceived: “vivus aedem voluit vivens statuit [monumentum]”, or “vivus aedem voluit vale salve”? 116 Troncarelli, F., “Il re è nudo. Teodorico e la Ruota della Fortuna”, Codex Aquilanensis 27 (2011), 13–18.

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tremely common for “fecit”; and “tomba[m]”. A sort of monogram follows, which can be split up in its constituent elements as follows: “Vives” clearly means “vive(n)s”. The last word is shortened: it can be effortlessly read as “LibTAS”, which seems to be linked to the various forms derived from the epigraphic shortening “LIB”, which in turn can be interpreted as “Libertus”, “liberus”, and their derivatives, including the word “libertas-libertatis” (Ibid., p. 557, col. I) and which, in this case, can be easily read as “li(ber)ta(ti)s”, a genitive coordinated with the word “tomba[m]”. If this interpretation is correct, then the sentence should be as follows: “S(anctae) m(emoriae). Vanit[as] vanita[tum]. I(ustus) U(ir) f(ecit) tomba[m], vivens, li(ber)ta(ti)s” (Figure 54). The building where the inscription is placed has always been traditionally called, in Italian, “casa di Cassiodoro” (house of Cassiodorus), and Lottelli117 mentions it, in Latin, in the plural form “aedes Cassiodori”. From a late source, whose interpretation is controversial, a relationship has been proposed between these “aedes” and the monastery in Monte Castello,118 on whose remains the house or houses of Cassiodorus would have stood. Such an hypothesis is not completely confirmed, since we know nothing about the physical reality of the “monastery in Monte Castello” and should be wary about drawing false assumptions concerning what it was like: to avoid any misunderstanding, it must be clarified that what Cassiodorus describes as a refuge for anchorites, surrounded by old walls, resembles a typical coenobium for anchorites like those recommended by Pachomius, consisting in an actual village with cells scattered about within a circle of walls (Pachomius, Præcepta, cap. 102). Only an adequate archaeological excavation will be able to solve this problem, of course, but one way or the other, the ideas that within the confines of modernday Squillace there might have been buildings related to the coenobium of Monte Castello, in a spatial context of varying extension, and that the burial place of Cassiodorus might have been located in a specific place within the coenobium could well be indirectly validated through an obvious albeit neglected consideration: in Latin, “aedes” also means “sepulcher”, especially in inscriptions,119 the 117 Lottelli, G., Squillace dall’età antica all’età moderna ossia “Squillaci redivivi libri V”, ed. A. Vaccaro, (Rende, 1999), 65. 118 Viscido, L., “Su una epigrafe squillacese del 1522: proposta di lettura e di interpretazione di un testo latino, contributo all’identificazione del cassiodoreo mons castellum nel colle dell’odierna Squillace”, Vivarium Scyllacense X (1999), 13–40. 119 See, for instance, the formula “hanc aedem sive sepulchrum” in Corpus inscriptionum latinarum = C.I.L., XIV, 1539: Manzella, S., Index inscriptionum Musei Vaticani. 1. Ambulacrum Iulianum Sive “Galleria Lapidaria” (Inscriptiones Santae Sedis, 1), (Vatican City, 1995), 194. For other similar cases see Olcott, G.N., A dictionary of the Latin inscriptions, I (Milan, 1994), 135. See also Lega, C., “Terminologia dei monumenti sepolcrali nelle iscri-

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Latin toponym, in other words, may therefore include an allusion to the “tomb of Cassiodorus”, not just to the “House of Cassiodorus”. This “aedes”, which was at once both house and tomb, may have been located in the same area with the other structures linked to the coenobium, which might explain why the ruins in this “cluster” were vaguely remembered in later times as “houses” in the plural. That is, it would be an example of topograhical paretymology, a common phenomenon according to which a place name is variously modified over time to render it intelligible without regard for the actual etymology of its name.120 If one accepts that Cassiodorus’ sepulcher was located there, the presence in Squillace of tombs dating to the 6th–7th century which have recently been discovered in an excavation campaign directed by Chiara Raimondo, becomes understandable;121; there was a widespread custom of burying one’s loved ones near the tomb of a holy man, among the many possible examples of which it suffices here to mention the ancient burials in Saint Peter’s. More extensive excavations may in future shed further light on the problems I have briefly described so far. In the meantime, however, I would like to add one final consideration: the problematic location of Monte Castello aside, that the Squillace inscription had been preserved in the same place where remains of the “monumentum” erected by Cassiodorus could also be found (something our current state of knowledge precludes), we should pay special attention to the formulas it contains: not only to the quotation from the Ecclesiastes, “vanitas zioni latine: esempi e considerazioni. I casi di mausoleum e heroum”, in Valenti, M. (Ed.), Monumenta. I Mausolei Romani, tra commemorazione funebre e propaganda celebrativa, Acts of the study conference of Monte Porzio Catone, October 25th 2008 (Tusculana – Quaderni del Mausoleo di Monte Porzio Catone, 39), (Roma, 2010), 35–208. 120 Arpioni, M.P. – Ceschin, A. – Tomazzoli, G. (Eds.), Nomina sunt… ? L’onomastica tra ermeneutica, storia della lingua e comparatistica, Atti delle giornate di studio. Venice, March 3d–4th 2016 (Venezia, 2016). On the general issue of the structure of Pachomian coenobia shaped like villages, see the excellent volume by Marazzi, F., Le città dei monaci. Storia degli spazi che avvicinano a Dio (Milan, 2014), 25–30; 62–70. 121 On these topics, see the “Vivarium Scyllacense” monothematic issue: “La necropoli cristiana (VI–VII sec.) sotto il castello di Squillace. Prospettive di una scoperta”, Vivarium Scyllacense XXI–XXV (2010–2015), 9–124, with contributions by Chiara Raimondo, Mario Pagano, Salvatore Taverniti, Guido Rhodio, Carmela Commodaro. In addition to the interesting discoveries from the excavations directed by Chiara Raimondo, it is worth to mention, for the sake of the topic we are discussing here, Mario Pagano’s proposed identification of a tombstone found in Squillace, which, according to the scholar, was part of the grave of Cassiodorus’ grandfather. If we accept this hypothesis, we may assume that the place where the city stands today might have been regarded as some kind of family shrine by the members of the gens to which Cassiodorus belonged, and that there might have been additional graves for other members of the family of the founder of Vivarium. If this is true, it would not be strange that, in the course of time, some confusion arose between the memory of Cassiodorus’ individual “aedes” and the memory of several different “aedes” which could still linked to Cassiodorus, since they belonged to a single family – which was the same as Cassiodorus’.

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vanitatum” (Eccl. 1, 2), but especially to the expression “tomba libertatis”, which can be traced back to the “libertatis sepulchrum” in the De excidio urbis Hierosolymitanae (V, 54), a text which was known in Vivarium and which Cassiodorus explicitly quotes (Inst., I, 15).

The second notation The second notation was not written far from the first one and is situated between the years 581 and 582. The text says: “Pla(nctus) Cas(siodori). I(a)ce(t) m(ortuus). Sen(ator) m(ortuus). M(onumentum) c(ondidit) Se(nator)” (Figure 55). If we move toward the upper right margin of the same page, we will find a peculiar portrait of Cassiodorus on his deathbed. The drawing was executed with a particular technique: first, a very thin veil of ink was spread on the sheet, simulating a blot; then, on the shadow of the ink, an equally thin veil of whiting was added, contoured on the margins and projecting the image a cloud-like appearance. Cassiodorus’ face is surrounded by small apotropaic figures typical of Eusebius’ drawings: faces of long-nosed men with their tongues sticking out, fantastic horned beasts, and even a little bird. If we remove this sort of fog and keep closely focused on the outlined outline, we will recognise the same profile of Cassiodorus reproduced by Eusebius also in other circumstances, in the typical stance of a dying man, with an open mouth and half-closed eyes. On his left, we read: “Se(nator) m(ortuus)” and, below, again: “Se(nator) m(ortuu)s” (Plate 16). The nature of this unexpected image is confirmed by a replica two folios later in the same manuscript (f. 99r), this time on the margin above and to the left of the circle representing the universe and without any surrounding apotropaic figures.

Cassiodorus prophet The reputation for a prophetic quality in Cassiodorus’ teaching was in evidence already during his lifetime. In the Expositio psalmorum the author repeatedly underlines the prophetic character of the Psalms, coining a definition of prophecy which will become canonical in the Middle Ages. According to Cassiodorus (Ex. Ps., praef. 1.1–2), the prophet is the one who is directly inspired by God, more precisely, the one in whose mouth there is the very breath of God. For this reason, his are the words of truth, addressed to those who live in the present rather than to ones living in the future. But whether he explains to contemporaries the truths of the present or foretells truths of the future, which are implicit in the truths of the present itself, the prophet is inspired by God and as a

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result of his daily and tireless frequentation of the sacred books, through a sudden illumination of a divine character. If this is correct, then it follows that Cassiodorus himself, the one who meditates and comments on the Psalms continuously, can be considered in his own way as a new prophet, even if this is never explicitly stated. This very special interpretation of his figure has been transparently reaffirmed in a famous full-page illustration of the “Amiatina Bible”. Many scholars have written on this image, in which Cassiodorus, the founder of Vivarium, is represented as a scribe, and more precisely, according to received opinion, as Ezra. But this medieval interpretation should be questioned122. The fundamental problem faced by scholars has been doubt about the fidelity of this eighth-century copy to its Vivarian original. We are able (so we hope) to definitively confirm the thesis of absolute fidelity of this copy with respect to the original. In fact, there are numerous attestations, previously undetected, which clearly testify to the authorship of the work and demonstrate that the original was conceived and executed in Vivarium under Abbot Felix towards the end of the sixth century. We can say that the image of Cassiodorus derives, as Meyvaert rightly saw123, from his funeral monument, because it recalls similar compositions in Roman tombs (plate 20). This aspect is explicitly recalled by a phrase hidden in the upper right margin of the miniature which also demonstrates that the manuscript reproduces the work originally painted or sculpted on the author’s funeral monument: it is evident that these words, although minute, have been reproduced with care,

122 White, H. G., “The Codex Amiatinus and its birthplace”, Studia Biblica et Ecclesiastica, II (1890), 273–308, at 291; Chapman, J., “The Codex Amiatinus and Cassiodorus”, Revue Bénédictine, 38 (1926), 139–50; Courcelle, P., Les lettres grecques en Occident: de Macrobe à Cassiodore (Paris, 1948), 359; Corssen, P., “Der Codex Amiatinus und der Codex grandior des Cassiodorus”, Jahrbücher fur protestantische Théologie, 17 (1891), 611–44; Nordenfalk, C., Book Illumination, in A. Grabar – C. Nordenfalk (Eds.), Early Medieval Painting from the Fourth to the Eleventh Century (Geneva, 1957), 87–218, esp. 119; BruceMitford, R. L. S., “The Art of the Codex Amiatinus”, Journal of the British Archaeological Association, 3rd ser., 32 (1969), 1–25, pls. A–D, I–XX; Halporn, J., “Pandectes, Pandecta, and the Cassiodorian Commentary on the Psalms”, Revue Bénédictine, 90, (1980), 290–30; Fischer, B., Lateinische Bibelhandschriften im fruhen Mittelalter, Vetus Latina (Aus der Geschichte der lateinischen Bibel, 11), (Freiburg, 1985), 9–34; Corsano, K., “The First Quire of the Codex Amiatinus and the Institutiones of Cassiodorus”, Scriptorium, 41 (1987), 3–34; Marsden, R., “The Text of the Old Testament”, Anglo-Saxon England, 15 (1995), 87–90 and 107–123; Id., “Job in his place: the Ezra miniature in the Codex Amiatinus”, Scriptorium, 49 (1995), 3–15. Meyvaert, P., “Bede, Cassiodorus, and the Codex Amiatinus”, Speculum, 71 (1996), 827–884. 123 Meyvaert, P., Bede, 827–884.

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respecting the archetype, a phenomenon very common in the Middle Ages124 (plate 21). If the image of Cassiodorus as scribe and priest points indirectly back to the will of its subject, the author himself, then every detail therein becomes noteworthy. First of all, it should be emphasized that the painted figure writes a particular text, using a script that mixes cursive letters and Tironian notes. Scholars have overlooked this fact, and yet it is extremely significant. While admitting that the words in the image are not completely legible as they were in the original, no doubt because the copyist who reproduced them has not always understood them, it is nevertheless possible to read some of them. The quotation from Psalm 67 is not accidental. First of all, because the figure of Cassiodorus writing a Psalm indirectly suggests that he is an individual who is writing the Word of God and so inspired by God. Then too, because Cassiodorus’s commentary on this Psalm strongly emphasizes that it has a prophetic flavour, explicitly quoting Isaiah and indirectly Malachi, who hopes for the coming of the “sol iustitiae”125. The allusion to this Psalm indicates that the figure who is writing intends to communicate a prophecy. In fact, Cassiodorus writes: “Postquam pessimorum poenas iustorumque praemia ventura narravit, hortatur populos propheta ut in his quae audierant fideli mente praesumentes, laudes Deo hymnidica exsultatione concelebrent. Cantat enim Deo qui contemplationem eius puro ac fideli semper animo contuetur. Psalmum dicit nomini eius, qui opera efficit, quae ille praecepit. Sequitur, iter facite ei, id est corda vestra purificata praeparate, quae dignetur sanctus Dominus introire; sive praedicationibus beatis cunctos imbuite, sicut Isaias propheta dicit: Parate vias Domini, rectas facite semitas eius [Isaia XL, 3]. Sed cui fiat istud iter edicitur, qui ascendit super occasum. Ascendit utique Dominus Christus super occasum a mortuis resurgendo, ut captivam duceret nostram captivitatem, et mors relinqueret liberos, quos peccatis alligantibus tenebat obnoxios. Necesse enim fuit ut occasus tenebrosus cederet, super quem Sol iustitiae probabatur exortus. Et ne quis ambigeret, quis ascendit super occasum, dicit: Dominus nomen est ei, ut nemo dubitaret Deum esse Dominum Salvatorem, quem nefandi Iudaei velut communem hominem trucidandum esse putaverunt. Sequitur, exsultate in conspectu eius; non in praesentia hominum, ubi est caduca laetitia, sed in conspectu eius, ubi iugiter se puritas mentis oblectat; et quaslibet hic aerumnas patiatur, consid124 Troncarelli,, F., “L’oro di Squillace. Ritratti cassiodoriani del XVI secolo”, Litterae caelestes, XII (2021), 107–144. 125 Leclerq, J., “Documents on the cult of S. Malachy”, Seanchas Ardmhacha: Journal of the Armagh Diocesan Historical Society, 3, (1959), 318–332; Paschasius Radbertus, Vita Adhalardi corbeiensis, in Acta Sanctorum ordinis S. Benedicti, IV, pars prima, ed. J. Mabillon (Parisii 1677), 313; Henricus Abrincensis, Legenda sancti Francisci versificata, ed. G. Cremascoli, (Fontes franciscani), (Assisi 1995), 1131–1242, esp. 1224.

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eratione futuri praemii semper erigitur.” (Expositio Psalmorum, ed. M. Adraien, Turnhout 1958, p. 587). The prophetic meaning of the image is reaffirmed by the similarity between the depicted figure and the prophet Elijah, whose iconography was stereotypically fixed from Late Antiquity to the later Middle Ages.126 The allusion to Elijah, prophet and priest, is confirmed by a detail which has not received due attention. On the “armarium” containing the books of the Bible there are two opposing calves reminiscent of the two calves of the sacrifice on Mount Carmel that proved the falsity of Ahab’s priests. Also the prophet’s divine inspiration is outlined by the presence of two braziers for the sacrifice, whose shape immediately recalls that of similar braziers for the same purpose, common in Byzantine manuscripts of different centuries, such as those of the Topography of Cosmas Indicopleustes. As we can see from this, Cassiodorus enjoyed the fame of a prophet already during the last years of his life, and was considered a sort of alter Helias, a commonplace that will have its fortune in the Middle Ages, as well as, moreover, the expectation of the “Sun of Justice” will have its fortune in Calabria, and will return in the prophetic writings of authors such as Gioacchino da Fiore.

Farewell Eusebius survived Cassiodorus by some years. There is little information about the activities of the abbey in Vivarium after Cassiodorus’ death, although there are several hints that Cassiodorus’ coenobium lasted for some time still. Although the books from Vivarium ended up being scattered in many directions and under different circumstances which are difficult to piece together, many scholars agree with Courcelle’s hypothesis that a number of manuscripts converged at different points on the Lateran Library, whence they subsequently migrated to important institutions across Europe.127 This hypothesis is mainly based on the presence of passages which are clearly derived from works translated or written at Vivarium in Pontifical documents already during the 6th century, among them the translation of the so-called Codex Encyclicus used by Pope Pelagius in his letter to the bishops of Istria. Later pontiffs too show a knowledge of extremely rare texts from Vivarium, e. g., the translation of the

126 Ferraris, D., “Il culto del profeta Elia tra Oriente ed Occidente”, Rivista di storia e letteratura religiosa 52 (2016), 47–64. 127 Courcelle, P., Les lettres, 342–382; see, among others, Lapidge, M., The Anglosaxon Library (Oxford, 2006), 18–20.

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commentary to the Song of Songs by Epiphanius of Cyprus, quoted by Pope Hadrian in a letter to Charlemagne in AD 791.128 It must be stressed, however, that such parallels, as appealing as they may be, have so far found little validation from the written sources, contrary to what might have been expected. It seems clear that the reason for this, as in many similar cases, is the loss of the original manuscripts; and yet, this gap leaves a bitter sense of disappointment in those trying to piece together the destiny of libraries like the one founded by Cassiodorus or the earliest library of the Popes. Are we compelled, then, to resignation in the face of our inadequate sources? If I am not mistaken, this gap can perhaps be filled through the results of some supplementary research on sources which are often more renowned than actually known.129 Indeed, in the group of codices from St. Petersburg which share the collocation Q v I, 6–10, the middle of the right margin of the first sheet of each contains, in a microscopic (and now erased) script, what would appear to be an Uncial gloss consisting of the abbreviated name and position130 of Bishop Augustine of Squillace, who took an active part in the Lateran Council of AD 549.131 There is not much we know about this character: from his elegant, accurate handwriting we can infer that he was a highly cultivated man. Among his underwritings,132 it seems relevant to quote the one in f. 1r of Q v I, 7, which says: “A(u)g(ustinus) E(piscopu)s S(a)t(is) d(at).”133. The formula “satis dat” is indeed commonly used, in a legal context, to indicate who “gives a guarantee” (Cic., Pro Ros., 35; Pro. Quin., 3; 7) and in this case, since we are dealing with a notation in 128 Courcelle, P., Les lettres, 363 and 367. 129 Troncarelli, F., “Posui vos ut eatis”. 130 Cappelli, A., Lexicon Abbreviaturarum, 10 col. 2 and 518, col. 2, for all the variations on the name “Augustus-Augustinus”; 122, col. 2 for the contraction “es” standing for “episcopus” (already from the 8th century). 131 Augustine attended all the sessions of the council in 649. In the list of the attending bishops he occupies the seventy-fifth position: see Conc. Lat., pp. 6, 7, 33, 113, 181, 249 (the name and title he is given is: “Αὐγουστῖνου ἐπίσκοπου Σκυλλάκιου”, 4., line 4; “Augustino Squillacino episcopo”, p. 7, line 4: (first session). Augustine finally undersigned the concluding declaration on faith, promulgated in the fifth session of the Council: Conc. Lat., 398, line 13, “Αὐγουστῖνος ἐπίσκοπος Σκυλάκιου”, 399, line 13, “Augustinus episcopus sanctae Squillacine ecclesiae.” 132 The existence of different underwritings implies that, when the codices came into Augustine’s hands, they were separated. We do not know, however, what their original organisation was: the existence of different quire numberings implies that they may have been separated since the onset. Nevertheless, we cannot say whether they were joined to other texts, as one would be induced to believe by the fact that, in Origen’s Homilies, the quires start from the number 28. In any case, it is worth mentioning that the quires were numbered by someone different from the scribes themselves, many cases apparently in a period not far removed to when Augustine must have been active, as shown by the similarity of the letter “X” in one of his notations and in the quire of Sankt Petersburg Q v I, 8. 133 Cappelli, A., Lexicon Abbreviaturarum, 365, col. 1 (the abbreviation “ST D” is already attested during the 6th century).

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the copy of a codex containing the De Fide of Fulgentius of Ruspe, it clearly indicates who is “providing a guarantee in the field of faith”. It seems plausible to interpret these words as a hint concerning the will of the bishop, who took part in a Council challenging the Emperor’s authority, to “give guarantees in the field of faith” in accordance with those from the Pope and his associates, such as Maximus the Confessor. It is obvious that this “guarantee” is addressed to the Pope, and it is also obvious that the latter is the intended recipient of the beautiful codex, together with the four other equally skillfully decorated subscriptions. The orthodox texts in these codices and the “heretical” text of the Ps.-Rufinus associated with them fit perfectly in a constellation of works from orthodox and “heretical” writers used and quoted in the act of the Council (listed by de Rossi). Indeed, during the Council, patristic works were constantly quoted as supporting the official positions of the pontiff and the bishops who took part in the assembly; but heretical texts of authors who contradicted the official positions were also quoted and systematically condemned. Augustine’s gift to the papacy, besides the outward homage to the pontiff ’s authority, had the character of an indirect contribution to the cause promoted by Martin I: a contribution which was obviously accepted and appreciated but which came too late for the Council’s agenda. The texts mentioned in the acts had already been carefully selected through the long preparatory work for the Council sessions, leaving no room for others such as those brought by Augustine for inclusion in the final hour. After 649, we have no further information about the monks from Vivarium and their books, although it seems reasonable to assume that their relationship with Rome was ongoing and, perhaps, that what was left of the library was finally moved to the library of the Popes in AD 732–733. By then, the diocese of Squillace and the whole thema of Calabria had been transferred by order of the Pope Leo III from Papal jurisdiction to that of the bishop of Constantinople,134, thereby losing all autonomy in the process: it would be unsurprising if the last Latin bishop, before finalising the handover, and following the example of his predecessors, decided to move Cassiodorus’ precious volumes to Rome, entrusting them to the Papacy. The pontiffs would subsequently redistribute them to suitable new locations, for instance the newly born abbey of Montecassino, where a copy of the codex archetypus of the Institutiones mysteriously appears in the last quarter of the eighth century.

134 On the topic, without presuming to simplify a very abundant bibliography, I would like to recommend the following works: Marazzi, F., “Il conflitto tra Leone III Isaurico e il papato fra il 725 e il 733, e il ‘definitivo’ inizio del medioevo a Roma: un’ipotesi in discussione”, Papers of the British School at Rome, 59 (1991), 231–257; Ravegnani, G., I bizantini in Italia (Bologna 2004), 127–132; Brubaker L. – Haldon, J.F. (Eds.), Byzantium in the Iconoclast era (ca. 680–850): a history (Cambridge, 2011).

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But no matter what the material destiny of the codices of Cassiodorus, it is undeniable that on the spiritual level the influence of his moral and cultural lesson resonated deeply. This influence has been unjustly underestimated by a traditional, and traditionalizing, historiography but needs to be stressed vigorously. Repeating a tired cliché of dubious origins, several scholars have postulated that Cassiodorus acted in complete isolation according to an ultimately anachronistic worldview, without parallel in the monastic and religious institutions of his time. This prejudice arose to counter an earlier prejudice, i. e., that Cassiodorus was the savior of ancient culture and a sort of alter ego to Saint Benedict. Now, it is certainly true that the earliest Benedictine monasteries had not yet assumed the character the same order would display in the following centuries, and that simplistic equations between the abbey of Cassiodorus and that of Saint Benedict are untenable. It is equally true, however, that at the time, far more prestigious models than Benedictine monasticism were in existence. Cassiodorus explicitly mentions such models: one was that of the educated, boisterous, smart, and nonconformist monasticism of figures such as Dionysius Exiguus, a translator of Greek works who was in contact with celebrated members of the Latin church; another was represented by men like Eugippius who, although lacking himself a broad secular culture, drew from an highly educated tradition, that of Saint Augustine (Inst. 1, 23, 1–4). Augustinian monasticism, personally moulded by the holy man himself, envisaged the existence of both a rich library within the monastery and constant study on behalf of the monks, who not only ruminated on Scripture and read the Bible but also kept themselves up to date on the most important theological issues. We know that during Augustine’s lifetime this model prevailed not only within the monasteries belonging to the order he founded but also in other African monasteries which could not feign indifference toward the cultural proposals and intellectual provocations of the bishop of Hippo.135 There was an extensive network of interactions among the African monastic communities, whatever their rule, based on the exchange of books, on the transcription of works between one library and another, on disputes between different abbeys which reflected those conducted within individual coenobia. It is precisely this network of relationships that Cassiodorus takes as his model when, more than a century later, he sends copies of his works to representatives of the African clergy, asking the monks of Roman Africa for copies of works he did not have.136 In this perspective, it becomes possible to understand the meaning of 135 For a first approach to the topic, see Brown P., Augustine of Hippo (London, 1967), 399–407. 136 Troncarelli, F., “L’Odissea di un’odissea: note sull’Ilario basilicano (Arch. S. Pietro D 182)”, Scriptorium XLV (1991), 3–21.

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his relationship with figures like Eugippius, from whom members of the African church such as Fulgentius too had requested manuscripts. Cassiodorus addressed individuals of this kind because he saw them as kindred partners. The theological background common to all these authors is their deep respect for Augustine, a trait shared in the experience of Cassiodorus himself, who begins his comment on the Psalms with an explicit reference to the bishop of Hippo and summarizes his Enarrationes in Psalmos. He will bring the experience of Vivarium under the same sign. As pointed out by Momigliano, the intellectual structure of the Institutiones reveals “an Augustinianism moderated by a preference for devout reading, rather than for theological debate”.137 Augustine is explicitly praised on numerous occasions and furnishes a fundamental model for – well beyond strictly doctrinal matters – the very approach towards secular knowledge and for the relationship which ought to obtain between such knowledge and faith. The Neoplatonism which inspired Augustine equally inspires Boethius and Cassiodorus and serves as the bridge between Paganism and Christianity. In this sense, the culture of Vivarium was squarely under the aegis of Augustine. In the words of Louis Holtz: “Cassiodore a eu les yeux fixes sur la personnalité d’Augustin et sur la conversion d’un homme engagé comme lui dans une carrière séculière. Deux ouvrages ont eu à cette occasion une influence considérable: le De doctrina christiana, dix fois cité, qui encourageait Cassiodore à récupère les ‘Lettres Profanes’ au service des ‘Lettres Sacrées’, et les Retractationes, qui se présent déjà comme l’inventaire analytique et critique d’une bibliothèque.”138 The library of Vivarium has the same role as the library of Hippo had for the Augustinian monks. We know that the works of the saint were preserved in Hippo, carefully corrected and transcribed, and providing archetypes for all future transcriptions, as was also the case with the works of Cassiodorus at Vivarium, above all, perhaps the Institutiones as preserved in the codex archetypus later mentioned in Bamberg Patr. 61. We also know that Greek texts were kept in the library of Hippo (albeit few in numbers) and that they could be translated when necessary with an approach what was perhaps not as systemic as that applied by the monks of Vivarium but was nevertheless similar in its ultimate inspiration. We also know that there were the classics of African Christianity, like Cyprian and Tertullian, the classics of Latin Christianity, like Irenaeus, Hilarius, and Ambrose, and the classics of Greek Christianity, like John Chrysostom, Basil, 137 Momigliano, A., “Cassiodoro” in Dizionario degli italiani, XXI (Rome, 1978), 494–504 esp. 501. 138 Holtz, L., “Quelques aspects de la tradition et de la diffusion des Institutiones”, in Leanza, S. (Ed.) Flavio Magno Aelio Cassiodoro, Cosenza-Squillace september 19th–24th 1983 (Biblioteca vivariense, 2), (Soveria Mannelli, 1986), 283.

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and Gregory – exactly like in Vivarium. As for the Bible, there was not only the Latin text of the version favoured in Africa at the time but also the Greek Septuagint, together with several apocrypha, in particular, the Acts and the Apocalypse, testifying the same pronounced interest in exegesis and, in particular, in eschatology for which we have much corroborating evidence from Vivarium as well. Not coincidentally, in both libraries exegetic and millenarian works by African authors are also preserved. Among them, the name of Tyconius stands out; albeit being a Donatist, he was appreciated by Augustine with the same attitude of Cassiodorus.139 It has been remarked that with Cassiodorus the adjective modernus ‘finds its consecration’. “In the whole course of his life as a political man and mediator of culture, his attitude towards the Ancient World was never nostalgic, but always pragmatic: at the age of 93, with a clarity of mind and irreverence which provide the best kind of seal for this way of being, he stresses that, among the norms handed down from the ancient culture, the only ones which should be preserved are those which adapt competenter modernae consuetudini, while the others expedit sine dubitatione relinquere”140. From his monks this old man Cassiodorus demanded with the passion of youth the same clarity of mind and a similar boldness. Only someone capable of developing such a conscience, someone who is a kind of alter-ego to the cultured, adaptable, curious, irreverent, and brilliant author of the Variae and Institutiones, someone capable of satisfying any request, only such a person as this can also attain the highest level of awareness. To put it briefly, the ideal of an adaptable and intelligent man with the invention and creativity of Cassiodorus is well summarised by a sentence which shines forth in the Institutiones with the light of a lone star: “studiosa voluntate discurrere, potius quam irreligioso stupore torpere” (Inst. I, X, 5: “to move with ardent desire… rather than being frozen in an irreligious stupor”). With one of his customary, endearing paradoxes, time, who is not by chance a gentleman, allowed for the most perfect incarnation of this ideal, worthy of the last representative of the civiltas of the homo faber, master of his own fortune, to be a man who had no fortune left: a man like Eusebius, who belonged to the “guilty progeny” of the now vanquished victors, who had tried in vain to subdue the pride of the Romans, to match their greatness, but instead fell in the abyss.

139 On this subject, and on the continuity between Cassiodorus and the great Latin authors of the 4th century like Augustine, see Zelzer, M., “Cassiodoro continuatore del rinascimento del quarto secolo”, in Flavio, 221–231. On the general problem of eschatology in Cassiodorus and in Late Antiquity, see, as a general introduction: Naldini M. (Ed.), La fine dei tempi: storia e escatologia (Letture patristiche, 1), (Florence, 1994). 140 Bertini, F., “Il De ortographia di Cassiodoro”, in Flavio, 99.

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The last survivor from this world of losers, after a stray life “tossed around by luck”, as Benedetto Croce might have said, on reaching the end of his path as an isolated castaway, entrusted to the future the silent, creative, and unreal messages through which he had forever vanquished numbness and inactivity. Messages reserved for those who know their language, as in the case of the poet who, according to Baudelaire, is the only one to understand “the language of flowers and silent things”141.

141 Baudelaire, C., Les fleurs du mal, Elevation, vv. 15–20: “Heureux celui qui peut d’une aile vigoureuse/s’élancer vers les champs lumineux et sereins; / celui dont les pensées, comme des alouettes,/vers le cieux le matin prennent une libre essor,/qui plane sur la vie, et comprend sans effort/le langage des fleurs et des choses muettes.”.

II.

Eusebius and Boethius

Hidden drawings Eusebius’ drawings in the margins of the codices can be compared with those found in the recently discovered Boethius’ autographs142. The Roman philosopher has in fact traced in the margins of the codices that he had during his imprisonment a series of small, sometimes tiny, drawings that accompany the notes within which we often find the “S” or “E” of “Severinus” traced with precise techniques. The images, crowded in the edges of the folios, have been cleverly concealed and at first glance look like stains, ink smears, words that have been erased; on closer inspection, however, we realize that inside there are discernible profiles of bodies, human faces, animals – all perceptible, albeit with a certain difficulty. These images are scattered on the margins of the manuscript, and for this reason we can distinguish them from the rest of the page, which is blacked due to the devastating effects of the acids smeared on the text in the nineteenth century to highlight the lower writing. The different inks used to trace the designs, outline the profiles, and underline the shading of bodies and objects are radically different in color from the dark stains of the acid. The figures, which variously represent demons or demonic animals, human faces, and life scenes of various kinds are not all the same: some are very simple and resemble those of other late antique drawings or miniatures; others, by contrast, are formed by a series of entangled bodies, wedged into into one another or almost generated one from the other, a monstrous metamorphosis that we will find in certain Romanesque capitals, but already fully developed in the effects of fantastic illusionism of the Roman age. As we have seen in the course of analyzing Eusebius’ drawings, this continuous effect of trompe-l’oeil has an

142 Troncarelli, F., La consolazione della chimera. Parole e immagini negli autografi di Boezio (Rome, 2022).

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ancient origin143, as in the ancient method of incorporating and almost fitting bodies and faces into one another: in the frescoes, in the gems, in the candelabra, in the vases, in the objects of use of classical and late antique Roman art. It is particularly highly developed in glyptic, especially in apotropaic, astrological or magical-religious gems144 in which it is frequently possible to find both figures grouped with others, the so-called grylloi, and optical illusions based on pareidolia, such as faces that multiply but have one or more elements in common or those that change before our eyes if we keep them straight or if we invert them. We are in the aesthetic and psychological sphere of the decoration that is usually called “grotesque”, in which, as André Chastel wrote, it is realized: “La négation de l’Espace et la fusion des espèces, l’apesanteur des formes et la prolifération insolente des hybrides145.” The symbolic and cultural space of grotesque decoration is by definition an area that belongs to the universe of enigmas and mystery: the unreal realm of chimeras, understood both in the primary meaning of monstrous beings and in the symbolic meaning of daydreams. Philippe Morel underlined in this regard that: “Les grotesques … étaient faites … telles des énigmes” and that: “c’est à travers le philtre interprétatif d’une culture essentiellement hellénistique, de son penchant pour l’ésotérisme et de sa vision symbolique du monde, que le phénomène a été généralement pris en considération par the western culture and par les humanistes de la Renaissance”. This orientation owes much to Neoplatonism and above all to Plotinus’ Enneads, since the images and writing with special signs “de la révélation” show: “une connaissance profonde et divine des choses à travers un langage ‘naturel’ qui fait corps avec elles146”. 143 Mulliez, M., Le luxe de l’imitation: les trompe-l’oeil de la fin de la république romaine, mémoire des artisans de la couleur (Collection du Centre Jean Bérard 44 = Archéologie de l’artisanat antique 8), (Naples, 2014). See also: Iozzia, D., Aesthetic themes in pagan and christian Neoplatonism; Sheppard, A., The Poetics of Phantasia: imagination. See also, about this subjects, Baltrusˇaitis, J., Réveils et prodiges; Gombrich, E., Sense of order: Study in the Psychology of Decorative Art (Ithaca, NY, 1979), 401–449. 144 The bibliography about this topic is rich: best check recent contributions with an updated bibliography: Maioli M. G., “Magia e superstizione” in Ortalli, J. – Neri, D. (Eds.), Immagini divine. Devozioni e divinità nella vita quotidiana dei romani (Florence, 2007), 99– 111, esp. 100–111 with the bibliography; Sfameni, C., “Tra religione e magia: temi isiaci nelle gemme di età imperiale”, in Isis en Occident, Actes du IIe Colloque international sur les études isiaques, Lyon III, 16–17 mai 2002, (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World, 151), (Leiden, 2003), 377–440. On the evil eye and amulets against the evil eye, such as gems, see Elliott, J. H., Beware the evil eye: The evil eye in the Bible and the ancient world; 2: Greece and Rome; 3: The Bible and related sources; 4: Postbiblical Israel and early Christianity through Late Antiquity (Eugene, Oregon-Cambridge, 2016). Finally, we recommend Coglitore, R., Pietre figurate. Forme del fantastico e mondo minerale (Pisa, 2004). 145 Castel, A., La grottesca, 25. 146 Morel P., Les Grotesques. Les figures de l’imaginaire dans la peinture italienne de la fin de la Renaissance (Paris, 2001), 49, 52–53.

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At first glance one might believe that such beliefs were foreign to a philosopher like Boethius, but one would be making a mistake. Like so many followers of Platonism over the centuries Boethius, too, believes in the existence of demons and in their influence in human actions (Cons. 4, 6; Per Her., II, 3). In such cases demon’s influence can be corrected by talismans and other practices of “white” magic, while strongly rejecting “black” magic and the help of filthy demons. Analysis of the Boethian drawings, concealed but perceptible nevertheless, requires further consideration. Regardless of the author’s Neoplatonic convictions, it is evident that he had an individual urgency to express himself on an artistic level that led him to propagate a figure in nearly every blank space of his codices. In other words, analysis of the Boethian drawings reveals that the philosopher had a thorough education in the artistic field and that he had been initiated into the secrets of painting, manuscript decoration, and above all the creation of talismans. In fact, he very skillfully employs different inks, colors, and instruments (pens with different points, brushes of different thickness); he knows the art of shading; he shows a quick and sure hand, a great ability to reproduce the features of the bodies and their volumes, whether still or moving, from different angles; and he is capable of tracing very small figures, impossible to make without the tools of the gem engraver such as brushes with very thin points or rock crystal to magnify the invisible. Boethius’s drawings are generally not hasty sketches, even when they occasionally resemble a caricature; rather, they have the status of well-worked sketches, of accurate preparatory drawings, which lack nothing of the finished work, including color. This does not mean that he deliberately created sketches of works to be made later (although some drawings appear to be a model for a tomb). It only means that he copied preparatory drawings from a supply intended for painters, reproducing them in different formats and reworking them, adapting them to the free space in the margins of each sheet of the codex. In some cases, however, we must think that the philosopher has given free rein to his inspiration and his imagination, rapidly tracing lines and facial profiles which elsewhere are executed with greater care. The philosopher was familiar with this kind of “anticipation” of the actual painting and speaks of it explicitly in a famous passage in which he recalls the “primae figurae” with which: “pictores solent designare lineatim corpus atque substernere, ut coloribus (Peri Herm. II, p. 30 ed. Meiser. Cfr. In Isag. II, p. 166 ed. Brandt).” This practice gives Boethius the opportunity to reflect on the degrees of knowledge: the philosopher compares, in fact, the painter’s sketch compared to the finished work to the degree of immediate knowledge, based on the senses and the imagination, which will be reworked by the intellect in abstracting the universal from the particular. In this perspective, the painters’ primae figurae are the equivalent of the first sensations that strike the mind: “prefigurations” which contain all of this in a nutshell which

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later will be more widely known, just as in the sketch there is the “prefiguration” of the finished work. For this reason Boethius deliberately emphasizes that the preparatory drawings to which he refers are those of painters who use colors, not the schematic and monochrome ones who limit themselves only to tracing the lines of what is portrayed. And that is, those extremely accurate “exempla” which are almost a reduced-scale model of the work of which Pliny and Petronius speak about the painters (Hist. Nat. 35, 168; Sat., 83). They are quite distinct from the highly praised monochrome sketches which undoubtedly show the skill of an author worthy of praise but do not provide a reliable example for those wishing to remake certain figures. Not surprisingly, when the preparatory drawings were preserved and collected to offer a repertoire to the disciples of a painter or a range of models to imitate to those who professionally decorated and replicated a series of prototypes, it was generally preferred to employ color, as demonstrated by our few surviving witnesses. The fragments of the patterns on papyrus for Coptic fabrics, as well as the surviving page of the book of the models for the ligatures conceived by Cassiodorus (Inst. I, 20, 3: Paris BNF lat. 12190, f. Av) show that this type of image was preferably colored, or rather “semi-colored”. It was in fact preferable that the model was already set chromatically with respect to its final realization, and this could be achieved quickly, without wasting precious time with the whole range of colors, limiting oneself to three or four very diluted base shades which had the quality of watercolors. Generally two or three pigments were used, which took on different shades if they were dissolved more or less in water, highlighting the light and dark parts of the volumes. Repertoires of models of this type have partially survived from the Middle Ages and lead us to understand that certain images and techniques had been preserved for a long time147. Boethius certainly had one of these booklets among the few books he had managed to take with him to prison, and he carefully copied the figures, using the same parsimony in the use of a few basic colors: some images are identical to those of Eusebius and show that such collections of examples, already known in Roman times, were circulating in the 5th–6th century. Traces of similar representations will be found in the repertoires of late medieval exempla, such as the famous “Bohemian Vademecum” of the 15th century (Wien, Kunsthistorische Museum, Kunstkammer, Inv. 5003), whose images directly recall some of those drawn by Boethius, testifying to the long duration of certain figurative schemes. Apart from all this, there is a profound link between Eusebius and Boethius that must be highlighted: the positive judgment on Cassiodorus.

147 Schaller R. W., Exemplum. Model-Book Drawings and the Practice of Artistic Transmission in the Middle Ages (Ca. 900–Ca. 1470) (Amsterdam, 1995).

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Cassiodorus’s good reputation among the best of the Italian intellectual and political elite of the time lasted a long time. On this point, which has been the subject of discussions in the past, we have a new first-rate testimony that leaves no room for doubt. Among the autographed drawings of Boethius recently brought to light, there is also an unusual portrait of Cassiodorus with a lamb on his head, a sort of emblem of the individual depicted. We find the same lamb, with the same meaning, on the head of one of the representations of Memmius Aurelius Symmachus made by Boethius. The presence of Cassiodorus with his head surmounted by a lamb148, a symbol of innocence and goodness, is particularly interesting, because several scholars have emphasized how problematic it is to speak about the relations between these two great protagonists of their time, due to the scarce sources in our possession. Although there can be no doubt about the esteem that the founder of Vivarium had towards the philosopher, as expressed on many occasions, his collaboration with Theodoric despite the death sentence of the Last of the Romans has raised perplexity. Yet, there was no lack of those who pointed out that Cassiodorus’s political horizon cannot be limited only by his difficulties in freeing himself from Theodoric or the Goth regime, and that his tireless pursuit of dialogue between men in conflict to establish the reign of Sapientia had a profound reason for being. Boethian drawing offers a small but significant contribution to the research of historians and allows us to clarify at least one thing: in the eyes of the philosopher, rightly or wrongly, Cassiodorus did not appear like a courtier ready to take advantage of his misfortune, but rather like a lamb among wolves.

Forbidden memory The Liber Pontificalis epitome commonly designated as Feliciana has handed down to us an important piece of information concerning the executions of Boethius and Symmachus. The text, probably written shortly after the events, reports that the bodies of the two senators were hidden: “Theodoricus tenuit duos senatores ex consulibus et patrici[o]s gladio interfecit, Boetium et Symmachum, quorum etiam corpora abscondi praecepit149.” The same information is repeated in the Cononian epitome, also written close to the time of the event:

148 Troncarelli, F., La consolazione della chimera, 82–83. 149 “Theoderic held in custody two Roman Senators, two patricians, former consuls, Boethius and Symmachus and ordered to kill them with a sword. Then he ordered their bodies to be buried in a secret grave.”: Epitome Feliciana,” LV, 5 (Epitome Feliciana, in Gestorum Pontificum Romanorum, 1, Liber Pontificalis, pars I, ed. Th. Mommsen, MGH, Gestorum Pontificum romanorum, I, (Berolini, 1898), 261–262.

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“Theodericus tenuit duos senatores, Boethium et Symmacum patricium, gladio interfecit et abscondi praecepit.”150 That the bodies of Boethius and Symmachus were hidden is not without significance. The execution of the two illustrious representatives of the Latin aristocracy was, without doubt, a scandal of remarkable proportions. One understands therefore the necessity of concealing the whole course of events, including the burial place, under a veil of silence. By withdrawing the bodies of the “martyrs” from the public eye, Theodoric was carrying out a kind of veiled damnatio memoriae, imposing a taboo that could not be violated, what John Magee has called a “conspiracy of silence.”151 The conspiracy of silence set up against Boethius and Symmachus was maintained also after the death of Theodoric despite the implicit disavowal of his successors. Amalasuintha, having obtained the regency, returned the goods sequestrated by the king to the relatives of the two senators without any exaggerated public outcry, thereby avoiding any open disapproval her father’s deeds, as Procopius’ report of the episode shows.

A Late Antique edition of the Consolatio Philosophiae In spite of the veil of silence on Boethius, after his death, because of the “damnatio memoriae” of Theoderic for political reasons152, the Consolatio came out from Boethius’ jail and circulated immediately. Flavius Rusticius Helpidius Domnulus, vir clarissimus and comes consistorianus, imitated Boethius’ verses in his poem on Jesus, written just after Boethius’s death153. Rusticius was an outstanding scholar and in the same years in Ravenna he made an edition of Geographic authors, preserved in a beautiful Carolingian copy with his subscription. He was a member of Ravenna’s intellectual community: what Cassiodorus called the “suave collegium.” To this small group of learned laymen and ecclesiastics 150 “While Pope John [was] in Constantinople with [other] illustrious men of his circle, Theoderic held in custody two Roman Senators, two patricians, former consuls, Boethius and Symmachus and [had] them killed with a sword. Then he ordered their bodies to be buried in a secret grave.”: Epitome Cononiana, ibid. 151 Magee, J., “Boethius, last of the Romans”, Carmina Philosophiae: Journal of the International Boethius Society, XVI (2007), 1–22, in particular, 1: “a conspiracy of silence”. This opinion is sustained by Vitiello who outlines Cassiodorian’s silence about Boethius in a letter celebrating the Anician family: Vitiello, M., “Accusarentur saecula, si talis potuisset latere familia: Il fantasma di Severino Boezio nell’Italia dei Goti,” Historia: Zeitschrift für alte Geschichte 60 (2011), 343–82. 152 Troncarelli, F., “Forbidden memory: The Death of Boethius and the Conspiracy of Silence”, Medieval Studies, 73 (2011), 183–205. 153 Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni perdute. La ‘Consolatio Philosophiae’ nell’Alto Medioevo (Medioevo e Umanesimo, 42), (Padova 1981), 84–86.

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was dedicated Cassiodorus’ De Anima and was probably also intended for them the Expositio psalmorum, which Cassiodorus had began in Ravenna in the first years of the Gothic War. After this period, during his exile in Constantinople before Vivarium154, the same Cassiodorus prepared for the same public an edition of the Consolatio and wrote a preface and a commentary on this work. How do we know that Cassiodorus wrote his commentary on Boethius? Amplonius Ratinck de Berka (1364–1435)155 was a Physician, born in the Rhine region, who studied at Prague and Cologne, in Rhine region. He used to live in Cologne and Erfurt. In 1412 he donated his library (633 mss) to the Erfurt University. Amplonius mentions among his books a “pulcherrimus textus quinque librorum Boecii de consolatu philosophico et bene correctus; commentum eiusdem commentatoris authentici primi, scilicet Cassiodori, senatoris et cancellarii Theodorici rex Gottorum qui Boecium afflixit”. We can find at least 30 complete or fragmentary copies of the beautiful archetype, mentioned by Amplonius, among Consolatio’s manuscripts from the 9th to the 12th century156: the most complete and beautiful copy is the British Library, Harley 3095+2688 (9/10th century), written near Cologne (where Amplonius used to live) and belonged to Cologne Cathedral. Cassiodorus’ edition consists in: – A preface (a “Vita Boethii”), in which is quoted the very rare fragment of a text by Cassiodorus, called “Anecdoton Holderi” – Chapter titles, in Latin – Rhetorical notes in Greek (with a latin translation of the term employed): the same notes with the same translations are used in Cassiodorus’ Expositio Psalmorum – Metrical notes – A full-page miniature, similar to Byzantine illustrations: Boethius and Philosophy, represented as the Byzantine Holy Wisdom (The Agia Sophia)

We must outline that the Greek rhetorical notes are typical of a Late Antique commentary. Secondly, to find in the same edition both the Cassiodorius’ Anecdoton Holderi and rhetorical notes typical of Cassiodorus couldn’t be a coincidence. A systematic use of rhetorical notes is absolutely uncommon in any Carolingian and Post-Carolingian commentary: rhetorical allusions are casual, erratic, often wrong (e. g.: Remigius on Martianus Capella, ed. Lutz, p. 181: “syn154 Troncarelli, F., Vivarium. I libri, il destino. 155 Pilvousek, J. – Römelt, J., Die Bibliothek des Amplonius Raten de Berka und ihre verborgenen Schätze. Anmerkungen zur Wiederentdeckung “Erfurter” Augustinus-Predigten (Erfurter Theologische Schriften, 39), (Erfurt 2010). 156 Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni perdute, 1–11.

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chesis [sic!] vel synchris, id est yperbaton”). On the contrary, the most frequent notes are grammatical, historical, theological or philosophical. The rhetorical notes are typical of Late Antique manuscripts, such as the famous Terentius Bembinus. As has been pointed out by many authors, first of all by Arnaldo Momigliano, both the rhetorical annotations and the “editions” of the classics were distinctive marks of the cultural and political identity of the ruling class of the Late Antique Rome. As Momigliano wrote: “Those antiquarians were not frivolous”: their cultural task was a political duty: to keep alive the old traditions of a civilization, fighting against the breakdown, the collapse of the Antique World. Furthermore, the majority of the rhetorical notes of the edition of the Consolatio are used by Cassiodorus in the Expositio Psalmorum: the same notes in Greek, with the same translation of any Greek term in Latin. A comparison with the most important grammatical and rhetorical Latin authors confirms that the notes are typical of Cassiodorus, in opposition to the common tradition. In the edition of the Consolatio we find also an “apax”, a word unique: the word exemplabile, used only by Cassiodorus and not found in any other Latin author. Only somebody acquainted with Cassiodorus’ style would frequently use such technical expressions, different from the ones used by Servius, Donatus, Quintilianus and others, who were studied in the medieval schools. Consolatio’s edition uses 20 rhetorical Greek terms, with a Latin translation – 12 notes + 12 translations= 60% are only in Cassiodorus Expositio Psalmorum: one of them is the “apax” exemplabile, used only by Cassiodorus Inst. II, 2, 13 – 6 notes + 6 translations = 35% are used by Cassiodorus and sometimes by other authors (Servius or Donatus or Quintilianus or other writers) – 2 notes + 2 translations = 5% are not used by Cassiodorus and used by other authors To sum up, 95% of the notes are in Cassiodorus (60% only in Cassiodorus and 35% in Cassiodorus and others)157.

Coming back to philological questions, we must emphasize that the Anecdoton Holderi, quoted in the Vita, was a very rare text, of which only one mediaeval manuscript survived158. It was a private letter by Cassiodorus to Rufius Petronius Nichomacus Cethegus, leader of the Roman émigrés in Constantinople, to outline Cassiodorus’ genealogical links with the noble Anicii family, to whom both Symmachus and Boethius belonged: an important problem for Roman émigrés, such as both Cassiodorus and Cethegus were; but a very, very obscure question for a mediaeval reader. 157 Troncarelli, F., “La più antica interpretazione della Consolatio Philosophiae”, Nuova Rivista Storica, 72 (1988), 501–550, especially 550. 158 Galonnier, A. (1996), “Anecdoton Holderi ou Ordo generis Cassiodoriorum: introduction, édition, traduction et commentaire”, Antiquité Tardive, 4 (1996), 299–312.

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New evidence I went on studying Boethius manuscripts and I gathered new evidence on Cassiodorus edition that I published in 1986 in my book Boethiana Aetas159. The 30 manuscripts of the edition of the Consolatio are apart from the other ones, nearly 135 copies from the 9th to the 12th century. They have a special size and a special mise-en-page, very similar to the ancient copies and to the medieval copies of Cassiodorus’works. The manuscripts of the edition of the Consolatio show two different scripts: the “Rustic Capital” (or Uncial) for the poems; the minuscule for the parts in prose. The same system is used in the copies of Cassiodorus Expositio Psalmorum, all depending on the same ancient archetype. In the edition of the Consolatio we find many diagrams, very near to the ones we find in the medieval copies of the so called “Delta” version of Cassiodorus Institutiones. Namely, the Rose of the Winds is very similar, with the same Latin verses, accompanying the illustrations. Other Cassiodorian features are: – a special diagram of the 4 elements in the Institutiones and Consolatio copies. – a very rare system to indicate a pause, with four dots160. – some illustrations in the Consolatio and Institutiones manuscripts, such as the little tree in London, Br. Libr. Harley 3095, c. 25v; Paris Bibl. Mazarine, 660, c. 133v or the palm leaves under columns or cups, in both the Institutiones and Consolatio copies161. The links with Cassiodorus’ manuscripts and the survival of late-antique features in Carolingian copies it is not a surprise: outstanding palaeographers and historians, such as Elias Avery Lowe162, Edward Kennard Rand163, Julian Brown164, Armando Petrucci165 or Paul Meyvaert166have already pointed out similar pa-

159 Troncarelli, F., Boethiana Aetas. Modelli grafici e tradizione manoscritta della “Consolatio Philosophiae” tra IX e XII secolo (Biblioteca di “Scrittura e Civiltà”, II), (Alessandria, 1987). A revised edition of this book, with some changes and new bibliographical entries is the volume: Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio Mentis. L’eredità di Boezio nell’Alto Medioevo, (Storie e testi, 15), (Napoli, 2005). 160 See for instance: Vat. Lat. 5704, fol. 75v (written at Vivarium, VI sec.) and Orléans 270, p. 129 (Consolatio, IX sec.) in Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio Mentis, tav. VII. 161 See for example Troncarelli, F., Boethiana Aetas, tav. VIII. 162 Lowe, E. A., Paleographical Papers, 1907–65, ed. L. Bieler (Oxford, 1972). 163 Rand, E. K., “The New Cassiodorus’”, Speculum 13 (1938), 443–47. 164 Brown, J., A Palaeographer’s View: The Selected Writings of Julian Brown, Eds. J. Bately – M. Brown – J. Roberts (London, 1993). 165 Petrucci, A. (1971) “L’onciale romana. Origini, sviluppo e diffusione di una stilizzazione grafica altomedievale (sec. VI–IX)”, Studi medievali, s. III, 12 (1971), 75–134 and Id., “The Christian Conception of the Book in the Sixth and Seventh Centuries”, in Petrucci, A.,

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laeographical and codicological continuity in the manuscripts of Cassiodorus himself or in the copies (both late antique and Carolingians) of Latin authors such as Terentius and Plautus, carefully analyzed by Raffaelli and Questa167. My conclusions have been confirmed by other scholars168. Moreover, new researches on Cassiodorus brought new evidence on the topic we are speaking: Louis Holtz and François Dolbeau169, showed that the Ordo generis Cassiodororum was in the archetype on the so-called version Delta on the Institutiones, written by Cassiodorus170, or at least by the monks on Vivarium, as has been pointed out by Pierre Courcelle171. Apart it, Anne Grondeux’ researches on the rhetorical background of Cassiodorus172 outlined that he knew very rare Greek texts using them in the Expositio Psalmorum to analyze the Biblical text and to find very special figures in it. Therefore it couldn’t be a coincidence to find the same special figures in the Consolatio’s commentary: nobody but Cassiodorus shows the samer rhetorical knowledge. About it Anne Grondeux wrote: “Il faut souligner que la terminologie ainsi trasmise n’a que très peu d’application pratique, hormis Cassiodore et ses quelques continuateurs. Il s’agit génèralement d’une pure taxonomie […] des chapitres énumératifs dans des grammaires et des entrées des dictionnaires qui ne nécessitent pas d’autre classement qu’alphabétique”173.

166 167 168 169

170 171 172 173

Writers and Readers in Medieval History. Studies in the History of Written Culture, ed. C. M. Radding (New Haven – London 1995), 19–42. Meyvaert, P., “Bede, Cassiodorus and the Codex Amiatinus’, Speculum, 71 (1996), 827– 883. Raffaelli, R., “Prologhi, perioche, didascalie nel Terenzio Bembino (e nel Plauto Ambrosiano)’, Scrittura e Civiltà, 4 (1980), 41–101; Questa, C., Numeri innumeri: ricerche sui cantica e la tradizione manoscritta di Plauto (Roma, 1984). Troncarelli, F. (2017), “Minutiore manu. Note tironiane in un codice di Vivarium (Vat. Lat. 5704)”, Miscellanea Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae, XXIII (2017) 631–671, esp. 631– 632, nt. 3. Dolbeau, F., “Un nouveau témoin fragmentaire de l’Anecdoton. Holderi”, Revue d’histoire des textes, XII–XIII (1983), 397–399; Holtz, L., “Quelques aspects de la tradition et de la diffusion des Institutions”, in Leanza, S. (ed.), Flavio Aurelio Magno Cassiodoro. Atti della settimana di studi (Cosenza-Squillace, 19–24 settembre 1983), (Soveria Mannelli 1986), 281– 312. Troncarelli, F., Vivarium. I libri, 29–33. This opinion has been accepted by Vessey, M. – Halporn, J. (Eds.), Cassiodorus: Institutions of Divine and Secular Learning and On the Soul (Liverpool 2004). Courcelle, P. “Histoire d’un brouillon cassiodorien”, 65–86. Grondeux, A., La terminologie grecque des figures de réthorique et ses mises en circulation dans l’Occident latin, in Gianni, S. – Grevin, B. (Eds.), L’Antiquité tardive dans les collections médiévales: textes et représentations, VIe–XIVe siècle (Rome, 2008), 339–350. Ibid. 350.

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The date of the edition We find some very interesting Greek notes among the Cassiodorian’s notes174. One on them is very important. Boethius quotes a Greek verse of an unknown author: “The body of a holy man has been built by the heavens” (Cons. Phil. IV, 6, 38). In the most complete manuscripts of this group (Harley 3095, Krakow Berl. 939, Séléstat 93) a Greek note follows the verse: “It is not true that the heavens have built the holy man’s body. The Idea moulded the holy bodies” ([τὰ τοῦ] ἁγίου ἀνδρ[ὸ]ς σώματα ἣ ι᾿δέα οι᾿κοδομήσ[ε]).

The Greek note like Origenes outlines the importance of the “Idea”. This was openly censured in 553 by the Council of Constantinople175. Therefore this note must have been written before 553. The note has a typical Origenian flavour: not by chance, Cassiodorus in his Institutiones praises Origenes or at least praises partially Origenes and doesn’t remember nor the existence of the Council on Constatinople, defying in both cases the Imperial orders.

The edition and Boethius’ afterlive What is the deep meaning of the edition of Boethius prepared by Cassiodorus? Boethius knew how to die. Cassiodorus knew how to survive. At the beginning of the Middle Ages, Cassiodorus challenged his public inviting Boethius’ readers to appreciate the old-fashioned late antique flavour of his last work, thanks to the rhetorical skill, typical of a cultivated Roman gentleman. Boethius, assisted by the Agia Sophia, was the noblest figure of Roman-Byzantine Italy of the 6h century. His Wisdom’s fame defied the fame of his relatives, like the princess Anicia Juliana, who was celebrated by poems and miniatures exalting her “Sophia”(Wisdom)176. Cassiodorus reinvented Boethius: the virtuous, heroic, Christian Boethius, not so far from the reality and not so far from the myth; half way between an ecclesiastic, who could have been celebrated in the Liber pontificalis, and a

174 Troncarelli, F., “Una nuova edizione della Philosophiae Consolatio nel CCSL”, Scriptorium, XLI (1987), 133–150. 175 Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum, ed. J. Straub, IV, 1 (Berlin, 1971), 248, Anatema n° 6. 176 Troncarelli, F. Tradizioni perdute, 64–79. See also Troncarelli, F., Umanesimo tardoantico, 81, nt. 144.

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Roman patrician, the scion of the noble family of the Anicii, whose name means “never defeated.” The veil of silence about Boethius was broken by Cassiodorus’ edition and afterward by the Instutiones, written at Vivarium, that praised Boethius’ logical works177. In the same time, in the East side of the Empire, Rusticus Diaconus appreciated and quoted both Consolatio and the Contra Eutychen et Nestorium in his polemic, Chalcedonian treatise Contra Acephalos178. Rusticus, exiled by Justinian and then readmitted in Constantinople, was in touch with the oriental branch of the Anicii. They contributed to the diffusion of Boethian logical works that circulated among the Latin emigrés, who decided to live in the capital of the Empire179.

Boethius and Cassiodorus in Constantinople The edition of Boethius’ works in Constantinople short after the philosopher’s death attested by a famous signature by Martius Novatus Renatus to a collection of Boethius’ logical-rhetoric treatises, is well known and has been studied by many scholars.180 However, what is worthy of further and deeper attention is the political-cultural implications of such an operation. Scholars have already – and rightly so – taken into consideration different aspects of Renatus’ personality,181 which can be reconstructed: he was a vir spectabilis, of established orthodoxy and deep culture, related to the Anicii of the East182, he was used to travel back and forth between Italy and Constantinople,183 he was able to stand his own ground in Greek against the famous Monophysite Severus from Antiochia and, for doctrinal issues, he was in touch with John Diaconus, which should be the same Boethius was in touch with.184 What instead has not been well developed is the relationship that Renatus was likely to have with the Anicii family in the East. The transcription of Boethius’ logical-rhetoric corpus in Constantinople, right after his 177 See the introduction of Boethius, De divisione, ed. J. Magee. 178 Rustici diaconi Contra Acephalos, ed. S. Petri, (CCSL, C), (Turnhout, 2013), 3–4, 96. 179 Troncarelli, F., “Boezio a Costantinopoli: testi, contesti, edizioni”, in Litterae Caelestes, 3 (2010), 189–226. 180 Obertello, L., Severino Boezio (Accademia ligure di scienze e lettere. Monografie, 1), (Genova 1974), 324–381. 181 Morris, J. – Jones, A.H – Martindale, J. R., The Prosopography, III B, 939. 182 Renatus was in touch with Senarius, a relative of both Ennodius and Boethius: Chadwick, H., Boezio. La consolazione della musica, della logica, della teologia e della filosofia (Bologna, 1986), 49 183 Mathisen, R. W., “Patricians as diplomats in late antiquity”, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 79 (1986), 35–49. 184 Gillett, A. (2003), Envoys and Political Communication in the Late Antique West, 411–533 (Cambridge 2003), 214.

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death, could not take place without the knowledge of the Anicia family of the easter Capital. After all, the author of the transcription of the codex is the calligrapher Theodorus, who had previously transcribed Priscianus,185 who dedicated to Quintus Aurelius Memmius Symmachus, after his request, three short treatises, one of which was of logical-rhetoric nature.186 We are obviously inside the same circle that commissions and reads codices of a certain kind. In such an environment, which revolves around the very powerful Anicia family,187 the edition of Boethius’ works right after his condemnation to death, along with Symmachus, and the forfeit of their families’ estates, expresses the need of a consecration of the philosopher’s works, in spite of what happened. Boethius still speaks after his death, from Constantinople, while in the West his name is not but mumbled in secretly. It is not impossible that in Constantinople an edition of other logical works was also edited: Minio Paluello has dangled in more than one occasion such a conjecture,188 that is plausible by philological reasons, but nevertheless without giving any confirmation to his opinions with paleographic or codicological arguments, but with a general mention to the presence of “Greek” technical signs in one of the oldest and less “contaminated” manuscripts of the translation of Aristotle’s Categories, the Einsiedeln 324 codex. In the same codex a copy of Boethius’ Commentary to Cicero’s Topica is reported, with a subscription by Boethius himself: “Conditor operis emendavi.”189 Apart from the “signs” Minio Paluello refers to, I could observe that in the explicit of the third book of Boethius’ commentary to the Topics (p. 172) in the Einsiedeln manuscript, appears the formula “euthichos” instead of “feliciter:” the same one we also find in the codices with the subscription by Martius Novatus. The presence of such a “Greek symptom”, proper to the Latin manuscripts

185 His subscription is in the manuscripts of the Institutiones di Priscianus, Keil 1859, II, 191, 451, 597; III, 105. 186 Grammatici latini, ed. H. Keil, III (Lipsiae, 1859), p. 405; Obertello, L., Severino, 24–381; Cracco Ruggini, L., “Nobiltà romana e potere nell’età di Boezio”, in Obertello, L. (ed.) Atti del Congresso Internazionale di Studi Boeziani (Pavia, 5–8 ottobre 1980), (Roma, 1981), 73–96, especially p. 80; Callu, J., “La prémièr diffusion de “l’Histoire Auguste” in J. Béranger, J. – Straub, J. (Edds.) (1993), Bonner Historia Augusta Colloquium 1982/83 (Bonn, 1985), 89–129, esp. 109; Zecchini, G., Ricerche di storiografia tardoantica (Roma, 1993), 86. 187 John Magee wrote: “The connection with Priscian suggests a professional or cultural link with Boethius clan” ( Magee, J., “The Text of Boethius’ De divisione”, 8). Se also Cracco Ruggini, L., Nobiltà romana, 73–96; Ead., “Gli Anici a Roma e in provincia”, Mélanges de L’Ecole Française de Rome 100/1 (1988), 65–85. 188 Minio Paluello, L., “Nuovi impulsi allo studio della logica in Occidente: la seconda fase della riscoperta di Aristotele e di Boezio”, (Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo, 19), (Spoleto, 1972), II, 43–766. 189 Obertello, L., Severino Boezio, 342–382.

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produced in Constantinople,190allows us to affirm on a paleographic level what could have been guessed through philological reasoning and through simple common sense: in Constantinople, starting from models which had been revised by Boethius himself, were also prepared editions of his logical-rhetoric and logical-dialectic works, at the hands of people belonging to the circle of the eastern Anicii. like the calligrapher Teodorus, or who were in touch with the eastern Anicii, like Renatus. If this is true, it is not surprising that a few years later Cassiodorus did the same as well with the Consolatio, turning to the same environment that edited Boethius’ logical works, a member of which was also in that moment a personality to whom the Ordo generis Cassiodorum was addressed, who, not coincidently, we find again in the preface to the edition of the Consolatio as well, Rufius Petronius Nicomacus Cetegus, related to the Anicii, and head of the Latin exiles in Constantinople, the one who most of all was doing something, so that Justinian could intervene against the Goths.191 Both, as we previously said, had known Rusticus and had made attempts to establish a dialog with him; both had as a reference the Anicia family of Constantinople; both shared the memory of Boethius.

Rome in Constantinople Cethegus appears also in another work written in Constantinople in those years. He does not come into sight directly: it is rather his shadow to appear. But his shadow has the clear features of his profile. In John Lidus’ fascinating commemoration of Roman habits and nobility, the so-called De magistratibus romanis, there is a mention of a certain Cethegus to an amazing rhetoric effect. The author recalls that the ancient and noble families of Rome, after a certain period of time, were joined by obscure lineages of exiled people, like the ones coming from Troy, or unknown, like the Ceteghi, dwelling on the commemoration of one of them, who dared for a long time to show up in the senate house with his rough tunic of a farmer, open at his bare chest, apparently poor and humble, and yet already invested with very prestigious positions (De Mag. I, 229). John is referring, without mentioning his name, to a personality of the republican Rome like Cornelius Cethegus: and yet, his unspecified Cethegus, like the exiled from Troy, proud of his poverty and his old Roman sincerity, the last of the true Romans exiled to Constantinople, who, without hiding his misery and not ashamed to cry, 190 Lowe, E. A., “Greek Symptoms in a sixth-century Manuscript of St. Augustin”, in Paleographical papers, 466–474, especially 468. 191 Procopio, La guerra gotica, ed. D. Comparetti (Fonti per la storia d’Italia, 23), (Roma, 1895), II, 284, 427.

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asked for and obtained consolation by Justinian, as Procopius commemorates with sympathy.192 It is not strange that John Lidus offers this type of heroes to the arrogant Greeks of Constantinople. Scholars have often pointed out the ethical and political tension of John’s project, showing that his inquiry on the past was oriented to the present time.193 From this point of view, his conduct was not different from those who, like the Cassiodorean Jordanes, recalled the past of the Goths, in order to connect it to the present destiny of Italy, free from the Goths. No doubt John’s attitude towards the magistracy of Rome and of the Roman world was not totally similar to that of Cassiodorus’ circle, neither to that of Cassiodorus himself, as it has been pointed out several times:194 And yet, his career of a great Court bureaucrat, his culture of antiquarius and of expert on Roman history, his love for etymology nourished with the reading of Festus and Varro, his intellectual curiosities themselves, worthy of Macrobius, make him a personality with an identity very similar to Cassiodorus. As a matter of fact, although from different points of view, the two of them played a similar game in Constantinople, and they surely had the same interlocutors. It was not by chance that in the Vita of Boethius, in the Late Antique edition, come into view topics we find again in John’s De magistratibus, topics that were current and pour cause. They were subjects discussed, and which could not have been neglected by the Latin exiled in Constantinople and among those who, in the Capital, made reference to the Latin culture: subjects that dealt with the very essence of the Roman identity threatened by the events, not just in the context of the new Rome, but above all in the general context of the societates of the Empire. Let us think, for example, of the etymology of Boethius, from the greek βοηθόs, which we find again in the Vita Boethii:195 the Greek term should have been translated with a word from classical Latin like auxiliator, but is understood instead as equivalent to the late and bureaucratic adiutor. The choice of this very characteristic technical term is not without meaning, and leads us to John Lidus, who explains (De Mag., III, 2) that the official carrying the Latin name of adiutor (a term that is transliterated and used by John in Greek with a linguistic imprint) is called in Greek βοήθος and helps constantly, out of regard for his name, his superiors.196 John praised the number of officers sincere and faithful to the government, who at the first step of their career are adiutores: like the soldier of a big army, the adiutor sacrifices 192 Procopio, La guerra, II, 427. 193 Maas, M., John Lydus and the Roman Past: Antiquarianism and Politics in the Age of Justinian, (London, 1992); Kelly, C., “John Lydus and the Eastern Pratorian Prefectures in the Sixth Century”, Byzantinische Zeitschrift, 98 (2005), 431–458. 194 Maas, M. John Lydus, 83–86. 195 Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni, 12, lines 16–17. 196 Jones, A.H.M., The Later Roman Empire, 284–60 (Oxford 1973), 588.

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himself for the public benefit, and is active, eager, altruistic. In a few words, as Cassiodorus said of himself, is ad universum sufficiens. Thanks to this etymology, the name itself of Boethius reminds us, therefore, that he was a soldier of the invisible army of the good: after all it is not by chance that the nomen of the Anicii is explained as “undefeated”, from the Greek, recalling Gaudentius of Brescia’s official position.197 If this is true, it should come to no surprise that in the Vita Boethii there is much insistence as well on the heroic meaning of the name Manlius, written Mallius, as wished by the constantinopolitan Priscian, explicitly quoted:198 it means the strength of the soul, like that of Manlius Capitolinus who, as Festus says, quoting him without mentioning his name, Gallos ab arce depulit.199 This is also John Lidus’ type of hero, who chose among the many examples available from Roman history precisely Manlius, written Mallius, in order to praise the nobility of the indomitable soul of the Quirites: as Festus reminds us, quoted indirectly by John Lidus as well, Manlius was the one who set Rome free from the Barbarians, who oppressed the city in the past, like the Goths at the present time (De Mag. I, 5: “Μάλλιος ο στρατηγός… τούς μέν βαρβαρούς εξώθησε.”) Festus, the rare Festus, who the high middle ages did not come to know until Paul the Deacon, but who Cassiodorus knows and employs, peeps out again here and there in the De magistratibus (De Mag. III, 37,) inspiring John the etymology of Lucilius from Lux (De Mag. I, 22,) which is exactly the same of Lucius from Lux appearing in the Vita Boethii,200 where the rare Festus, well known to Cassiodorus, is explicitly quoted.201 The symmetry and parallelism between Cassiodorus and John Lidus in the arena of Constantinople do not differ from the symmetries and parallelisms of Cassiodorus and other personalities having a similar stature to John, in the same environment of Constantinople. Let us think, for example, of the interest shown by Cassiodorus for the works of Marcellinus, the comes palatinus and to the coinciding evaluation of the end of the Roman Empire made by Marcellinus and Jordanes, closely related to Cassiodorus.202 There has been a long discussion in order to establish if Marcellinus belonged to circle of the Anicii, and if Jordanes was only an executor of Cassiodorus’ will: these two theories have received noteworthy endorsements in the past, but presently there is a tendency to deny 197 Cracco Ruggini, L., “Gli Anicii a Roma e in provincia”, 74, nt. 16. 198 “Alii ‘Manli’ legunt, sed melius ‘Malli’ […]:lege Priscianum” (Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni, 12, lines 11–13). 199 “Mallius dicto a malleo propter fortitudinem […]. Multi quoque romanorum Mallii nominati sunt, sicut ille qui Gallos ex arce urbis depulit” (Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni, 12, lines 13–16; Festus, De Verb. sign., 112). 200 “Lucius…quod luce partus sit” (Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni, 12, line 10). 201 “Lege Festum Pompeium” (Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni,, 13, line 21). 202 Momigliano, A., La caduta senza rumore di un impero nel 476 d.C. (1980), in ID., Sesto Contributo alla Storia degli Studi Classici e del mondo antico, I, (Roma, 1980), 159–161.

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them and to emphasize the autonomy and independence of each author.203 This does not mean, though, that they do not belong to the same constellation and that the works of one could not end in the hands of the other, or at least that the readers of one’s works could not be the readers of the other’s.204 The point is that, apart from the individual differences and even apart from their possible individual oppositions, the one writing in Latin language in the Constantinople of the Anicii and of the exiled from the burning Italy, ended up to converge in the same river-bed, just as those who wrote verses in the Romantic period ended up singing feelings, being it Apollonian like Goethe, or Dionysian like Byron. We have to look at it from this point of view, if we wish to understand the deep meaning of a text like the Ordo generis Cassiodorum. Scholars asked themselves, sometimes with interest, some other times with distrust, what kind of text it was, without being able to give a satisfying answer, and hesitating between enthusiasm and suspect. And yet, the answer is very simple. Cassiodorus spent most of his existence writing letters. The Ordo is clearly the remaining of a letter addressed to Cethegus, an official letter,205in which there is an excursus full of praises and information, totally similar to some other excursus that are to be found in other letters, like for example the ones addressed to Boethius in the Variae. The norm of the laudatio is itself exactly like the one employed to exalt other personalities in the Variae or in the Institutiones, with the same structure and at times even the same words. The fact that the letter is not preserved in its integrity does not prevent us from understanding the deep meaning of the excursus, just as the fact that, although the Vita Boethii is full of gaps, this does not prevent us from grasping its meaning: or would we have the courage to say that we cannot understand Petronius’ Satyricon because the text is not complete? To address to Cethegus, the head of the Latin exiles in Constantinople, and who had been the head of the Senate before his exile, meant to speak directly to the representative par excellence of all what remained of the Latin world. And to tell Cethegus that what really remains from the past and what is worthy of being imitated by those who drifted away from Gothic Italy is the culture and the moral example of men like Boethius and Symmachus, of the Anicii family like the same Cethegus, meant to say that everything is not lost, that still exists and will always exist among the Latins intelligence and greatness of soul, the phronesis and the megalopsychia portrayed together with Anicia Juliana in her famous Dioscurides. And the latin phronesis is exactly what was celebrated in Constantinople in the circle of the Anicii: according to the Ordo, Boethius was “of such a kind to equal the ancient 203 O’Donnell J.J., “The Aims of Jordanes”, Historia, 31(1982), 223–240; Crocke, B., Count Marcellinus and His Chronicle (Oxford, 2001); Amici, A., “Cassiodoro a Costantinopoli. Da magister officiorum a religiosus vir”, Vetera Christianorum, 42/2 (2005), 215–231. 204 Zecchini, G., Ricerche di storiografia latina tardoantica (Roma, 1993), 71–79. 205 Galonnier, A., “Anecdoton Holderi ou Ordo Generis Cassiodororum, 299–312.

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authors and to exceed them” (“talis fuit ut antiquis auctoris aequipararet aut vinceret”) thanks to the logical works (“sed in operis artis logicae, id est dialecticae,”) i. e., precisely thanks to those works that were made public in Constantinople by Renatus and by the Anicii, and that could compete with the prestigious personalities that were active in those years in the Capital. To underline such aspect of Boethius’ production meant to side with the course of action of the Anicii of Constantinople, which had celebrated their relative, reminding everybody of his qualities as a learned author of commentaries to Aristotle and Cicero. From our point of view, Boethius is much more interesting for his Consolatio, but for Boethius’ contemporaries, his fame was assured by his work of modern exegete, who explained with sharpness the ancient philosophers, and offered to his contemporaries tools to prevail in the disputations. As emphasized by Maas, the possibility of such disputations and the flourishing of the rhetoric was felt by John Lidus as the quintessence of freedom, in contrast with the atmosphere of repression that the enemies of every dialogue and every discussion wanted to impose to Constantinople.206 After all, up until that moment, the Consolatio did not enjoy but a restricted circulation, and it could only have been appreciated in Constantinople thanks to an edition comparable to the one of the logical works, rhetoric and dialectic of the Roman philosopher, precisely the edition that Cassiodorus himself dared to make. Regarding Symmachus’ phronesis as well, the heir of the ancient Cato, it is not by accident that his activity of historian was underlined. As we mentioned before, the meditation on what sense to attribute to the history of Rome was lively among personalities like John Lidus and Marcellinus, no less than among the Latins of Constantinople. It is not by chance that Symmachus’ Storia romana, recalled in the Ordo by Cassiodorus, was quoted explicitly by Jordanes, just in the same way that Marcellinus’ chronicle is quoted. It is not fortuitous that even Jordanes employed the Historia Augusta, and that authoritative scholars thought that Cassiodorus brought from Constantinople to Vivarium a copy of the Historia Augusta.207 It was necessary to have a confrontation with these texts: and it was necessary to have a confrontation with the ideas in them. And such ideas had a weight, independently from their authorship. Let us think, for example, of the intricate issue of the perception among the historians in Constantinople of the fall of the Western Roman Empire. Scholars are separated by passionate debates on such issue, attributing in the past the authorship of that idea, expressed by Marcellinus and Jordanes, precisely to Symmachus, and recently denying it.208 206 Maas, M., John Lydus, 68–69; cfr. John Lydus, De mag. III, 76. 207 Callu J., La première diffusion, 89–129. 208 Ensslin,W., Des Symmachus Historia Romana als Quelle für Jordanes (Sitzungsberichte der bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften,philosophisch-historische Klasse, 1948, Heft 3)

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Whatever the solution of such issue may be, it is certainly difficult and thorny,209 and it remains that the idea of the fall “without noise” of the Roman Empire bounced from one to the other of the protagonists of the events of that time, and could have been useful to whom was able to finally use it. For example Jordanes, that thanks to the awareness of the fall of the Western Empire, is able to reintroduce an ideal that was very welcome among the exiled Latins: to get rid of the idea of going back to the ancient Empire, still fostered by somebody looking back nostalgically, (“satisfied”, so to say) of re-creating a kingdom of Italy. Celebrating Germanus’ child, both Amalus and Anicius at the same time, he suggests to re-create a kingdom dependent from the Empire, that could be able to revive the memorable events of Theodoric kingdom, but under the protection of the Anicii, so powerful in Constantinople.210 Germanus was not at all a member of the Anicia family, and could have been called thus only because he had married a woman member of the Anicia family; but this was only a detail. Neither Cassiodorus was, as long as we know, a true Anicius: and yet in the Ordo he celebrated himself as such, because, as we have already pointed out in another article, everybody was always allowed to imitate the nobility of men like the Anicii and make it one’s own living it again. To this purpose, Lelia Cracco Ruggini wrote: “Cassiodorus’ stretching about his kinship with the Anicii and the exaltation of the fusion of the “royal” lineages of the Amali and the Anicii have their meaning, above all, as a political message, as a will to endorse – even through a recently discovered aristocratic support – a unitary and harmonious aspect of the Italian aristocracy towards Justinian, the claim of an autonomous and personal role of Italy, distinguished by the merging of Goths and Romans, and set free from dynastic relationships with the eastern sovereigns: so much so, that while in 519 Cassiodorus, in his Chronica, ignored the epochal role of the 476, he maybe changed his mind even regarding this point in Constantinople, if Jordane’s passages in the Gotica and in the Romana are reflexion of a new position held by Cassiodorus about the issue. Just prior to the last Byzantine reconquest and to the promulgation of the Pragmatica Sanctio – so desired by the Roman-Latin no(München, 1949); D. Bradley, D. (1966), “The composition of the Getica”, Eranos 64, 67–79; Momigliano, A., La caduta senza rumore, 159–161; Luiselli, B. (1975), “Note sulla perduta Historia Romana di Simmaco”, Studi Urbinati, XLIX, 529–535; O’ Donnell, J. J. (1979), Cassiodorus (Berkeley-Los Angeles-London, 1979); S. Krautschick, S., Cassiodor und die Politik seiner Zeit (Halbets Diss. R. Alte Geschichte, 17) (Bonn, 1983); Amici, A., Cassiodoro a Costantinopoli. 209 Zecchini, G., Ricerche, 66–90. 210 Momigliano, A. “Cassiodorus and the Italian Culture of his Time”; ID., “Gli Anicii e la storiografia latina”, 231–253; Mazza, M., “La Historia Tripartita di Flavio Magno Aurelio Cassiodoro Senatore: metodi e scopi”, in Flavio Magno, 210–244; Christensen, A. S., Cassiodorus, Jordanes and the History of the Goths, Studies in Migration Myth (Copenaghen, 2002).

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bility exiled in Constantinople as well – it was very important to strip down such schemes of continuity supported by the Justinian’s propaganda, and to reassess that the matter of the Western Empire was definitely closed.”211

Cassiodorus in Constantinople Despite his tragic death and the just as tragic end of the Teodorician civilitas, Boethius had been a worthy child of that Goth Italy where an Arian king behaved like a Catholic, rendering more honors to the bishops of the Greek Church than to that of the Arian Church. That Italy was recognizable, was identified through the cult of a superior wisdom that allowed the coexistence of individuals of opposing visions and contrasting natures. Danuta Shanzer emphasized that at the roots of the elaborate Christian – Platonic – Aristotelic conceptual model developed by Boethius, there was precisely the Sapientia,212 which in a work such as the Consolatio seems to assume a gnostic feature worthy – according to Shanzer – of the “Hellenistic Judaism,” but that could be defined also as a “Platonism of the Fathers”, that could assume in different contests a different meaning: it could inspire Boethius himself to become a mediator between Plato and Aristotle, because eventually the doctrines of two schools so antithetical are able to match; it could suggest to Ennodius the belief that the rhetoric, the discipline that teaches to speak and to present things in a proper way, was the queen of the arts, the one drawing the line between a barbarian and civilized man; it was able to inspire Cassiodorus the idea that it was natural for the Goths and the Romans to live in harmony; it had the strength to instill in Thedoricus and his descendants the illusion that illiterate military chiefs could become king-philosophers. This topic has been studied in a brilliant book by Massimiliano Vitiello,213 who showed how in all the fragile, fascinating, reckless, yearning adventure of the Latin civilitas in Gothic Italy, the protection of Wisdom played a basic role, which lasted until the exhaustion of the last sparks of the Rule of Law of the Goths under Vitiges. But also after the end of this experience, which meant also the end of his direct political commitment, Cassiodorus continued to be inspired by the Sapientia, and for that matter, he still continued to busy himself with politics, though in a different way. And rightly so. In Constantinople, he still found an environment that was very sensitive to his orientation, particularly among the Anicii, who were 211 Cracco Ruggini, L, “Gli Anicii a Roma e in provincia”, 254. 212 Shanzer, D. “Interpreting the Consolatio”, 240–245. Cfr. Crocco, A. (1981), “La concezione sapienziale della filosofia in Boezio”, Sapienza, 34, 385–395. 213 Vitiello, M., Il principe, il filosofo, il guerriero. Lineamenti di pensiero politico nell’Italia ostrogota (Hermes Einzelschriften, 97), (Stuttgart, 2006), esp. 82–151 e 165–226.

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his natural point of reference. As I have shown elsewhere,214 the wise and virtuous Anicia Juliana had always been associated to the cult of the Sapientia and she was a living example of an attitude free from any kind of fanaticism, shown instead by the opposing theological extremes to be found in the Imperial city: a relation to this person for someone like Cassiodorus is to be taken for granted, even more because in this way, he could find an indirect relation with the imperial attitude as well, with the cult of the Hagia Sophia claimed precisely in those years through the building of the large basilica by Justinian, erected in competition with the basilica of Saint Polyeuktos by Anicia Juliana. For this reason, the entire edition of the Consolatio was put under the patronage of the Sapientia, this way emphasizing an implicit character in the text, rightly recalled by Danuta Shanzer; but at the same time stressing a specific feature of the world from where Boethius came, the “wise” attribute of the political life of the civilitas of the gothic Italy, by which Cassiodorus had always been inspired, and inspiring in turn himself the principles he had always dealt with as well. The Carolingian copies of the great illumination at the opening of the edition of the Consolatio, faithful to the original model as for many other instances,215 clearly show the relationship between the Late Antique archetype of the Consolatio with the Dioscorides of Anicia Juliana, emphasizing the dimension that belongs to the proper wisdom of Philosophy that appears to Boethius. The title page of the edition of the Consolatio praised the triumph of the divine Sapientia, in agreement with the mentality of Boethius and of the Western Anicii. This meant to emphasize an element of the figure of the character of Philosophy, which was certainly present in Boethius, but that at the same time to conceal some other aspects subtly intertwined with it. The consequences of this choice have been outlined by Thomas Ricklin. In a commentary on the image of the late ancient edition and arguing – in agreement with my explicitly quoted position – that it “reprises Late Antique models,” the German scholar has spoken of a “removal of the most clearly satirical dimension of the apparition” by the “premier public” of those who read Boethius.216 For Ricklin, Boethius’ philosophy had also a “satirical” character, since he reprises figures that are typical of the tradition of the satura, like those of Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis. According to the German scholar, the first public of readers of the Consolatio, affected by the setting of the late ancient edition, did not want to pay attention to this dimension. Even if one doesn’t accept the controversial theory of a satyrical side of Boethius’ Philosophy, we should remember that Martianus’ work was corrected 214 Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni, 66–68. 215 Ibid. pp. 70–78. 216 Ricklin, T., “Femme-philosophie et hommes-animaux: essai d’une lecture satirique de la Consolatio Philosophiae de Boèce”, in Galonnier, A. (Ed.), Boèce et la chaîne des savoirs (Louvain, 2002), 131–146, esp. 138–139.

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prope porta Capena, at the library of pope Agapetus,217 when the Pope and Cassiodorus discussed the possibility of building an universitas studiorum Christiana in Rome. History had destroyed those dreams and had taken away from Cassiodorus, beside the illusion, a copy of Martianus’ De nuptiis as well. In Vivarium, the old statesman confessed a missing volume of the author, which at the time of the adventure with pope Agapetus seemed to have to play a major role in order to establish a theological school in Rome. Yes, Martianus had disappeared: his place had been taken by Boethius, by the works of Boethius found in Constantinople, eventually carefully read and studied in a proper environment, at a proper time. Glancing through the Variae, one may have the impression that Cassiodorus did not know all the texts by the great philosopher through, which he refers to in many occasions in a generic way.218 On the contrary, in the following years, in the works he composed during his exile in Constantinople, he quotes with full knowledge of the facts Boethius’ logical texts: in the Expositio Psalmorum and in the rhetoric commentary of the Consolatio, Boethius’ logical argumentation is very clear to the writer.219 It is obvious that in Constantinople Cassiodorus came in touch not in an occasional way with Boethius’ philosophical works, and that he read and studied them. In Vivarium as well, he will quote with full knowledge the works of the trivium and of the quadrivium of the vir magnificus Boethius, whose abstracts appear in the redaction Delta and Phi of the Institutiones. Once back home, after the adventure in Constantinople, with the perspective of an inevitable decline, Cassiodorus did not give up on the beneficial rays of the Sapientia. And he did not give up on Boethius either. John Magee suggested with plausible arguments that Cassiodorus brought to Constantinople a copy of the volume edited by Martius Novatus Renatus. It is undeniable that Cassiodorus possessed in Vivarium many codices of Boethius, as shown by the Institutiones in their several redactions still preserved. It is possible that Cassiodorus brought with him codices of Boethius from Constantinople, like for example, the archetype of the first section of the Vat. Lat. 567, containing Boethius’ commentary to Cicero’s Topica, followed by the subscription “Conditor operis emendavi,” exactly like the subscription of Einsiedeln 324 which, as we said before, depended on an archetype of the Topica most likely produced in Constantinople. There are good reasons to think that the archetype belonged to Vivarium, since the marginal notes of the codex are frequently written with beakers or bowls stylized

217 Marrou, H-I., “Autour de la Bibliothéque de Pape Agapit”, Mélanges de l’Ecole française de Rome, 48 (1931), 124–169. 218 Var., I, 45. 219 Troncarelli, F., La più antica, 530–531; D’Onofrio, G., Fons scientiae. La dialettica nell’Occidente tardo-antico (Nuovo Medioevo, 31), (Napoli, 1986), 9–98.

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according to a very typical custom of the codices produced in Vivarium.220 The insistence of the old codices produced in Vivarium and of the copies of the originals upon the figure of the chalice and of the bowls, as we already said, has a very precise symbolic meaning, and goes back to the allegoric conception of the “chalice of wisdom” of old origins which had a certain fortune among the Christian writers.221 Even though the time spent in Constantinople by Cassiodorus was by now over, and even if Boethius belonged to a world that was passed away by then, his memory was still alive. After all, also in Constantinople, a place he had just left and where the deacon Rusticus had just came back, the memory of Boethius was still alive. Just as much as in the Italy of the end of the century was still alive, although faded, the memory of the splendor of the Sapientia, which had inspired a lifestyle by then lost for ever.

The last of Boethians Some passages in Boethius’ Opuscula Sacra show clear traces of manipulation, the result of a doctrinal reworking aimed at making them conform to orthodoxy.222 There are, moreover, numerous interpolations in many parts of the philosopher’s Opuscula Sacra, with forced insertion of explicitly orthodox passages which significantly modify the original text and push it in a much shallower

220 Troncarelli, F., Vivarium, pl. 36–37. 221 Cabrol, F – Leclercq, H., Dictionnaire d’archéologie chrétienne et de liturgie, (Paris, 1907–1953, sub voce: “Vase”; Meslin, M., “Vases sacrés et boissons d’éternité dans les visions des martyrs africains”, in Fontaine, J. – Kannengiesser, Ch. (Eds.), Epektasis. Mélanges patristiques offertes au Cardinal Jean Danielou (Paris, 1972), 139–153 (with bibliography). 222 In this regard, see Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio mentis, 328–333. Consider, for instance, a passage from the De fide. On the lines 12–24, the manuscripts of the ψ group omit an aside in which, with orthodox zeal, the features of the Trinity are listed. Boethius mentions the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, stating that the Son was generated by the substance of the Father and that he is “ratione coeternum” to the latter. The sentence has a full meaning in the form in which it appears in the codices of the ψ group; but in the other codices, after the mention of the Three Persons of the Trinity, the text specifies: “ita ut deum dicat patrem, deum filium, deum spiritum sanctum, nec tamen tres deos sed unum.” The formula has an apparent Boethian flavour: indeed, it seems to follow expressions such as: “Igitur pater, filius, spiritus sanctus unus non tres dei” from the De Trinitate (1, 9). Nevertheless, the absence of this sentence in ψ cannot be explained with a blunder on behalf of the copyist of the archetype of this family: there are too many omitted words and it seems weird that, after such an extended jump, Boethius’ text still makes sense. Instead, it seems more likely that this is an addition to the original text, building on an already existing Boethian formula in order to turn the new passage towards a more explicitly orthodox direction.

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direction than the author himself originally intendedi223; there is as well the mysterious disappearance of the preface to De fide catholica, which displayed boldly original ideas in religious terms, as the surviving part shows. Strangely, indeed, the De fide is missing both its preface and its ending, even though it circulated together with the other four theological works – in which, by contrast, neither element is absent – as part of a manuscript tradition which clearly reflects an edition of ancient origins. These are, consequently, original omissions which no one has yet managed to correct. The unexpected and unexplainable gap seems to result from a “travel accident” in an early phase of the diffusion of this collection of works: in fact, a folio or bifolio seems to be already missing in the archetype of the manuscript tradition, and the omission evidently is not coincidental. The anomaly endured for centuries despite the perennial risk of confusion between the end of the third treatise (Quomodo substantiae) and the beginning of the fourth (De fide). To put it more precisely, there appears to have been a kind of damnatio memoriae which had to be perpetuated beyond the bounds of reason or logic. An excerpt, or rather a partial abstract, of this lost introduction has been found in the Reg. lat. 1424: a text which circulated attached to a copy of the De arithmetica by the same author.224 This small fragment may be what remains of the lost text, and its survival within a copy of the De arithmetica possibly has the same significance as the survival of similar Boethian excerpts in the tradition of the corpus of logical treatises assembled in Constantinople by friends and relatives of the author.225 Such an hypothesis is corroborated by the content of the fragment and its title, Summa fide, which would have been fitting for the De fide. We have discovered a fragment of the lost prologue to De fide in an extract entitled, Summa fide, as well as its title, Summa fide, so charged with theological influences and suggestions, have been wrongfully included in the naming of some authoritative early-medieval copies of the De Arithmetica, thus proving, through this ab archetipo error, the existence of an independent branch of the tradition of the excerpt in question: I am referring here to the codices: ÖNB, Wien 55, dated between the 9th and the 10th century; Stiftsbibliothek, Eisendeln 358, dated to the 10th century; BM, Verdun 24, from the 10th century. appear. Apart from this, there may be some indirect evidence that an introduction to this work existed: a possible hint can be found in a rather obscure passage from 223 Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio, 332–333. 224 Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio, 301–333. 225 See, in this regard, L. Minio-Paluello’s observations in Leonardi, C. – Pizzani, U. – MinioPaluello, L. – Courcelle, P., “Boezio”, in Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani XI (Rome, 1969), 142–165.

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Cassiodorus. It is a very interesting variant of a well-known text. In the famous Anecdoton Holderi226 Cassiodorus, recalling Boethius’ activity in the field of theology, remarks that he “scripsit… capita [sc., capitula: cfr. Harley 3095] quaedam dogmatica.” In a copy of the same text discovered by Dolbeau,227 however, we read that Boethius “scripsit… capitula dignitate dogmatica.” In my opinion the text, which more than one scholar describes as unintelligible or corrupted, might instead have a full, consistent meaning if we interpret “dignitate” as “axiomatic”, a semantic nuance attested during the 6th century for the word dignitas,228, translating the Greek axioma and meaning both “worthy thing” and “what is worthy of something.” If so the text of the Anecdoton should be emended to “ capit

a quaedam dogmatica”, a lectio difficilior. Maybe this text could be related to a passage from the Institutiones in which we find dignitas in similar sense. Presenting the definitiones and specifically alluding to Victorinus’ definitio substantialis, a cornerstone of reasoning in the way an axiom too is, Cassiodorus states that: “definitionum species… tanta dignitate praecellunt, ut possint dici orationum apertae manifestationes et quaedam indicia dictionum” (Inst., II, 3, 14). The passage could be translated: “The types of definitions… stand outpoints outso axiomatically that they can be said to be clear manifestations of speech and specific indications of what is said.” As Cassiodorus says, the definition is “a short sentence which differentiates… the nature of any thing separated from the rest.” If, therefore, a definition enables us to discover what the nature of a thing is, it also enables us to predict how the discourse will proceed by providing a clear “indication” of its development. In essence, the definition embraces and summarises with axiomatic clarity the things that will be analytically explained later. To understand it, it suffices to look at the example provided by Cassiodorus himself: “Man is a rational, mortal animal capable of thinking and learning”. As the author of the Institutiones says: “This definition points out (designat) what man is”. Starting from this definition, it is possible to elaborate a human-centred discourse which cannot, however, contradict the definition from which it originates. This foundational force of the definition corresponds to the foundational force of the axiom, i. e. the undisputed cornerstone from which a line of reasoning originates, which cannot contradict the evidence on which it is built and which can only develop properties included in the first assertion. Returning now to this Cassiodorian use of dignitas as “axiomatic,” we can better understand the variant mentioned above and, therefore, reasonably assume it to refer to the “dogmatic axiomaticity” of a text by Boethius: and this text 226 Galonnier, A., “Anecdoton Holderi”, 4, 299–312. 227 Dolbeau F., “Un noveau témoin fragmentaire”, 397–399. 228 Priscianus, Institutiones, 18, 1, 4, in, Grammatici Latini, III, 211.

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can only be the De Fide, understood, as I have done, in the light of its lost introduction. Only the De Fide can indeed be described as a “dogmatically axiomatic” work, since, for Cassiodorus, dogmas and dogmatics always refer to the dogmas of the Christian faith.229 Boethius’ axiomatic theology and, more in general, his rational method, blending philosophy and faith, paves the way for a method that, after centuries, what will be called “theology as science”, deeply rooted in the theological tradition (Augustine, Doct. Chr. 4, on Is 7:9 (LXX): “nisi credidideritis, non intellegetis”; Anselm, Prosl.: “fides quaerens intellectum”; Thom. Aq., Sum. The. I: “Gratia non tollit naturam, sed perficit”). Nevertheless, one would be mistaken in assuming that Boethius was ahead of his time and that he ultimately remained an isolated phenomenon, as many scholars still believe to this day. In fact, the Latin church in the age of Boethius boasted an innovative, daring, and original trend whose very existence many still struggle to acknowledge: a trend in which Boethius has every right to be included as, indeed, its brightest star. The philosopher’s standing is such that it overshadows his travelling companions, but we should not let this impression deceive us; rather, we should look for the common thread of different experiences, all aimed at a single goal. The Boethian attempt at “reasoning” proceeding from faith, and at building up a rational framework capable of supporting faith itself, should not be seen as a display of philosophical virtuosity or, worse, as the indicator of a pollution or contamination of faith due to an overly intrusive reason. It is instead an integral part of a broader attempt at enriching and re-elaborating an only partially consistent religious tradition, ripe with contradictions, gaps, and confusion: an attempt pursued with different means by different members of the Church active in the age spanning from Boethius to Cassiodorus, in order to provide the believers with something Boethius evocatively calls an “instructio” and Cassiodorus, even more evocatively, in a similar way, calls an “instrumentum dogmaticum”. For this purpose, the best representatives of the Latin theology of the age tried to appropriate the formulas of tradition, to manipulate them and to adapt them so that they would be suitable for the needs of a community looking for its own cultural and religious identity. From this point of view, even though we are dealing with apparently different experiences, we should stress the affinities between the Boethian constructions and those of other contemporaries of his. For instance, at first sight it might appear that Boethius and Dionysius Exiguus have nothing in common; but this 229 Cassiodorus, Expositio Psalterii, Ed. M. Adriaen, (CCSL, 97–98), (Turnhout, 1958), p. 1; Id., Inst. I, 32, 3. One can also think of the third theological work, which, as we have seen, begins with some axiomatically valid universal truths. They are, however, philosophical rather than theological truths: the expression “dogmatic” does not fit with this kind of observations about the Being, even if they are obviously truths compatible with the faith and not alien to a vision of the world inspired by Christianity.

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would be a mistake, and it is no coincidence that Cassiodorus himself implicitly targets the affinity between the two characters, using the same formula to characterise them (“utraeque linguae peritissimus”: An. Hold. 9; “in utraque lingua valde doctissimus”: Inst. I, 22, 2). The familiarity of both authors with the Greek language and, to a greater extent, Greek culture, is not just an epitheton ornans associated with external glory; on the contrary, it points to the international quality of the experience of both men, especially, their efforts to recompose in a superior hounds, as Dionysius – Boethius’ equal in the mastery of rhetoric – does (Inst. I, 22, 2).

The culture of exchange The exchange and debate between secular and religious culture and between lay and Christian history in Boethius, Dionysius, and of course Cassiodorus, renewing the methods of authors like Augustine, Jerome, Eusebius, has an extremely relevant implication arising spontaneously from the same roots: the confrontation with heresy. Such an encounter or clash occurs on two levels, which are essentially two sides of the same coin: on one side, the firm albeit calm and non-partisan refutation, inspired by reason, aimed at exposing the irrational and illogical aspects of heresy, its internal contradictions; on the other side, an understanding of heretical works which enables separation of the wheat from chaff, cleansing their writings of their poison and, if necessary, contrasting opposite and complementary heresies in such a way that they undo one another. If Boethius is the champion of the first way, Cassiodorus is indisputably the champion of the second. But he is not the only one. It is sufficient to recall the extraordinary amalgamation of orthodox and heretic authors assembled in the commentary on the Heptateuch by one Deacon John active around the middle of the 6th century,230. In his comment, based on a collection of events from the Heptateuch – similar to Boethius’ collection of significant events from the history of salvation in his De fide – along with orthodox authors, in an utterly unusual concordia discors, the controversial Origen and the Pelagian Rufinus from Palestine are also included, balancing one another: the very same authors who appear in a well-known manuscript from Vivarium, the Sankt Petersburg Q v, I, 6–10 codex. In a similar way, Tyconius unexpectedly features in John’s collection, and makes an equally surprising appearance in Cassiodorus’ Institutiones.

230 Genevois, A.M., “Autour de Jean Diacre et de son Expositio in Heptateuchum”, in Nebbiai Dalla Guardia, D. – Genest, J.F. (Eds.), Du copiste au collectioneur. Mélanges d’Histoire des textes et des bibliothèques en l’hommeur d’André Vernet (Turnhout, 1996), 35–42.

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Similarly, the erudite Victor of Capua employs a Latin version of Tatian’s Diatesseron, which had been destroyed in many Oriental communities, forging a monument of religious learning and culture such as the Codex fuldensis,231, in which the manipulation of Tatian’s Gospels are treated without suspicion and naturally combine with an edition of the Pauline Epistles, suitably supplied by notes in an apparatus. The operation attempted by Victor is akin to those we have examined so far and originates, as in the other cases, in the union between an open-minded, adaptable worldview and broad erudition which makes it possible to harmonise, reelaborate traditions which are apparently unrelated to one another. The secret of this enlightened eclecticism is the ability to spot the hidden affinities, the similar elementary structures in apparently divergent experiences. The Latin Church, squeezed between imperial authoritarianism and the Arianism of barbarian kingdoms, was indeed searching for its own identity in a very critical historical moment. The Latin clergy was more ignorant than its Greek counterpart, and the Latin liturgy, once the great season of Ambrose and Augustine had waned, was no match for the Oriental sophistication. Hence the need for an overall requalification became apparent, calling for universal collaboration in the name of shaping a shared culture, sometimes under the direct encouragement of the pontiffs and their associates, sometimes on their own, but always confident of being well received. This, for instance, was the case with Dionysius Exiguus, whose works were not only accepted but even promoted by the Papacy itself. It is unsurprising that, in the face of such a pervasive cultural turmoil, someone decided to establish a true Catholic university in Rome: Cassiodorus and Agapetus I. Nor it is surprising that there was, if not a cult of reason and rational enquiry in the theological context, then at least a firm appreciation of reasoning and the search for a productive relationship between faith and dialectic, as repeatedly proposed by Boethius and Cassiodorus. This attitude, which had a deep raison d’être in the Latin world, was nevertheless an equilibrium with a similar attempt on behalf of contemporary Greek theologians, suggestive of something “in the air,” where Zeitgeist played a significant role. As Brian Daley has observed, Boethius’ Aristotelian dialectical method displays strong similarities with the dialectical method of one of his contemporaries, Leo of Byzantium;232 in the same way, the connection Boethius establishes between the Christian theology and a well-polished Aristotelianism, reviewed and corrected through Platonism and Neoplatonism, finds a perfect counterpart in the method 231 Lowe, E.A., Codices Latini Antiquiores (= C. L. A.), VIII, (Oxford, 1959), n. 1196. 232 Daley, B., “Boethius’s theological tracts and early Byzantine scholasticism”, Mediaeval Studies, 46 (1984), 158–9.

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of John Philoponus,233 who plays a very important role in the history of Eastern Christianity, albeit on two different sides before and after his “conversion” to Monophysitism.234 Hence it comes as no surprise that in the great crucible of Justinian’s Constantinople and of Latin culture, Boethius enjoys his own form of popularity, as attested by the dissemination of his logical works by the Anician clan and Priscian, by Cassiodorus’ Constantinopolitan edition of the Consolatio, and by quotations of his works in those of the Deacon Rusticus, who defended the Three Chapters.235

Freedom and censorship at Vivarium And yet, such attempts did not endure beyond the second half of the 6th century, being progressively boycotted until they finally faded out. This cultural and spiritual revolution is confirmed by the reworking of the texts within the community of Vivarium, as well as the manipulation of Boethius’ memory. In 2018, a serious and balanced scholar such as Patrizia Stoppacci published a paper about a single passage from the Institutiones which forces us to deal with some problems which far too often have been hastily dismissed.236 Stoppacci reconsiders a subject which has been under scrutiny for a long time and which has apparently been solved: the surprising transformation in the different known versions of the Institutiones of what we may call “annotated bibliography” for the study of logic, replacing Boethius’ works with those of Victorinus. In the versions of the De dialectica chapters, there are “different, even contradictory bibliographical references”. These are not negligible differences. Indeed, “if we read the passage in a careful, critical way, we notice that it presents a series of inconsistencies and gaps which cannot be ignored, to the point that not only its reliability, but its very authenticity come into question.”237 In order to solve this thorny issue, and after a thorough analysis of the differences between the available versions, Stoppacci suggests that the author deliberately simplified and reworked an elaborate, clever text in order to make it “more suitable to the needs of simple fraters who demanded something

233 Lang, U.M., John Philoponus and the controversies over Calcedon in the sixth century: a study and translation of the Arbiter (Louvain, 2001). 234 Lang, U.M., “John Philoponus and the fifth Ecumenical Council”, Annuarium Historiae Conciliorum 37 (2005), 411–436. 235 Troncarelli, F., “Boezio a Costantinopoli”, 191–225. 236 Stoppacci, P., “Mario Vittorino e il “de definitionibus” nell’opera esegetica e manualistica di Cassiodoro”, Signum 19 (2018), 10–37. 237 Ibid., 6.

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easier238”. Cassiodorus offers to them a simplified annotated bibliography, originating from his personal chaotic, muddled: “collection of excerpta, to be used as a reservoir of notes for the sake of his more important works,”239 with no concern for the clear banalisation and even the inconsistency of his hasty reworking. This solution, however, is far from convincing. Can such a blatant worsening of the text really be explained with the wish to simply appease illiterate monks? This was never the style of Cassiodorus whose approach towards these issues always remained inflexible until the end of his days, as eloquently demonstrated by his De Ortographia, written at age 93 to raise the cultural level of the simplices fratres, certainly not to appease them. But, leaving these considerations aside, can we really believe that a work with the extreme intellectual sophistication displayed by the Institutiones could be so nonchalantly turned into a heap of “naiveties, oversights, and hardly understandable mistakes, especially if we keep in mind that Cassiodorus must have had a great knowledge and understanding of this bibliographic material”? And on what authority are we to conclude that the text of the Institutiones in the Omega version really was the result of the “author’s last will”? It seems obvious that such a clumsy manipulation of a work cannot be due to the “free will” of its author: it might be the result of a disgraceful case of selfcensorship, even at the risk of losing any credibility, or rather, as seems more likely, the result of a brutal, short-sighted censorship on behalf of people other than the author. This impression is corroborated if one takes into consideration other passages from the Institutiones and other works by Cassiodorus and the followers of his school. Scholars have repeatedly highlighted the existence of incongruous corrections in texts of this kind: it suffices here to mention the authoritative example of Courcelle, according to whom the removal of a passage of Ammonius in the Omega edition of the Institutiones (II, I, 1, p. 94): “a l’air d’un correctif, d’une veritable rétractation de Cassiodore, qui, par souci religieux ne veut pas publier telle quelle la phrase de sa prèmiere redaction… empruntée… au commentateur païen Ammonius.240” In my opinion, the same assessment holds for many of the “corrections” and “additions” in Mynors’ “standard” edition, which have been hastily and simplistically explained as interventions by Cassiodorus. Indeed, the replacement of the Greek terminology pertaining to rhetoric and philosophy, in the so-called Delta edition, with not always appropriate Latin equivalents does 238 Ibid., 14. 239 Ibid., 36. 240 Courcelle, P., “Histoire d’un brouillon cassiodorien”, Revue d’Études Anciennes, 44 (1942), 65–86, esp. 76.

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not seem fortuitous. Similarly, it does not seem a coincidence that the “standard” version of the Institutiones adds specific, unnecessary references to Saint Augustine and to the Holy Scriptures, forcibly Christianising passages which do not obviously require to be “baptised” in this way. Equally suspicious is the fact that the final version of the work abounds with petty and pedantic references to orthodoxy to replace definitions of Neoplatonic origins such as the “compromising” one according to which philosophy is an assimilation to God,241 in accordance with the Pagan tradition, the more optimistic fringes of Christian patristic,242 and Boethius.243 Even more surprising is the replacement of the word “divinitas” with “Trinitas”, contradicting the literal sense of the passage and, in particular, hiding the quote which has inspired the work.244 Such contradictions are not limited to the so-called “final” version of the Institutiones but can be found also in places we would not expect. It suffices here to mention the careless manipulation of the last sentences in the Prologue to the epitome of the Acts of the Apostles in Cassiodorus’ Complexiones. The text is preserved in a single manuscript, codex 39 in the Chapter Library of Verona.245 The conclusion of the abovementioned prologue has been heavily edited, at f. 67v, during the 6th or 7th century by someone other than the scribe who needlessly overemphasizes pointless qualms. The editor is bold enough even to modify a fixed formula recurring in Cassiodorus and many other 6th century authors: “diligens lector”. This stereotypical phrase, which in itself ought to require no modification, is ludicrously and pedantically turned into: “orthodoxus et dili-

241 Inst. II, III, 3, p. 109, v. 14: the sentence recurring in Δ, and omitted in the “standard” edition, according to which practicing philosophy means to become similar to God, has been quoted from Ammonius, In Isagoge 3, 7 (see Courcelle, P., Les lettres grecque en Occident, 324). 242 Schmidt-Kohl, V., Die neuplatonische Seelenlehre in der “Consolatio Philosophiae” des Boethius (Meisenheim am Glan, 1965), 41 and 5–52; Lilla, S.R.C., Clement of Alexandria. A study in Christian Platonism and Gnosticism (Oxford, 1971), 106–117; Moreschini, C., Apuleio e il Platonismo (Florence, 1978), 124–128; 144–148. 243 Inst., II, V, 11, p. 150, r. 13. 244 Inst., II, V, 11, p. 150, r. 12. It should be remarked that this specific correction imparts a Christian perspective to a text with a Platonic flavour, apparently influenced by Boethius’ Consolatio. Cassiodorus indeed says: “… cuncta divinitas… cursus stellarum… distribuit et… certaque sede quae sunt fixa constituit…”, probably having in mind verses such as the ones in c. 2, l. 1 of the Consolatio (v. 10: “vagos stellas recursus”) or l. 2, c. 8 (v. 10: “certo fine coherceat”), or 1. 2, c. 4 (vv. 14–16: “sedis amoenae… certus”). In Cassiodorus’ text, the divinitas platonically distribuit the forces of nature: it seems clear, then, that a Christian colouring may be appropriate, in order not to leave an excessively Platonic-Boethian tone. 245 Cassiodorus Senator, Complexiones in epistulis Pauli Apostoli, Ed. P. Gatti, (Labirinti 123), (Trento, 2009). For the codex and the library of Verona see Bassetti, M. (Ed.), Nell’anno del Signore 517. Verona al tempo di Ursicino. Crocevia di uomini culture e scritture. Catalogue of the exhibition (Verona, February 16th – May 16th 2018), (Uomini e Mondi Medievali 53, Mostre 2), (Spoleto, 2018).

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gens lector”, as if it were at all credible that a reader of Cassiodorus’ works could be “non orthodoxus”. Such an obsessive zeal is certainly not coincidental: Cassiodorus’ works, first and foremost the Institutiones, were not remotely as “innocent” as the author himself tried to make them appear, but instead stimulated the manic scrupulousness of potential censors. The monastery founded by Cassiodorus was a radiant example of openness to intellectual and spiritual dialogue: the monks could, and were supposed to, read the works of heretical authors as well as orthodox ones, being fully aware of their errors but without rejecting them indiscriminately. In the words of Peter Brown, this allowed for a firm albeit discreet opposition to Justinian’s authoritarianism246 and the theological persecution of individuals such as Theodore of Mopsuestia on one side and Origen on the other, who had been authoritative points of reference for many Christian communities in the East and in the West alike. In this regard, it is no coincidence that Theodoric’s former secretary, in the Expositio Salmorum, praised the writings of Facundus of Hermiane pro defensione tria capitulorum and never repudiated his words, not even when Facundus fled from Justinian’s soldiers and was forced into hiding. And yet Cassiodorus openly took a stance on Pope Virgil’s side in order to quell the opposition of the Latins towards the sanctions against the Three Chapters. But, in the face of Justinian’s authoritarian style and his violence, from which the Pope himself was not spared, suffering public humiliation as rarely in the course of history, Cassiodorus silently distanced himself from the Emperor. And he kept his stance, indirectly supporting the very people he had tried to bring back into the Church such as the Deacon Rusticus. Moreover, in the prologue to the Institutiones Cassiodorus looked back at the School of Nisibis, which was dominated by the methods and the doctrine of Theodore of Mopsuestia, one of the condemned authors. Moreover, in Vivarium, works exalting Theodore of Mopsuestia were translated, for instance the Historia Tripartita, written using partially Theoderet, another one of the three authors condemned by Justinian and the Council of Constantinople. Regarding this last point, the reaction of Gregory the Great, a pope who has not gone down in history for his tolerance, was firm: not long after the death of Cassiodorus, the pontiff strongly criticized the Historia Tripartita for the role Theodorus played in it, resulting in a partial obstruction of its circulation.247. Last but not least: Cassiodorus and his circle displayed a reasonable amount of sympathy towards another suspicious author, Origen, who, with different motivations but in an equally brutal way, in AD 553 – the same year as that of the 246 Brown P., The Rise of Western Christendom: Triumph and Diversity, A.D. 200–1000 (Oxford, 2003), 197. 247 De Lubac, H., Esegesi medievale. I quattro sensi della scrittura (Rome, 1962), 482–486.

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Council of Constantinople – was solemnly condemned by Justinian, who forced Pope Vergil to endorse the anathema. In the Institutiones we might still sense an echo of the shock caused by such a measure, which primarily targeted Christian Neoplatonism: Cassiodorus, who in AD 553 was living in Constantinople and directly collaborated with the Pope, almost seems to feign ignorance of what was really going on in stating that Origen “praesenti tempore, a Vigilio papa viro beatissimo constat esse damnatus.” (Inst. I, 1,8). “Constat” – “so it would appear…” The negative judgement targeted the culture of Cassiodorus and his environment, imbued as it was with Neoplatonism and the works of Origen. The circulation of such texts and all the richness and exuberance of the theological reflection of the generation of Cassiodorus and Boethius were abruptly interrupted by the followers of Gregory the Great. The rejection of the contribution of culture in the service of faith signalled the end for an intelligent, creative theological experience such as Boethius’ and Cassiodorus’. Fortunately, however, in history as in the biographies of men, there is always the “return of the repressed” – so Freud – comes back like a restless soul seeking an explanation for its own marginalisation. If I am not mistaken, this very restlessness is indirectly attested by the conservation, throughout the centuries and despite contrary impulses, of Cassiodorus’ spiritual teaching and his idea of a knowledge based on reasoning and understanding.

The last of the Boethians What role in these events fell to Eusebius, a man, a born fighter, peculiar, wayward, devious, lurking in the shadows, and ready to strike like a scorpion? Eusebius was no intellectual and he could not compete with the censors of Boethius. Humble and hot-tempered, as always, he carved out a space for himself in the margins, the margins of the manuscripts and the margins of this world of men without qualities, who were inexorably and relentlessly replacing men such as Cassiodorus (ad universa sufficiens!). Although trapped in the margins, Eusebius proved equally relentless. And he left his imprint, the shadow of his name, on each and every Boethian codex he laid his hands on, a warning to future readers, a secret whisper which, like an echo or repeated admonition: “I read. I corrected. There is nothing to remove. Nothing to fear.” We find his monograms and subscriptions in the high medieval editions of the most authoritative works of Boethius – such as the Consolatio, Theological Tractates, and certain works on logic – but also in the lone 6th-century fragment of De Arithmetica248. And, above 248 Troncarelli, F., Il teatro delle ombre. Scritture nascoste e immagini invisibili in codici e mosaici tardoantichi (Roma, 2021), 84, Figure 36.

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all, we find him at the end of the Anecdoton Holderi which celebrated the glory of Boethius and Symmachus. Together with two shortenings of the name “Eusebius”, testifying to his role in the spread of this very well-known excerpt, we also find the shortening of the name of Gerontius. And this is no coincidence, for the zealous, hypocritical abbot had to intervene here too, manipulating the text as it was customary for him, as we have already noticed (Figure 50). How can we make such a claim? It may appear odd for me to do so given that no one has before. And yet, how else are we to assess a phenomenon noticed by everyone but so far explained by no one? I am of course referring to the astonishing fact that in the list of Boethius’ works the Consolatio does not appear. Rivers of ink have been written trying to explain this apparent mystery. But, in Poe’s words, the mystery might be unsolvable when it is right before our eyes and therefore too simple for us to understand. We need only to pay attention to the text, the same attention we needed to spot the bizarre marginal figures drawn by Eusebius. Let us re-examine the only codex in which the Anecdoton has been preserved, Karlsruhe Aug. 106 Codex. Let us re-read one more time the very same lines generations of scholars have read before us. We will be surprised, as is often occurs when we approach something we take for granted and therefore believe that we have completely understood it. The text still bears the marks of an inexplicable erasure, a correction which transforms the original meaning of the text and betrays some form of manipulation. When transcribing the list of Boethius’ works from the original, the scribe of the Karlsruhe codex experienced a moment of hesitation, setting out to write a word and then altering it for no apparent reason. It is not a transcription error: the word he started to write has nothing to do with the one that replaced it, and no one would mistake one for the other. The scribe began thus: “[Boethius]… scripsit de s. cl –” but in all probability realized that there was a sign of deletion, similar to the achresimon repudiationis Cassiodorus recommends for the margins alongside the works of heretics. Our scribe also noted the marginal variant used to correct the accused word and changed what he had written, turning the “cl” into an “a”. Therefore, the sentence in its new version became: “scripsit de sca. = scripsit de sancta”, to which the word “trinitate”, which was already in the original text, was added. But what does the original “de s. cl –” actually mean? In my opinion, it stood for: “de s(ua) c(onso)l(atione)”, and the original sentence was: “[Boethius] scripsit de sua consolatione et de trinitate et…” (Figure 51). To juxtapose the Consolatio and the first of the Theological Works might in itself appear an unorthodox choice: a philosophical work paired with works of a theological nature in a sentence punctuated by an “et… et” which ought in principle to be “aut… aut”. Every trace of this scandal had to be erased. For the censor, it was irrelevant that, in this way, an original interpretation of the Con-

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solatio would end up being erased as well: by saying that Boethius had written “his own Consolatio”, Cassiodorus’ subtle intelligence suggested that this work was in the tradition of Cicero’s which according to Lactantius was written “sua consolatione”.249 This formula was particularly appreciated by the great spirits of the Middle Ages such as Bede, who discerned in Augustine’s Confessions too a special model of “self consolation”, to be identified as an example for the readers.250 Cleverly proceeding along this path, Abelard will say that Boethius: “secum loquens, se et rationem suam quasi due constituit251”. Philosophy is nothing but the Reason Boethius uses when involved in a dialogue and the best form of consolation for oneself is to be a fully rational human being. Eusebius was able to retain an appeal to intelligence and humanitas which had been suggested by a magister humanitatis such as Cassiodorus. And this is exactly what men who were afraid of all things human railed against: the faint echo still reaching us from afar, provided we know how to detect the secret buried in the figures and invisible words of his theatre of shadows armony the intellectual legacy of worlds which were not only wrongly divided but even pitted against one another. In this perspective, to manipulate the history of salvation in order to gain rational deductions, as Boethius does, is not substantially different from manipulating the history of salvation in order to extract from it a rational chronology to replace the traditional one of the Pagans and to impose a subdivision of time based on Christian grace.

The legacy of Eusebius and Boethius Copies of Boethius’ works were preserved in Italian libraries in the North and in the South, from where emigrated to Switzerland and to France in the last quarter of the 8th Century. In fact, at the beginning of the 9th Century we have a new perception of Boethius’ legacy. Manuscripts of the Consolatio are often de249 L. Caelius Firmianus Lactantius, Diuinarum Institutionum libri septem, Ed. K.G. Saur (Leipzig, 2007), 3.18: “Quid Cicerone faciemus? Quecum in principio consolationis suae dixisset luendorum scelerum causa nasci homines, iteravit idipsum postea quasi obiurgans eum qui itam non esse poenam putet.”. 250 Baedae Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum, XXVIII, ed. J.E. King (London, 1930), p. 54: “Et ideo si communem fratrem Augustinum episcopum ad vos venire contigerit, ita illo dilectio vestra, sicut decet, affectuose dulciterque suscipiat, ut et ipsum consolationis suae bono refoveat, et alios, qualiter fraterna caritas colenda sit, doceat.”. 251 Petri Abelardi, Expositio in Exameron, in PL, CLXXVIII, col. 760 c. Cfr Aug., Solil. 1. 1: “Volventi mihi multa ac varia mecum diu, ac per multos dies sedulo quaerenti memetipsum ac bonum meum, quidve mali evitandum esset; ait mihi subito, sive ego ipse, sive alius quis extrinsecus, sive intrinsecus, nescio: nam hoc ipsum est quod magnopere scire molior; ait ergo mihi: RATIO: – Ecce, fac te invenisse aliquid; cui commendabis, ut pergas ad alia?…”

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pending on the Cassiodorean edition, transcribed in Vivarium under the Eusebius’ supervision, with illustrations painted by Eusebius himsef or by some close friend such as Bellator. Nevertheless, some copies circulating in the 9th Century are not reated to this edition and were copied from other archetypes.

The Consolatio in the Carolingian times The latest studies regarding the circulation of Boethius’ Consolatio during the 9th and 10th century have cast new light on the fortune of the work in Carolingian times. In 2005 Malcolm Godden outlined an evaluation of the studies on the glosses in insular writing of Vat. Lat 3363, on the problem of the alleged Asser’s commentary on the Boethian work and on that of the circulation of the Consolatio in England between the 9th and 10th century. Later, in 2006 and 2007 Adrian Papahagi and Joseph Wittig wrote two essays dedicated to the controverted problem of the continental Carolingian commentaries on the text, analyzing the production of Boethian codices in areas more or less important of circulation of commentaries in France, Germany, Swiss and Italy, without leaving aside the problem of the islands, to which nevertheless they both refer to the research of Godden and his collaborators. Papahagi returned to the subject with another article in 2009, where he reprised some subjects he had previously dealt with, having some different interpretations of some given phenomena and of the overall value252. The same year, Godden published his monumental edition of the ancient English translation of Boethius, where, among other things, the positions already expressed concerning the problems of circulation of the Consolatio in England before and after Alfred the Great were reaffirmed253. The articles and books that we mentioned allow to reopen the discussion regarding some controverted issues of the historiography on Boethius as well. Papahagi assigns the valley of the Loire the role of epicenter of the circulation of the Consolatio. In his 2006 article, the scholar emphasizes the contribution of 252 Godden, M. (2005), Alfred, Asser and Boethius, in O’Brien, K. – O’Keeffe-Orchard, A. (Eds.), Latin learning and English lore studies in Anglo-Saxon literature for Michael Lapidge (Toronto, 2005), I, 326–48; Papahagi, A., “Destin et providence (Consolatio Philosophiae IV, pr. 6). La réception du néoplatonisme Boècien à l’époque carolingienne”, Comptes rendues de l’Académie des Inscriptions (Janvier-Mars, 2006), 671–711; Wittig, j., The Remigian glosses on Boethius’s Consolatio Philosophiae in context, in Wright, C. D. – Biggs, F. M. – Hall, Thomas N. (Eds.), Source of Wisdom: Old English and Early Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Thomas D. Hill (Toronto, 2007), 168–200; id (2009), The Transmission of Boethius’ De Consolatione Philosophiae in the Carolingian Age, Medium Aevum, 78 (2009), 1–15. 253 The Old English Boethius. An Edition of the Old English Versions of Boethius’s De Consolatione Philosophiae, Eds. M. Godden – S. Irvine (Oxford, 2009).

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the many cultural centers of the region, from Alcuin’s Tours to Theodulf ’s Orléans. In his 2009 article, on the contrary, he leans more decisively for Fleury, writing: “I would like to reassess the evidence and the existing theories, in an attempt to suggest that a centre of learning like Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire, better known as Fleury, appears to be more closely involved in the transmission and exegesis of the Boethian masterpiece than any centre connected with Alcuin (York, Saint-Martin of Tours, or the court school of Charlemagne.)” Papahagi focuses on the analysis of the most ancient codices of the Consolatio, that confirm his hypothesis: “I would only like to point out here that out of the fifteen Consolatio manuscripts dated by scholars s. IX–Xin, four have been ascribed by more than one paleographer to Fleury. This includes Orléans, BM MS 270, the oldest surviving manuscript of the Consolatio and, even more importantly, of all five Opuscula theologica, a very rare case, and certainly the only early one. Only the Alemannic area of St Gall and Reichenau can boast as many manuscripts in the ninth century, and these seem to be a few decades later than the Fleury books. However, Italy has only one, England none, and Alcuin’s Tours only one early tenth-century copy, whose rare glosses demonstrate no exegetical interest in Boethius in that abbey. The Orleans manuscript… according to Troncarelli “preserves… many aspects of a Late Antique edition…” In the light of these considerations, Papahagi states: “To conclude, Fleury can qualify as the centre where the Consolatio was rediscovered in the late eighth or early ninth century. As shown, it did obtain sixth- and seventh-century Italian codices either around 703, when the relics of St. Benedict were translated from Monte Cassino, or, less likely, at some other moment in the eighth century. The wealth of Italian codices antiquiores of Fleury provenance witnesses to the fact that the early library of Saint-Benoit could have possessed an early Boethius manuscript of the Consolatio and of the Opuscula.” The hypothesis of Papahagi’s article is based on concrete elements, more so than that of the second article, starting from the great number of copies of the Consolatio (but of Boethius’ theological works as well254) that were produced in the 9th century in the Loire region, which furthermore claims a general primacy in the circulation of the classics in Carolingian times.255 As I have had a way to point out in a study of the most ancient known glosses to the Consolatio in Orléans 270, Alcuin on one hand and Fleury on the other have had a special role in the circulation of the manuscripts of Boethius’ Consolatio, but of his other works as well. Moreover, I have emphasized several times that the Orléans 270 codex and 254 Troncarelli, F., Aristoteles piscatorius. Note sulle opere teologiche di Boezio e sulla loro fortuna, in Scriptorium, XLII (1988), 3–20. 255 McKitterick, R., Carolingian book production: some problems, in The Library, 6th series, 12 (1990), 10; Papahagi, A., Destin, 690.

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the first part of the Florence, Laurentian XIV, 15 are direct copies of a Late Antique model, that contains some significant fragments of the Cassiodorean edition of the Consolatio,256 whose remains are dispersed in different Carolingian and late Carolingian codices. It is possible, argues Papahagi, that this model came from Monte Cassino, all relationships between Fleury and St. Benedict’s abbey considered? This hypothesis is not right: as we have shown in a previous article the Orléans 270 have been copied from a VIth Century manuscript written in Ravenna by Vilairic and Eusebius and corrected there by Quintus Aurelius Symmachus257. This copy went early to Verona and belonged to Verona’s cathedral library: the was given to the Bishop Jona of Orléans in 826 and came to Orléans and then to Fleury. We know it because in the margin of the manuscript are preseverd, with a great care, not only many old Eusebius’ monograms, subscriptions and drawings, but also astonishing notes subscribed by Quintus Aurelius Symmachus. Apart it it is a matter of fact that Carolingian discovery of the Consolatio, was widespread in different centers of learning. Certainly Fleury’s central position in the transmission of Boethius’ last writing allows to explain what occurs later in the valley of the Loire and its surroundings, not only in Alcuin’s Tours, but also and most of all in Lupus’ Ferrières and in Remigius’ Auxerre: the special interest of these authors on Boethius’ Consolatio is better understood if related to the impulse given by the Floriacensians to the distribution of the philosopher’s spiritual testament. Anyway Fleury was not the only center of diffusion of the Consolatio in Carolingian times. The diffusion of the Consolatio derived too from prototypes different from those of the Fleury codices, that certainly had a relevant function in the transmission of the Boethian text, but not exclusive. Leaving aside the controverted and complicated problem of the textual tradition of the work,258 and limiting ourselves to consider only the codicological structure and the graphic aspect of the preserved copies, we must observe that there are 9th century manuscripts that, even when stemming from the Cassiodorean Late Antique edition, show a layout and a codicological structure different from that of Orléans 270 and Vat. Lat. 3363. If we go from France to Germany and Swiss, particularly to St. Gallen, that is actually defined by Papahagi in his first article as “le deuxième grande centre d’études de la Consolatio,”259 we must ascertain that the diffusion of the Boethian work in the 9th century certainly derives from different archetypes than those of the manuscripts of the Loire valley. Data of palaeographical, codicological and textual nature agree on the indication that such diffusion 256 257 258 259

Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio Mentis, 35–41. Troncarelli, F., L’antica fiamma, pp. 153–183. Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio mentis, 9–15; 42–43. Papahagi, A., “Destin et providence”, 693.

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depends greatly from at least two ancient prototypes, different from that at the basis of Orléans 270. We have evident indirect and direct traces of it. Regarding the first prototype, we must remember, just as incidentally Papahagi reminds as well,260 that the catalog of the books in Reichenau of 821–822 features the Consolatio. The date of the catalog is prior to that of Orléans 270, circa 825261 and of all other remaining codices of the Loire valley, and excludes that the manuscript was a copy modeled after Floriacenses models we know. Undoubtely, one could propose the academical hypothesis that there were codices of the Consolatio that were copied at Fleury even before 825: but this is a hypothesis rather difficult to prove, that would presuppose the copy, in the same abbey, of two codices of a work still almost unknown in a brief time space, and one of those would have been sent elsewhere (why?). The most reasonable hypothesis seems rather to be that the Reichenau copy the Consolatio had a different origin and dates back to a period prior to that of the most ancient exemplars of the Consolatio.

Hatto of Reichenau and the archetype of the β family We have alluded to the presence in Metz of copy of the Consolatio influenced by the Late Antique edition, that depends on a sub-archetype, extracted from the same archetype of Harley 2688+3095. Through this copy, the Metz 377, now unfortunately lost, we can hypothetically go back to this archetype, and discover that it is the most ancient codex of the Consolatio of which we have an explicit knowledge. The work of Boethius was in fact present in Raetian area at least from 821–22, as Reichenau’s catalog shows, an abbey that has always been linked to St. Gallen.262 Leaving the indirect sources aside, it is rather the direct sources that shows us the influence of ancient prototypes, independent from those of Fleury: if we consider some authoritative codices from the 9th century that report in a fragmentary way the Late Antique edition, and all of which come from St. Gallen or from Reichenau, we can realize that only an ancient archetype reverberates in them, through different sub-archetypes: those codices are BN Napoli IV G 68; St. Gallen 844; Wien 271 and the now lost Metz 377, already mentioned. In them we can find fragments of the Late Antique edition of the Consolatio: some of the titles of the argumenta of this edition, lacking in all other manuscripts reporting 260 Ibid., p. 693. 261 Lehmann, P., Erforschung des Mittelalters. Ausgewählte Abhandlungen und Aufsätze, I–IV, (Stuttgart 1959–1962), 27–39. 262 Hehle, c. (2002), Boethius in St. Gallen. Die Bearbeitung der ‘Consolatio Philosophiae’ durch Notker Teutonicus zwischen Tradition und Innovation (Tübingen, 2002).

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the text; the techniques typical of Vivarium to highlight the marginal notes, by inscribing them in goblets and chalices: I have previously talked about it and profusely analyzed in another essay.263 The Boethius from Naples, Nazionale IV G 68 has a codicological structure that is different from that of the exemplars of the Loire valley. The manuscript has an unmistakable Late Antique imprint, aesthetically very visible, that obviously depends on a direct imitation of the antigraph. Without entering into a detailed analysis of the many traces of this imitation, we can remember that the chants of the Consolatio are written in rustic capital and in red, a tendency that will be developed in later periods, and that finds a partial correspondence in some other exemplars from the 9th century, coming from a German area, or in any case not a French one. On the other hand, the presentation of the chants in the codices of the Loire: they were entirely or partially in uncial writing, as we see in Orléans 270, Vat. Lat. 3363 and in Laurentian XVI, 15 (first section.) The form of some intials and some figurative schemes, ancillary to the pagination of Napoli IV G 68 is clearly of ancient origin as well, and does not find any correspondence in parallel exemplars from St. Gallen: in this sense, the columns that articulate the text of Boethius’ De Arithmetica are typical, and they also occur in the initials, as for example that in c. 117r, which can be compared to Late Antique initials shaped as a column, such of those of Paris BNL 12205, c. 53r. Above all that, the Naples manuscript shows other singularities in the textual tradition of the transmitted works, which arise from their archetype and that clearly differentiate it from most of the Boethian manuscripts. The most significant thing is the mention to the position of “magister officiorum” in the incipit of the second theological work: a hapax that recurs only in this exemplar.264 It is not an oversight. The compendiums of Boethius’ positions were regularly misunderstood by medieval copyists, who ignored the meaning of some ancient abbreviations: they preferred to omit compendiums too difficult to understand, or mechanically copied abbreviations they did not understand, almost touching the ridiculous.265 It would have come to no-one’s mind the idea of moving a compendium from one part to the other, or of making up a compendium in an incipit, given that those that normally were there were not understood. We are, therefore, in the presence of a lectio difficilior that derives from the archetype, and that reinforces the idea that the Naples codex depends on a special ancient codex, quite different from those of the copies transcribed in the valley of the Loire, where the title of the third theological work is that usually transmitted. This is further confirmed by a singularity that we have shown elsewhere: this is 263 Troncarelli, F., L’ombra di Boezio, 177–253, pl. 24–31. 264 Troncarelli, F., Aristoteles piscatorius, 14. 265 Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni perdute, 26–28.

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the only codex between the 9th and the 12th century to have preserved Boethius’ entire cursus honorum in the incipit of the first book and in the explicit of the fifth.266 The Naples manuscript, because of its content, also diverges from those of the region of Orléans: these, in fact, associated the Consolatio with all of Boethius’ theological works, while the former joins together the Consolatio only to the first three theological works and the De Arithmetica, putting together in an unusual way Boethian texts of different nature. In reality, the association between the theological works and the De Arithmetica is not as bizarre as it may seem, and it was also present in the archetype: as we have shown267 it is clarified if we have in mind a copy of the 10th–11th century, now lost, the manuscript number 377 of the Metz Library. In Metz’s codex there was a small fragment of Late Antique origin of a text attributed to Boethius himself that connected the De Arithmetica to the fourth theological work, explaining thus the ratio of the association between theological works and the De Arithmetica of Naples IV G 68. The same fragment occurs in another codex of St. Gallen from the end of the ninth century (Vat. Reg. Lat. 1424.) The codex relied on the same archetype of the Naples one, with which, even if there were some divergences between them in some elements, as it occurs when manuscripts are not a direct copy among themselves, there was an evident concordance in significant passages: to give an example, we can quote the conclusion of the Consolatio where we find simultaneously the whole Boethian cursus honorum, the expression “finit” instead of “explicit” and the formula “Philosophicae Consolacionis” instead of “Philosophiae Consolationis” or “De Consolatione Philosophiae”; we can also quote the incipit of the first of Boethius’ theological works in the form “Orditur de Sancta Trinitate” (this work originally should have been present in the Metz codex as well, but was not transcribed afterwards.) This consists on two rare “variants:” the first of them recurs only in four manuscripts268 out of 135 between 9th and 12th centuries; the second one only in the two codices of Metz and Naples. Another aspect that relates very closely Metz 377 and Naples IV G 68 are the initial and marginal glosses, which we will refer to later. The archetype of the Naples and Metz manuscripts generated another copy at St. Gallen in the 9th century: the already mentioned St. Gallen 844, from the times of abbot Hartmuth.269 The exemplar for this codex was the archetype of the 266 Troncarelli, F. (1987), “Una nuova edizione della Consolatio Philosophiae”, 133–15, esp. 145. 267 Troncarelli, F. Cogitatio, 144–145; 301–36. 268 Naples IV G 68 (9th Ct.); Paris BNL 6401 (11th Ct.); Wien 271 (9th Ct.) British Library, Add. 19726 (10th Ct:). 269 Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio, 234–35.

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Naples one: in fact, it reports a text of the Consolatio very similar to that of the Naples codex, with which it is concordant in the main incipit and in many significant reading, showing pages that are graphically and codicologically identical, with the same initials and the same marginal notes. Moreover, both codices are concordant on a textual level: as Weinberger and Bieler have emphasized from a long time, both belong to the small group of witnesses related to codex T = München CLM 18765,270 written in western Germany, that derives from an antigraph with insular elements271. Inside this small group, Naples IV G 68, St. Gallen 844 and Wien 271 (to which we will refer again later) form an independent subgroup, that shares some characteristic, or even exclusive variants:272such is the case of the lectio difficilior “deserit” in Phil. Cons. III, chant 3, v. 5, rightly preferred by the editors instead of “deseret” or “deserat” of all other copies, which is found only in the three alluded manuscripts and in a correction added to codex A (=Antwerpen M 16. 8;)273 such is also the case of the “nunc” of Phil. Cons. I, 8, 6 (line 20 in Bieler’s edition), preferred by the editors against all other codices, that is only to be found in Naples IV G 68, in St. Gallen 844 – before the correction –, and in the second section of L(= Laurentian XIV, 15), written in Fulda. Similarly, some wrong readings are typical of the cited manuscripts, and occur only occasionally in codex Tor in some isolated copy: the variant “atqui” instead of “atque” in Phil. Cons. IV, 2, 2 (line 105 in Bieler’s edition) is found only in Naples IV G 68, – before the correction –, in Wien 271 and in München CLM 18765 – after the correction – the variant “irae”, instead of the right reading with the verb “ire”, in Phil. Cons. IV, c. 6, v. 38, is to be found only in the manuscripts of Naples and Vienna and in St. Gallen 844 before the correction by the copyist, other than in Paris BNL 7181 (p. 152, line 17.) It is evident from these data that behind the two manuscripts from St. Gallen and Wien 271, copied in Reichenau, there is an ancient exemplar, different from the archetypes that generated most of the witnesses of the Consolatio between the 9th and the 12th century, with a precise textual identity, other than a codicological one.

270 L. Bieler, Praefatio to A. M. S. Boethii, Philosophiae Consolatio (CCSL, XCIV), (Turnhout, 1984), XIV: “Neapolitanus IV G 68…textus Consolationis… Tc (= CLM 18765) accedit”; Ibid., XVII, nt. 1: “Codices C (= Bambergensis M V 12) et F (= Sangallensis 844) cum e codice T descripti sint, raro laudantur”. 271 F. Troncarelli, Cogitatio, 186–87. 272 A. M. S. Boethii, Philosophiae Consolatio, ed. L. Bieler: II, 7, 16, l. 51, 33; II, 7, 23, 34; II, c. 7, v. 2, 34; II, 8, 1, l. 2, 35; II, 8, 6, l. 20, 35; III, 2, 3, l. 7, 38; III, 2, 5, l. 14, 38; III, 3, 6, l. 18, 41. See also the common lessons of Napoli IV G 68 and Wien 271, I, 4, 4, l. 13, 7; I, c. 5, v. 46, 12; II, 7, 6, l. 20, 32: III, c.10, v. 11, 56. 273 Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio, 82–86.

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All of this returns exactly in the lost Metz codex, where we find again two important additional elements that relate the manuscript and its archetype to the abbey on lake Constance. The first of these elements is an excerpt from Seneca’s letters to Lucilius,274, that we find again in the notebook of Walafrid Strabo, the famous 878 of St. Gallen.275 The relationship between the Metz codex and Walafrid’s notes has been pointed out by scholars, starting from Rossbach in 1887 and later analyzed by Reynolds.276. We can add to their remarks only that the explicit of the passage in hand of the Metz exemplar clearly showed that it had been inserted from the beginning in the general plan of the volume, so as to deliberately precede Boethius.277 The second element consists on three small dedicatory poems accompanying the volume, published by Rossbach and republished by Dümmler:278the first two were placed at the beginning, on the first page of the codex; the third was in the end, after the explicit of the Consolatio. The three poems were written by a monk named Hatto, and are directed to an abbot called Hardolfus: in the first two, the names of the writer and the addressee are in the form of an acrostic; in the third, on the other hand, they appear explicitly.279. Many scholars wondered who these people are, without having an answer.280 In my opinion, they could be identified with Hatto, abbot of Reichenau and master of Walafrid Strabo, dead in 836281and with abbot Hertulf 282 who directed the abby of Amorbach between 829–30 and

274 Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Epistolae ad Lucilium, ed. W. Studemund (Lipsiae 1843–1889), XX, 3, p. 59, l. 15; p. 63, l. 19. 275 Bischoff, B., Mittelalterliche Studien. Ausgewählte Aufsätze zur Schriftkunde und Literaturgeschichte, III (Stuttgart, 1981) 34–51. 276 Rossbach, O., De Senecae philosophi librorum recensione et emendatione (Breslauer Phil. Abhandlungen, 2), (Breslau, 1887), 72–79; Reynolds, L., The Medieval Tradition of Seneca’s Letters (Oxford, 1965), 93. 277 Metz, Bibliothèque Municipale, 377, f. 10r: “Finit Epistola Senecae; glossae de inicio hiuius libri”. 278 Poetae Aevi Carolini, M.G.H. V, pp. 381–382 e 384. 279 Ibid., Poema 3, vv. 7–8: “Hatto nunc brutus studio florente solutus/mandat Hardolfo viva virtute referto.”. 280 Ibid., p. 358 nt. 3; Wattenbach,W. – Dümmler, E. – Traube, L, Deutschlands Geschichsquellen im Mittelalter bis zur Mitte des dreizehnten Jahrunderts (Stuttgart, 1904), 418; Manitius, M. (1923), Geschichte der lateinische Literatur des Mittelater, II (München, 1923), 256–257; Ekkehard, Waltharius, ed. K. Strecker, MGH, Poetae latini aevi carolini, VI, (Berlin, 1947), 153. 281 Depreux Ph., Prosopographie de l’entourage de Louis le Pieux (781–840) (Sigmaringen, 1979). The name is written Heito, Haito, Hetto, Haido, Hitto. 282 The name ‘hard wolf ’ is written Hardolfus, Hartolfus, Hartulfus, Hertulfus, Heardulfus, Ardulfus, Artulfus, Artolfus end in England Eardwulf cfr. Schwartz, E., Deutsche Namenforschung, II, (Göttingen, 1950,) 179–180; Siebs, B. E., Die Personennamen der Germanen (Wiesbaden, 1970), 75, 92, 101. Das Verbrüderbuch der Abtei Reichenau, eds. J.

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840–41283 and who, according to Gropp and the Amorbach necrology, became afterwards bishop of Verden, and died in 845.284. Many internal signs confirm this double identification. The life of Hatto around 830 was precisely that alluded by the author of the third poem: Hatto was, finally, “studio florente285 solutus”, and could devote himself to studies, preparing an edition of Boethius, long time ago offered to a friend.286. As a matter of fact, the abbot-bishop Hatto, perpetually occupied by the thousand duties, entailed by his position, left all commitments in 823 and lived as a simple monk in

283

284 285 286

Autenrieth – D. Geuenic – K. Schmid, M.G.H., Libri Memoriales, I, (Hannover, 1979), 75, 99, 101. Von Eckhart, J. G., Commentarii de rebus Franciae orientalis et episcopatus Wirceburgensis in quibus regum et imperatorum et ducum Franciae orientalis gesta ex scriptoribus coaevis, bullis et diplomatibus genuinis, sigillis, nummis, gemmis, veteribus picturis, monumentisque aliis exponunter et figuris aeri incisis illustrantur (Virceburgi, 1729), II, 244; Gropp, I., Historia monasterii Amorbacenis. Aetas mille annorum monasterii antiquissimi et regalis Monasterii Beatae Mariae Virginis in Amobarch (Frankfurt, 1736), 66–67; Amorbach, Fürstl. Leiningisches Archiv, ms. 1732: Klug, A., Collectaneum ad conscribendum aliquando Monasterij Amorbacensis Ord. S. P. Benedicti historiam; Hopf, K., Historisch-genealogischer Atlas seit Christi Geburt bis auf unsere Zeit (Gotha, 1858–1861), I, 55; Gfrörer, A. F., Zur Geschichte Deustche Volksrechte im Mittelalter (Basel, 1865–1866), 218; Link, G., Klosterbuch in der Diözese Würzburg (Würzburg, 1876), 344–372, namely 361; Wilberg, M., Regententabellen: Eine Zusammenstellung der Herrscher von Ländern aller Erdteile bis zum Beginn des 20. Jahrhunderts (Berlin, 1906), 284. See also Eichorn, W., “Die Rechstabtei Amorbach unter den Karolingern 734(?)–910”, Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte des Benedektiner-Ordens und seiner Zweige, LXXVIII (1968), 28–679): Id., “Das Nekrologium der Abtei Amorbach (767–1838)”, Würzburger Diözesangeschichtsblätter, III (1969), 171–201; Id., “Die Prioren der Abtei Amorbach”, in Würzburger Diözesangeschichtsblätter, XXXII (1970), 19–33; Wagner, H., Die Äbte von Amorbach im Mittelalter, in Würzburger Diözesangeschichtsblätter, LIV (1992), 69–107I; F. Oswald, W. Störmer (Eds.), Die Abtei Amorbach im Odenwald (Sigmaringen, 1984). Hertulf is written Hertulf (Hopf, K., Historisch-genealogischer Atlas, 55; Gfrörer, A. F., Zur Geschichte, 218; Wilberg, M., Regententabellen, 284), Erlulfus (Von Ekhart,J., Commentarii, II, p. 244), Erlulphus (Gropp, I., Historia, 61–62; Link, Klosterbuch, 361), Herluf (Series episcoporum Verdensium, in M.G.H., Script., XIII, 343). Hertulf is different from the bishop of Verden (865–874) called Erlulf (whose signature was ‘Herolf ’: Von Ekhart, J. Commentarii, II, 581), as it is wrongly affirmed in the Chronicon Episcoporum Verdensium, II, in Scriptorum rerum Brunsvicensia, ed. G. W. Leibniz (Hannoverae 1710), 213. This has been already clarified in the Acta sanctorum nel 1668 (Statuendum igitur Erlulfus inter anno DCCCXXXI et DCCCLVI, quem, nescimus errore, Verdensium Annalium… deputant…trucidatum….anno DCCCLXXVI: Acta sanctorum, Februarii, I, 313). Another fake information is the presumed Irish origine of the bishop: cfr. Lanigan, J., An ecclesiastical history of Ireland, III (Dublin, 1829), 344–45: “As to Erlulph having been an Irishman, there is no sufficient proof… The accounts given of him are rather obscure, and unsupported by ancient documents… To judge from the name it might seem that he was not an Irishman”. Eichorn, W., Das Nekrologium, 176; Acta Sanctorum Acta sanctorum, Februarii, I, 314.: “Erlulphus Helingaudo successit post annum DCCCXXXI et anno DCCCXLV (quo tempore Hamburgum devastatum [a Normannis] probamus a Vita S. Anskarii, cap. 2)”. Phil. Cons., I, 1,1: “Carmina qui quondam studio florente peregi”. Poetae, Poema 3, v. 16: “Gratis accipias tabulas…quia promisi, studui deponere tibi.”.

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Reichenau, devoting himself to the study and writing at least two works.287. His resignation was provoked by his feeble health, and precisely to that seem to allude the initial verses of the first poem, evoking the “infelicia plurima” and the inextinguishable “pestes” that vex the author. Regarding Hardolfus / Hertulf, the author of the poem defines him as coming from a noble descent and as being the “pulcherrima gemma parentum”, and this corresponds to what we can reconstruct of this character. He was in fact the son a nobleman, Rupert of Thurgau († 782)55288 and brother of Haimo († 795), a layman abbot of Mosbach, a Benedictine monastery closely related to the neighboring Amorbach. It was usual for the noble families of the region to appoint their descendants or man of proven trust, who were as well closely related to the Imperial cause, as abbots: a typical example of that practice is precisely the noble Hatto, who became abbot of the Imperial Abbey of Reichenau and bishop of Basel with the approval of Charlemagne, to substitute another man who had the sovereign’s complete trust, the noble Waldo (†814), who occupied the same positions before Hatto. Haimo’s and Hardolfus’ families, coming from an ancient Merovingian nobility, were one of Germany’s most important families: the House of the Counts of Thurgau, Brisgau and Zürichgau, and Oberrheingau,289, which in the following centuries were to become Counts of Henneberg, whose huge possessions also included the western part of lake Constance, where the island of Reichenau lies. The presence of descendants of that dynasty heading two important abbeys such as Mosbach and Amorbach is not a coincidence: from the 8th century, the Counts of Thurgau pursued a political-religious strategy of penetration in the most important religious institutions in the regions they administered; particularly in the four abbeys that occupied a key position in the four cardinal points of a wide territory: Lorsch, Fulda, Amorbach, Mosbach (the first three were Imperial Abbeys.) In all four of them the Counts of Thurgau put their hands, so to speak, sending descendants of the family and forcing the abbeys to a debt of gratitude with lavish donations. The lineage of the Counts of Thurgau could count, at the time of Charlemagne and Ludwig the Pious, on the support of 287 The Visio Wettini, in prose and the Odoporicus, both lost. 288 Codex principis olim Laureshamensis Abbatiae diplomaticus: ex aevo maxime carolingio, ed. A. Vessey (Mannheim, 1768), II, p. 241: “Idus Junii, anno V Karoli regis, ego Rutpertus et filii mei Hartolfus et Reginardus donamus ad Sanctum Nazarium et in pago Brisegowe et in Brizzincheimer marca et in Eckenheim quidquid habere videor in mansis, pratis, vineis, domibus, aedificibus.” cfr. Borgolte,M., Die Grafen Alemanniens in merowingischer und karolingischer Zeit. Eine Prosopographie (Sigmaringen, 1986), 93–94. 289 Geldner, F. , Neue Beiträge zur Geschichte der älteren Babenberger (Bamberg, 1971); Friese, A., Studien zur Herrschaftsgeschichte der fränkischen Adels. Studien zur Herrschaftsgeschichte des fränkischen Adels. Der mainländisch-thüringische Raum vom 7. bis 11. Jahrhundert (Geschichte und Gesellschaft, Bochumer historische Studien, 18), (Stuttgart, 1979), 98–103.

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Mosbach and Amorbach, where Haimo and Hardolfus had been abbots; on the support of Lorsch, where Rachilde and Euphemy, daughters of Rupert – who had contributed to found the abbey, giving it the benefice of continuous gifts –, had been nuns;290; on the support of Fulda, which was notably assisted by Heimerich, Haimo’s son, and by his descendants.291 The widespread diffusion of Rupert’s descendants in all four abbeys, strategically located on all four sides of the Odenwald (a territory divided among Baden-Württemberg, Hesse and Bavaria,) allowed the Counts of Thurgau to have the goodwill of the region’s most important monastical foundations: a similar purpose was pursued without any hesitation, but also without any opposition, up to the point that Haimo had been accepted as an abbot without being a monk. The noble family of the Counts of Thurgau had full right to exert their power on the monasteries located on the territories controlled by it and that it had contributed to found or to render prosperous. For the same region no one found strange that other descendants of count Rupert became bishops, as Erimbert (†803)292 and Ruodgang († post 772,) 293 , brothers of Haimo and Hardolfus, nor that their parents headed up important abbeys, as Robert (†786), Rupert’s brother, who was abbot of Saint-Germain des Fosses. Codex Metz 377 depended, therefore, on a dedicated manuscript that Hatto had sent to Hardolfus to keep a promise.294 What were the circumstances of this dispatch can be gathered from some verses: Hatto alludes to inauspicious circumstances in Hardolfus’ life, who suffered a lot and was forced to exile,295, and encourages the abbot to react to adversity.296 That is why he sends to his friend the work in which Philosophy consoles Boethius of his misfortunes, and Seneca’s excerpt, where the philosopher remembers the example of Fabrice (esteemed by Boethius as well,)297 who knew how to decline with dignity Pirrhus’ gold, and how to refuse to plot despicably in back of the king. It is evident that he refers to a precise fact, of which there is no recollection left: abbot Hardolfus would have been sent into exile unjustly, in spite of being a righteous man, such as Fabrice, capable of saying no to the enticements of a king, 290 Codex Laureshamensis, I, p. 2; I, X, p. 23, in M.G.H., S.S., XXI, pp. 341, 350.cfr. Glöckner, K., “Lorsch und Lotharingen, Robertiner und Capetinger”, Zeitschrift für Geschichte des Oberrheins, L (1936), 300–354. 291 Codex Diplomaticus Fuldensis, ed. E. F. J. Dronke (Cassel, 1850), 175, 176, 178. 292 Bishop of Worms, Odenwald. 293 Die Urkunden Pippins, Karlmanns und Karls des Großen, ed. E. Muhlbacher (Hannoverae, 1906), in M.G.H., Diplomata Karolinorum, I, LXV, 94. 294 Amorbach had a rich library in which Boethius would have been welcomed: cfr. Lehmann, P., Die Bibliothek des Klosters Amorbach, in Id., Erforschung, III, 76–109. 295 Poetae, 3, v.: “in exilium pulcherrima gemma parentum.”. 296 Ibid., 1, v. 15: “Siste gradum fratri fluitantis rebus in istis.”. 297 Phil. Cons., II. C. 7, v. 15: “Ubi nunc fidelis ossa Fabricii manent?”.

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but also of behaving with loyalty with his enemies. It is likely that this makes reference to Hardolfus’ attitude regarding Ludwig the German and Ludwig the Pious.298 Hardolfus’ exile is in fact symmetrical to that of the famous abbot of Saint Denis, Hilduin, who did not lined up for Ludwig the Pious, and in 830 was confined first in Paderborn and then in the abbey of Corvey. Just like him, abbot Hardolfus, who was directly dependent on the Emperor, since Amorbach was an Imperial Abbey, could as well have been removed by force from his monastery because of political reasons in the same period, and then being sent to the imperial city of Metz, where Drogo, bastard son of Charlemagne and loyal to Emperor Ludwig, was bishop at that time. In this city Hardolfus could have been reached by Hatto’s gift, a special edition of Boethius and Seneca, prepared for the occasion, spurring him to resist. It is interesting to notice, with regard to this, that Seneca’s excerpt of Walafrid’s Vademecum, according to the scholars, would date back precisely to these years: Walafrid, who from 829 is in Aachen, would have actually consulted a codex of Seneca at the Imperial Library, the Bamberg 46 (M. V. 14), from which he would have gathered the excerpt, that his master Hatto inserted later in the volume for Hardolfus.299 It does not seem certain, on the other hand, that by coincidence the same Walafrid had composed circa 829 the De immagine Tetrici, where he praises Boethius and condemns the oppression of tyrants such as Theodoric. It is possible that, after the storm, Hardolfus was forgiven, as Hilduin himself was forgiven: he could thus retrive his seat, where he maintained his position until 841, and from which he would have gone to Verden, if we admit what the Amorbach Necrology states. It is true that Hardolfus’ presence in Verden was disputed by serious scholars, with good arguments:300 but it is likewise true that those arguments do not really stand on a historical and palaeographical level, and that the hypothesis of Hardolfus’ episcopacy is not unlikely, even though, generally speaking, the reconstruction of the list of Verden bishops is not simple. In any case, no matter how things have gone, the codex that Hardolfus received from Reichenau remained in Metz, where a copy of it was gathered in the 11th century, belonging to the convent of Saint Nabor of Saint Avold. The Boethius edition promised to Hardolfus was brought to completion circa 830, with an intense work that we can reconstruct through the regrettably spare description of the Metz codex. Certainly Hatto had at his disposal more than one manuscript of the Consolatio, from where he gathered several high-medieval Vitae that usually circulate separately.301 Between these prefaces he also inserted 298 A relative of Hardolf, Rupert III (+834) of Oberrheingau, refused to sustain Ludwig the Pious. Maybe Hardolf did the same. 299 Bischoff, Mittelalterliche, III, 180–81. 300 Wagner, H., Die Äbte, 83. 301 Rossbach, O., De Senecae, 75.

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the singular ancient “preface” of the theological works, that accompanied a special copy of Boethius’ De Arithmetica and the traditional preface to the De Arithmetica itself, gathered from other codices.302 He also inserted the Vita Boethii of the Late Antique edition, taken from an interpolated edition.303 From some of the exemplars there were, he also copied Boethius’ treatise on verses attributed to Lupus of Ferrières, that had arrived Fulda in 829, and put it at the beginning of the volume, before Seneca’s excerpts304. Hatto’s Consolatio was accompanied by notes.305 Through the description that scholars have made of it, we can reconstruct that there were already present some of the glosses of the “abbreviated” version of the Anonymous of St. Gallen that we find in Naples IV G 68, wrote by the same copyist of the codex: some annotations arranged in one or two pages preceding the first incipit of the Boethian text;306 the first note of the St. Gallen commentary in ancient German;307 the first note that surprisingly quotes Lucretius and proves the insular culture of the glossator;308 last but not least, as we already said, the preface of the Late Antique edition in an interpolated form, an echo of which we find in the prologue of the “long” version of the Anonymous. Therefore, as far as we can understand, the volume prepared by Hatto had part of the glosses that later will be merged with those of the commentary of the Anonymous of St. Gallen. Nevertheless, although this work made of transpositions and readjustments deriving from more than one copy of Boethius, on the whole the monk of Reichenau should have taken as a model for his transcription above all a main codex, as one can infer from the comparison between the Metz manuscript and those of Naples and St. Gallen we have already talked about. The graphic-aesthetic model of the three exemplars must have been the same, since Metz 377 coincides with the St. Gallen codices in characteristic elements, as the text of the explicit; the presence of the ancient preface to the theological works put before the Boethian De Arithmetica that has its pendant in the absolutely unusual association between the theological works and the De Arithmetica in Naples IV G 68; the general formula “Orditur de Sancta Trinitate” to designate the three theological works; the disposition of the same group of glosses at the beginning, 302 303 304 305 306 307

Ibid., 75. Troncarelli, F. Tradizioni, 3, 11, 16–17, 19, 49. Troncarelli, F. Cogitatio, 38–41. Ibid., 76: “Sequuntur libri… Philosophiae Consolationis (cum glosis).”. Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio, p. 15. “Studio lizze, id est doctrina”. Cfr. G. Schepss, G., “Geschichtlichen aus Boethiushandschriften”, in Neues Archiv, XI (1886), 123–141, esp. 123–27. 308 “Florente laeto id est dum flore iuventutis gauderem. Ennius et Lucretius flores dicunt omne quod nitidum est.”: Schepps, G., “Geschichtlichen aus Boethiushandschriften”, 126; Courcelle, P., La Consolation, 403.

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before the Boethian text. Furthermore, we must stress that the format of the Naples, St. Gallen and Vienna is very similar (208 × 138: Naples IV G 68; 220 × 160: St. Gallen 844; 210 × 170: Wien 271.) The format of the Metz manuscript should not deviate from these values, since it was constituted by 100 pages, comparable to the 99 pages containing the Consolatio and the initial notes of the Neapolitan exemplar.309 The loss of the Metz manuscript prevents us from going deeper into a graphic and codicological comparison with Boethius’ copies written in St. Gallen and Reichenau: however, from all the data we have collected and analyzed in the preceding pages, it follows that all these different exemplars were inspired by an only model, and this model had a characteristic imprint, behind of which was undoubtedly an ancient exemplar, different from the one, ancient as well, probable model of the exemplars written in the Loire valley, as Orléans 270 or Vat. Lat. 3363. As a confirmation of the presence of ancient codices behind the edition prepared by Hatto, there is the fact that an imprint just as ancient is to be found also in another codex of the Consolatio written in Reichenau, as Wien 271 (9th century,) where the same elements of Naples IV G 68 appear, as we have already said, and above all where we also find an initial illustration of Late Antique mold,310, inspired by the same model that was at the basis of the illustrations of the most complete codices of the Late Antique edition, as Séléstat 93 or Krakow Ber. Q. 93, although developing in an autonomous manner, with a representation collected later from three exemplars, all of which report the Late Antique edition: München CLM 15825, written in Germany in the 9th century; Paris BNL 6401 (that has the same explicit of Metz 377 and Naples IV G 68,) written in Fleury in the 11th century; Heiligenkreuz 130, from the 12th century (images 9–13.) In these two groups of illuminations Philosophy is assisted by the uncreated Sapientia, according to a distinction dear to Augustine and to Patristic, that will be consciously resumed by Alcuin quoting Boethius.311. It is reasonable to see behind these copies of Helvetic area, strongly characterized and dependent on pre-Carolingian models, the presence of the most ancient manuscripts of the Consolatio of which a testimony has been found: one of those should be the one we mentioned from the catalog of the Reichenau abbey from 821, when Hatto was still abbot and when the first French copies of the Consolatio were not yet transcribed. Where did these codices come from? The possibilities are multiple. From one side, in fact, Hatto himself, a man of culture who loved books, could have got for 309 Troncarelli, F. Cogitatio, 144; 212–13. 310 Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni, 4, 28, 49, 67, 69, 80, tav. 5. 311 Troncarelli, F., Tradizioni, 64–79.

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himself an ancient exemplar or Boethius’ Consolatio, during his journey to Constantinople in 811. This journey traditionally went through northern Italy, where many libraries crowded with old volumes. But the same libraries could have been reached as well by Hatto’s predecessor, a man very similar to his successor: abbot Waldo. This was a man of culture just as Hatto, and supplied Reichenau with many books from pre-Carolingian times. Abbot of St. Gallen between 782 and 778, of Reichenau between 786 and 804 and later bishop of Pavia for eleven years, between 791 and 802, Waldo, a man of trust of Charlemagne, was a bibliophile and decisively contributed to found and enrich the Reichenau library and the St. Gallen library. There is nothing strange in thinking that a man like that, who became bishop of Pavia, could have continued sending precious texts to the monasteries where he had been abbot. For a powerful bishop like him, it was not difficult to obtain an authoritative exemplar of the Consolatio in the city where Boethius had died, who was a few kilometers away from Bobbio. We know from the testimony of Opicinus de Canistris (1296–1352 ca.) that still in 1330, in the church of S. Pietro in Ciel d’Oro in Pavia, a venerable manuscript was preserved very carefully, arguing that it was the autograph of the Consolatio.312 It is possible that it was not really Boethius’ autograph: but it is very likely that it was a relic from Boethian times, since Opicinus is often rather precise in his informations on Pavia, up to the point that Art Historians generally make use of his descriptions of historical buildings now vanished. The presence of a Late Antique copy of Boethius in Pavia is certainly not surprising: in that city there must have been a rich episcopal library already from the age of Ennodius, a relative of Boethius, that had been augmented in the course of the centuries. On the other hand, the library of the neighboring Bobbio, and the network of relationships that this monastery had with another important cultural centers of northern Italy, as for example Verona, allowed anyone who occupied the Pavian episcopal seat to have at his disposal codices of very first quality. This is what Waldo surely did, building a network of connections that his successors could take advantage of as well: it is not a coincidence if in the library of his St. Gallen, which he contributed so much to form, we find many important manuscripts of the 7th and 8th century that come from Bobbio or from northern Italy, as St. Gallen 48, 751, 762, 903, 912, and probably also 108 and 227313. There is nothing strange, then, if by following the same path of the books that went to St. Gallen, an ancient copy of the Consolatio reached Reichenau from northern Italy, through Waldo’s intercession.

312 Gianani, F., Opicino de Canistris, l’Anonimo Ticinese e la sua descrizione di Pavia (Codice Vaticano Palatino Latino 1993) (Pavia, 1976). 313 C.L.A., VII, ad numeros.

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The Late Antique archetype of the β family and its reflections in Carolingian age The discussion on the commentary of Harley-Einsiedeln brings us automatically to ask a more general question regarding the archetype of the Harley codex and of the manuscripts related to it. As a matter of fact, among the number of copies of the Late Antique edition of the Consolatio Philosophiae, transcribed from the 9th to the 12th century, three codices of the β family, that depend from a sole model, stand out with great evidence: the Harley 2688+3095 of the British Library of London, the Berl. 939 of the Jagiellonska Library in Krakow, the ms. 93 of the Bibliothèque Humaniste of Séléstat. All three exemplars are the most complete and organic witnesses of the Late Antique edition, whose exterior attire and traced elements from the Late Antique model are preserved as well, other than the presence of the commentary inspired by Calcidius. The aspects we have insisted upon show that we are facing a demanding and lavish transcription of the edition of the Consolatio, performed by some very skilled amanuenses, capable of self-assuredly moving from Latin to Greek, who partained to an environment that understands Greek, or at least cultivates a minimal erudite practice of it, as it was typical of the Scoti of the sphere of Eriugena. A similar operation is justified if one wants to emulate the original model, that is scrupulously imitated, even if it is rearranged to the demands of the present and supplying some updated commentaries: the copyists aim, in fact, to measure up the Late Antique luxury codex of Boethius’ edition, accurately articulated in chapters, crowded with Greek words, characterized by the gaudy use of red lead, embellished with a frontispiece of great effect and completed by instructive illustrations. Where did the archetype of these codices come from? And to whom did to arrive first, inaugurating therefore the limited, but qualified alternation of copies, reflected in our manuscripts? The archetype of Harley 2688+3095 was made under the direct supervision of Eusebius, who leaved many subscriptions scattered in the margins, preserved with a great care by the Carolingian scribes. Eusebius mad also drawings of his own and had a role in the composition of the illustration of 2688, with Bellator and Minnulus, as we can easliy know because their name are written inside the painted figures (plates, 17–18). The copyists of Harley have preserved with a great care some of Eusebius’ astonishing drawings, such as the one at f. 45r in which we see two Symmachus’ profiles as a living man and one as a dead man, under the eyes of Hermes. In the same manuscript we find also some Eusebius’ signatures or monograms and a note of a monk of the St. Hubert’s abbey near Liège, recalling that the manuscript was correct by Eusebius (f. 114r). Apart it it is necessary, to attribute and assign a date to the witnesses. We will see that two of them come from the same geographic area, located between

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Cologne and Liège, and the third one comes from the neighboring Alsace. It is not a coincidence the relationship of the codices with Cologne, where Amplonius found the codex pulcherrimus with Cassiodorus’ commentary to Boethius. It is in fact evident, as we will see better later, that soon after the first half of the 9th century some codices and poems imitating the Consolatio reached Cologne from Reichenau, to support the bishop Gunther, unfairly accused. It is possible that the archetype of the manuscripts of the β family had been brought on this occasion from Reichenau, where it was possessed from a long time, as we will see in the next pages. Let’s resume the assignation of a date and a place of the three codices we examine. The simplest case is that of the Krakow exemplar, where it occurs the signature of a famous scribe, Froumund of Tegernsee (ca. 960 – ca. 1012):314 the monk of the Bavarian abbey attests to have conducted his work in the monastery of St. Pantaleon in Cologne, copying, evidently, a text in possession of this foundation. The presence of a copy of this kind in Cologne is not a coincidence: Courcelle has in fact highlighted the cultural premises of the circulation of the archetype of Berl. 939 of Krakow and of the Séléstat 93 in bishop Günther’s Cologne.315 The Séléstat 93, in an angular, primitive textual French-German gothic writing, comes certainly from an area not distant from the Alsatian city, where the rest has remained for centuries: in the 14th century (together with texts of other times) belonged to the monastery of St. John of the same city, and after that to the library of Beatus Rhenanus.316. More controverted is the attribution and date of the London’s Consolatio. The presence of the glosses in ancient German, in dialectal form, typical of northern Germany, has induced more than one researcher to assign the relic to the Cologne region, where moreover was also the antigraph of Froumund. In a recent essay, however, Huglo, although does not deny the relation with Cologne, observed that the dialectal overtones of the glosses and the special “Dasina notation” added to some Boethian chants, are compatible with an ample zone East and West of Cologne, that goes from Tournai up to Essen, inside of which, as the author remembers, there are cultural centers where such tendencies show themselves, as

314 Die Feuchtwanger Briefe des Mönches Froumund aus dem 10. Jahrhundert: eine Sammlung von Handschriften aus dem Salvatorkloster Feuchtwangen, ed. F. Wünschenmeyer (Tegernseer Briefsammlung, I), (Feuchtwangen, 1988) 315 Courcelle, P., La consolation de Boèce dans la tradition littéraire. Anteccedents et Posterité de Boèce, (Paris 1967), 48–49. 316 Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio, 174.

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the French monastery of Saint-Armand in Tournai, or that of Musterbilsen in Liège, where people spoke German.317. Regarding the date of Harley 2688+3095, the viewpoints are discordant: according to some, it should be dated towards the end of the ninth century, according to others, to the beginning of the tenth, or even later, within the first half of the tenth century. However, the thesis that seems best grounded and that has earned most approval is that of Bernhard Bischoff, a great expert of Caroline writing: according to the German scholar, the codex is to be dated towards the end of the 9th century, and is to be attributed to an “östfranzösisch” center, open to German cultural and graphic influences.318. The dating of Bischoff is confirmed by the analysis of the writing by two copyists of Harley 2688+3095, a Caroline script well-proportioned and harmonious (decisively more calligraphic in the first hand), characterized by the frequent use of the uncial “n”, with horizontal bar, as usual in the insular lower case. The presence of this kind of “n” is significant: actually, other than this letter, one can discern in the first hand many other “insular symptoms”, that reveal what was their basic graphic education. The second copyist does not present the same features of the first, but employs the same kind of “n” of insular origin, and writes the titles in a rustic capital very close to that of the first hand; we are clearly inside a center of writing that, even if does not have an absolute graphic uniformity, shows some common elements: in it there is an alternation of amanuenses that use the Caroline script and scribes of insular origin, that had a graphic education suitable to their origin, but that later have learned to write in Caroline. The writing of the two hands of the London codex, so characteristic, corresponds to that of the amanuenses of an important manuscript, produced in Liège, by the bishop Stephen, at the beginning of the 10th century: the Bruxelles 14650–59. The comparison with some of the copyists that made the exemplar does not give rise to doubts, even if one must not forget (as it was noted by more than one scholar) that the first hand of Harley 2688+3095 has a rounded general aspect, suitable to a copy of the 9th century, more archaic than the rigid and angular of the copyists of the Bruxelles manuscript (figg. 60–61). We are, therefore, in Liège, in the cathedral school, between the end of the 9th and the beginning of the 10th century. The attribution of Harley 2688+3095 answers in a perfect way to our expectations. The Lotharingian Liège was certainly an “östfranzösisch” cultural cen317 Huglo, M., “Remarques sur un manuscrit de la Consolatio Philosophiae (Londres, British Library, Harleian 3095)”, Scriptorium, 45 (1991), 288–94 318 Troncarelli, F., Cogitatio, 199–200. Cfr. Gibson, M. T. – Smith, L. – Zeigler, J. (Edds.), Codices Boethiani: A Conspectus of Manuscripts of the Works of Boethius, I, ( London, 1995), 144.

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ter,319, open to German cultural and graphical influences, where people spoke a German dialect such as that attested by the glosses to the already mentioned codex of Musterbilsen. In the 9th century, the city hosted a remarkable Irish colony, whose spiritual leader was Sedulius Scotus, who had a significant role in the cathedral school. The poet, who took as a model for his De rectoribus christianis the Consolatio, knew how to write and speak in Greek, as the autograph codex Paris Arsenal 8407 shows, was in touch with people who revolve around the Eriugenian sphere in the school of Laon320, such as the famous poet Fergus,321 celebrated as well by that Dubthach who transcribed in 838 the Priscian of Leiden BPL 67, that maybe belonged to Eriugena, that features a Greek-Latin glossary from the end of the 9th century, similar to that present in the Harley codex. Sedulius was also part of the group of supporters of the archbishop Günther of Cologne, who, as we already said, was related by Courcelle to the depictions of the Sapientia of Krakow Berl. 939 and Séléstat.322 The attribution to Liège of the Harley codex allows us to understand better the transcription process of codices and cultural reintroductions we are dealing with. Sedulius Scotus’ Liège is, in fact, a fundamental turning point. In a famous chant for the historians of Irish culture, Sedulius celebrates the arrival to Liège of four Scoti ready to fight for faith (and maybe for Günther): the already mentioned Fergus, one not better known Buchellus, bishop Maurus, that came from St. Gallen,323 and a mysterious character, called with the pseudonym of Blandus and Blanda Columba Dei, whose ability of working in the shadows, and his ability to make use of “rumors” to spread good causes, is praised. If we are not mistaken, this character may be identified with a poet that has direct relationships with the archbishop Günther: according to us, he is the author of the Encomium Guntharii324 that had prompted Courcelle to establish the relationship between the archbishop of Cologne and the Séléstat and Krakow codices. The poet summons up Christians to fight in favor of the archbishop, ex319 Pirenne, H., Histoire de Belgique, 1, (Bruxelles, 1902); Kurth, G., La Cité de Liège au moyen-âge (Paris, 1910); Gobert, T., Liège à travers les âges. Les rues de Liège (Bruxelles, 1975). 320 Berschin, W., Griechisch-Lateinisches Mittelalter. Von Hyeronimus zu Nikolaus von Kues (Bern-München, 1980), 172–173. 321 Ibid., 173–75. 322 Sedulii Scotti Carmina, ed. I. Meyers, (CCSCM, 117), (Turnhout 2001), n. 34; Sedulii Scotti Carmina, ed. L. Traube, in MGH, Poetae latini Medii Aevi III, (Berolini, 1896), XXXIV, 199. 323 Ekkheardus, Casus monasteri S. Galli, ed. I. Von Arz, MGH, Scriptores, II, p. 78; Chadwick, N., Studies in the Early British Church (Cambridge, 1958), 104; Walz, D. – Kaffanke, J. (Edds.), Irische Mönche in Süddeutschland, Literarisches und kulturelles Wirken der Iren im Mittelalter (Lateinische Literatur im deutschen Südwesten, 2), (Heidelberg, 2009). 324 Poetae latini Aevi Carolini, III, ed. L. Traube, (Berolini, 1896), MGH, Poetae latini Medii Aevi, 238–40.

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communicated for political reasons, making Boethius’ Philosophy, explicitly quoted, to talk, calling her openly Sophia and describing her as the biblical Sapientia. The text has been cleverly inserted in a white page of a famous codex of Priscian (St. Gallen Stiftsbibliothek 904, p. 89), so as to be read casually by whoever consulted the grammatical text.325 The scribe that copied the text uses a raw Caroline, with insular influences, and was corrected by the author of the text, who writes in an insular script, filled with Carolinian elements, with letters that suddenly vary their format. That hand brings some corrections, with erasure, adding new readings, alternative to the first version. The same hand wrote, before 855, in an insular writing influenced by the Caroline, written impetuously, with variations in the format of the letters, in a codex belonging to Reichenau, the Karlsruhe, Badische Landesbibliothek Aug. CXCV,326 a poem honoring the famous Fergus, that quotes Lucan and has gaudy variants in the line space and a poem praising Drogo of Metz.327 As it occurred before, in the case of the poem for the bishop of Cologne, the poem to Fergus is also cleverly inserted on a blank space of the Karlsruhe codex, after the explicit of St. Agustine’s Soliloquia, so that it could be casually found by the reader (Figure 62). The author of these verses, faithful to the Lotharingian bishops and to the Carolingian dinasty, who works in the shadows as that Blandus praised by Sedulius, and who, as Sedulius’ Blandus as well, is closely connected to Fergus, writing on Priscians’ codex that “follows the same route as Sedulius,”328, has a name: in fact, there is a signature: “Edo peccator” and “Edeton,”329 a Latinized form of the Celtic Aed or Aedan, an is remembered as Edo diaconus in a section of the Reichenau Necrologius,330written during the time of abbot Erlebald, when Walafrid Strabo was still young. We do not know much about this Irish monk, of blazing heart and easy verse, although it is very likely that he was a friend of Fergus going back a long way, whom he knows so thoroughly: however, we know that his love for the Consolatio was nourished by reading a codex that had the illustration we find in the Harley 2688+3095. As a matter of fact, in his poem, Edo states that, contrary to what Boethius says, Sapientia lays her feet on a verdant field (“Illa…florida telluris dum graderetur, erat”, v. 5), and this is exactly what we see in the initial illus-

325 A similar case in Schaffhausen Stadtbibliothek 1, p. 108. 326 C.L.A., VII, 1080; Brown, J. (1991), A Palaeographer’s View, 216–217. See also Bischoff, B. Mittelalterliche Studien, II 203; 301. 327 Poetae Latini Aevi Carolini, IV, ed. F. Strecker, MGH, Poetae latini Medii Aevi (Berolini, 1896), 1124. 328 Ó Cróinín, D., Early Medieval Ireland, 400–1200, (London-New York, 1997), 249. 329 On p. 69 and p. 89: “Iam, id est iamdiu, Edetone”. 330 Das Verbrüderbuch der Abtei Reichenau, 4C 2.

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tration of the London manuscript, a unique case in all the High-medieval iconography of this work. The presence in Reichenau of a codex with an illustration this similar to that of Harley 2688+3095 is not strange. As we have shown elsewhere, it was right in this monastery, in 832, where abbot Hatto had at his disposal an ancient manuscript of the Late Antique edition, with the same Vita Boethii that contains the Anecdoton Holderi, featured in Harley 2699+3095: it is reasonable to think that the copy that Hatto possessed in 832 and that that Edo read towards 862–63 were the same. A similar manuscript or a faithful copy of it could be a worthy gift for archbishop Günther and his supporters, as Sedulius, during his arrival to Liège, together with Fergus. We know, in fact, that Günther, as a protest for his excommunication, instigated a proper campaign of multiplication of manuscript texts on his favor. In this general mood, it could be significant also to diffuse copies of the Consolatio where Sapientia stands out, who in Edo’s poem called the Christians to gather in favor of the archbishop of Cologne.

Liège and Harley 2688+3095 Not far from Liège, in Namur, lived in the last decade of the 9th century Radbod, Günther’s nephew.331. When he was young, he studied in Cologne, with his uncle, and then he was a pupil of the famous Manno, a colleague of Eriugena, at the palatine school of Charles the Bold. Together with him were also Stephen, later bishop of Liège, and Mancion, later to become bishop of Chalons-en-Champagne.332 After the death of Charles the Bold, Radbod came back to Namur and then became member of the entourage of Hugh of Tours, a great dignitary of the French court, attending upon the cause of the descendants of the Carolingian.333. 331 Sauser, E., “Radbod von Utrecht”, in Biographisch-Bibliographisch Kirchenlexion, 15, (Herzbeg, 1999), 1309–1310. 332 “Karoli regis Francorum, filii quoque Lothowici imperatoris, [Radbod] adiit palacium, non palatini honoris avidus, sed quia tunc temporis infra domesticos prefati regis parietes insigne septiformis philosophiae viguit exercicium. Huius gymnasii curam Manno philosophus freno sapientiae regebat, cui sanctus puer litterarum pollens studio sagaciter adherebat. Erant autem et illi sodales huiusmodi convivii participes Stephanus et Mancio, aetate maiores, non studio superiores”: Vita Radbodi Episcopi Traiectensis, ed. O. HolderEgger, MGH, SS, XV, 1 (Hannoverae, 1888), 568–571. Cfr. Auda A., Étienne de Liège: L’Ecole Musicale Liègoise au Xe siécle, (Bruxelles, 1923), 27–34; Ahlers, B., Die ältere Fassung der Vita Radbod (Bern, 1976). 333 Werner, K. F. (1967), “Die Nachkommen Karls des Grossen bis um das Jahr 1000 (1.– 8. Generation)”, in Braunfels, W. – Schramm, P. E. (Edds.), Karl der Grosse: Lebenswerk und Nachleben, 4, (Düsseldorf, 1967), 403–83; Kupper, J. L., Leodium, in Series Episcoporum Ecclesiae Catholicae, Series V, 1, Germania, edds. O. Engel – S. Weinfurter (Stuttgart, 1982), 43–83.

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Once Hugh disappeared (886), the fate of the Carolingians blurred: the greats of the kingdom chose as their king a hero of the war against the Vikings, Odo of Paris, who had all papers in order to make disappear from the scene the very young Charles the Simple, compelling the followers of the legitimate Carolingians to vanish in the shadows. It is very likely for Radbod to have come back to Namur, waiting for better times, just as his colleague Stephen made, who belonged to the Carolingian dynasty334 and withdrew to Metz, at bishop Robert’s, moving then to the neighboring monastery of St. Mihiel, in Verdun. But soon came those favorable times, and brought honors and responsibilities to Stephen, Radbod and their friends. The legitimist wing raised its head again, thanks to the strenuous activity of an energetic and educated, Fulk of Reims. The archbishop supported vigorously the rights of Charles the Simple, and called to gather the supporters of his cause, promoting to high places some characters faithful to him. Amongst them was Mancio, Radbert’s and Stephen’s friend, who obtained precisely thanks to Fulk the Chalons episcopacy, the perplexity of the Pope notwithstanding.335 And there was also another friend of Stephen, the famous Hucbald of St.-Amand, who will later dedicate to Stephen himself his Vita Rictrudis.336 Hucbald, who had studied with the Eriugenian Heiric of Auxerre, was called by Fulk in 893 to be headmaster of the school of Reims, together with a follower of Eriugena and Heiric of Auxerre: that Remigius of Auxerre who had attached his name to a commentary of the Consolatio Philosophiae, many times copied and reshaped.337 For Hucbald too the Consolatio was a text of utmost importance: the Boethian text is copiously quoted in his Vita of St. Lebuin, a saint whose life Radbod will also write. Hucbold glorifies the figure of Philosophy as Sapientia,338 in the same key we have already seen in Edo, according to an interpretation that found an illustrious precedent in Alcuin, and who Remigius of Auxerre himself had made his own. There was, in substance, a continuity between the positions of Alcuin,339 who, making recourse to Boethius, exalted Charlemagne as a King Philosopher, assisted by the Sapientia and those followers of the most legitimate Carolingians, who from a distance of almost a century kept on exalting the Boethian Sapientia, 334 Cartulaire de l’Eglise Saint-Lambert de Liège, edd. S. Borman – E. Schoolmeesters, 1 (Bruxelles, 1893), n. 10, 25 August 915, 14–15: “Stephani venerabilis Tungrorum episcopi nostre consanguinitati affinis dilectissimi”. 335 Flodoardus, Histoire de l’Église de Rheims. Collection des Mémoires relatifs a l’Histoire de France, ed. M. Guizot (Paris, 1824), 491–493. 336 Hucbaldus S. Amandi, Vita Rictrudis, ed. W. Levison, in MGH, SSRM, VI (Hannoverae, 1913), 93–94. 337 Courcelle, P. La consolation, pp. 405–406; Wittig, J. The Remigian glosses on Boethius’s Consolatio, 168–200. 338 Vita Sancti Lebuini, P. L. CXXXII, 881 A. Cfr. Courcelle, P., La consolation, 47–48. 339 Ibid., 29–47.

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as a friend and ally of illustrious monks and of virtuous men, with the blessing of the last followers of Eriugena, who lived in the court of a king of Carolingian dynasty such as Charles the Bold. Contrary to this microcosm of educated and pious young men, taught to the good lectures of the palatine school; contrary to the new academy of Reims, where the last heir of Eriugenian culture had found late notoriety; contrary to the noble yearning of able and bold primates, who had deposed warrior kings and consecrated child kings, was suddenly instigated, while the dying century was closing, a ferocious attack. The attack was apparently directed against Boethius. But through him they were aiming their attack higher. The poisoned arrow, by wounding the author everybody loved, inoculated the venom of discord and suspicion to the fair and ambitious men that dreamed of restoring the triumphs of Charlemagne, the melancholic glory of Charles the Bold. A stern monk of Corvey, in the Paderborn diocese, pronounced with thunderous voice the words that many had whispered and no one had had the courage to utter out loud: Boethius asserted doctrines contrary to the Christian faith (“fidei contraria”), that could be defined monstruous (“monstruosa.”)340.His followers, as the disciples of Eriugena as well, were risking to be accused of heresy. In order to prove this, the monk, a man of proven virtue and strict studies, quoted, having the air of someone who discloses a conspiracy, an obscure author, rediscovered in Carolingian times, but who remained still heritage of a few: Macrobius Theodosius Ambrosius,341 who summarized Plato in his commentary to the Somnium Scipionis, and afforded the German monk arguments for his controversies. The main target, as Courcelle properly has stressed, was Remigius of Auxerre;342 but through Remigius was indirectly damaged Eriugena, favorite of Charles the Bold (already challenged by many) and, most of all, was damaged to the core the school of Reims and the cultural politics of archbishop Fulk. Not coincidentally the attack was coming from Germany during Arnulf of Carinthia, who for a long time supported Odo of Paris against Charles the Simple. But Bovo had undervalued the Irish, old warriors, never tamed, used to all kinds of adversities, who survived the Vikings, poverty, exile, the blinding light of glory, as Eriugena, the shadow of conspiracy, as Edo. Invited to fight, the Scoti were not to be begged. And they intervened in favor of Remigius, of Eriugena and of the party to which the archbishop Günther’s nephew belonged. The Scoti found the Sedulius’ Liège, partly destroyed by the 340 “Quis tam demens est ut haec monstruosa commenta non procul a fide sua remoueat?”, in Huygens, R. B. C. (2000), “Mittelalterliche Kommentare zum O qui perpetua”, in Id., Serta mediaevalia. Textus varii saeculorum X–XIII, (Turnhout, 2000), 397. 341 Silvestre, H., “Note sur la survie de Macrobe au Moyen Age”, Classica et Mediaevalia, 24 (1963), 170–180. 342 Courcelle, P., La consolation, 293–94.

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Vikings343, but reborn through the efforts of bishop Franco and the monks of Lobbes,344, the ancient copy of the Consolatio that celebrated Sapientia; the codex that like a Cathach, a book-talisman for war, was brought by Edo to challenge the excommunication from the Pope and to celebrate the cause of a man wrongly accused, a victim hit by the same injustice that had hit Boethius. The Scoti started from there and prepared their answer. They transcribed the old codex with the best graphic attire. They patiently copied Bovo’s venomous innuendos, inserting them right in the core of the volume. Immediately after, though, with an apparent nonchalance, with the same taste for secrecy with which Edo had sowed in the manuscripts his verses, they inserted after Bovo an anonymous expositiuncula that buried Bovo forever.

Bovo’s commentary and the Anonymous commentary of Einsiedeln Bovo’s commentary has been thoroughly studied by great scholars, and it is difficult to add something else to their analysis.345 However, it is possible to propose a new general interpretation of the text, clearly overvalued for the purpose of a reconstruction rather questionable of the tension between novatores and conservatives in medieval theology. It is a commonplace for critics to assert that Bovo is an “impartial commentator”, a “profoundly Christian spirit” and a man of great culture, as shown by his knowledge of Macrobius. None of these statements coincides with the truth, as neither does, on the other hand, another commonplace repeated time and time again: that his sharp criticism knows how to catch the “sore spots” of Boethian philosophy and reveals the paganism hidden in the statements of the Roman philosopher. The truth is quite different: Bovo is hostile towards philosophy as such, but is not capable of doing a sharp analysis of Boethius’ text, and condemns him without understanding him, in the name of a spirit that is a priori conservative, barely concealed by the summaries of Macrobius. Certainly, as Lodi Nauta conveniently remembers,346 a medieval commentary not only serves to 343 The irish monks are accostumed to hide relics and manuscripts to preserve them form Viking fury: cfr. Walafridus Strabo, Vita Sancti Blaithmaic Martyris, ed. E. Dümmler in MGH, Poetae Latini Aevi Carolini, II, (Berolini, 1884), 299–301. 344 Dolbeau, F., “Un nouveau catalogue des manuscrits de Lobbes au Xe et XIe siècles”, Recherches augustiniennes, 13 (1978), 3–36; 14 (1979), 191–248. See also Dierkens, A., Abbayes et chapitres entre Sambre et Meuse (VIIe–XIe siècle), (Sigmaringen, 1985). 345 Courcelle, P., La consolation, pp. 292–95; Gregory, T., Platonismo medievale: studi e ricerche, (Studi storici dell’Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medioevo, 26–27), (Roma, 1958), 1– 15. 346 Nauta, L., “Magis sit Platonicus quam Aristotelicus: interpretations of Boethius’s Platonism in the Consolatio Philosophiae from the Twelfth to the Seventeenth Century”, in Gersh,

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explain the text, but also and most of all to transmit one’s own ideas: but if this is true, Bovo’s commentary cannot be considered “impartial”, and it is only an expressions of the acrimony of conservatives against the progressive wing of Carolingian theology. Besides, that is evident to anyone who analyzes the text without prejudices. Bovo is literally unable to do an analysis of the Consolatio: he makes a speech for the prosecution rather than an analysis. As a result of this, his explanation of Boethius is shallow: and not only for a modern reader, but also for medieval readers. The point is that reading the Platonic Boethius only through the Neoplatonic Macrobius is an operation that is wrong in itself. The Roman philosopher openly states that he was inspired by Plato and not by Neoplatonic authors: if this is true, and if we want to explain Boethius through Boethius, elucidating what he wrote thanks to his words and without recurring to the deus ex machina of words said by others, we cannot admit that different texts than those quoted by Boethius can reveal, or rather unmask, the real intentions of the philosopher. This is also the limit of a great scholar, such as Courcelle, who, his merit notwithstanding, repeats the same mistake as Bovo, trying to read at all costs Boethius through Proclus’ and other Neoplatonic authors’ interpretations of Plato, ignoring, on principle, that which Boethius explicitly states about himself. Undoubtedly, the Roman philosopher depends on these authors as well, whom he has read and meditated: but not exclusively and, in any case, not in an obsequious way. Boethius depends also on sources of a rather different inspiration, conveniently amalgamated to the first, starting with Aristotle, and, in any case, has an independent personality, that brings him to creatively intervene, innovating regarding the tradition. This Boethian attitude has been gathered by some modern scholars, starting with Obertello. Precisely when he annotates the famous ninth chant, which Bovo so vehemently rejects, Obertello highlighted that: “If Boethius faithfully follows the spirit, and often the letter of the Platonic text, knows how to adapt them to his own mind in the neuralgic points on a doctrinal level.”347. One can think, for instance, about the statements of the Timaeus regarding the so-called “carriages of the soul”, on which the Divinity sends up the souls after having created them. Courcelle, emulating Bovo, sees in this expression only Boethius’ strict dependence on Hierocles and Proclus: on the contrary, as rightly states Obertello, Boethius is autonomous, both regarding the Neoplatonic authors and regarding Plato’s text itself, even if he depends on it in such a great measure. As Obertello wrote: “The modifications, almost unnoticeable but important, brought by Boethius to the Platonic text and thought S. – Hoenen M. (Edds.), The Platonic tradition in the Middle Ages. A doxographic approach (Berlin, 2002), 165–204. 347 A.M. S. Boezio, La consolazione della filosofia. Gli opuscoli teologici, ed. L. Obertello (Milano, 1979), 414.

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are to be noticed. While Plato points out that the souls have been separated in a number equal to that of the stars and then each of them was attributed to her own, Boethius is silent on this particular, and presents their ascent on the chariot … as the vehicle chosen by the Divinity to allow every soul to reach her cosmic destination”. And later: “While Plato suggests … that “he who will have lived well during the time granted to him, coming back to the home of the star that is his partner, will carry on a happy life (Timaeus 42b)”, Boethius does not utter a word of such a return to the twin star, but to God himself, who makes the soul to turn into himself on the wings, so to speak, of fire. This image, that we do not find in the Platonic text, is suggested by the notion, common to all antiquity, that fire tends by its own nature to return to its own seat, that is in heaven. It is largely used in the philosophical and poetical tradition: it suffices to quote Prudentius (Circa ex. defunct., 29–32) and Augustine (De civ. Dei, 11, 28; Conf. XIII, 9.)” among the Christians. But it is not only Obertello to have stressed the limits of an interpretation such as that of Bovo, that relates too closely Boethius to Neoplatonism: as a matter of fact, Tullio Gregory348 has as well drawn attention to its limits, by confronting Bovo’s observations with that of an author slightly subsequent, Adabold of Utrecht. The bishop of Utrecht points out, rightly so, that if Boethius states that the souls “return” (“revertuntur”) to the Creator, it is wrong to think that Boethius considers the angels to be the “souls”, as Bovo suggests, since angels do not “return” to God, but live always in the presence of His glory (“Hoc enim de angeli intelligi non potest, qui numquam aversi recesserant ac ideo numquam conversi sunt.”)349 With an analogous critical sense, Adabold remembers, rightly as well, that on the problem of the preexistence of the soul regarding the body, neither Augustine nor Jerome had declared anything, and that only faith can guide us before such an enigma: consequently, to single out Boethius on this matter is useless, given that no one dares to do extensive the critics to Augustine and Jerome as well: “Aliqui…asserunt enim non posse [animas] levis curribus aptari nisi creatas sicque quaestionem de anima, apud Hieronimum et Augustinum insolutam, per haec verba Boetii solvere contendunt. Hi de creatione animae quibuscumque verbis velint sibi satisfaciant, ego cum Hieronimo et Augustino malo inscius haber quam erroris filius scius videri.”350 For the same reason Adabold does not fall on the smoke and mirrors of the word “anima”, holding Boethius responsible for the theories of the anima mundi of Neoplatonics such as Macrobius. The bishop draws rightly to Plato’s Timaeus 348 Gregory, T., Platonismo medievale, 1–15. 349 Serta mediaevalia, 137. 350 Ibid., 137. See also Nauta, L., “The Preexistence of the Soul in Medieval Thought”, Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale, 63 (1996), 93–135.

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and not to his Neoplatonic interpreters, assigning to the Soul of the world the distributive role that Plato assigns to it as well, and explains the expression “triple nature” used by Boethius based on the Timaeus, which describes the soul consisting on what is equal, on what is different and on the mixture of both these principles. Next to this interpretation, Adabold also adds another one, drawn from Boethius himself, from his commentary on Porphyry’s Isagoge, trying to explain rightly Boethius through Boethius.351. By setting this way the problem, all of Bovo’s disperse chickens come relentlessly home to roost. Bovo’s ignorance of Plato’s complex and refined arithmetical construction in his Timaeus does not go unnoticed by Adabold: for the German monk, the numerical proportions and the harmonious symmetry between the numbers and the geometrical structures of the universe are just “unusual fables”, as he explicitly states when dealing precisely with the Platonic numbers; for Adabold, instead, the meaning of those numbers in the Platonic cosmology of the Timaeus is essential.352 Where did the knowledge of Adabold, bishop of that Utrecht where previously Radbod, the colleague of Stephen of Liège, had been bishop, stems from? If we neglect a series of varied sources and focus on the one that recurs most often, we must admit that many of Adabold’s ideas come precisely from that expositiuncula that the Scoti had fiercely associated to Bovo’s commentary in Harley 2688+3095: as a matter of fact, in it are already present, although concisely, all the critics of the bishop of Utrecht. And is also implicitly present the underlying criticism: Boethius is explained through Boethius, and if the author says that he was inspired by Plato, the source of his theories is to be found in Plato. As he has already said before, the expositiuncula is “le meilleur commentaire du De Consolatione Philosophiae antérieur au XII siècle”353 and is the fruit of “ein Grosser Geist”, from whose explanation “fusst auf antiker Gelehrsamkeit, direkt aus den Quellen geschöpft…”.354 A similar interpretation is possible because who wrote the notes knows the Latin translation of the Timaeus made by Calcidius and quotes it directly, as the vocabulary he uses, that coincides with that of Calcidius, clearly shows. It was a text even more rare than that of Macrobius, who circulated very little in the

351 Courcelle, P., La consolation, 298. 352 Serta mediaevalia, 129–130. 353 Silvestre, H., “Le commentaire inédit de Jean Scot Erigène au mètre IX du livre III du “De Consolatione” de Boèce”, Revue d’Histoire Ecclésiastique, XLVII (1952), 44–122, esp. 112. 354 Serta Mediaevalia, 91.

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9th century, as attested by the survival of only three manuscript copies.355 However, it is not a coincidence if one of them belonged to Hucbald of St. Amand, the friend of Stephen of Liège and Remigius, one of the main followers of Fulk of Reims.356 The learned monk had known how to treasure the “trouvaille” of the Scoti of Liège. One last question remains: how did the Scoti manage to find the expositiuncula that so confidently quoted the very rare Calcidius, and that proved wrong Bovo’s broadsides with so authoritatively? The answer is simple: it was already present, at least in an embryonic form, at the margins of the ancient copy of the Consolatio that came from Reichenau and that derived from the ancient notes to Boethius that flanked the Late Antique edition of the work, of which there are so many gaudy traces left in Harley 2688+3095 and in the other codices that we have mentioned in this essay. We have already proposed in the preceding pages some favorable arguments to this thesis, that on the other hand imposes by itself because of its simplicity: we will add something else. We said that the antigraph of Harley 2688+3095 came from Reichenau. In another copy of the Consolatio as well, written in Reichenau at the end of the 9th century, the Wien 271, we find evident traces of Boethius’ Late Antique edition: some rhetorical notes, some chapter titles, the metric of the chants and an initial illumination completely analogous to that of Harley 2688+3095, of Krakow Berl. 939 and of Séléstat 93. At the end of the Vienna codex a drawing was drawn by a hand, contemporary to that of the copyist of the Consolatio, that probably should be reported also in the London codex, given that there are some leaves left blank, that should have featured some illustrations (one of which, representing the skies, is barely sketched), and given that at the beginning of the codex there is, as we said initially, the Wind rose shared by other copies of the Late Antique edition357. The drawing of Wien 271 is completely analogous to the illustration of the relationship among the elements we mentioned before and that we find again in the Δ version of Cassiodorus’s Institutiones and in the Late Antique edition of the Consolatio: we have traces of it already at the beginning of the 9th century, in a leaf

355 Timaeus’ a Calcidio translatus commentarioque instructus, ed. J. H. Waszink (Plato Latinus, IV),(London-Leiden, 1950), CVI–CXXX: only three manuscript of the 9th Century, Vatican Library, Vat. Reg. Lat. 1068, Laon B. M., 324, Valenciennes B. M., 293. 356 Valenciennes BM 293. Cfr McKitterick, R., “Knowledge of Plato’s Timæus in the Ninth Century: the implications of Valenciennes Bibliothèque Municipale MS 293”, in Westra H. J. (Ed.), From Athens to Chartres. Neoplatonism and medieval thought. Studies in honour of Edouard Jeauneau (Studien und Texte zur Geistesgeschichte des Mittelalters, 35), (Leiden, 1992), 85–95. 357 The same figure is in Anagni’s church: cfr. Cappelletti, L., Gli affreschi nella cripta anagnina. Iconologia (Roma, 2002), 47–54.

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at the end of Orléans 270, where a hand contemporary to that of the copyist358 wrote the captions of the illustration; immediately after we find again the image, and later, in other manuscripts that report the Late Antique edition.359 As we have shown in the preceding pages, the illustration allows to explain, thanks to Calcidius, the “fables” that are concealed in Plato’s numbers. The Harley 2688+3095 is not, then, a casual product and did not end in the hands of Stephen of Liège by mere chance. In 900, Fulk of Reims was killed. The position of Charles the Simple grew weak. But the king continued to govern, in his own way. And those who served on his party continued to advance, just as it happened before Fulk’s death. Radbod had been elected bishop of Utrecht in 899; in 901, Stephen got the episcopacy of Liège. Stephen found in Liège the lavish codex of the Consolatio prepared by the Scoti. It is very likely that he had some copies made, sending them, as it was his custom, to friends and supporters. Then, after the intervention of one of his followers, who reported on a blank page the hymns to the Trinity the bishop was so fond of,360 sent the precious manuscript to his protector, Robert, bishop of Metz. We know this, because Robert’s name appears in c. 89r, in the typical form of the ex-libris of bishops of the Meuse, and because in the protective leaf of the codex appears the name of another bishop of Metz, a successor of Robert, Adalberon.361 In Metz, at St. Arnulf convent, there was another precious copy of the Consolatio, that depended on another sub-archetype than the Harley 2688+3095, which nevertheless had been equally influenced by the same archetypes of the Harleian manuscript, and that reported fragments of Boethius’ Late Antique edition: St. Arnulf ’s copy had been sent by Hatto of Reichenau to the exiled Hardolf, confined by the Carolingian Drogo, so beloved to the Irish Edo, as we shall see in the following pages. I do not know if this coincidence was fruit of the destiny or of the Providence, and I do not know how would have Boethius defined it: I only know that time sometimes allows contrasts that are impossible to resolve, burying hate with oblivion and saving from new injustices the memory 358 The date of the different hands in Orléans 270 and Wien 271 has been confirmed by Armando Petrucci. 359 Troncarelli, F. Cogitatio, 67–68. 360 Folcuinus, Gesta Abbatum Lobbiensium, ed. G.H. Pertz, MGH, SS, 4, (Hannoverae, 1841), 52–74, in namely c. 18: “[Stephanus] fecit et libellum quendam ex plurimis divinorum librorum flosculis decerptis, in quo singularum in anno festivitatum capitula cum collectis et versibus utili commento congessit. In cujus libelli [the Liber Capitularis] praefatione ostendit, se Mediomatricae, quae nunc Mettis dicitur, a puero educatum fuisse. Nam Roberto, ejusdem sedis episcopo, eundem libellum legendum misit et comprobandum.”. 361 Three bishops of Metz was called Adalberon, between 929 and 1072 (Adalberon I, 929–964; Adalberon II, 984–1005; Adalberon III, 1047–1072). The copyist who wrote this name in the manuscript could be dated around 10–11th Century.

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of those who are dead by the justice. Time and tenacity of the workers of History: the anonymous authors of the expositiuncula drawn from the Late Antique edition of the Consolatio, the brothers of Stephen Dedalus, compelled to “silence, exile and cunning”, the rebels like Edo the sinner, the friend of Fergus the Great, the blanda Columba Dei who, in the name of a just cause, knew how to strike hidden in the shadow.

III.

Appendix

A Late Antique Portrait of Boethius The ivory diptych known as the “Diptych of the Poet and the Muse,” held in the Museum of the Cathedral of Monza, is one of the most enigmatic relics of Late Antiquity362 (pl. 22). The diptych represents with impressive realism two characters: a middle-aged man,363 apparently lost in thought, and a woman, who is playing the harp. The man is sitting in a room within a sumptuous palace, under a ceiling with scalloped niches from which hang curtains supported by twisted Corinthian columns. He is covered by a himation, which, in keeping with the traditional iconography of philosophers, orators, and poets, is open at the breast. In his hand he has a scroll; under his feet another scroll and a wax tablet are open: we see in both few written lines. The woman playing the harp is represented in a pose traditionally associated with that of a Muse.364 She wears a robe that extends down to her feet, and her face is partially covered by a veil, which is tied on the left side and covers her head. Her hair is adorned with a little crown that is surmounted by three feathers.

362 Zanker, P., The mask of Socrates: the image of the intellectual in antiquity, trans. A. Shapiro (Berkeley-Los Angeles-Oxford, 1995), 143, 328, 395 nt. 80. 363 “Funfzigjährige” according to Delbrueck, R., Diptychon mit Dichter und Muse, in “Denkmäler Spätantiker Kunst,” Antike Denkmäler, 4 (1931), 8–10, in particular 8. 364 Paduano Faedo, L. (1981), “I sarcofagi romani con Muse,” Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II.12.2 (Berlin-New York, 1981), 65–155.

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Sic et non The ivory was discovered in 1759 by Antonio Francesco Gori, who in his Thesaurus veterum dyptichorum365 proposed three possible interpretations of the characters depicted, the poets Ausonius and Claudian, and the philosopher Boethius, who, at the opening of his Philosophiae Consolatio is depicted as accompanied by the Muses. Gori surmised that Pope Gregory the Great gave the diptych to Queen Theodolinda in the belief that the man represented in the diptych was related to the Anicii, the family to which he too belonged. In 1794, Antonio Francesco Frisi, in his Historical Memories of Monza,366 refuted Gori’s interpretation, arguing that it was given to Monza not by Gregory, but by Berengar I, as reported in two ancient inventories of the Cathedral Treasury. Frisi dated the ivory to the first half of the 6th century, identifying the male figure as the prisoner Boethius and suggesting that the woman singing in his presence was his wife, dressed as a Muse. According to a medieval tradition which is questioned today by scholars, the woman’s name was Helpis, Boethius’ first wife – which, if true, would make the Rusticiana mentioned by Procopius of Caesarea his second wife. The woman in the diptych is playing a harp, symbolizing poetic activity, because Helpis (so Frisi) is reputed to have been the author of certain hymns. In 1865, the identification with Boethius was vigorously taken up by Luigi Biraghi,367 a passionate apologist of the Catholic faith. He claimed to have deciphered the name of Boethius and the title of Philosophiae Consolatio and of other Boethian works in the two volumes that lie open at the foot of the male figure; and the name of Jesus on the scroll that he holds in his hands. Biraghi’s claims were greeted with considerable skepticism by scholars and challenged by Theodor Mommsen and Hugh Fraser Stewart, in 1877 and 1891.368 In 1936, Richard Delbrueck proclaimed the page of the volume at the foot of the male figure as “unleserlich” (unreadable), publishing a photographic enlargement in support of his claim. Delbrueck’s view has been recently confirmed by a Catholic scholar, Franco Buzzi369. According to Delbrueck, the diptych was made for a special occasion, to commemorate a personal event, and is different

365 Gori, A. F., Thesaurus veterum diptychorum consularium et ecclesiasticorum… opus Posthumum… (Florentiae, 1759), III, 245–8. 366 Frisi, A. F., Memorie storiche di Monza e sua corte, III (Milano, 1794), 15–18. 367 Biraghi, L., Boezio, filosofo, teologo e martire a Calvenzano (Milano, 1865), 39. 368 Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, V. 2, ed. T. Mommsen (Berolini, 1877), 62*, no. 661; Stewart, H. F. (1917), Boethius: An Essay (Edinburgh-London, 1891), 139–40. 369 Buzzi, F., L’apostolato culturale di mons. Luigi Biraghi dottore dell’Ambrosiana, in Monsignor Luigi Biraghi duecento anni dopo (Milano, 2002), 122–129.

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from the typical diptych celebrating a consul370. The German scholar argued that it is difficult to identify the character represented on the diptych, although he believed that the Muse was certainly Erato. According to him, it is also difficult to discern the meaning of the work, in which one may find some influence of northern Italian Late Antique works, such as the Chair of Maximian in Ravenna. He also believed that it is impossible to determine the date of the diptych, which, although probably from the early 6th century, could also be older, not excluding, in principle, even the 4th century. Several other scholars in the first half of the 20th century approached the question as well, each with a different point of view. Wolfgang Fritz Wolbach labeled the Monza ivory a “private diptych” and attributed it with greater confidence to Northern Italy of the 6th century.371 In 1934, Kurt Weitzmann and Stefan Schultz returned to the older position of identifying the male figure with Claudian, basing their conclusion on specific historical and cultural considerations.372 The thesis of Weitzmann and Schultz has been reasserted recently in an essay by Marilena Abbatepaolo (2007), who further identifies the female Muse with Terpsicore.373 In the second half of the 20th century (1961–1989), different opinions have been put forward by Byzantine art historians such as John Beckwith, David Talbot Rice, and Margaret Frazer: leaving the question of the identification of the figures open (Frazer, however, identifying the female one with Calliope), they have identified the presence of features typical of the art of Constantinople and Alexandria of the 6th century. They have also discerned a close resemblance between the male figure depicted in the diptych and the another represented in a plate now at the Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, and dated to the age of Justinian.374 Finally, we should consider two scholars whose opinions have been inexplicably overlooked in the bibliography on the topic, maybe because they share an interpretation of the ivory opposite to the one of the others: Pierre Courcelle375 370 Delbrueck, Diptychon, 8–10, in particular 9, and Delbrueck, R., Dittici consolari tardoantichi, ed. M. Abbatepaolo (Bari, 2009), 585 n. 68. 371 Volbach, W. F., Elfenbeinarbeiten der Spätantike und des frühen Mittelalters (1916; 3rd ed., Mainz am Rhein, 1976), nn. 68, 57–58. 372 Weizmann, K. – Schultz, S., “Zur Bestimmung des Dichters auf dem Musendyptychon von Monza”, Jahrbuch des deutschen archäologischen Instituts, 49 (1934), 128–38. 373 Abbatepaolo, M., “Il dittico eburneo del Poeta e della Musa conservato nel Duomo di Monza”, Annali della Facoltà di Lettere e Filosofia dell’Università di Bari, 45 (2002), 199–225. 374 Beckwith, J., The Art of Constantinople (London, 1961), 41–43; Talbot Rice, D., “Opere d’arte paleocristiane e altomedievali”, in Il tesoro del Duomo di Monza (Milano, 1966), 26– 27; Frazer, M., “Oreficerie altomedievali”, in R. Conti (ed.), Il Duomo di Monza. I tesori, (Milano, 1989), 37–38. 375 Courcelle, P., “Le personnage de Philosophie dans la littérature latine,” Journal des savants (Oct.–Déc. 1970), 209–52, esp. 249–52.

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and Kathleen Shelton.376 Both authors have shown convincing links between the scene depicted in the diptych and Roman funerary art, in which we frequently find similar encounters between a man and the Muses. According to us such links are important and should be carefully considered.

Mousikos Aner The man in this diptych appears melancholic, with an unshaven face, sitting on a poor mattress, old and worn, despite his powerful physique. He is the antithesis of a successful man in a triumphant literary pose at the height of his glory, but rather looks dejected and defeated, sitting on the small bed on which, we may imagine, he has been lying without comfort for several days. Noteworthy also is the Muse. The presence of one or more Muses alongside a man on a marble tomb or in a mosaic is rarely assumed to signify that the man has an affinity with a specific Muse; indeed, funerary inscriptions including a man and a Muse generally suggest that the deceased was a cultured man and considered to be a Mousikos Aner, as Irenaeus Henri Marrou pointed out377. In the case of such funerary inscriptions, often the depicted Muse was actually a portrait of the widow of the deceased, inspiring him as a true Muse would inspire the Mousikos Aner. Numerous portraits of the Muses on sarcophagi that have been carefully analyzed by Lucia Paduano Faedo show clearly the consistency of this iconographic tradition.378 When we see a 6th-century portrait of a fifty-year-old man sitting on a miserable bed, unshaven but surrounded by books, in the presence of a woman who appears to be a Muse but who could also be his bride, we can hardly resist the temptation to think of Boethius: at approximately age fifty he left behind a widow, Rusticiana, when, imprisoned and lying on a humble mattress (Phil. Cons. I, 1, 7), he summoned death to put an end to his misery (Phil Cons. I, m. 1, 14). We may safely identify the Muse with Boethius’ widow. It is true that Boethius was assisted in his lamentation by the Muses of elegy, who would be replaced by Lady Philosophy, who in her turn then assumes the role of Muse – the Muse of Philosophy; but according to the traditional iconography, it is likely that the man in the diptych has been represented as a Mousikos Aner assisted by a Muse who was in fact his widow. 376 Shelton, K. J., “The Consular Muse of Flavius Constantius,” The Art Bulletin, 65.1 (March 1983), 7–23. 377 Marrou, H.-I., Mousikos Aner. Étude sur les scènes de la vie intellectuelle figurant sur les monuments funéraires romains, (Grenoble, 1938). See also Zanker, P. – Ewald, B. Ch., Mit Mythen leben. Die Bilderwelt der römischen Sarkophage (München, 2004). 378 Paduano Faedo,L., “I sarcofagi,” 93.

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Scripta manent This interpretation should be confirmed by a written record, but apparently it doesn’t exist anyone: Biraghi’s lecture of the written lines on the book and the two scrolls are misleading. The views of Delbrueck and Buzzi would at first glance appear to be correct. Looking at the ivory with a light positioned directly perpendicular to the images, we must admit that what we see in the roll and in the wax tablets is only a simulation of writing, and scholars, believing that these simulations in fact have no alphabetical meaning, have had no hesitation in proclaiming that the diptych of Monza carries no written text at all. But their conclusions are not completely correct. For if we look at the figures more closely, we realize that the ivory is in fact full of written records. First of all, we discover a sentence, cleverly disguised on the body of the seated figure, scattered about on his breast in small letters, acronyms and summaries such as are listed in vocabularies of ancient and medieval abbreviations. These letters are inscribed just beneath the collarbones. The meaning of the sentence could seem difficult to decipher if one is unfamiliar with the style peculiar to late antique and medieval abbreviations. But those acquainted with the ancient abbreviations will be not surprised to find some abbreviations typical of legal manuscripts and of ancient and early medieval inscriptions. More precisely, we may resolve the tachygraphs as follows: “T(utoris) A(uctoritate) N(ostr)A E(ius) annis decem” (Figure 60)379.

We will return to this phrase and its meaning presently; for now, it is sufficient to point out that the existence of hidden letters raises the suspicion that there may well be other letters or words to find upon closer examination of the ivory. If we look carefully at external side of the scroll under the feet on the seated man, inverting it, we discover some letters that have been erased but are nevertheless legible. They are: “M B M. GA. Severini. SN.”. The letters are written in

379 “TA” for “Tutoris auctoritate” is a typical nota iuris, whose most ancient examples are at least of the Vth Century: Institutionum commentarii IV e codice rescripto Bibliothecae capitularis veronensis, edds. P. Erman – F. Daniel – E. Schleiermacher – J. Tralles – Ph. Butmann (Berolini, 1820), CXXXIX; see also Cappelli, A., Lexicon abbreviaturarum, 371, first column; Lindsay, W. M., Notae latinae: an account of abbreviation in Latin mss. of the early minuscule period (c. 700–850) (Cambridge, 1915), 442. It has been used also in the early printed editions of the collections on Roman Laws: cfr. Elmes, J., A general and bibliographical dictionary of the fine arts: Containing explanations of the principal terms used in the arts of painting, sculpture, architecture, and engraving, in all their various branches; historical sketches of the rise and progress of their different schools; descriptive account (London, 1826), 2. “NA” for “Nostra” is an ancient abbreviation: cfr. Cappelli, A Lexicon abrreciaturarum, 231, first column. The “E” with a dot for “eius” is quite common and its most ancients examples are on the Roman period: cfr. Ibid., 452, first column.

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capitals, with the exception of “Severini,” which is in a cursive script. In this case, again, we have traditional abbreviations: “MBM” is very frequent in Christian epigrams and means, “M(ariti) B(ene) M(erentis)”; “GA” means “G(R)A(TIA)” a frequent abbreviation in epigrahs; “Severini” is of course a personal name; and “SN” is a standard abbreviation for “S(e)N(atus) or S(e)N(ator)”380. We can’t read anymore and we don’t know if some other letter are lacking: nevertheless what we can decipher has a meaning: “Mariti bene merentis gratia Severini Senat[…]”. If you move to the side of the image and illuminate it obliquely from the left,381 the optical effect allows you to distinguish some letters inverted and poorly concealed under the surface of the scroll held by the sitting man. These letters have been masked by somebody else, first with a smooth “frottage” on the ivory which has partly ruined the original incisions, then tracing an awkward series of vertical cuts which nevertheless fail to obscure all the letters. The cuts have barely touched some letters on the viewer’s left side. We can also read an “S” and “M” topped by a smaller “L” and “A” on the left side; a “SE” on the right side (MALS= MA(n)L(iu)S; SE = Severinus)( Figure 61 a). Other letters forming a name are concealed under the cuts on the right side; they are visible under ultra-red illumination382. Figure 63 shows that it is possible to reconstruct with little difficulty “aniciu”, i. e. the name “Aniciu[s]”. If correct, this renders intelligible the significance of the “M A LS” and “S E” discussed above: they stand for M(an)L(iu)S SE(verinus). The seated figure is therefore “Aniciu(s) Manlius Severinus”, viz. “Aniciu(s) Manlius Severinus (Boethius)”. The name was inscribed in a small format, incompletely and inverted; to find it was a matter of difficulty. The reason for both the concealment of the name and its subsequent expunction is not difficult to surmise: any mention of the murdered philosopher could be dangerous even if inscribed in a mere diptych, and anyone fearing implication in the witch hunt launched by Theodoric would have every motivation to remove from such a diptych any explicit reference to a man condemned for treason, as the fate of Symmachus demonstrates: open pronouncements in support of Boethius meant certain death. 380 MBM = Marito bene merenti, cfr. Cappelli, A., Lexicon abbreviaturarum, 478, col. 2; GA = AG = Animo grato, cfr. Ibid., 432, col. 2; I. SN = In senatu, cfr. Ibid., 189, col. 2. 381 The photos have been taken by Piero Pozzi for the Fondazione Gaiani, which kindly allowed us to reproduce them. Aside from giving more depth to the subject of a photograph, side lighting can also be used to capture greater amounts of texture. Placing a source of light at the side of the subject of the photograph will help the camera catch more subtle details of texture and form. In the “side lighting” illumination the light’s angle is near to 90° degrees from the normal point of observation. 382 This photo has been shut by Sergio Anelli for the volume Il Duomo di Monza, pl. 34, with a special soft light, an ultra-red filter and a very long exposure. I am indebted to Luca Carrà for the information on this subject.

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If we are right, then the phrase inscribed beneath the seated man’s shoulder is in all probability to be attributed to the initiative of Symmachus and his daughter Rusticiana, Boethius’ widow. We know, of course, that Symmachus was Boethius’ “tutor”, and the period during which he performed that function may indeed have lasted ten years (“annis X”). The birth date proposed by Martindale’s Prosopography383 for Boethius is ca. 480, and the presumed date for the death of Boethius’ natural father shortly after 487, when Boethius was still “infans” and by Roman obliged law to be under the supervision of a “tutor”. If Boethius assumed the “virilis toga” at around age sixteen384, as was customary at the time, Symmachus would then have been his “tutor” for a period of ten years. Acknowledgement of that fact in the diptych of had no legal significance, of course, since many years would have elapsed in the meantime. Reference to a “tutor”, however, would have triggered deep emotional resonances, in that it would give emphasis to the supposition that the person who had commissioned the diptych had, as “tutor” or second father, a moral right or obligation to commemorate the dead. The intervention of Symmachus would date the diptych to the time immediately after Boethius’ death, i. e. to between 524 and 526, since Symmachus, Boethius’ father-in-law was killed sometime between November 525 and March 526385.

Videmus nunc per speculum in aenigmate Scholars have neglected the back side of the diptych. On the wooden boards supporting the ivory are written records, faded or erased, which provide some useful information, and indeed, it was customary at the time of our diptych to use the back side of such artifacts for scattered notes or small sentences. Leaving aside a series of short phrases or single words of a religious nature, one can discern three different hands of the sixth century. 1) The oldest hand can be assigned to the first quarter of the sixth century: it has left three brief notations in a graceful and fluid rustic capital, written small, with some cursive, an uncial “e,” and a Tironian “ni”. The notations are: a) In the back of the right panel (i. e., behind Boethius), within the frame, on the viewer’s left: “M/NIUS/ANICi”, for M(a)N(l)IUS ANICi(us). The words have been erased. Below them another hand later added subsequently, in a rough capital, “Jesus” and some other words (Figure 64).

383 Martindale, J., The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire, A.D. 395–527 (Cambridge, 1980), 233–236; see also 1044–1046. 384 Smith, W., A Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, (London, 1875), sub voce: Tutor. 385 Obertello, L., La morte di Boezio e la verità storica, in L. Obertello, L. (ed.), in Atti del Congresso Internazionale di studi boeziani, 67.

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In the same panel, at the top right, the same hand wrote: “AM℮N Ւ SNI ME…”, for “AMEN IN SE(v)E(r)INI”. c) At the back of the left side of the panel (i. e., behind the muse), under the frame at the top left is written in a very small script: “MEMINI XI INDCTNE”, for “MEMINI XI IND(i)CT(io)NE”. The words have not been erased. The year indicated corresponds to the period 1 September 532–1 September 533 (Figure 63). 2) Another hand wrote in a very artificial capital, clearly influenced by epigraphic practice, dating from about the mid-sixth century. The first sentence is on the inner edge of the tablets, left and right of the central pin: “PAX TB FL”, for “PAX T(i)B(i) FL(avios)”. The same hand wrote in the upper right margin of the tablet: “FL. ILL. PBI.RC. AUI. TI. S. L. T.” (Figure 65). The sentence, like the previous, seems to reflect the text of an inscription and should probably be interpreted, “FL(avi) ILL(ustris) P(ro)BI, R(omae) C(onsulis), AVI. T(ibi) S(it) L(evis) T(erra)”386. The man indicated can be identified as the Flavius Probus, “vir illustris,” who was consul of Rome in 513 and remembered by Ennodius (Ep. VIII, 21), who referred to him as a man of great culture387. He was a scion of the family Petroni Probi, closely related to the Anicii388, and he was probably the first to have owned the diptych. His death, sometime before the mid-sixth century, is remembered by his nephew. 3) The third hand has written, in a clumsy hybrid script, a few lines in the middle of the back of the same panel. This hand too can be dated to the sixth century, but around the middle or second half. It is not indicative of a high level of education. In fact it uses a mixed cursive, in which we find together letters written in a rough capital, uncials, and a cursive minuscule (Figure 64). The text was written as follows: Himer. REM. E. X. S. REM. (M ???) TIS. EI…S[…]NT L. X. EI. S[…]NT EX.

I suggest that the text be read as follows: Himer(ia) REM389: E(cclesiae) X. S(olidi). REM: (Mille???). T(rem)I(sse)S. EI. S[u]NT.

386 TSL for “Tibi sit levis terra” is a rather common abbreviation in the epigraphs. 387 Martindale, J., Prosopography, Fl. Probus 9, 913. 388 Cracco Ruggini, L, “Gli Anicii a Roma e in provincia”, Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome: Moyen Âge – Temps modernes, 100 (1988), 69–85. 389 “Rem” means “item” in this context.

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L(ibra) X. EI. SU[n]T.

EX(emplar)390.

As has been pointed out by Caillet and Rinaldi391, the name “Himeria” is rather rare in Italy: we find only one example of it, in a donation to the church of Saint Helena in Verona of the late fourth century: the rich Himeria offers 120 feet of mosaic. There is undoubtedly a relationship between this Himeria, who makes a donation to the church of Saint Helena and the Himeria mentioned in our diptych, three generations younger, who gave a substantial donation to a church392 that could be the same. It is no coincidence that the stylized picture of a dove, with a huge belly, on the right of the script is exactly the same type of bigbellied dove seen in the floor of the church of Saint Helena, decorated by Himeria the Elder. As in many similar cases, the grandchildren bearing the name of their ancestors behave like them, repeating gestures that are a constituent part of the collective memory and identity of a family. To perpetuate the memory of a family through donations to churches and monasteries was a hallmark of elites in Latin and Greek society of the fourth through sixth centuries.

Fortunis hominum caducis If this reconstruction is correct, then it should be possible to represent the wanderings of our diptych in a logical and linear way. Immediately after the death of Boethius, sometime between 524 and 526, Symmachus and Rusticiana commissioned a skilled artist to carve a funerary diptych in several copies, to commemorate Boethius. Ivories were customarily created as gifts for the close friends and relatives of the deceased, one of whom in 390 HIMER with a dot could obviously mean “Himerius” or “Himeria”: we prefer “Himeria” following the correct opinion of Caillet (Caillet, J. P., L’évergétisme monumental chrétien en Italie et a ses marges: d’après l’épigraphie des pavements et des mosaïque, IVe–VIIIe s. [Roma, 1993], 74), who outlines the occurrence of the very rare name “Himeria” and the absence on any “Himerius” in the list on the donors of money to a Church. The “S”with a dot means usually “Sunt” or “Solidi”(Cappelli, A., Lexicon abbreviaturarum, 337, second column). The “E” with one dot or two dots means usually “Ecclesia” (Ibid., 113, second column). The “L” with a dot is commonly used for “Libra/ librae” (Ibid., 199, second column). Very frequent is the “EX” with a dot for “Exemplum” or “Exemplar”, meaning “archetype” as well as “original document” (Ibid., 126, second column). As regards “Tremisses” we find usually different abbreviations in the documents based on the “T” meaning “Three”. 391 Caillet, J. P., L’évergétisme monumental, 74; F. Rinaldi (ed.), Mosaici antichi in Italia, Regione X, Verona, (Roma, 2005), 171. 392 It is possible that the diptych with Himeria’s autograph of the donation has been given to the church to confirm it,like a document written on parchment.

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this case was Flavius Probus, a man of culture like Boethius himself. The gens Proba Petronia was closely related to the gens Anicia and was very powerful and influential: among its members were famous people such as the consul Petronius Olybrius and Sextus Petronius Probus, who supported Saint Ambrose when he was elected bishop. The diptych was the property of the Petroni Probi, as indicated by the note written by Flavius Probus’ nephew in the mid-sixth century. Earlier, however, between 532 and 533, another family member recalled the death of Boethius by inscribing a note on the back of the panel. Around the mid-sixth century the diptych belonged to a wealthy matron named Himeria, probably linked to the Petroni Probi. She used the back of the diptych to indicate her intention of donating a generous sum of money to a church in Verona, perhaps the Church of St. Helena. The presence of the diptych in Verona is unsurprising, since for generations the Petroni Probi had owned properties in Verona, where Boethius defended Albinus and where, no doubt, the memory of his death was alive for centuries: it is not by chance that the Anonymus Valesianus, has been preserved only in two manuscripts from Verona393. It is possible that the ivory was donated to the church of Verona along with the money and was kept in the same church until the reign of Berengar I, who was the undisputed lord of Verona, the capital of the duchy of Friuli. Crowned king of Italy at Pavia in Lombardy, Berengar nevertheless maintained a residence in Verona. The king showed a particular fondness for Monza’s cathedral by giving to it several gifts, among which, of course, our diptych was included.

Boethius’ grave According to the Anonymus Valesianus Boethius was kept in a jail “near the baptistery” of a cathedral and then sent outside the city’s walls to what was called the “ager Calventianus” (Calventian field), where he was put to the death394. The 393 The Vat. Pal. Lat. 927 has been written in the cloister of the Holy Trinity in Verona in the XIIth Century. The Berlin Phillips 1885, according to Bischoff, has been written in the Verona’s Pacific’s scriptorium: cfr. Origo Constantini. Anonymus Valesianus, I, Text und Kommentar, ed. I. König (Trier, 1987), 1–4 and 31. 394 What is known regarding Boethius death is based on a very confused witness: the Anonymus Valesianus, a short version of earlier chronicles, badly put together around the VII–VIII Century. According to it, “Albinus et Boetius ducti [sunt] in custodiam ad baptisterium ecclesiae. Rex vero vocavit Eusebium, praefectum urbis, Ticinum et inaudito Boethio protulit in eum sententiam. Quem mox in agro Calventiano, ubi in custodia habebatur, [misit rex et] fecit occidi. Qui accepta chorda in fronte diutissime tortus, ita ut oculi eius creparent, sic sub tormenta ad ultimum cum fuste occiditur.” [Albinus and Boethius were brought to a jail near the church baptistry. The king called to Pavia Eusebius, prefectus urbis, and gave to

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most diffuse scholar’s opinion that we find in standard works on Boethius’ biography is that the cathedral was the ancient cathedral of Pavia, now the church of St. Gervaso and Protasio. As regards the “Calventian field” there are varying opinions, none of them convincing: although there are several villages in Italy called Calvenzano not far from Pavia, including a rural suburb of Pavia once known as the “burgus Calventianus”, it is difficult to associate a “field” with a “village” or with a part of a town, even on the assumption that in the past the village or suburb might have been smaller than today and that the surrounding area might have been referred to as a “field” in some broader sense. What scholars overlook is that if Boethius was transferred to a secret jail for execution, then he should have been transferred to a place distant from his prison near the cathedral, inside the city’s walls, and that the “ager” would therefore have been completely separate from any “suburban” part of the city or any “little” neighboring “village”. The “ager Calventianus” must have been a special fortified place, situated in an open field where those approaching would be easily be detected. It cannot be by chance that the Vita Boethii authored by Cassiodorus (perhaps partially revised by his pupils but close to the original nevertheless) indicates that Boethius was held “in campania”, a technical phrase meaning something more than the word “ager”: the “campania” was a distinct administrative area395 surrounding the ancient city, independent from it and largely wider than the “ager suburbanus” (generally extending no more than three miles).

In campania In the Pavian “campanea” north-west of the town towards the current Certosa di Pavia, around eight kilometers from town, there once existed a place called Calvenza, near Villalunga: and indeed, even today around two kilometers from Villalunga there is a creek called Roggia Cravenza, just like the channel Cravenza, once known as Calvenza, near the Naviglio di Pavia. Heading ten kilometers west of Villalunga we come to Villareggio, which might be connected to Boethius. This small village is generally held to commemorate the Eusebius Boethius’ sentence of death, whitout listening to him. The king sent Eusebium to the Calventianus field, where Boethius was prisoner, et put him to the death. Boethius was tortured with a rope around his head, twisted until his eyes seemed to get out the head; then he was beaten to death wit clubs]: Excerpta Valesiana, ed. J. Moreau – V. Velkov (Lipsiae, 1968), 25. 395 Castagnetti, A., “La campanea e i beni comuni della città”, L’ambiente vegetale nell’alto medioevo (Settimane di studio del Centro italiano di studi sull’alto Medioevo, 37), (Spoleto, 1990), I, 137–174.

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presence of a king (“Villa regia” means “Villa of the king”), on the assumption that it had been dedicated exclusively to him, and it is held that the king in question was Theodoric; the view is in fact supported by archaeological evidence, insofar as important Ostrogoth artifacts have been recovered precisely from Villareggio. This is believed to be the place where Theodoric’s hunting villa396 stood, like the one that he built near Forlì in Galeata397. During the 19th century a luxurious marble tombstone was recovered from within the Cascina Marozzi in Villareggio, with a frieze and cipher used as paving in the kitchen (plate 25). It is likely that the marble came from the zone in which it was recovered, and quite improbable that a marble slab of such proportions (1.8 m) could have been dragged from afar as mere construction material. To carry it for kilometres from Pavia would have been both expensive and risky to its integrity, especially so, if the intention was to pave a mere floor that no one would notice. There is some probability to the view, then, that the slab was recovered from the neighboring fields and brought in with little effort to repair the kitchen floor, so that the real question is: what was such a piece doing there in the first place? Some scholar398 have stated that on it was written: “B(ene) M(erenti) Senatori”, and many have thought it was the tomb of the Senator, a legendary character from the era of Liutprand. Others, however, have hazarded the surmise that the honorific title of “Senator” and such a rich and distinctive gravestone could instead be related to Boethius399. The suggestion is inherently no more or less plausible than that of the apparently solid tradition of studies that places the slab in the Lombard era and connects it with Senator: at the very least, the Lombard dating contrasts completely with the slab’s graphic style. None of the epigraphs of the Lombard era reaches the level of the Calvenza’s slab, not even the most refined ones celebrating the most important characters of their times. As Russo pointed out, the fonts, the letters, and the composition are built up directly after early Christian examples.400

396 Even in the XVth Century, this area was appreciated as a special hunting area by the Visconti’s family. 397 Bolzani, P. (1994), Teodorico e Galeata. Un’antologia critica (Fusignano, 1994). 398 See for instance Peroni, A., “Il monastero altomedievale di S. Maria Teodote a Pavia,” Studi Medievali, 13 (1972), 1–93, esp. 84–85 and photo XXX. 399 Fagnani, F. – Farao, M. – Curti, S., Borgarello. Venti secoli di storia (Pavia, 1999), 20. See also www.paviaedintorni.it whose administrator is Gianni Cattagni. 400 Russo, E., “Studi sulla scultura paleocristiana e altomedievale. Il sarcofago dell’arcivescovo Grazioso in S. Apollinare in Classe,” Studi Medievali, 3 ser. XV (1974), 114–115: “i caratteri delle lettere e lo spartito compositivo si rifanno … più direttamente ad esempi paleocristiani propriamente romani.”

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Michele Ansani proposed to read the possible reference to the Senator legend in a different way and to date the slab to the 6th century401. Doubts about the traditional dating of the slab have been advanced recently402 and were not lacking in the past either, as Ansani pointed out, and even some supporters of the Lombard theory stressed the the complete inconsistency of such a fine piece with the contemporary Lombard production. It is our opinion that Ansani’s datation is valid and can even be corroborated with new observations.

Senator First, we note that the capitals used in the slab model go back to a late antique script: a generic point of comparison is the rounded and elegant capital of manuscripts written by the middle of the sixth century, such as the Orosius Laurentianus (Florence, Bibl. Laur. 68. 1), Bamberg Staat. Bibl. Patr. 87, annotated by Donatus in the Castrum Lucullanum, or the so-called Forogiuliense Gospels (CLA, III, 285) (plates 19–20). Even the ornamental side of the frieze closely resembles what appears in a 6th-c. manuscript attributed to Vivarium403 (plates 26–27). Moreover, the monogram engraved in the stone, interpreted as “Senators” or “Senatoris” must be read in another way, one that confirms the hypothesis of a late antique dating of the plaque. The traditional reading was in fact influenced by the prejudice that the tombstone was that of the famous Senator, whose name had therefore to be defended as the one inscribed therein. According to a general opinion, the first one to have read the monogram and interpreted it as Senator was Adriano Peroni, in 1974404, aided by the great paelographer Augusto Campana; but that cannot be. In fact, the monogram was interpreted as “Senator” as early as the moment of discovery in 1884 since Camillo Brambilla, a well known scholar who had been consulted by the owner of the farm, was convinced that he had found a fragment of the tomb of Senator, the founder of the monastery of Santa Maria Pavia. Recalling the story he wrote in an important magazine of this period called “Arte e Storia”: “Meditating upon it, in the quiet of the study … I could read what I am quite sure to be the exact reading: 401 Ansani, M. “Sul tema del falso in diplomatica. Considerazioni generali e due dossier documentari a confronto”, in Allegria S. – Cenni F. (Edds.), Secoli XI e XII: l’invenzione della memoria. Atti del Seminario Internazionale. Montepulciano, 27–29 aprile 2006, (Montepulciano, 2006), 9–50; Borgognoni, R. “Notizie dai Quaderni: Falsi e falsificazioni”, Quaderni storici, 129 (2008), 792–793, esp. 793:“la lapide può essere retrodatata al VI”. 402 Brogiolo, G. P. – Chavarría Arnau P. A. (Edds.), I Longobardi: dalla caduta dell’Impero all’alba dell’Italia (Milano, 2007), 72 ( by S. Lomartire). 403 Troncarelli, F.,Vivarium: i libri, il destino, 95. 404 Peroni, “Il monastero altomedievale”, 84–85.

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the word SENATORIS… the distinguished character named Senator, who in 714 established the monastery … in Pavia called Senator’s Monastery.”405 The enthusiasm for the alleged discovery was so great that other scholars affirmed that the slab of the tomb of Senator came directly from the monastery of Pavia and not from the Cascina Marozzi : for instance Michele Caffi wrote in “Arte e Storia” that “the slab seems to be part of the burial of Bishop [sic!] Senator406”. Brambilla was therefore compelled to write to the same journal recounting the circumstances of the discovery, although his statement remained a dead letter, and for decades scholars continued to argue that the slab (moved in the meantime to the Civic Museum of Pavia), had been found among the ruins of the monastery in Pavia and that it was part of the tomb of Senator. Only in 1987 did Donata Vicini eventually quote in an article Brambilla’s letter407, dispelling a myth that had endured far too long. That did not, however, raise a challenge to the false reading of the monogram devised in the excitement of discovery408.

Magis intelligi quam legi In order to decipher an ancient or a Late Antique monogram we must understand how it was constructed and identify with certainty its basic letters, which must be made clearly visible409. In general, although these letters do not give us the full name but only a part of it, the compendium is essential for ascertaining the name in question. It is believed, wrongly, that the monogram is a kind of magic symbol, mysterious, intended to impress rather than communicate. Even if we can in certain cases find such a taste for mystery, we cannot afford to forget that the monogram was nevertheless an instrument of communication: although it was an unusual statement, it was still a communication that had to be understood according to known rules, not unlike communications in “Morse code”. The ancient monogram was created with the same basic principle as that of the abbreviations, eliminating some letters from the entire word. Its etymology indicates that it is “one letter” in place of a longer word, summed up by the same method as that used in the initials of an acronym. The oldest Greek monograms, 405 Brambilla, C., “A proposito di un’antica lastra marmorea,” Arte e Storia, III, 6 (1884), 44. 406 Caffi, M., “Scoperte in alcune chiese lombarde,” Arte e Storia, III, 4 /1884), 27. 407 Vicini, D., in Gabba, E. (ed.), La civiltà artistica. Architettura, in Storia di Pavia, II, L’Alto medioevo, (Pavia 1987), 323 n. 22. 408 Only recently Ansani (“Sul tema del falso”, 40) has taken a step forward, noting that the initials of the slab has been imitated in the twelfth century in the “cartula donationi” attributed to Senator, a fake in a fake, since the document is simply a medieval forgery, as has been showed by Ansani himself. 409 Gardthausen, V., Das alte Monogramm (Leipzig 1924).

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in coins of the IV–III Century BC, are letters representing the initials of the cities that coined money. Applying the method of the acronym and reworking it, we have the so-called suspension system of abbreviation, descending from a principle similar to that of the acronym, i. e., involving the omission of the final part of a word and leaving only the beginning. Later, in Latin script there was used an alternative method involving the contraction of words, removing a selection of the internal letters. Both these methods were applied to the monogram, which became a “plurigram”: we find, not a single letter, but several letters of a word, exactly as in an abbreviation. It is essential in the case of ancient monograms, as in the case of abbreviations, to identify the basic letters of the abbreviated word, and then to reconstruct it in its entirety by surmising the missing letters. In less complicated monograms the identification of the basic letters is not only relatively simple, but actually facilitated by the writer. As Pasquale Testini wrote, commenting on the early Christian epigraphical monograms: “the simplest compositions, and therefore easily intelligible, place the basic letters around or within one or two key points in order to help the reader to understand them410”. This observation, inspired by de Rossi, provides the key to understanding what happens in more complex cases: authors of the most difficult monograms write the essential letters of names, those from which it will be possible to supply the missing letters, exactly as with an abbreviation. Hence we must read the ancient monogram twice: first, for an analytical perception of the basic letters, which should be easily recognizable by isolating the individual sections of each one; second, for deducing what is missing, with an imaginative exercise similar to that required for the resolution of an abbreviation. This process – quoting again Testini – takes place “by exploiting the vertical and horizontal rods, so that a single letter can be read in various ways and sometimes two or three times411”. We should bear in mind that the two phases must be strictly separate: normally the anxiety to understand betrays us, so that we search for all the letters at once in an effort to reconstruct the whole word but in so doing fall victim to fatal blunders. Only once you have clearly identified the basic letters can you proceed; otherwise, it is easy to be prisoner of a visual illusion. It is an ancient problem. Symmachus (Ep. II, 12) himself once commented on his ring with the monogram that challenged understanding (“Magis intelligi quam legi promptum est”). But although the problem has always existed, it has always been solved in the same way as that of abbreviations was: we must carefully 410 Testini, P., Archeologia cristiana: nozioni generali dalle origini alla fine del VI secolo (Bari, 1980), 353. 411 Ibid., 353.

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distinguish the basic letters, then we can proceed to “extracting” the missing elements.

Magis legi quam intelligi Let us now try to identify the Villareggio’s grave’s basic letters. “BM” means obviously “Bene merenti”. The other letters are the basic letters of a name. There is an “S” whose inferior part is, at the same time, the upper part of an “R”. There is a small “V” placed under the “R” and one is inclined to see an “A”, which is however an optical illusion. Then, there is an “E” similar to a linked “ET” which is in fact an “E” with a small “I” added on and made into a horizontal stroke. Finally, there is a little diamond “O” above the “E ” (plate 28). Let us dwell briefly on the basic letters in order to be sure of their identification: the link “SR” is not uncommon and we find it in other monograms of the sixth century, such as the so-called diptych of Orestes, consul in 530 CE, in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London412 (plate 25). The small diamond “O” raises no difficulties either, appearing frequently in late antique diptychs, such as that of Justinian of 526 CE in the Museum Trivulziano in Milan413. The letters that may pose a problem are the pairs “E + I” and “R + V ”. 1) The “E” is ambiguously drawn so as to resemble a ligature “ET”, which, however, is impossible. In fact, the upper horizontal stroke is composed of two different elements: one on the left, an “I”, and the other on the right, in fact, the upper horizontal stroke of the “E”. We may be certain of this, for careful investigation shows that the upper horizontal stroke of the “E” ends in a different way, adding two different kinds of ornamentation to the stroke’s ending: on the left side you find a little triangle; on the right side you find a little “V” in a horizontal position.

!▐ !< It is impossible to find such a stylistic feature in a written “T” of the 4th to 6th centuries: as in the modern alphabet the upper stroke of the “T” could not be written in such a way, but should end in the same way at right and at left.

412 Delbrueck, R., Dittici consolari tardoantichi, photo 32. 413 Ibid., photo 33.

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It is not uncommon, instead, in other ancient monograms to find the “I” in such a horizontal position (e. g., in many of monograms used by Marcian, emperor between 450 and 457, or Anastasius, emperor between 491 and 518, or in one monogram of Theodoric: Figure 66). 2)We read a “V” which others have read as an “A”. It is true that at first glance one has the impression of an “A” typical of late antique manuscripts; but this is an illusion. We have numerous examples of it in monograms similar to the Villareggio one, in which the “A” is impossible because the name enciphered does not have any “A”. A good illustration of this is offered by the above-mentioned monogram of Orestes, consul in 530 CE. This monogram shows the same link “SR” as that on the Villareggio monogram, and beneath the “R” we seem to see an “A” that cannot actually be there, since “A” forms no part of the name Orestes. In fact, in the “R” there is hidden an “E” (Figure 66), and the putative “A” is therefore the effect of an optical illusion, similar to that of our monogram. Similarly, in the monogram of “Neon episcopus”414, a 6th-century bishop of Ravenna, the reader’s eye can make out an “A”, which forms no part of the bishop’s name and is apparent only by virtue of the link between “P” and “N” (photo 26 c). Other ambiguous cases of a supposed “A” that forms no part of the encrypted name can be found among one of the different monograms used by Theodoricus king of the Ostrogoths and Italy (496–526 CE): one on them is built in a strange way and we believe of perceiving an “A” that forms no part of the name Theodoric, whereas the monogram is based primarily on a “R” and “T” and “I” (Figure 66). Another source evincing an “A” beneath the “R” is the monogram of the catacombs of Domitilla Rufina415, although here too a modicum of attention reveals that the “R” is combined with an “U” and an “F”, for “RUF”, i. e., “RUFI(NA)”. A further case in which we similarly appear to perceive an “A” beneath the “R” is in the monograms used by Ricimer (457–472 CE)416, general of Libius Severus (461–465 CE): these show a horizontal line beneath the “R” which suggests the existence of an “A”, precisely as in Villareggio inscription; but “A” forms no part 414 Ravenna, Battistero degli Ortodossi, Nicchia C. 415 Testini, P., Archeologia, Figure 149. 416 Morello, A., Piccoli bronzi con Monogramma.Tra tarda antichità e primo medioevo (V–VI sec. d.C.) (Cassino, 2000), n.1. On this argument see Kraus, F. F., Die Munzen Odovacars und des Ostrogothenreiches in Italien (Halle, 1928); Arslan, A., Le monete di Ostrogoti, Longobardi e Vandali (Milano, 1978).

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of the name of Ricimer, while the small portion resembling the horizontal stroke of an “A” is in fact a small “I” (Figure 66), situated in precisely the same position as the small “V” beneath the “R” in the Villareggio monogram. Even in some cases where an “A” is conceivable insofar as it actually forms part of the abbreviated name, other letters must in fact be assumed. For example, 6th-century coins with the monogram of “Ravenna”, which are written in such a way as apparently to project an “RA”, as in the Villareggio monogram. We have an alternate version of the same monogram in different coins, and in some cases it is certain that the basic letters of “Ravenna” are not “R + A” but rather “R + V”417: it is therefore logical to suppose that in the first case too there is an “R” and a small “V” beneath the “R” ( Figure 66). Similarly, a coin issued by Odoacer in which an “R” is apparently accompanied by an “A” can more plausibly be interpreted as carrying an “R” plus small “V”: in fact, the “ODARS” cluster is ambiguous and may be interpreted equally well as an abbreviation for “Odocarus”, “Odaricus”, or “Odovocar”, whereas the “V” in the cluster, “ODVRS”, furnishes a less ambiguous compendium that resolves naturally to “OD(O)V(OCA)R(U)S ”. If these observations hold, then it becomes impossible to accept an “A” as forming part of the Villareggio monogram: the putative “A” is the result of a mere optical illusion and no letter at all basic to the inscription, exactly as in the case of the phantom “A” in the other late antique monograms analysed above. It is rather a small “V” deceptively situated within the gap formed by the descenders of the “R ”. Therefore, the basic letters of our monogram are: “S + E +V + R + I + o ”, an abbreviation that resolves as: “S + E + V + (E) + R + I + (N) + o ”418 (plate 28).

Resurrectio memoriae The name that has been encrypted is that of Severinus Boethius. We know that Theodoric issued a damnatio memoriae against his victim, going so far as to hide Boethius’ body with that of Symmachus. But as we have shown, members of Boethius’ family, more precisely, his wife Rusticiana, had the courage nevertheless to commemorate his name on the diptych created in order celebrate her unjustly murdered spouse, a diptych which despite all efforts at erasure preserves the dedication, “Mariti B(ene) m(erentis) Severini”, like the “Bene merenti Se-

417 Morello, A., Piccoli bronzi, n. 21. 418 Two letters that are in parentheses here, i. e., the E and N illustrated in plate 28. The first of these requires that a single letter in the monogram can be used twice in the expansion (a method that the Testini quotation explains), and the second, the N, can be treated as a suspension.

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verino” of the Villareggio funerary inscription, a stubborn as well as classical way to rember the husband The grave was probably created hastily and in secret (although not without some sober measure of luxury). It was natural for someone to inscribe “Bene merenti Severino” on it, in an effort at least to preserve the good memory of a hero unjustly condemned to damnatio memoriae. The ancient Calvenzia at Villalunga belonged primarily to the monks of San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro, who had vast holdings in the area. And in fact, the oldest extant documents, dating to 1172 and 1174, of that foundation refer several times to the “locum quod dicitur in Calventia”, sc., “in campanea civitatis Papiae419”. If this was indeed the place where Boethius was murdered and his body concealed by order of Theodoric, then it would not have been at all strange for the monks who owned the territory either to have discovered the remains or to have moved them to their church in Pavia. We have no information beyond an observation, made by Conrad of Hirsau (+ ca. 1050), which has hitherto gone unnoticed but demands our attention as the oldest extant evidence for the burial of Boethius at Pavia420. According to the learned and scrupulous Benedictine there was a true relatio which recounted the burial of the remains of Boethius in San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro near the tomb of St. Augustine It was in all probability a witness not far removed in time from Conrad and for him one more trustworthy than the legend on the miraculous “Boethius cephalophorus”421 which was widespread in medieval times. Leaving legends aside, we should bear in mind that the grave has been likened to a diptych,422 and with good reason, not only aesthetically owing to its shape, which resembles that of a funerary ivory, but in virtue of the simplicity with which it expresses what the family diptych of Boethius does as well, namely, the need for a commemoration which, although pregnant with emotion, inevitably maintained its solemn mood of sobriety. For nothing else was possible. And even later, after Amalasuintha had returned the proscribed property to the relatives of the murdered philosopher, thereby implicitly rehabilitating his memory, it was impossible to transfer the body buried “in campanea” of Pavia. We know that some of the main persecutors of Boethius, such as Cyprian and Opilion, even made 419 Le carte del monastero di San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro di Pavia, II (1165–1190), edds. E. Barbieri – M.A. Casagrande Mazzoli – E. Cau (Milano, 1984), 215, 216, 291, 292, 322. 420 Huygens, R. B. C., Accessus ad auctores. Bernard d’Utrecht. Conrad d’Hirsau, Dialogus super auctores (Leiden, 1970), 109: “Ut veridicorum relatio docet, Papiae prope sepulchrum Augustini Ipponensis episcopi et ipse sepultus est.”. 421 Gianani, F., “In agro Calventiano: il luogo del supplizio di Boezio”, in Obertello, L. (Ed.), Atti del Congresso Internazionale di Studi Boeziani, 46. 422 Panazza, G., “Lapidi e sculture Paleocristiane e preromane di Pavia”, in Arslan, E. (Ed.), Arte del Primo millennio (Atti del II Convegno per lo studio dell’arte dell’alto medioevo), (Torino, 1953), 211–396, esp.r 255.

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careers during the reign of Amalasuintha, although by returning the property to the Anicii she made an open display of dissent vis-à-vis their conviction. In fact, the faction of those fostering conflict with the Romans was not defeated and eventually managed physically to remove Amalasuintha, thereby precipitating the catastrophe of war in Gothic Italy. Under such conditions it was obviously impossible triumphantly to achieve a public rehabilitation of Boethius’ memory.423 Under these conditions, precluding as they did the possibility of any real triumph, the only remaining triumph, for the relatives of Boethius, was one lived in the imagination. It is no coincidence that during Totila’s siege of Rome in 546 someone fostered the rumor that Rusticiana had caused all of the statues in the city of Theodoric to be toppled: true or false, the suspicion was in any case fixed in the consciousness of all that the widow of Boethius was the instigator of each campaign to rehabilitate her husband and of the condemnations of those who condemned him. And the suspicion was not unreasonable, given her fearless promulgation of a diptych dedicated to the memory of her dead husband, and or her possibly having secretly, but fittingly, buried his remains.

Sapienti corona The stylized palm we see on the slab is not merely ornamental. Placed as it is on a grave, it has a clear and unequivocal meaning: an allusion to the martyrdom. In inscriptions and tombs, and in late antique and early Christian mosaics, palms had a precise symbolic meaning, expressing “from the fourth Century … the victory of martyrs over those who had killed them424”. Boethius alludes in his Consolatio to this kind of “victory”, in a manner sufficiently ambiguous to divide scholars between those who feel a touch of Christian flavour and those who deny it. Whatever the case, it is clear that the philosopher alludes to the crown that you get in the fight against vices and in particular against the tyrants, who are represented in the poem that immediately precedes the passage of which we speak: they are in fact mentioned with disdain despise immediately after the end of the song at the beginning of next prose (Phil. Cons. IV, m. 2). Boethius speaks of one who runs, “currit”, for an immortal crown, an eternal prize425. The crown is without doubt the “sapientis corona” 423 Troncarelli, F., “Boezio a Costantinopoli: testi, contesti, edizioni”, Litterae Caelestes, II, (2008–2009), 191–225, esp. 205–225. 424 Urech, E, Dizionario dei simboli cristiani (Roma, 1995), 189. 425 A.M.S. Boethius, Philosophiae Consolatio, IV, 3, 2–3, ed. C. Moreschini (Lepzig, 2005), 108: “Rerum etenim quae geruntur illud propter quod unaquaeque res geritur eiusdem rei praemium esse non iniuria uideri potest, uti currendi in stadio propter quam curritur iacet

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mentioned also by the Ecclesiastes, as pointed out by Shanzer426, although the possibility cannot be excluded of a reference, in a complex inter-textual play typical of Boethius, to St. Paul427, who speaks of those who “currunt” for a imperishable prize. Be that as it may Boethius had in mind, those who provided her grave decided to put on his grave the palm of victory typical of the martyr. For them the philosopher was a martyr – not a saint, but a “witness” to the eternal life. For the very first time Boethius was considered a martyr: the reputation would spread over the course of the Middle Ages, coming down to Dante, who says that in Paradise Boethius “came from martyrdom unto this peace.” Such a claim in the 6th century was no easy matter; yet there was someone who had the courage to do it, and in the more appropriate style: by an allusion discreet and sober, exactly like the life, personality, culture, indeed, the very identity of Boethius. It was an allusion possible only for those who had shared some of his silences and secrets.

praemium corona.” (“We may justly say that the reward on every act whici is performed is the object for which it is performed. For instance, on the racecourse the crown for which the runner strives is his reward.”: transl. W. V. Cooper, A. M. S. Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy [London 1902], 49). About the Christian flavour of such Boethian passages cfr. Magee, J., “Note on Boethius, Consolation I.1,5; 3,7: A New Biblical Parallel,” Vigiliae Christianae, 42 (1988), 79–82. 426 Shanzer, D., “Interpreting the Consolation”, The Cambridge Companion to Boethius, ed. J. Marenbon, (Cambridge, 2009), 242, nt. 132. 427 I Cor. 9, 24–5: “Nescitis quod hi, qui in stadio currunt, omnes quidem currunt, sed unus accipit bravium? Sic currite, ut comprehendatis. Omnis autem, qui in agone contendit, ab omnibus se abstinet; et illi quidem, ut corruptibilem coronam accipiant, nos autem incorruptam.” (“Don’t you know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run like that, that you may win. Every man who strives in the games exercises selfcontrol in all things. Now they do it to receive a corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible”).

List of figures and plates

Figures

Figure 1: a) National Museum of Ravenna, Room of the Preparatory Drawings (detail); Ravenna, San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail); c) Laurentian Library, Plut. 65, 1, f. 44r (detail).

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Figure 2: Oxford, Bodleian Auct. T II 26, f. 171 r (detail).

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Figure 3: a) Vat. Lat. 5704, f. 49r (detail); b) Ravenna, San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession, detail from the fold in Maximian’s robe.

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Figure 4: Ravenna, San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession, clothing of the deacon next to Maximianus (detail); b) Apse basin, curtains suspended above Ecclesius’ portrait: details confronted with monograms of Viliaric and Eusebius in the codices Florence, Laurentian Library, Plut. 65, 1, f. 11v, BAV Vat. Reg., lat. 2077, f. 101r, Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare, XXXIX, f. 66v (the image of the curtains has been rotated in order to facilitate the comparison).

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Figure 5: Oxford, Bodleian Auct. T II 26, f. 142r (detail).

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Figure 6: Drôleries in Medieval codices and in ancient Roman painting (coll. 1, 3): a) New Haven, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, 229, f. 133v (detail); b) British Library, Eggerton 3277, f. 36v (detail); c) Rome, Palatine, Casa Augustea (detail); Paris BNF, lat. 8847, f. 30r (detail); compared to similar figures drawn in the final part of Vat, Pap. Vat. lat. 14 (coll. 2, 4).

Figure 7: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part: detail of the alleged “o”, of the alleged “b”, and of the alleged abbreviation “obs” presumably standing for “obs(onator)”, but which are instead an “e” and an “n”.

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Figure 8: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part, line 112. The reproduction of this detail has been made with ultraviolet rays. The readable text is: “Candidianus v(ir) l(audabilis), quibus presentibus traditio facta”.

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Figure 9: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part, lines 113–114. The reproduction of this detail has been made with ultraviolet rays. The readable text says: “nullo contra [dic]e(n)t(e) v(iro), id est”.

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Figure 10: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part, line 113. The reproduction of this detail has been made with ultraviolet rays. The readable text says: “Generoso augustale. In armentario, V(iri) V(enerabilis) Eu(sebii)”.

Figure 11: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part, line 114. The reproduction of this detail has been made with ultraviolet rays. The readable text says: “de ipso loco, est; quod restituendum est”.

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Figure 12: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part, line 114. The reproduction of this detail has been made with ultraviolet rays. The readable text says: “vir(o) strenu(o) d(omino) n(ostro) Peleg(rino)”.

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Figure 13: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part, line 14. The reproduction of this detail has been made with ultraviolet rays. The readable text is: “Eus(ebius). Eusebius.”

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Figure 14: Monograms and initials of Eusebius’ name: a) Vat, Vat. Pap. 14, line 114 (detail); b) Saint Petersburg, Rossiyskaya Natsional’naya Biblioteka, Q V I, 7, f. 1r (detail); c) Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, 58 sup., f. 2r (detail); d) Nancy, B.M., 317, additional sheet B (detail); e) Florence, Laurentian Library, Plut. 65, 1, f. 53 v; f) Paris BNF, Lat. 2335, f. 128v, (detail); g) Oxford, Bodleian Auct. II T 26, f. 158r (detail); h) Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare, XXXIX, f. 1r; i) Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare, XXXIX, f. 66v; j) Sankt Gallen 844, p. 91.

Figure 15: The first and the third figure are in the Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, last line; the second and the fourth are in Saint Petersburg, Rossiyskaya Natsional’naya Biblioteka, Q v I, 6, f. 1r.

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Figure 16: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part (detail): portrait of Julian Argentarius.

Figure 17: Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14, final part, lower margin (detail).

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Figure 18: Florence, Laurentian Library, Plut. 65, 1, f. 101v (detail); Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, southern wall, on the left of the lunette: Moses grazing the flock (detail).

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Figure 19: RICCI, C. (1935), Monumenti: Tavole storiche dei mosaici di Ravenna, VI, San Vitale (Rome 1935), pl. LXV: Apse, Decoration of the Basin.

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Figure 20: RICCI, C. (1935), Monumenti: Tavole storiche dei mosaici di Ravenna, VI, San Vitale, (Rome 1935), plate LXIV.

Figure 21: RICCI, C. (1935), Monumenti: Tavole storiche dei mosaici di Ravenna, VI, San Vitale (Rome 1935), plate LXIII.

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Figure 22: National Museum of Ravenna, Room of the Preparatory Drawings (detail).

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Figures 23–24: National Museum of Ravenna, Room of the Preparatory Drawings (detail).

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Figure 25: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession, Portrait of Justinian (detail).

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Figure 26: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession (detail).

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Figure 27–28: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession (detail).

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Figure 29: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession (detail).

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Figure 30: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail).

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Figures 31–33: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail).

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Figures 34–35: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail).

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Figure 36: Turin, National Library, F IV 1 (detail).

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Figure 37: a) Orléans, Méd., 267, p. 99 (detail) ; b) The same annotation from the previous picture, reproduced with the words separated in order to facilitate their identification.

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Figure 38: Portrait of Quintus Aurelius Memmius Symmachus in the British Museum diptych (London, British Museum, M and ML, 57, 10–13); head of Quintus Aurelius Memmius Symmachus in Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 97v.

Figure 39: Oxford, Bodleian Auct. T II 26, f. 167r (detail reproduced first by inverting the colours, then with its normal colours); b) Monza, Diptych of the Muse and the Poet (detail).

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Figure 40: a) BAV, Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 98r (detail); b) Monza, Dyptich of the Muse and the Poet (detail).

Figure 41: Oxford, Bodleian Auct. T II 26, f. 163v (detail).

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Figure 42: London, British Library, Harley 2688, f. 22v (details).

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Figures

Figure 43: London, British Library, Harley 2688, f. 22v (details).

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Figure 44: Shortenings for abbot Gerontius: a) Karlsruhe, Badisches Landesbibliothek Aug. 106, f. 53v (detail); b) Florence, Laurentian Library, Codex Amiatinus 1, f. 3r (detail); Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 98r (detail).

Figure 45: Vat, Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 98r (detail). In order to facilitate the reading of the hardly visible sentence, only the letters from the earliest times and written with the same ink have been taken into account.

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Figure 46: Vat, Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 98v (detail).

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Figures 47–48: Vat, Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 78r (detail).

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Figures

Figure 49: Vat. Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 97v (detail).

Figure 50: Karlsruhe, Badische Landesbibliothek Aug. 106, f. 43v (detail).

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Figure 51: Karlsruhe, Badische Landesbibliothek Aug. 106, f. 43v (detail).

Figure 52: BAV, Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 98v (detail).

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Figure 53: BAV, Reg. lat. 2077, f. 98r (detail).

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Figure 54: Squillace, House of Cassiodorus (detail).

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Figures

Figure 55: BAV, Reg. Lat. 2077, f. 98r (detail).

Figure 56: BAV, Reg, Lat. 2077, f. 99r (detail).

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Figure 57: London, British Library, Harley 2688, f. 22v, reconstruction of the original.

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Figure 58: London, British Library, Harley 2688, f. 22v (detail); Diptych of the Muse and the Poet (detail).

Figure 59: London, British Library, Harley 2688, f. 22v (detail); Diptych of the Muse and the Poet (detail).

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Figure 60: The first copyist of the London, British Library, Harley 3095, f. 89r and the so-called “hand D” of Bruxelles 14650–59, f. 23r.

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Figure 61: The so-called “hand D” of Bruxelles 14650–59, ff. 23r; 21r (column 1 e 3) and the first copyist of London, British Library, Harley 3095 (ff. 89r; 30r: column 2 and 4), details.

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Figure 62: Edo’s hand: St. Gallen Stiftsbibliothek 904, p. 89 (first column); Karlsruhe Badische Landesbibliotheck CXCV, f. 37v (second column).

Figures

Figure 63: Diptych of the Muse and the Poet (detail).

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Figure 64: Diptych of the Muse and the Poet (detail).

Figure 65: Diptych of the Muse and the Poet (detail).

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Figure 66: One of the Theodorich’s monograms: source Sabatier, J., Description générale des monnaies byzantines (Paris, 1862), pl. XVIII, 8; Kraus, F. F., Die Münzen Odovacars und des Ostgotenreiches in Italie (Halle, 1928), 97; Oreste’s Monogram; Ricimer’s Monogram; Odovocarus’ Monogram.

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Plates

Plate 1 a: Ravenna, San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinians’s Procession, Detail from the face of the second character on the left of the emperor; b) Shahba Museum, Hauran (Syria), Teti (detail from a 4th century AD Roman mosaic).

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Plate 1 b: Manchester, John Rylands University Library, Armen. ms. 3, f. 42v (Alexander the Great’s horse is made up of different intertwined animals).

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Plate 2 a: a) National Museum of Ravenna, Room of the Preparatory Drawings (detail); b) Ravenna, San Vitale, Abse basin, Shadow beneath the rock of the Four rivers of Paradise.

Plate 2 b: Ravenna, San Vitale, Abse Basin, The four rivers of paradise (detail).

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Plate 2 c: Ravenna, San Vitale, Abse Basin, Shadow beneath the rock of the Four rivers of Paradise, in its natural appearance and turned in a different colour, compared to Justinian’s portrait on the counter-façade of the Basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna.

Plate 3: Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelff. 36.23, Augusteus 2, f. 196r.

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Plate 4 a: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession (detail).

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Plate 4 b: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession (detail). In the hair of the character depicted it is possible to read clearly “Asmodeus”, suitable only for a character like Germanus, thus confirming the identification suggested by Salvatore Cosentino (Il patrizio Germano, 130–131).

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List of figures and plates

Plate 5 a: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail). Some figures hidden in Theodora’s halo are highlighted in a different colour.

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Plate 5 b: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail). Comparison between the mouse figure, a symbol for the devil, hidden besides Theodora, and the mouse figure hidden by Eusebius in Vat, Pap. Vat. Lat. 14 (final part).

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Plate 6 a: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail). Hidden in the hair of a woman, assumed by many scholars to be Antonina, it is possible to spot a scorpion of a special kind described by Isidore of Seveille (Et. 11, 30), shaped like a limbless worm. The dangerous arthropod is disguised in the shape of a “hairpin”. Besides the woman, the shadow takes the form of a horse, reminding the observer of the woman’s humble origins, being the daughter of a circus charioteer.

Plate 6 b: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail). The character who moves the curtains to let Theodora come through is accompanied by monsters hidden in his hair.

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Plate 7 a: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession (detail). A tiger and a scorpion hidden (together with other daemonic beings) in the capital of the column depicted in the Theodora’s Procession mosaic (on the right of the observer).

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Plate 7 b: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Justinian’s Procession (detail). A donkey, a snake and a fantastic being with many arms, an allegorical image of lust (see the same type of image in Plate 3 b) hidden (together with other daemonic beings) in the capital of the column in the Justinian’s Procession mosaic (on the right of the observer).

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Plate 8 a: Vat, Vat. Lat. 5704, f. 49r (detail). Inside the body of the fish swallowing Jonah, we have highlighted the profiles of Vitiges and Mataswintha (surrounded by other daemonic figures, which have not been highlighted in the photo).

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Plate 8 b: Vat, Vat. Lat. 5704, f. 49r (detail). Vitiges’ profile.

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Plate 9 a: Vat, Vat. Lat. 5704, f. 49r (detail). The great fish swallows Jonah, depicted with Symmachus’ face. As a comparison, some Medieval representations of the same episode: Sankt Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek 332, f. 312r; London, British Library, Lansdowne 420, f. 48v; Paris BNBF, lat. 12048, f. 142v.

Plate 9 b: Vat, Vat. Lat. 5704, f. 49r (detail). The great fish swallows Jonah, depicted with Symmachus’ face.

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Plate 10: Depictions of the Queen of Sheba: a) Nicholas of Verdun, The Queen of Sheba, enamel from the pulpit of Klosterneuburg (AD 1181), Abbey of Klosterneuburg; b) Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, Theodora’s Procession, detail surrounding the character on Theodora’s right, which we have identified as queen Mataswintha.

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Plate 11 a: Head of a roe deer in the frieze in the Presbytery in the Basilica of San Vitale (detail), compared with the picture of a roe deer drawn by Viliaric on the margin of f. 166r of the Laurentian manuscript Plut. 61, 1. Within Viliaric’s margin picture and in the mosaic alike are included his initials “VAC”. The head of the figure we have chosen in the frieze shows the detail of the same head in Plate XLVII of Ricci’s Monumenti, which we have replicated in the picture.

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Plate 11 b: Frieze from the Arch of the Presbytery of San Vitale (detail). The head of the figure we have chosen in the frieze is original, as shown by the detail of the same head of Plate XLVII of Ricci’s Monumenti, which we have replicated in the picture. In the head it is possible to see clearly the letters “VI”, abbreviation of “Viliaric”.

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Plate 12 a: Oxford, Bodleian Auct. T II 26, f. 177r: scorpion (detail of how it appears in the original, and broken down in squares, in order to separate its individual features).

Plate 12 b: Oxford, Bodleian Auct. T II 26, f. 158r: a three-headed figure, two human and one avian (detail of how it appears in the original, and broken down in squares, in order to separate its individual features).

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Plate 13 a: Comparison between the portrait of Cassiodorus in Leiden, Bibliotheeek der Universiteit, Vulc. 46, f. 1v (AD 1176 codex, faithfully reproduced from a late-antique codex) and the portrait of Cassiodorus in the Vat. Vat. Lat. 5704, f. 4v (detail).

Plate 13 b: Comparison between the portrait of Tehodoric in Leiden, Bibliotheek der Universiteit, Vulc. 46, f. 1v (detail) and the one in Oxford, Bodleian Auct. T II 26, f. 163v (detail).

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Plate 14 a: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, on the left of the lunette, Moses grazing the flock of his father-in-law Jethro (detail).

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Plate 14 b: Ravenna, Basilica of San Vitale, Presbytery, on the left of the lunette, Moses grazing the flock of his father-in-law Jethro (expanded detail, showing Eusebius’ self-portrait and his signature).

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Plate 15: comparison between the portraits of Symmachus and Boethius, drawn in Vat, Reg. Lat., 2077, f. 78r, and the face of Symmachus, in the Diptych of Symmachus in the British Museum, and that of Boethius, in the Diptych of the Muse and the Poet. The Diptych of Symmachus has been dated to the 6th century by B. Kiilerich and F. Troncarelli (see nt. 82).

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Plate 16: Vat. Vat. Lat. 2077, f. 98v (detail). Dying Cassiodorus.

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Plates

Plate 17: London British Library, Harley 3095, f. 45r.

Plate 18: London British Library, Harley 3095, f. 114r.

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Plate 19: London, British Library, Harley 2688, f. 22v.

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Plate 20: Roma, Museo nazionale romano: Villa Balestra’s tomb (II a. C.): Florence, Laurentian, Amiatin 1, f. 5r (detail).

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Plate 21: Florence, Laurentian, Amiatin 1, f. 5r (detail).

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Plates

Plate 22: Diptych of the Muse and the Poet, Monza, Museo del Duomo.

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Plate 23: Diptych of the Muse and the Poet, Monza, Museo del Duomo (detail).

Plate 24: Diptych of the Muse and the Poet, Monza, Museo del Duomo (detail); Verona, Biblioteca Capitolare XL(39), f. 331r (detail).

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Plate 25: Pavia, Musei civici. Villareggio’s slab.

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Plate 26: Capital letters of Bamberg, Staatsbibliothek, Patr. 87, f. 79v (6tth Century); Cividale del Friuli, Museo Archeologico, s.n., c. 5v e 100 v (6th Century) and letters of the Villareggio’s slab.

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Plate 27: Capital letters of St. Petersbourg, Rossijskaja Natsionalnaja Biblioteka, Q v I, 6–10, f. 10v; BAV, Vat. Lat. 5750, f. 48r; Villareggio’s slab; London, Tabard Square epigraph; Rome, Pantheon epigraph. Palm tree branch of the mosaic of S. Apollinare Nuovo a Ravenna (detail); palm three branch in the Villareggio’s slab.

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Plate 28: The monogram in Villareggio’s slab: letters: S E v R I O, lacking letters: (E) (N), entire name: S E v (E)R I (N) O.

Bibliography

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Index of names

Abelardus, Petrus 105 Abbatepaolo M. 139 Adabold II, bishop of Utrecht 131, 132 Adalberon, bishop of Metz 134 Adalgaudus of Fleury 31 Adriaen M. 64 Agapetus I, pope 92, 98 Agnellus, I bishop of Ravenna 28, 40 Agnellus, III bishop of Ravenna 41 Agnellus Ravennas 58 Ahab 64 Ahlers B. 126 Albinus 31 Albinus, Caecina Decius Faustus, senator 146 Alberti L. 34, 35 Alcuin 31, 107, 108, 119, 127 Alfred the Great 106 Allegria S. 149 Amalasuintha 39, 44, 76, 155, 156 Ambrose (saint) 68, 98, 146 Ammonius 100 Amplonius Ratinck 77 Amici A. 87, 89 Anastasia 39 Anastasius (emperor) 153 Anelli S. 142 Anicia Juliana 56, 81, 87, 91 Anonymus Valesianus 58, 146 Antonina 36, 37, 38, 39, 214 Ansani M. 149, 150 Anselmus of Aosta (saint) 96 Apuleius, Lucius Madaurensis 16, 47 Arcimboldo G. 18

Aristotle 83, 88, 90, 130 Arnulf of Carinzia 128 Arslan E. 153, 155 Asmodeus 36, 37, 38, 39, 211 Athalaric 28 Auda A. 126 Augenti A. 25 Augustinus, Aurelius (saint) 16, 52, 67, 68, 69, 96, 98, 101, 105, 119, 131, 155 Augustinus, bishop of Squillace 65, 66 Ausonius 38, 138 Barrow J. 28 Baltrusˇaitis J. 15, 20, 21, 29, 72 Balzaretti R. 28 Barnish S. J. B. 29 Basil (saint) 68 Bassetti M. 101 Battiato F. 39 Beatus Rhenanus 122 Beckwith J. 139 Bede 53, 105 Belisarius 25, 28, 36, 52, 53 Bellator 48, 49, 106, 121 Benedict (saint) 107, 108 Berengar I 146, 158 Berra G. 20 Berschin W. 124 Bertelli C. 12, 25 Biggs F. M. 106 Biraghi L. 138, 141 Bischoff B. 11, 32, 113, 117, 123, 125, 146 Bjornlie A. J. 28 Blandus 124, 125

256 Boethius, Anicius Manlius Severinus passim Bolzani P. 148 Borgognoni R. 149 Bovo of Corvey 129, 130, 131, 132, 133 Bovini G. 24, 25, 33, 35 Boyle L. E. 47 Bradley D. 89 Braet F. 15 Bräm A. 15 Brambilla C. 150 Brandt S. 73 Bricke B. 11 Brown J. 79, 125 Brown P. 67, 102 Brown W. 25 Brubaker L. 66 Buchellus 124 Buonocore M. 9, 22 Buzzi F. 138 Byron G. G. 87 Caillet J. P. 145 Calabrese O. 20 Calcidius 121, 132, 133, 134 Callinicus 39 Calliope 139 Campana A. 12, 149 Campione F. P. 21 Campus A. 11 Candidianus 24, 165 Cappelletti L. 133 Cappelli A. 24, 65, 141, 142, 145 Cardini F. 24 Carile A. 12, 27, 28 Carrà L. 142 Caspari C. P. 51 Cassiodorus, Flavius Magnus Aurelius Senator passim Castagnetti A. 147 Cattagni G. 9 Cenni F. 149 Cethegus Cornelius 84 Cethegus, Rufius Petronius Nichomacus 78, 84, 87 Chadwick H. 82

Index of names

Chadwick N. 124 Chapman J. 62 Charlemagne 65, 107, 115, 117, 120, 126, 127, 128 Charles the Bold 126, 128 Charles the Simple 126, 128, 134 Chastel A. 21, 72 Christensen A. S. 89 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 83, 88, 92, 105 Cirelli E. 25 Claudianus, Claudius 38, 138 Coglitore R. 72 Commodaro C. 60 Commodianus 53 Comparetti D. 84 Condito D. 9 Conrad of Hirsau 155 Cooper W. V. 157 Corbara F. 27 Cosentino S. 9, 23, 25, 31, 33, 37, 38, 39, 44, 49, 211 Cosmas Indicopleustes 64 Courcelle P. 62, 64, 65, 80, 94, 100, 101, 118, 122, 124, 127, 128, 129, 130, 132, 139 Cracco Ruggini L. 28, 83, 86, 89, 90, 144 Cremonini S. M. 26, 27 Croce B. 70 Crocco A. 90 Cuppo Csaki L. 51 Curti S. 148 Cyprian 155 Cyprianus, Caecilius(saint) 68 Daley B. 98 Dalle Mule A. 45 Dante Alighieri 157 De Gregorio G. 89 De Lubac H. 102 Deichmann E. W. 25, 30, 33 Delbrueck R. 137, 138, 141, 152 Del Corso L. 22 Demus O. 15 Depreux Ph. 113 Deuterisuus 22 Di Nola A. M. 15 Dierkens A. 129

257

Index of names

Dionysius Exiguus 51, 67, 96, 97, 98 Dolbeau F. 80, 95, 129 Domnica 22 Domnulus, Flavius Rusticius Elpidius Drogo 117, 125 Dubthach 124 Duval Y.-M. 44 Dümmler E. 113, 129

76

Edo 125, 126, 127, 129, 134, 135, 202 Ennodius, Magnus Felix, bishop of Pavia 82, 90, 120, 144 Eichorn W. 114 Ekkehard 113 Elliot J. H. 72 Engammare I. 15 Enoch 53, 54, 55 Ensslin W. 88 Elsig F. 15 Epiphanius, bishop of Cyprus 65 Erato 139 Ereuleva 12 Erimbert 116 Eriugena, John Scotus 121, 124, 126, 127, 128 Eugenius 38 Eugippius 67, 68 Eusebius passim Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea 97 Eutaricus Cillica 113 Everett N. 25 Ewald B. Ch. 140 Facundus of Hermiane 102 Fagnani F. 148 Farao M. 148 Felix, abbas 50, 62 Fergus 124, 125, 126, 135 Ferraris D. 64 Festus, Sextus Pompeius 85, 86, 87 Fiori C. 34, 36 Fiorilla M. 11 Fisch Hartley A. 15 Flavius, Petronius Probus 146 Flodoardus 127 Folcuinus 134

Fontaine J. 93 Franco, bishop of Liège 129 Francovich Onesti N. 12, 27 Frazer M. 139 Fressat C. 15 Friese A. 115 Frisi A. F. 138 Froumund of Tegernsee 122 Fulgentius of Ruspe 66 Gabba E. 150 Galonnier A. 78, 87, 91, 95 García Avíles A. 15 Gardthausen V. 150 Geldner F. 115 Generosus, augustalis 24, 167 Genevois A. M. 97 Genest J. F. 97 Germanus 37, 38, 39, 89, 211 Gerontius, abbas 50, 57, 104, 190 Gersh S. 129 Gertoux G. 44 Geymonat M. 9, 24 Gfrörer A. F. 114 Gianani F. 120, 155 Giannakoulas A. 9 Gibson M. T. 123 Gillett A. 82 Giotto 20 Glöckner K. 116 Gobert T. 124 Godden M. 106 Goethe J. W. 87 Gombrich E. 30, 72 Gori A. F. 22, 138 Gregory I, pope (the Great) 42, 46, 51, 53, 54, 58, 102, 103, 138 Gregory of Tours 54 Gregory T. 129, 131 Grondeux A. 80 Gropp I. 114 Gruzinski S. 13, 29 Gurevitch D. 42 Günther, archbishop of Cologne 122, 124, 126, 128

258

Index of names

Hadrian I, pope 65 Haefs H. 45 Hailen S. 9 Haimo of Thurgau 115, 116 Haldon J. F. 66 Hall-Thomas N. 106 Halporn J. H. 14, 62, 80 Hardolfus of Thurgau 113, 115, 116, 117 Hartman D. 39 Hatto of Reichenau 113–120, 126, 134 Haug A. 9 Hehle C. 109 Heinzer F. 9 Heiric of Auxerre 127 Helias 53, 54, 55 Helpis = Helpis Rusticiana 138 (see Rusticiana) Henricus Abrincensis 63 Hester L. K. 54 Hierocles 130 Hilarius, bishop of Arles (saint) 68 Himeria 144, 145, 146 Hoenen M. 130 Holder-Egger O. 126 Holtz L. 68, 80 Hopf K. 114 Hucbaldus Sancti Amandi 127 Hugh of Tours 126, 127 Huglo M. 122 Huygens R. B. C. 128, 154 Huygerbaert N. 26 Hippolytus 53 Iannucci A. M. 34, 36 Iozzia D. 30, 72 Irenaeus, bishop of Lyon (saint) Irvine S. 106 Isaiah 63 Isidorus of Seville 39, 46 Iulianus Argentarius 13

68

Jerome, Eusebius Sophronius (saint) 97, 131 John I, pope 42, 76 John Deacon 96 Johannis Diaconus 82

42,

John Chrysostom (saint) 68 John Lidus 84, 85, 86, 88 John Philoponus 99 Jonah 42, 43, 44, 217, 219 Jona, bishop of Orléans 108 Jones A. H. M. 39, 82 Jordanes 44, 85, 88, 89 Justinian (emperor) 28, 33, 36, 37, 38, 56, 82, 84, 85, 89, 90, 91, 99, 102, 103, 139, 152, 161, 162, 177, 178, 179, 180, 206, 209, 210, 211, 216 Kaffanke J. 124 Kannengiesser Ch. 93 Kappler C. 22 Kelly C. 85 Kiilerich B. 43, 227 Klug A. 114 Kniffitz L. 33 König I. 146 Kraus F. F. 153 Krautschick S. 89 Kroll L. 15 Kupper J. L. 126 Kurth G. 124 Lactantius, Caelius Firmianus 53, 105 Lanigan J. 114 Leanza S. 80 Leclerq J. 63 Lehmann P. 109, 116 Leibniz G. W. 114 Leo III, pope 66 Leo of Byzantium 98 Leonardo Da Vinci 20, 21 Leonardi C. 94 Leutgaldus 31 Lidova M. 11 Lilie E. R.-J. 25 Lilla S. R. C. 101 Lindsay W. M. 141 Link G. 114 Lotharius (custos ecclesiae) 31 Lottelli G. 59 Lowe E. A. 79 Lucretius, Titus Carus 20, 118

259

Index of names

Ludwig C. 25 Ludwig the Pious 115, 117, 126 Lupus of Ferrières 108 Lutz C. 77 Maas M. 85, 88 Macrobius, Theodosius Ambrosius 85, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132 Maffei S. 22, 23 Magee J. 9, 40, 76, 82, 83, 92, 157 Maguire E. H. 21 Maioli M. G. 144 Malachi 63 Mancion 126 Manlius, Marcus Capitolinus 86 Manitius M. 113 Mantegna A. 20 Marazzi F. 29, 60, 66 Marcellinus, comes 37, 40, 45, 86, 88 Martianus, Minneus Felix Capella 77, 91 Martinus I, pope 66 Marchesini S. 11 Marcianus (emperor) 153 Marcone A. 9 Marini G. 22, 23 Marrou H.-I. 92, 140 Martindale J. 39, 82, 143, 144 Martinus 48, 49 Martius, Renatus Novatus 40, 41, 82, 84, 88, 92 Mastrocinque A. 17 Mataswintha 13, 37, 44, 217, 220 Mathisen R. W. 29, 82 Maurus 124 Mauskopf Deliyannis D. 28 Mazhuga V. 9 Mazza M. 89 Mazzotti M. 35 Maximianus, bishop of Ravenna 139, 161 McGinn B. 54, 56 McKitterick R. 107, 133 Meslin M. 93 Meiser K. 73 Meyers I. 124 Meyvaert P. 62, 79, 80 Minio Paluello L. 83, 94

Minnulus 31, 48, 49, 121 Momigliano A. 44, 68, 78, 86, 89 Mommsen T. 52, 53, 54, 75, 138 Moreau J. 147 Morel Ph. 72 Morello A. 153, 154 Moreschini C. 101, 156 Morris J. 39, 82 Moses 172, 225, 226 Mulliez M. 72 Muscolino C. 9, 33, 34 Mynors R. B. C. 100 Narsete (Narses) 42 Nauta L. 129, 131 Nebbiai Dalla Guardia D. 97 Nordenfalk C. 12, 15, 64 Novara P. 26, 27, 33, 34, 36 O’Brien-O’Keeffe K. 106 Ó Cróinín D. 125 Odoacer 154 Odo of Paris 128 O’Donnell J. J. 87, 89 Obertello L. 82, 83, 130, 131, 143, 155 Opilio, vir strenuus 25 Opilion 155 Opicinus de Canistris 120 Orchard A. 106 Orestes 205 Origenes (Origen) 81, 97, 102, 103 Oswald F. 114 Pachomius (saint) 59 Paduano Faedo L. 137, 140 Pagano M. 60 Panazza G. 155 Papahagi A. 106, 107, 108 Pasquini L. 16 Patitucci Uggeri S. 26 Pelagius I, pope 64 Pelegrinus 22, 24, 25, 26, 27 Peroni A. 148, 149 Pertz G. H. 134 Petronius Olybrius 146 Petri S. 82

260

Index of names

Petronius, Gaius Arbiter 74, 87 Petrucci A. 12, 22, 79, 134 Phillips P. 9 Philostratus, Lucius Flavius 118 Pilvousek J. 77 Pintaudi R. 22 Pirenne H. 319 Pizzani U. 94 Plato 90, 128, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134 Plautus, Titus Maccius 80 Plinius, Gaius Secundus (the elder) 20, 74 Plotinus 72 Poccetti P. 11 Pohl W. 28 Porena P. 28 Porphyrion 37 Prats T. 25 Pricoco S. 15 Priscianus, Caesariensis 41, 83, 95 Proclus, Lycius 130 Procopius Caesarensis 36, 37, 38, 41, 43, 56, 76, 85, 138 Prudentius, Aurelius Clemens 131 Queen of Sheba Questa C. 80

39, 44, 220

Radbod, bishop of Utrecht 126, 127, 132, 134 Raffaelli R. 80 Raimondo C. 60 Raphael (archangel) 37 Ranaldi A. 34, 36 Rand E. K. 79 Randall L. M. C. 15, 30 Ravegnani G. 66 Reynolds L. 113 Reginald of Thurgau 115 Remigius of Auxerre 77, 108, 127, 128, 133 Ricci C. 34, 173, 174, 221, 222 Riccioni S. 42 Ricklin Th. 91 Rizzardi C. 33 Robert, bishop of Metz 127, 134 Robert of Thurgau 116 Rochow I. 25

Römelt J. 77 Rhodio G. 9, 60 Ricimer 153, 154 Rossbach O. 113, 117 Rufina 153 Rufinus, Tyrannius of Aquileia 97 Ruodgang of Thurgau 116 Rupert of Thurgau 115, 116 Russo E. 148 Rusticiana = Helpis Rusticiana 41, 42, 138, 140, 143, 145, 154, 156 Rusticus diaconus 82, 84, 93, 99 Sabatier J. 205 Saci M. P. 9 Salomon 39 Sauser E. 126 Schaller R. W. 74 Schmidt-Kohl V. 101 Schoolman E. M. 26, 57 Sedulius Scottus 124, 125, 126 Seneca, Lucius Annaeus 113, 116, 117, 118 Serapio 25 Sessa M. S. K. 28 Severus, Patriarch of Antioch 82 Sextus, Petronius Probus 146 Sfameni C. 72 Shanzer D. 9, 90, 9, 157 Shelton K. J. 140 Sheppard A. 30, 72 Schultz S. 139 Silvestre H. 128 Sindila 27 Skinner P. 28 Smith L. 318 Smith W. 344 Spadoni C. 62 Spangeberg E. 22 Stabile G. 39 Stephen, bishop of Liège 123, 126, 127, 132, 133, 134 Stephen Dedalus 135 Sterger H. 15 Stewart H. F. 138 Stoppacci P. 99 Störmer W. 114

261

Index of names

Straub J. 81, 83 Strecker F. 113, 125 Studemund W. 113 Swain B. 28 Symmachus, Quintus Aurelius Memmius passim Talbot Rice D. 139 Tarzia A. 9 Tassin R. P. 22 Taverniti S. 60 Terentius, Publius Afer 78, 80 Terrason A. 22 Tertullianus, Quintus Septimius Florens 68 Testini P. 151, 153, 154 Theodoret, bishop of Cyrrus 102 Theodoric 12, 13, 19, 37, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 51, 52, 58, 75, 76, 77, 89, 102, 117, 142, 148, 153, 154, 155, 156, 205, 224 Theodorus, bishop of Mopsuestia 102 Theodolinda 138 Theodora 36, 37, 38, 39, 159, 181, 182, 183, 212, 213, 214, 215, 220 Thulgilo 25 Thomas Aquinas (saint) 96 Tjäder J.-O. 12, 22, 23, 25, 28 Tobias 36 Toustain C. F. 22 Traube L. 124 Troncarelli F. 12, 16, 24, 31, 32, 37, 38, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 47, 48, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 57, 58, 63, 65, 67, 71, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 82, 85, 86, 91, 92, 93, 94, 99, 103, 107, 108, 110, 111, 112, 118, 119, 122, 123, 149, 156, 227 Tyconius 69, 97 Varro, Marcus Terentius Velkov V. 147 Vigilius, pope 103 Verhlest D. 51

85

Vernet A. 97 Vessey A. 115 Vessey M. 80 Vicini D. 150 Viliaric 12, 20, 27, 29, 31, 32, 33, 35, 36, 39, 40, 48, 49, 162, 221, 222 Victor, bishop of Ravenna 28 Victor, bishop of Capua 98 Victorius of Aquitaine 51 Victorinus, Gaius Marius 99 Viscido L. 59 Vitiges 13, 37, 39, 44, 90, 217, 218 Vitiello M. 9, 44, 76, 90 Volbach W. F. 139 Von Der Hagen F. H. 45 Von Eckhart J. G. 114 Wagner H. 114, 117 Waitz G. 45 Walafridus Strabo 129 Waldo, bishop of Pavia 120 Walz D. 124 Waszink J. H. 133 Wattenbach W. 113 Weizmann K. 139 Werner K. F. 126 White H. G. 62 Witiges 45 Wilberg M. 114 Wilkin A. 26 Wirth G. 36 Wirth J. 15 Witterit 27 Wittig J. 106, 127 Wright C. D. 106 Wulfila 12 Wünschenmeyer F. 122 Zanker P. 140 Zecchini G. 83, 87, 89 Zeigler J. 123 Zimmermann H. J. 86