Terence between late antiquity and the age of printing: illustration, commentary and performance 9789004289499, 9004289496

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Terence between Late Antiquity and the Age of Printing

Metaforms Studies in the Reception of Classical Antiquity

Editors-in-Chief Almut-Barbara Renger (Freie Universität Berlin) Jon Solomon (University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign) John T. Hamilton (Harvard University) Editorial Board Kyriakos Demetriou (University of Cyprus) Constanze Güthenke (Princeton University) Miriam Leonard (University College London) Mira Seo (University of Michigan)

VOLUME 4

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

Terence between Late Antiquity and the Age of Printing Illustration, Commentary and Performance Edited by

Andrew J. Turner Giulia Torello-Hill

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Artist unknown; illustration for Eunuchus 5.7 from the edition of Terence by Jodocus Badius and Johannes Trechsel (Lyon, 1493). Collection of Christchurch Art Gallery Te Puna o Waiwhetu. Woodcut 72/100. Presented by Gordon H. Brown, 30 October 1972.

This publication has been typeset in the multilingual ‘Brill’ typeface. With over 5,100 characters covering Latin, IPA, Greek, and Cyrillic, this typeface is especially suitable for use in the humanities. For more information, please see brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 2212-9405 isbn ���-��-0�-28880-5 (hardback) isbn ���-��-0�-28949-9 (e-book)   Copyright 2015 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper.

For Bernard Muir, with deep gratitude. ―A.J.T.

. . .

And for my children Valentina and Sofia, my strength and wisdom. ―G.T.-H.

∵

Contents Preface ix List of Abbreviations xi List of Contributors xii List of Figures xiv 1  Introduction 1 Andrew J. Turner and Giulia Torello-Hill

Part 1 Text and Images 2  Terence’s Comedies: Development, Transmission and Transformation 15 Bernard J. Muir 3  Illustrating the Manuscripts of Terence 36 Beatrice Radden Keefe 4  Thais Walks the German Streets: Text, Gloss, and Illustration in Neidhart’s 1486 German Edition of Terence’s Eunuchus 67 James H. Kim On Chong-Gossard

Part 2 Scholarship 5  Terence Quotations in Latin Grammarians: Shared and Distinguishing Features 105 Salvatore Monda 6  Problems with the Terence Commentary Traditions: The Oedipus Scholion in BnF, lat. 7899 138 Andrew J. Turner

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Part 3 Text and Performance 7   Donatus’ Commentary: The Reception of Terence’s Performance 181 Chrysanthi Demetriou 8   Ornatu prologi: Terence’s Prologues on the Stage/on the Page 200 Gianni Guastella 9   The Revival of Classical Roman Comedy in Renaissance Ferrara:  From the Scriptorium to the Stage 219 Giulia Torello-Hill

Part 4 Readerships 10   Terence’s Audience and Readership in the Ninth to Eleventh  Centuries 239 Claudia Villa Bibliography 251 Index of Papyri and Manuscripts 276 Index of Ancient Sources 280 Index of Names and Subjects 288 Figures

Preface This book investigates the Medieval and Early Renaissance reception of Terence, combining the diverse but interrelated strands of textual criticism, illustrative tradition, and performance. It grew out of a core of papers first presented at the conference Text, Illustration, Revival: Ancient Drama from Late Antiquity to 1550, which the two editors organised at the University of Melbourne from 13 to 15 July, 2011. Turner was at that stage employed at the University of Melbourne on the project The Transformations of Terence: Ancient Drama, New Media, and Contemporary Reception, supported under the Australian Research Council’s Discovery Projects funding scheme (project number DP110101571, awarded to Bernard Muir and K.O. Chong-Gossard), while Torello-Hill was a Research Fellow at the University of Queensland. We received strong support for this conference, both financial and logistical, from the Australasian Society for Classical Studies (ASCS), the Classical Association of Victoria, and the University of Melbourne, and take this opportunity to thank these bodies and the individuals concerned. In particular, we wish to thank former ASCS President John Davidson, who personally attended the conference, and from the University of Melbourne Andrew Jamieson of the School of Historical and Philosophical Studies and Marcus Bunyan from the Faculty of Arts, who designed our excellent web pages. Despite the broad scope of this conference title, the majority of papers in fact related specifically to aspects of the reception of Terence, and so afterwards, when we first discussed publishing a collection of chapters, a decision was made to focus on this one author and topic—nevertheless, we acknowledge gratefully the participation in the conference of colleagues who presented on other classical authors. As well as chapters by both editors, we also had contributions from Muir and Chong-Gossard, who had presented on their research for The Transformations of Terence, and from our international guest speakers Gianni Guastella and Chrysanthi Demetriou. By writing to prominent researchers in this field to see if they would be interested in contributing, or could recommend anyone else whose work could supplement the works we already had, we eventually obtained the agreement of Beatrice Radden Keefe, Salvatore Monda, and Claudia Villa to submit chapters. We then approached Brill with a proposal, and were delighted when it was accepted by Metaforms in September 2012. In addition to our contributors, who have displayed great academic skills and professionalism throughout, we have many institutions and individuals

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to thank. Our editors at Brill, initially Caroline van Erp and over the crucial last twelve months Tessel Jonquière and Pieter te Velde, have been enormously helpful, and we gratefully acknowledge all their assistance and understanding. We have benefitted greatly from a publication grant from the School of Historical and Philosophical Studies (generously supported by the Head of School, Trevor Burnard) and the Faculty of Arts at the University of Melbourne, and would like to thank too the administrative staff there for their assistance. In a work which is so dependent on images, we have relied heavily on the goodwill and professionalism of libraries and librarians, and would like to acknowledge gratefully the Bodleian Library (Oxford), the Bibliothèque nationale de France, the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, and the Institut de Recherche et d’Histoire des Textes (Paris), the Bibliothèque municipale de Tours, the Royal Library (Copenhagen), the Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek (Darmstadt), and the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek (Munich). Special thanks are due to the Christchurch Fine Art Gallery and their librarian, Tim Jones, for arranging the cover illustration for this volume. We would like to express our deep gratitude to Bernard Muir. A prolific publisher, both in traditional and digital format, and an acknowledged authority on palaeography and manuscripts, he has consistently provided us with answers to tricky questions, and with straightforward and accurate advice. He has also been unstinting with his time in proof-reading and correcting errors, both obvious and subtle, and this book is very much indebted both to his erudition and his constant encouragement. At the University of Queensland, Gary Ianziti has provided us with encouragement and the solace and inspiration of conversations on various aspects of the Italian Renaissance. Finally, we would like to thank our families and friends, who have been enormously supportive throughout this lengthy process—quite simply we would not have been able to complete this book without them. G.T.-H. A.T.

List of Abbreviations Names of classical authors and their works cited in this volume have been abbreviated in accordance with abbreviations found in the Oxford Latin Dictionary, the Thesaurus Linguae Latinae, and H.G. Liddell and R. Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon. Other abbreviations used are as follows: BAV Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana BL British Library BM Bibliothèque municipale BML Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana BNC Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale BNE Biblioteca Nacional de España BnF Bibliothèque nationale de France BSB Bayerische Staatsbibliothek CB Commentum Brunsianum CCSL Corpus Christianorum Series Latina. Turnholt: Brepols CM Commentum Monacense CNRS Centre national de la recherche scientifique GL Grammatici Latini. Ed. H. Keil. Leipzig, 1855–1880 KB Kongelige Bibliotek (Copenhagen) KBB Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België OLD Oxford Latin Dictionary. Ed. P.G.W. Glare. Oxford, 1982 PMG Poetae Melici Graeci. Ed. D. Page. Oxford, 1962 RBME Real Biblioteca del Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial TLL Thesaurus Linguae Latinae. Leipzig, Stuttgart, Munich, 1894– UB Universiteitsbibliotheek

List of Contributors James H. Kim On Chong-Gossard is Senior Lecturer in Classics at the University of Melbourne, where he teaches ancient Greek. He has published on gender in Euripides’ plays, sex scandals in Suetonius’ biographies, and classical language pedagogy. Chrysanthi Demetriou is an Adjunct Tutor at the Open University of Cyprus and the University of Cyprus. She has published on Roman Comedy, primarily on Donatus, contributing to the Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Comedy (2014). Gianni Guastella is Professor of Latin Language and Literature at the University of Siena. He has published extensively on classical Roman comedy and tragedy, including the monograph studies L’ira e l’onore (Palermo, 2001) and Le rinascite della tragedia (Rome, 2013). Salvatore Monda is Professor of Latin Language and Literature at the University of Molise. He has published extensively on Roman comedy, including an edition of Plautus’ Vidularia et deperditarum fabularum fragmenta (Urbino, 2004). Bernard J. Muir is a Professorial Research Fellow at the University of Melbourne, where he taught Medieval literature and manuscript studies for thirty years. His scholarly editions include The Exeter Anthology and Terence’s Comedies (with Andrew Turner). Beatrice Radden Keefe has worked at the British Library, Johns Hopkins University, and at Princeton University’s Index of Christian Art. She is now writing a book on the illustrated manuscripts of Terence’s comedies. Giulia Torello-Hill is a Research Associate at the University of Queensland. She has published on Greek Old Comedy and on the reception of ancient drama in the Italian Renaissance.

List Of Contributors

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Andrew J. Turner is a Fellow at the University of Melbourne, where he teaches Latin. He has published on the reception of Terence and Sallust, and jointly edited a facsimile edition of an illustrated Terence manuscript with Bernard Muir. Claudia Villa is Professor of Italian Literature at the University of Bergamo. Her monograph study La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca (Padua, 1984) is a fundamental reference work on the manuscript tradition of Terence.

List of Figures 1

Collection of Christchurch Art Gallery Te Puna o Waiwhetu. Woodcut 72/100 (Eu. 5.7). 2 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13, ff. 4v–5r (An. 1.1). 3 Paris, BnF, lat. 7899, f. 6r (An. 1.1). 4 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, ms 664, f. 1v. 5 Copenhagen, Kongelige Bibliotek, Gl.Kgl.S 1994 4°, f. 1r. 6 Paris, BnF, lat. 18544, f. 34v (Hec. 1.1). 7 Tours, BM, ms 924, f. 1r (An. prol.). 8 Neidhard, Ulm 1486; Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, inc-iii-10, ff. bi v & bij r (Eu. 1.1). 9 Paris, BnF lat. 7907a, f. 83r (Ad. 3.3). 10 Trechsel/Badius, Lyon 1493; BSB 4 Inc.c.a. 1040 m (Ad. 3.3). 11 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, ms 664, f. 47r (Eu. 1.1). 12 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13, f. 45v (Eu. 3.1). 13 Tours, BM, ms 924, f. 18v (Eu. 3.1). 14 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, ms 664, f. 57v (Eu. 3.1). 15 Neidhard, Ulm 1486; Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, inc-iii-10, f. 26v [F 70] (Eu. 3.1). 16 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13, f. 47r (Eu. 3.2). 17 Tours, BM, ms 924, f. 19r (Eu. 3.2). 18 Neidhard, Ulm 1486; Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, inc-iii-10, f. 31r [F 79] (Eu. 3.2). 19 Paris, BnF, lat. 7899, f. 56v (Eu. 4.7). 20 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, ms 664, f. 73v (Eu. 4.7). 21 Neidhard, Ulm 1486; Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, inc-iv-79, f. 61v [F 140] (Eu. 4.7). 22 Paris, BnF, lat. 7899, f. 3r (An. prol.). 23 Trechsel/Badius, Lyon 1493; BSB 4 Inc.c.a. 1040 m (An. prol.). 24 Tours, BM, ms 924, f. 13v (Eu. prol.). 25 Trechsel/Badius, Lyon 1493; BSB 4 Inc.c.a. 1040 m (Eu. 5.4). 26 Paris, BnF, lat. 7890 f. 1r (Pl. Am. prol.).

CHAPTER 1

Introduction Andrew J. Turner and Giulia Torello-Hill

The Critical Background

Publius Terentius Afer, or Terence, was one of the most popular classical Latin authors of the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Some 741 Latin manuscripts of his six plays are now known,1 and of these 122 or so can be dated to the period 800–1200 CE.2 By the end of Late Antiquity he had taken his place alongside Cicero, Vergil, and Sallust as one of the four standard Latin authors to be studied in schools, the so-called quadriga of Arusianus Messius. His popularity as a teaching text persisted throughout the next 1000 years, and in 1486 his play Eunuchus became one of the earliest classical Latin works to be translated into a contemporary German dialect, and diffused to mass audiences by means of the newly invented printing press. The wider dissemination of his plays in fact determined his return to the stage, first of all in Italy during the last decades of the fifteenth century. Terence’s plays were cited very extensively by Late-Antique grammarians, and commentaries proliferated from an early stage. As early as the fourth century, Greek glosses to Terence’s Latin text were written on a fragmentary papyrus from Oxyrhynchus (P.Oxy. 2401); there survive fragments of at least three separate commentaries from Late Antiquity (Euanthius, Donatus, and Eugraphius). Various authors, including Priscian and Rufinus, wrote treatises on his metres; and the earliest near-complete manuscript of his works, the fifth-century Codex Bembinus (Vatican City, BAV, Vat. lat. 3226, or A), has its own important collection of early commentary notes, the Scholia Bembina.3 Commentary traditions mushroomed in the Carolingian, Scholastic, and Renaissance periods, and their relationships and influences are as tangled and enigmatic as they are fascinating.4 These later traditions contain much nonsense (at least from the perspective of a modern classical philologist), but also 1  For the original catalogue by Claudia Villa, see Villa 1984 295–454, and for her addenda to this list, see the Appendix to her contribution in this volume. 2  Listed in Munk Olsen 1982–1989, 2.598–653; 3.2.132–8. 3  Published in Mountford 1934. 4  For brief overviews of these traditions, see Riou 1997 and Villa 2007.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004289499_002

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occasional nuggets of information dating back undoubtedly to much earlier stages of scholarship. The Late-Antique period seems also to have seen the creation of a cycle of illustrations to his plays. This illustrative cycle first surfaces in a manuscript dating to c.820 CE (Vatican City, BAV, Vat. lat. 3868, or C), and although the number of surviving illustrated manuscripts is proportionately small, they appear to have been well-known and to have strongly influenced subsequent developments in this field. The 1486 printed edition of the Eunuchus from Ulm, and that of Terence’s complete plays by Johannes Trechsel and Jodocus Badius Ascensius, printed in Lyon in 1493, still incorporate iconographical elements within them which can be traced indirectly back to this original illustrative cycle. In 1476 Terence’s Andria was staged in Florence under the direction of Giorgio Antonio Vespucci, first in a school setting and then at the court of Lorenzo de’ Medici. Meanwhile, plays of Plautus were revived in Rome by the Roman Academy of Julius Pomponius Laetus.5 It was only at the court of Ercole I in Ferrara, however, that Roman classical comedy began to be staged outside elitist academic settings. In 1486 the premiere of Menechini, an adaptation of Plautus’ Menaechmi in the Italian vernacular, inaugurated a long period of revivals. A vernacular adaptation of Terence’s Andria was performed in 1491, while Eunucho was performed in 1499, 1500, and 1502, and Ferrarese performances of classical Roman drama had a vast impact in the neighbouring Northern courts of Mantua and Milan. With the death of Ercole i in 1505 the revival in Ferrara came to an end, but its legacy continued thanks to Francesco Nobili, an actor who imported the vernacular scripts to Venice and performed them there to a paying audience in 1508.6 In the rest of Europe, however, attested performances did not start until later in the sixteenth century. In 1530 Adelphoe was performed at the University of Leuven in Flanders,7 while from 1527 plays of Terence were staged in various schools and colleges in London, Cambridge, and Oxford.8 Despite all of this intellectual activity surrounding Terence’s plays, and despite the importance of reception studies to modern classical scholarship, 5  For performances in Rome, see Cruciani 1983 and Beacham 1991 202 and 255 n. 4. 6  The success of these performances that took place both in private houses and public theatres generated suspicion. At the end of December 1508 the Republic of Venice by public decree prohibited any private and public performance (“che de cetero non si fazi più in questa terra . . . recitar comedie, tragedie et egloge.” Cited in Padoan 1982 38). 7  Von Reinhardstöttner 1886 36. 8  See Smith 1988 138–9.

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much of the fine detail relating to this early material remains unknown to the broader scholarly community. A telling instance comes with the 2012 supplement to Brill’s New Pauly on the Reception of Classical Literature. In this work there are extensive articles on Cicero, Vergil, and Sallust, as well as Aristophanes and Seneca the Younger’s dramas, but there is nothing on Terence (or for that matter, Plautus).9 Some valuable work is in fact now starting to be done, and is summarised in the survey which follows here, but the reception of Terence has certainly yet to take its proper place in the modern canon. How is it that such a situation came about? One work which (paradoxically) played a key role in stunting discussion of the illustrative tradition throughout the twentieth century was L.W. Jones and C.R. Morey, The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence prior to the Thirteenth Century, published by Princeton in two weighty volumes in 1931.10 The very title of this work already points to a major omission which has been perpetrated through subsequent scholarship; namely, it ignores an important group of illustrated manuscripts produced in Paris in the early fifteenth century which directly descend from these earlier manuscripts, and likewise the illustrations included in some of the first printed editions of Terence’s works. But the stifling effect of Jones and Morey on the subsequent development of scholarship in this field was most aptly described by David Wright in an article of 1993, where he stated: One might say [the illustrations in these manuscripts] were entombed in those volumes, along with codicological notes of uneven reliability and art historical interpretations in some cases wildly implausible, for instead of provoking further study and discussion of this rich material they have been greeted mostly by silent acceptance.11 Wright himself has gone some way to rectifying this situation, particularly with a major edition of C which appeared in 2006 and which located the illustrative traditions firmly within the context of Late-Antique manuscript art,12 but much work on the other illustrative manuscripts remains to be done, particularly on those manuscripts copied after 1300.

9  This omission should not in any case be ascribed to the editor, Christine Walde, who explains rather diplomatically how the original scope of her work was limited by scholars who had promised contributions but then failed to provide them (Walde 2012 x–xi). 10  Jones and Morey 1931. 11  Wright 1993 183. 12  Wright 2006.

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If work on the later tradition of the manuscript illustrations is sparse, that on illustrations in the first printed editions of Terence is practically nonexistent.13 Critical approaches to these images, and their relationship both to the earlier illustrative traditions, Renaissance theory, and the revival performances in Italy have not advanced beyond the skeptical view expressed by Lawrenson and Purkis in 1965 that there is no evidence for the illustrations recording real, contemporary performances.14 However, a much closer investigation of the development of the illustrative tradition from Terence’s Carolingian witnesses to fifteenth-century manuscripts and then the illustrations in printed editions is needed before any real advances in understanding how this whole complex of images was created in the last two decades of the fifteenth century. Such a re-examination of the illustrative tradition should also include the code of gestures depicted in these images, and examine how they change over time; work on this subject has hitherto focused only on the earliest manifestations of this code in manuscripts of the ninth century.15 All of these problems are particularly exemplified in the illustrations to Badius’ edition (see for instance Figure 1). There are still major limitations to detailed study of many manuscripts arising from the lack of reliable critical editions of the relevant commentary texts. Apart from the texts of Donatus, Eugraphius, and the Scholia Bembina, until very recently our knowledge of these commentaries was dependent on two editions from the nineteenth century—the 1811 edition of a manuscript of Terence from Halle in Germany by Paul Bruns, including an important Carolingian commentary, which has since been called (after its editor) the Commentum Brunsianum,16 and the 1893 Teubner edition of the Scholia Terentiana, a collection of scholia taken from various key manuscripts such as C by Friedrich Schlee.17 Both editions have problems which severely restrict their usefulness when dealing with manuscripts. Bruns’ work is extremely thorough and accurate, but derives from just one relatively late manuscript in the tradition, which had already lost folios from Eunuchus as well as the original commentary for much of Adelphoe. Very useful preliminary work on establishing a proper text of this work was done in the 1970s by Yves-François Riou, but unfortunately his editorial 13  An exception is the unpublished thesis of Carrick 1980. 14  Lawrenson and Purkis 1965 5–6; for the influence of this view, see, for instance, Peters 2000 316 n. 16. 15  See for example the studies of Dodwell 2000 and Dutsch 2007. 16  Bruns 1811. 17  Schlee 1893.

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work on this topic went no further than an edition of the accessus or introduction to Andria.18 Schlee’s work, on the other hand, has deep structural problems. It purports to produce a critical edition of the various commentary notes, both marginal scholia and interlinear glosses, but is extremely selective in what it replicates; for instance, very many of the glosses in C are simply left out. Moreover, Schlee’s attempts to classify these notes according to a simplistic system of a Commentarius Antiquior and Commentarius Recentior led to arbitrary decisions about what belonged where, which the reviewer Edward Kennard Rand subsequently described as “futile and disastrous.”19 Some gaps in this field are finally beginning to be filled. In 2011 Franz Schorsch published a new and very detailed edition of the so-called Commentum Monacense (or ‘Munich commentary’).20 The Commentum Monacense, named simply after the provenance of its main manuscript witness, is one of the three or four (depending how you classify them) major commentary traditions to survive from the heyday of the Carolingian educational system (c.800– 1200 CE).21 Schorsch’s edition is somewhat limited by his decision to publish just three plays of the six (Andria, Heauton timorumenos, Phormio), but it will be an invaluable resource when studying these comments, which are found written side by side with the Commentum Brunsianum in the margins of several early manuscripts (e.g. Paris, BnF, lat. 7903, and Leiden, UB, LIP 26); what is particularly required in this field is to establish a proper taxonomy for the development of these early commentary traditions. From the other end of the Terence spectrum, the study of the works of Badius by Paul White from 2013 is 18  Riou 1973. 19  Rand 1909 366. Note too the assessment of Villa 1984 6–7, who describes the work as “una incerta edizione . . . che, senza alcuna preoccupazione critica si limitò ad estrarre indi­ scriminatamente, da diversi codici con le commedie, postille e glosse trascritte sui margini e nelle interlinee; con una operazione arbitraria e del tutto inadeguata alla complessità del problema.” 20  Schorsch 2011. Some comments had already been published by Schlee 1893. 21  The others being the Commentum Brunsianum, the twelfth-century Commentarius Recen­tior, and the interlinear glossing tradition, exemplified by the glosses in C. The Commentarius Recentior (as noted, the name is due to Schlee) remains unpublished and largely unstudied, although it is potentially a rich source for the reception of Terence (for its manuscripts and variations see Riou 1997 36–43 and Villa 2007 31–2), and may preserve material dating back to antiquity (cf. Turner 2010, updated by his contribution in this volume). The glossing tradition has only been published properly for Phormio (Warren 1901); many of its glosses were also published by Bruns in his edition, but given the comparatively late date of his witness their presence there may be due to contamination of the various early traditions.

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another valuable new resource,22 since it provides extensive background to the commentaries of this prolific publisher, showing how the dynamics of commercial publishing and the moral concerns of the commentator shaped the presentation and contents of his Terence edition of 1493 and 1502, during what was a critical period of transition. While revivals of classical Roman comedy in Florence and Rome in the Early Renaissance have been dealt with in detail,23 no attempt has been made so far to produce a systematic study of the Ferrarese performances. The excellent preliminary surveys of Coppo and Rositi have remained isolated in their influence.24 Yet Ferrara under the patronage of the Este family played a primary role in the rediscovery of classical Roman comedy. In 1429 Niccolò III d’Este established a school under the direction of Guarino Veronese, which gained international prestige across Europe,25 and where later, among others, Badius completed his liberal studies. Ferrara was also at the forefront of the exegesis of Vitruvius’ De architectura, the only surviving treatment of ancient theatre buildings; a synthesis of Vitruvius’ treatment of ancient theatre buildings in vernacular Italian was written by court intellectual Pellegrino Prisciani at the time of the revival performances promoted by Ercole I d’Este.26 In conjunction with this revival, the interpretation of Vitruvian principles became paramount for the planning of the temporary wooden structures that hosted these performances. Lastly, it is in Ferrara that around 1499 Cesare Cesariano took upon himself the laborious task of producing the first vernacular (and illustrated edition) of Vitruvius. The picture drawn so far of scholarship on this area may appear negative, but this is only because of the manifold questions and problems suddenly opened up by a general enquiry into the phenomenon of the transmission and reception of Terence; it is certainly not meant in any way to belittle the enormous contributions already made to the field by individual scholars such as Claudia Villa,27 David Wright and Benjamin Victor. Moreover, there have been a number of important collaborative works in recent years which have started to alter the scene substantially, and form the basis of new enquiries. One of 22  White 2013. 23  On Florence see Ventrone 1993 and on Rome see Cruciani 1983. 24  Besides Coppo 1968 and Rositi 1968 on the Ferrarese revival, see also Padoan 1982 for performances of classical drama in Venice in the early sixteenth century. 25  Discussed in Grafton and Jardine 1986 1–28; see also Villoresi 1994. 26  Discussed in Torello-Hill 2010 and 2014. 27  In particular, Villa 1984, but see also the more extensive bibliography cited at the end of this volume.

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the most important new initiatives in this field came in 2007 with collected conference proceedings contained in the volume Terentius Poeta, offering a number of contributions on the early Medieval reception of Terence.28 The 2013 Companion to Terence published by Wiley-Blackwell has a section devoted to reception, including important pieces on the transmission of the text and earliest scholia, Terence in Late Antiquity, Hrotsvita of Gandersheim, and the reception and translation of Terence in England (although still hardly anything on the illustrations or the Medieval commentary traditions).29 The 2014 Oxford Handbook of Greek and Roman Comedy likewise contains important new contributions on Terence’s manuscript tradition, on the relationship of the Carolingian illustrations to earlier mosaics, and on Donatus,30 but unfortunately does not go beyond that time limit. Finally, the other 2014 collection Terence and Interpretation (Cambridge Scholars Publishing) also provides important contributions on Donatus as well as the later reception of Andria.31 Another key development in recent years, which is likely to have enormous consequences for the future development of this field of reception studies, has been the increasing availability of high-quality digital images of relevant manuscripts and incunabula on the internet. The benchmark for this process was set by the Swiss research foundation e-codices, which since 2005 has progressively made high-resolution images of Medieval manuscripts held in Swiss libraries available. The Swiss project is the most comprehensive and systematic in Europe, but it is now by no means the only one. Some other institutions, such as Oxford University, or the Royal Library in Copenhagen, have published on-line high resolution images of selected manuscripts from their collections, while still other important research libraries have made available a much larger number of images but at lower resolution; these include the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich and the Biblioteca Medicea Lauren­ ziana in Florence. The Vatican Library has also released images of a small percentage of its vast collections, principally the Palatine manuscripts. Perhaps the most exciting development, however, has been occurring since 2010, when the Bibliothèque nationale de France in Paris began making available online 28  See the contributions of Victor, Maltby [Maltby 2007], Villa [Villa 2007], and Jakobi in Kruschwitz, Ehlers and Felgentreu 2007. 29  See the contributions of Victor [Victor 2013], Cain [Cain 2013], Augoustakis, van Elk, and Barsby in Augoustakis and Traill 2013. 30  See the contributions of Victor [Victor 2014], Nervegna [Nervegna 2014], and Demetriou [Demetriou 2014a] in Fontaine and Scafuro 2014. 31   See the contributions of Maltby, Demetriou [Demetriou 2014b], and Brown in Papaioannou 2014.

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high-resolution images of many of its most important manuscripts through the Gallica database. Now suddenly academics and students alike are able to access immediately key manuscripts of Terence, such as P (Paris, BnF, lat. 7899) or D (Florence, BML, Plut. 38.24), and can read not only the text of the plays, but also the commentary text, or else study the images at a level of resolution undreamt of in the days of Jones and Morey. The implementation of these new technologies has by no means been smooth or consistent. Even collections such as the BnF have had to be selective as to which manuscripts they put on line, and whether they rephotograph the entire manuscript, or reproduce older microform copies. Scholars publishing these images have also been compelled to address a whole raft of new issues concerning media and communicating with an audience; thus in working on a digital edition of the manuscript Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct. F. 2. 13 or O,32 the editors (Bernard Muir and Andrew Turner) had to consider questions involving the permanency and stability of such devices as DVDs or URLs. But the broader problem of finding suitable media to express such a multifaceted phenomenon as the reception of Terence between Late Antiquity and the Age of Printing is itself nothing new, if the example of Jones and Morey is anything to go by. For its day, and regardless of its negative impact on the development of scholarship, their work, which dealt with only one small subset of the Terence manuscripts, was highly innovative in its comparative use of photographic reproductions to illustrate the complex relationship of text, concepts of staging, and images. It is this complex series of relationships, not only concerning the Carolingian cycle of illustrations and its successors, but also such issues as the theory and practice of staging, or the reception of Terence amongst grammarians, which drives the present debate on the topic, and which the contributions in the present volume set out to address.

The Papers in this Volume

The papers in this volume are divided into four broadly defined sections: (1) Text and Images; (2) Scholarship; (3) Text and Performance; and (4) Readerships. This grouping is not meant to imply that these units are self-contained discussions which are only of relevance to their own specialist readerships, such as art or theatre historians, or researchers into commentaries or reception. Frequently, a contributor will need to refer to several elements of the manuscripts, such as illustrations and scholia, simply because they are located on the 32  Muir and Turner 2011.

Introduction

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same page, side-by-side. Thus the space between two figures which appear in an eleventh-century fragmentary manuscript, now in the Bibliothèque nationale de France in Paris (BnF, lat. 18544), was filled very soon after the text was written and the illustrations drawn, and it seems to fill every available square millimetre of the vellum which is not already used (see Figure 6). The opening section, Text and Images, begins with the contribution of Bernard Muir on the topic of “Terence’s Comedies: Development, Transmission, and Transformation.” Building on his extensive knowledge of the sources and composition of the illustrated twelfth-century English manuscript O, Muir provides a broad overview of the manuscript tradition of Terence, and also looks at particular problems associated with these works, including how scripts and drawing techniques changed with the transition from papyrus to parchment, and how individual manuscripts from the high Middle Ages were glossed and corrected. He also demonstrates the ways in which the illustrative tradition was transformed in the early fifteenth century in Parisian workshops, and again in the earliest printed editions, which were strongly influenced by Renaissance studies of other classical texts, especially Vitruvius. The next contribution, “Illustrating the Manuscripts of Terence,” from Beatrice Radden Keefe, provides a detailed catalogue of all known illustrated manuscripts of Terence, a genuine desideratum of Terence scholarship, which for too long has allowed itself to be uncritically dependent on the 1931 study of Jones and Morey. As noted earlier, Jones and Morey’s book was limited from the start by their decision not to take the examination of illustrated Terence manuscripts any further than the twelfth century; it is only when we look at the images produced in the fifteenth century that we really begin to see the continuities in illustrative traditions, as well as understand the startling innovations. Radden Keefe’s catalogue, which includes some important witnesses, especially from the fifteenth century, will provide a very important resource for studies in this area. The final contribution in this section, “Thais Walks the German Streets: Text, Gloss, and Illustration in Neidhart’s 1486 German Edition of Terence’s Eunuchus,” is by James H. Kim On Chong-Gossard. This edition, commissioned by the mayor of Ulm, Hans Neidhart, contains a translation of Eunuchus into the Swabian dialect, an extensive commentary on the text, and the earliest known set of wood-block prints illustrating Terence’s plays; nevertheless this very important work has not been discussed outside of German-language publications, which are largely concerned with the history of printing in Southern Germany. Chong-Gossard’s discussion shows how the illustrations (by an unknown artist) drew on the earlier illustrated traditions, particularly those in the fifteenth-century Parisian manuscripts, and also how the commentary

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is in part directly modelled on the Donatus tradition. He establishes firm links between this work and other parts of the Terence tradition, not only prior to 1486, but also after; thus the better-known 1499 complete German translation of Terence’s plays printed by Johannes Grüninger of Strassburg derives its text and commentary of Eunuchus directly from Neidhart’s edition. The next section of this book, Scholarship, contains two contributions. The first of these is by Salvatore Monda, “Terence Quotations in Latin Grammarians: Shared and Distinguishing Features.” Monda’s paper studies one of the most important but perhaps undervalued strands of evidence for Terence’s reception and readership, that is, his citation by grammarians from the first century BCE onwards. Monda’s rigorous discussion of these sources shows that Terence’s popularity as a text really began before the generation of the great Late-Antique commentators Donatus ( fl. 350 CE) and Servius ( fl. 390 CE), and can be associated with the early development of normative Latin grammars in the preceding two centuries. The following contribution, “Problems with the Terence Commentary Traditions: The Oedipus Scholion in BnF, lat. 7899” by Andrew Turner, looks at a series of poorly-known scholia in P, which is one of the most famous manuscripts of Terence, and shows how these difficult texts have very close links to much earlier, Late-Antique comments; he argues that they may have been written in the manuscript at the time it was studied, in preparation for the creation of such illuminated manuscripts as Paris, BnF, lat. 7907A or Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal 664. The third section, Text and Performance, commences with the contribution of Chrysanthi Demetriou, “Donatus’ Commentary: The Reception of Terence’s Performance.” Demetriou looks at the ways in which comments on gestures and performance contained in this fragmentary but critically important early commentary reflect the teaching in Donatus’ school in relation to oratorical delivery, as well as the conventions of theatre, particularly mime, in the LateAntique period. It has long been recognized that descriptions of these gestures both by Donatus and Quintilian can go some way towards explaining the use of apparently codified gestures in the illustrated manuscripts, but earlier studies have sometimes been unsystematic,33 conflating data from quite different periods and from different genres and media in order to produce systems. Demetriou’s study provides important new perspective on this issue by focusing on Donatus’ text, while properly contextualizing its comments within the broader scope of theatre history. Gianni Guastella, in his contribution “Ornatu prologi: Terence’s Prologues on the Stage/on the Page,” examines the function of Terence’s prologues, which 33  E.g. Dodwell 2000.

Introduction

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are exceptional for extant ancient drama in the way they address the audience about the mechanics of presenting the plays and the literary disputes which lie behind them, and shows how these aspects were responsible for particular developments in the later traditions of Terence’s plays and of Latin drama. In the illustrative traditions, they affected the way in which the figure of the Prologus was depicted, while in later Medieval and Renaissance drama, both in its purely literary and performed versions, they were used as models and gave rise to a particular concept of the function of the prologue in drama. The final contribution in this section is that of Giulia Torello-Hill, “The Revival of Classical Roman Comedy in Renaissance Ferrara: From the Scriptorium to the Stage.” In this study, she illustrates the genesis of vernacular stage-scripts used in the revival performances of Plautus and Terence in Ferrara, which began in 1486 and continued through to the death of Duke Ercole in 1505. TorelloHill demonstrates how Terentian scholarly and illustrative traditions influenced the first performances of Plautus with the incorporation of the figure of Calliopius into the vernacular adaptations. The last section in this collection, Readerships, has only one contribution; namely, that of Claudia Villa, “Terence’s Audience and Readership in the Ninth to Eleventh Centuries.” This paper, coming as it does from the acknowledged authority on the transmission of Terence’s plays and scholarship, forms a fitting climax to this collection. Villa re-examines one of the most pervasive underlying assumptions about the surviving manuscripts of Terence, namely that they were all produced in monastery scriptoria for an audience of monks and novices learning Latin, and shows in fact that these manuscripts were written for a vibrant court culture; the fact that they may have been commissioned from monastery scriptoria and were eventually re-housed in monastery libraries at a later date does not tell us anything about their intended audiences. This important observation not only has great consequences for our understanding of the illustrations and scholia in these manuscripts of Terence, but also for other writers in the classical Latin canon.

The Illustrations in this Volume

Central to many of the discussions in this book are questions of the complex relationship of text and image both in manuscripts and early printed editions, and of the evidence this provides for the changing ways in which Terence’s theatre was depicted and received from Late Antiquity to the Early Renaissance. Illustrations are the most effective way of demonstrating these connections and developments, but a systematic comparison, along the lines of Jones and

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Morey, of all the relevant images of a particular scene, is impractical in simple terms of cost. The quality of photography and image definition has increased out of all proportion since 1931, but unfortunately many international libraries have also in the meantime been forced to commercialise their services, and so relevant fees have risen dramatically as well. In a way, this problem is (partially) circumvented by the rapid technological developments alluded to above. There is now much less of a point in reprinting illustrations from manuscripts such as P and O when these images are available in much higher definition on the Gallica website, or in the Bodleian digital library series. Readers will therefore be able to obtain the best value from some papers by reading them in conjunction with such resources, and in places we have tried to direct their attention to this point. Nevertheless, we have also thought it appropriate at times to include a number of key illustrations in this work, which can be found grouped together at the end of this volume. This is particularly the case where an author wants to make a comparison between the illustrations from different periods, where it has been considered worthwhile publishing a particular illustration on art-historical grounds, or where a particular manuscript or book containing important evidence is itself poorly known, or hard to access.

Part 1 Text and Images

∵

CHAPTER 2

Terence’s Comedies: Development, Transmission and Transformation Bernard J. Muir This paper is concerned with the composition, transmission, and transformation of Terence’s six Latin Comedies, with particular reference to the twelfthcentury deluxe illustrated witness now in the Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13 (which has the siglum O in critical editions and literature).1 It is one of about a dozen surviving illustrated witnesses copied before 1300; the earliest of these manuscripts (C and P) were produced in France in the early ninth century.2 There are approximately 700 unillustrated witnesses, subdivided into three major family branches (Delta or Δ, Gamma or Γ, and mixed or μ), attesting to the plays’ popularity as a teaching text from the Classical period, through the 1  Published in Muir and Turner 2011; all the illustrations from O referred to throughout this article and book can be found in this digital facsimile edition. The translations used here are from the editors’ adapted translation of Barsby 2001. 2  C (BAV, Vat. lat. 3868) was probably written 825–850 in the Lotharingian area of Northern France for a wealthy patron associated with the court of Louis the Pious; its illustrations are full painted, and are by three artists. They are based on Late-Antique models, though no surviving witness predates it. The major study of C and its model is Wright 2006, who argues that the lost illustrated archetype (Urhandschrift) of C reached Aachen during the reign of Louis the Pious; Wright’s work includes a partial reproduction of the manuscript, a hypothetical reconstruction of the lost Urhandschrift, plus many images of other related witnesses. See also the description in the new Vatican Catalogue; Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010 3.2. 340–3. P (Paris, BnF lat. 7899) was probably written near Reims c.840. P is very closely related to O, and it seems likely that the parent manuscript of O was copied in the same scriptorium as P and from the same exemplar. The illustrations in P and O are in outline in brownish ink; those in P reproduce the Late-Antique style of the exemplar, whereas those in O reflect twelfth-century style and taste, both in the clothing and in the architecture. The impetus among artists to modify and modernise the Late-Antique illustrations so as to meet the aesthetic expectations of a contemporary readership is first witnessed in N (Leiden, UB, VLQ 38), produced no earlier than the late tenth century (see further below); it also demonstrates that artists (or masters of the scriptoria) were deriving their new ideas from a fresh reading of the plays and were not so concerned with slavishly (i.e. faithfully) reproducing their exemplars. It seems likely that CP transmit the artistic style and conventions of their exemplar(s), since the ethos of the Carolingian Renaissance was to preserve, emulate, and transmit Classical culture.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004289499_003

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Middle Ages, and into early modern times. The extensive scholia in most of the illustrated manuscripts (as well as in many of those lacking illustrations) attest, on the other hand, to the intense scholarship focused on the Comedies from the Carolingian period onwards.3 The paper focuses on three formative aspects of the tradition: development, transmission and transformation. In a sense the last of these, transformation, is a subset of transmission; used here it chiefly refers to the modifications in presentation that the texts and illustrations underwent in late manuscript culture and into the Age of Print. This transitional period also produced hybrid texts—printed texts often embellished by hand (so that they too are in this sense manu-scripts) and others illustrated with woodblocks. The modern editor of a Classical text is concerned primarily with examining the relationship between the surviving witnesses, and from a comparison of their readings in establishing an authoritative, complete and sensible text; he or she generally expresses the relationship of the extant witnesses and hypothetical lost manuscripts by means of a stemma codicum. The manuscript tradition of Terence’s Comedies is, however, particularly complex, not only because of the many stages of transmission and reception it underwent, but also because of the complexity of the relationship between text and illustration. There are in fact seven individual stemmas that have to be reconciled in order to understand fully the transmission of the illustrated Terence manuscripts; the various elements which they describe are all present on the first double opening of Andria in O (ff. 4v–5r) [Figure 2]. They are, arguably in order of the production of this particular opening: the scholia or commentary; the text itself; the character cues within the text (also in red, except where they have been inserted by a later correcting hand; these may have been added at the same time as the character tags above the illustrations); the illuminated initial (only at the beginning of each play); the illustration proper;4 the character tags for each illustration in red ink; and lastly, the glosses, whether interlinear or marginal. The scholia are written on the same grid as the text proper and in the same script, but half the size in scale. The small, decorated initial at the beginning of the scholia would have been added by the rubricator after the scholia had been transcribed (and perhaps by the same person who added the character tags and speaker cues in red, and at the same time).

3  Turner discusses aspects of the complex scholiastic tradition in detail in his paper here. 4  In O the scribe usually leaves twelve blank lines to accommodate the illustration and its accompanying character tags (executed in red ink).

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It may at first seem pedantic or fastidious to analyse the order in which essential constituents were committed to parchment, but each of these components has its own complicated history—perhaps the most complex being that of the scholia. The tags above the characters are in red Rustic Capitals; these are not assigned consistently throughout the illustrated witnesses, especially in scenes involving crowds. Characters without speaking parts, such as the two servants in the illustration to An. 1.1 on f. 4v, are generally not identified. At the textual level, there are variations in the spelling of names, such as ‘Symo’ and ‘Simo’, and in the use of majuscule and minuscule letters. There are also syntactical issues, as well as errors and corrections to consider. A further complication is that in O there are lead point cues for the character tags accompanying each illustration and also lead point underdrawings for the illustrations—there are numerous occasions where the cue and the rubricated tag differ, so both have to be considered when comparing the use of tags in the other illustrated witnesses to which it is argued O is related.5 Similarly, there are discrepancies in the assignment of speeches to characters; these have occasionally been corrected. Witnesses often disagree about the text itself— over 4,000 footnotes in the facsimile edition bear witness to this; these may be better or worse readings, often depending on the editors’ understanding of authorial intent, though metre can sometimes help to suggest the best reading among the contesting candidates. These issues are investigated here with reference to specific images from various witnesses. Development The earliest extant witnesses to the plays survive from the fourth and fifth centuries—dating papyrus fragments and palimpsest texts precisely is, of course, challenging. The oldest surviving fragment of the Comedies is on papyrus; it is from Oxyrhynchus, and probably dates from the fourth century (P. Oxy. 2401). It is written in Half-Uncials in scriptio continua, that is, with no spaces between words, as was the custom also in Late-Antique manuscripts, such as the illustrated Vatican manuscripts of Vergil, BAV lat. 3225 (or Vergilius Vaticanus) and BAV lat. 3867 (Vergilius Romanus). The earliest surviving witness to Terence in codex format is the BAV lat. 3226, or Codex Bembinus (siglum A), which dates from around 500 CE;6 the marginal scholia in a black minuscule script in the Bembinus were added by a number of hands at 5  For discussion, see Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 7.5. 6  See Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010 3.2 117–20, and for an illustration plate 7.

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various times in a later period. This witness is a deluxe manuscript, like the two Vergil manuscripts, although it was never intended to be illustrated; it has an almost square rather than a rectangular format, generous margins around the text space, and is written in time- and space-consuming Rustic Capitals, with each line comprising a single line of verse. Medial pointing has been used to indicate word separation to facilitate the reading of the text, although such a visual cue would not have been required by a properly trained lector reciting it, since the metre itself serves to punctuate the text. An abbreviated title for each play is written in red ink in the top margin;7 the text itself was written in a light golden-brown ink, though this is now much darkened and almost looks black. Even though the manuscript is not illustrated, the names of the characters in each scene are given in the space before its beginning, where they are preceded by a single capital Greek letter in red, which is used throughout the scene to indicate the speaker in abbreviated format.8 In the Utrecht Psalter,9 another deluxe manuscript, also from the Carolingian period and a near-contemporary of CP, the scriptorium Master has designed the manuscript so that it would have an antiquated and thus authoritative appearance through its use of Rustic Capitals—surviving evidence indicates that these were not much used as a principal script after the fifth century, though Rustic Capitals had a very long afterlife as a display script (and were particularly favoured by 16–17c printers for title pages and headers). The Uncial script used for the opening words of each Psalm had a similar history throughout the Middle Ages, and the use of three columns of text per folio mimics the layout of texts recorded on papyrus sheets. However, this is compromised by the use of contemporary decorative techniques in the design of the large initials 7  Unfortunately nearly all of Andria, as well as part of the Prologue to Hecyra and the closing of Adelphoe, are now wanting. 8  P. Oxy. 2401 lists the characters’ names in full, but Greek letters are not assigned to the speakers and used to identify them in the text; instead, abbreviated forms of the names themselves are used, which is the standard practice in Carolingian and later witnesses. Interestingly, the subdividing of plays into acts and scenes present in these ancient manuscripts later fell out of general use—each of Shakespeare’s plays, for example, was originally printed as a continuous unit; see Wells 2006 18. 9  U B Utrecht Hs 32; it contains 166 lively pen illustrations, executed in an unprecedented kinetic style. There is a complete facsimile in Van der Horst and Engelbregt 1982–84. The manuscript was in England between approximately 1000 and 1640, where three copies of it were made: London, BL MS Harl. 603 (c.1000); Cambridge, Trinity College MS R.17.1 (c.1155–60); and Paris, BnF MS lat. 8846 (c.1180–90). The Harley manuscript most closely replicates the style of the Utrecht Psalter. For a detailed study of the relationships between these Psalters, see Van der Horst et al. 1996.

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and the introduction of an exciting new kinetic style of drawing with agitated outlines, not seen again in this innovative way until used in late Romanesque painting and sculpture (the ‘wet linen’ look). The Carolingian witnesses (CP) do not attempt such sleight-of-hand, but are concerned with more or less faithfully transmitting their Late-Antique models. Classical manuscripts often suffered a cruel fate in the early Christian era. There is a palimpsest fragment of a Terence manuscript in the library of St Gall monastery (St Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 912), which is contemporary with or slightly earlier than the Oxyrhynchus papyrus fragment and the damaged Codex Bembinus. At some stage in early modern times a reagent was painted over the erased text on pp. 299–300 and 313–14 in order to try to recover it; this was hardly a scientific process in that after temporarily raising the profile of the text the reagent dried and obscured it forever—it is now harder to read than it was before.10 A few words of the text of the Heauton timorumenos are still visible when a scan of the folio is digitally manipulated and enhanced. The disposition of the earlier text reveals that the original deluxe Terence manuscript was designed on a grand scale and written in a large Rustic Capital script,11 but it probably was not illustrated (and thus it was similar to the Bembinus).12 Transmission The Carolingian Renaissance, inaugurated by Charlemagne with the assistance of the English scholar Alcuin and others, had a renewal of Classical learning as a central part of its agenda—the main players even identified themselves using Classical and biblical nicknames (Charlemagne was, for example, referred to as ‘David’, Alcuin as ‘Flaccus’). A cursory look at the stemma codicum for the majority of surviving Classical texts transmitted in modern critical editions readily indicates the effectiveness and importance of Charlemagne’s programme, without which precious few Classical texts would be known today. Witness C is the earliest surviving illustrated witness of Terence’s Comedies. It is immediately apparent that this was meant to be a deluxe manuscript: it 10  See for instance the facsimile of St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, Cod. Sang. 912 p. 300 (www .e-codices.unifr.ch). 11  The original manuscript folios were cut into quarters in order to produce the present manuscript, so it was very large indeed. 12  The upper script is a medieval lectionary; the (scarcely) recoverable lower text is of Hau. 857–78.

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is fully illustrated in colour, has generous margins, and is rubricated (in red ink). It is, however, written as if prose, apart from the Prologue to Andria and the text on the inserted replacement folio (f. 16), which supplies the missing text to An. 804–53; it is not, however, in Rustic Capitals, as the Late-Antique manuscript from which it seems to have been copied would have been.13 Its artwork is clearly derived from a Classical exemplar: the characters are in traditional Roman robes and the male characters wear dramatic masks. Women and young men are usually portrayed with natural human faces, though each character was traditionally assigned a mask in the aedicula (or mask rack in architectural form) before each play, as for Andria on f. 3r, and also in the Carolingian Paris witness P (f. 2v) and the twelfth-century witness O (f. 3r). Artistic realisations of these dramatic masks are found wherever classical Roman culture was accepted; for instance, the masks from the aediculae in P bear strong resemblances to mosaics from Pompeii.14 A later reader has added character tags above each mask, a unique occurrence in the illustrated manuscript tradition. C and P have the most complete sets of aediculae—five; in P, the one for Eunuchus has been lost, and the last one, for Phormio, was originally left unfinished, only to be completed by an artist of inferior ability. Witness O has just one aedicula (for Andria) and folios left blank for one before four of the five other plays (there is none for Eunuchus). In addition, the manuscript illustrations in the earliest witnesses (such as C and P) repeatedly show the characters making gestures, and we know from other sources that such gestures were an integral part of theatrical performances in the ancient world, although the question of how the gestures shown in the illustrated manuscripts relate to those from the ancient stage is hotly debated.15 Two typical gestures for emotions in witness O are ‘insistence’ 13  The Codex Bembinus and St Gall palimpsest are both written in Rustic Capitals. There are also 15 lines of Heauton timorumenos which are found in BnF, lat. 2109: in his review of Wright, Ganz 2010 133 states: “It is worth noting that fifteen verses from the prologue to the Heauton timoroumenos were copied onto the first leaf of Paris, BnF, Lat. 2109 in a script which E.K. Rand described as ‘decent rustic capitals.’ The manuscript, a copy of Eugippius’ Excerpta, was copied at St Amand at the same time as BAV, Vat. Lat. 3868. So there probably was a capitalis exemplar at St Amand which may have been the manuscript Wright is trying to reconstruct.” The additions to BnF, lat. 2109 are dated in Munk Olsen 1982–1989 2. 626 to pre-828 CE. 14  A number of images of the mosaic masks at Pompeii (photographed by Frank Sear) are available in Muir and Turner 2011 under ‘Other Related Images;’ the aediculae from O and P are also reproduced there as Comparisons 6–9. 15  The gestures are also used in the Classical rhetorical tradition, as explained by Quintilian (Quint. Inst. 11.3.88–136). For further discussion of gestures in the rhetorical and dramatic tradition, see the contribution of Demetriou in this volume.

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(f. 79v, Hau. 3.2) and ‘approval’ (f. 144v, Hec. 4.3).16 C.R. Dodwell rejected earlier arguments by Jones and Morey that these illustrations “are the product of literary rather than theatrical usage,”17 and claimed instead that “there are very clear indications that the original artist did have an awareness of theatrical practices and traditions,”18 substantiating his argument with detailed study of the gestures made by characters. On art-historical evidence, such as the date of the hair-styles, Dodwell argued that the illustrative cycle may have originated in the third century CE, and possibly in Northern Africa. However, his conclusions were contested by Marshall,19 who pointed to the way in which strong artistic traditions, as well as the development of gestural language, functioned independently of the stage. A cursory examination of the Vatican witness C immediately reveals that it has been studied and corrected over the centuries. It has been collated with another witness which occasionally had different character tags; corrections have been made, for example, to those in the illustration for the characters Aeschinus and Parmeno on f. 53r.20 The correcting hand uses a light brown ink to underpoint the original tags for deletion and to add the correct identification. A different hand, using black ink, has corrected a speaker cue, AES(chinus), in the margin of the text itself (left margin, 7 lines from the bottom). Scholia have been added throughout at a later period, both interlineally and in the margins. Lead point underdrawings and cues for the character names are still visible in nearly all of the illustrations in O. The information they convey is sometimes central to a discussion of the relationship between manuscripts O and P, in particular. In O, the lead point prompts for the rubricator often disagree with the final tags in red ink, suggesting that the rubricator, and of course the artists, had access to at least two exemplars conveying conflicting information.21 Aspects of the underlying sketches are crudely drawn and sometimes contain

16  For major studies of the use of gesture in Classical drama, see Dodwell 2000 (34–96 and accompanying plates for discussion and illustration of individual gestures) and Dutsch 2007 and 2013. 17  Jones and Morey 1931 2.204. 18  Dodwell 2000 22. 19  Marshall 2001. 20  For a reproduction of this image, see Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 8.3. 21  It can be determined from Medieval library catalogues that there were, for example, six Terence manuscripts in Canterbury in the 12c and three in nearby Rochester in 1202 (see Thomson 1985 1.40, Sharpe et al. 1996 519 [B79.183]).

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details not included in the final illustration; for example, the sash to the right of Symo in the illustration for An. 3.3 (f. 19r).22 The ‘.ii.’, written in brown ink below the ‘Chremes’ tag, also confirms access to another witness either by a corrector or a later reader. Symo and Chremes are both old men, but the word SENEX was written by the rubricator only under Symo’s name and so ‘.ii.’ has been added to clarify this point. The correct form of the tags here (Symo Chremes senes duo, that is, ‘Symo [and] Chremes, two old men’) is in fact found in some witnesses, including P (f. 19v), but in general this confusion of the relationship between the numeral and accompanying words (such as adulescentes or senes) is characteristic of the illustrated tradition as a whole, and the consequent errors in the tags are found in most if not all of the illustrated witnesses. There are numerous discriminations between the lead point prompts and the final rubrics in the illustration character labels in O; for example: f. 28r (An. 5.1) prompts: final tags:

chremes senes simo Duo CREMES SENEX. SIMO.

f. 41v (Eu. 2.2) prompts: final tags:

gnatho Parmeno seruus GNATO PARASITUS PARMENO SERUVS

f. 52v (Eu. 4.4) prompts: [. . .]e(n)s Dorus Eunuchus pythias doria .ii. / ancille final tags: PHEDRIA ADVLESCE(N)S DORVS EUNUCUS PYTHIAS ANCILLA DORIA—ij. On f. 48v, the red tag in Rustic Capitals for the character on the right hand side originally read CHARINUS. A corrector noted in the margin that it should have read CHAREA (abbreviated che), to which it was subsequently altered in brown ink by erasing the original ‘NUS’ and then altering the ‘I’ to an ‘E’ and adding a final ‘A’. It might be asked why the other illustrated witnesses do not generally show evidence for preliminary underdrawings. The answer to this is that if they were executed in lead point, any remaining traces of them were usually erased after the final inked (and painted) drawings were finished, so the situation in 22  For a reproduction of this image, see Muir and Turner 2011. Note too how crudely the fingers have been drawn.

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witness O is unusual.23 In other witnesses, the underdrawings were sometimes scratched so lightly into the parchment with a very sharp stylus that they are virtually invisible (though visible to a trained and strained eye, as on f. 72v of P, where there is a complete sketch of the character Clitipho etched into the parchment to the right of the final drawing of him, which has never before been noticed or documented). There is an abundance of manuscript evidence for various ways of prompting artists so that they know what to draw. In an illustration in a manuscript of Ælfric’s Hexateuch, for example, the heads, hands and feet of the characters were never completed (their robes are painted, but not heads, legs and feet), but are visible in outline (Moses’ ‘horns’, however, have been painted bright yellow).24 Jonathan Alexander’s study of artists’ work practices contains a number of illustrations where a preliminary sketch for a miniature remains in one of the margins after the final illustration has been completed; sometimes they are right beside each other, as in the sketch of David kneeling before an altar in Oxford, Balliol College, MS 2, f. 155v (an historiated initial in a Bible, depicting David offering a ram).25 The fact that these prompts were left in the finished manuscripts suggests a different aesthetic sensitivity among Medieval patrons than would be found among readers today. In O, there are also marginal prompts for the rubricator in the margins throughout, although many have been cropped and others are buried deep in the gutters and thus hard to see (examples are easily seen on folios 67v, 76v, 77v and sporadically thereafter). Another later reader has altered the punctuation throughout the texts in O in black ink, sometimes changing the original punctuation by adding or removing an element or stroke, and at other times erasing it completely. Interestingly, many of the alterations either lack sense or are just plain wrong; for example, question marks are added where there is no question, or they are erased elsewhere where there is one. This corrector has also frequently added an interlinear diacritic indicating spiritus asper (‘rough breathing’) above vowels throughout (for example, on f. 8r, l. 4 [h]eri). Corrections are usually made 23  Paris BnF, lat. 8193 also has a number of visible lead point underdrawings where final miniatures have not been added (e.g. ff. 114v, 118r); the finished illustrations are not numerous and occur sporadically throughout this manuscript—there are none for Phormio, one each for Andria, Eunuchus, Heauton timorumenos and Hecyra, and ten for Adelphoe. 24  London, BL MS Cotton Claudius B.iv f. 128r; there is a colour reproduction of this folio at Alexander 1992 44. For a recent study of this manuscript, see Withers 2007. 25  Alexander 1992 66, plate 104 (cf. also plate 103, showing another preliminary sketch of the same scene).

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by erasing the original reading, but on sixty-six occasions letters are expunged (as, for example, in the last line of f. 170v and the third last line of f. 171r, both in the same word, re[p]perire). The point to be made, however, is that correctors or subsequent readers have gone through the complete text meticulously. A detailed examination of the Carolingian Paris witness P has revealed multiple stages of later revision. In the illustration for An. 1.1 (f. 6r) [Figure 3], the first stages of interlinear and marginal glossing and scholia have been erased painstakingly; new scholia have been added in the margins and keyed to the text using a variety of symbols. Moreover, one of the scholiasts/correctors has added a second set of character tags at the bottom of most of the illustrations; the rationale for this is puzzling in that most of the time the second set of tags (in a Humanist Minuscule script) agrees with the first set above the illustration (in Rustic Capitals). In the first line of text below the illustration, it can be seen that the later corrector actually touched up or restored the top of the ascender of b (of abite), which was inadvertently erased with the original gloss. A comparison of the illustration for Adelphoe 2.1 in O (f. 100v) and C (f. 53r),26 showing four characters (three male and one [unnamed] female), demonstrates that even after the adjusting of the character tags in C the readings of this manuscript still disagree with those in O: O: PARMENO SEERVUS. SANNIO LENO. AESCHINUS ADULESCE(N)S27 C (original): SANNIO. AESCHINUS. PARMENO SERUUS. C (corrected): SANNIO. PARMENO. AESCHINUS. C also lacks the epithets LENO and ADULESCENS present in O—well might we ask which exemplar the corrector of C had in front of him when making these alterations. P, however, has the same tags as O (f. 110v). That for Parmeno has been corrected (the manuscript now reads ‘PARMEN’, with the ‘EN’ over an erasure and the final ‘O’ missing), but the original reading was some form of 26  For reproductions of these images, see Muir and Turner 2011 (Introduction 8.3 for the image from C). 27  Note the misspelling of SEERVVS here. Although he has a character tag, Parmeno does not speak in this scene. The scholiast in O (f. 101r) assumes that Aeschinus is speaking to Sannio, which reflects assignment of the character tags in C before they were altered. Barsby believes that Aeschinus is speaking to the music girl Bacchis in his first speech (Barsby 2001 2.267).

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this name, and there must have been a minor issue with the tag here. This is Wright’s summary of this scene: Young Aeschinus enters with the music-girl he abducted the previous night and with his slave Parmeno; they are accosted by the slave dealer Sannio insisting on payment, but they treat Sannio roughly and on orders from Aeschinus Parmeno hits Sannio before taking the girl into Micio’s house; then Aeschinus berates Sannio again and claims that the girl is a free woman; then he leaves.28 Witness F (Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, H. 75 inf. [S.P. 4 bis]) identifies the characters in the same order as PO, but uniquely (and incorrectly) also labels the woman a ‘meretrix’ or prostitute (f. 58r). Twelfth-century witness Tur (Tours, BM lat. 924) offers a reduced set of tags (f. 42v), depicting only three characters (the woman is absent), in the order ‘SANNIO ESCIN(US) PARMENO’; Parmeno, on the right, holds an axe and is looking towards Micio’s house.29 The order of the three tags agrees with those in C before they were altered. Before moving to a consideration of the ‘transformation’ of the plays in subsequent ages, the disposition of the scholia in the various witnesses requires attention. In O, the scholia are placed in a block directly after the illustration; the final scholion occurs on f. 159r. In P, the majority of the scholia are in blocks in its ample margins, although there is also some interlinear glossing; large sections of the original scholia have been erased and new scholia entered over the erasures; the scholia is keyed to the text using a variety of symbols.30 In C, there is extensive interlinear glossing; where there are scholia, they have been added in tiny script in blocks in the margins. In witness Es (Escorial, RBME, S.III.23–1), one of the earliest copies of the Commentum Brunsianum, all the scholia are strung together into a single block of text at the beginning of the manuscript before the first play. In witness Ld (Leiden, UB, LIP 26) the scholia are written both in the margins and at times in the blank spaces, which had been intended for the illustrations. In K (Paris, BnF lat. 16235), the earliest 28  Wright 2006 100. 29  In adding the detail of the building to this illustration the artist is working in the same manner as that of witness N (Leiden, UB, VLQ 38), who adds details to a number of traditional illustrations and sometimes reconfigures them, based on a fresh reading of the text (apparently his own, as is discussed below). It is not clear what the artist’s authority is for Parmeno holding an axe, although he physically assaults Sannio later in the text. 30  It is important to note that the scholia in P were added in stages centuries after the manuscript had first been made.

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extant copy of the Commentum Brunsianum, the scholia are grouped together at the beginning of each play.31 Transformation The illustration for Andria 1.1 in O will serve as an introduction to a discussion of transmission and transformation in the Terence tradition. The corresponding image in P (f. 6r), from c.840, is heavily indebted to its exemplar: its text is in verse lines; its characters are clothed in Classical style; it reproduces gesturing used in the Roman theatre; the characters wear masks; and the architecture is basic and representative, so that the three-element doorway signifies a complete building. The four artists of the twelfth-century Oxford witness (O) have chosen to jettison some of these conventions as old fashioned and to cast their play for a contemporary European audience or readership. The characters wear the latest fashions and the architectural elements are Romanesque. The artwork is what a sophisticated twelfth-century audience enjoys seeing and reflects its lifestyle. The small initials are painted and each play begins with a large illuminated initial (for example, the U on f. 5r for Andria).32 But transformation is inherent in transmission, which was seldom a slavish scribal or artistic activity. For example, most of the illustration for Andria 3.1 in O was lost when a folio (following f. 17) was cut out, leaving only a stub; the complete illustration is found in C (f. 10v) and P (f. 17r). The artwork has been modernised in O (f. 17v), whereas the two major Carolingian witnesses faithfully preserve and transmit the Classical dramatic style and conventions.33 A major difference in illustrative technique is that the image in C is fully painted. P lacks the usual character tags in Rustic Capitals above the illustration, but has the later tags in Humanist Minuscule added below.34 It is not clear why 31  The commentary of Eugraphius was later written into the blank spaces left for the illustrations (the only completed illustration is the author portrait on f. 41r). The most recent discussions of the scholia are in Villa 2007 and Victor 2013 351–61; see also Turner’s paper here. 32  See Figures 2 and 3. 33  The three illustrations are reproduced as Comparison 10 in ‘O and Related Images,’ Muir and Turner 2011. 34  It is relevant when considering the relationship between P and O to note that in P the folios were fully ruled when prepared, even the spaces left for the illustrations, whereas in O the space left for the illustrations was not ruled (where it looks as if the space is ruled, it is shine-through from the other side of the folio—f. 36v provides a good example of this). Normally, twelve lines were left blank for the images in each of these witnesses.

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the tags for the two women pictured on the far left in the illustration are the final two in the series of Humanist labels in P on the right, but this may be a clue to the source for this second, later set of tags; the tag for Pamphilus has in any case been left out completely. The identification of characters is different in all three manuscripts. In O, the artist took advantage of vacant space at the top of f. 17v to stretch out the group destined for the next folio and placed its two leftmost figures there; thus the long first line of text appears to run into the top of the illustration; but the opposite is true—the picture has invaded the already executed text space. A later hand added the names of the two characters, Gliceriu(m) and lesbia, in the top margin in late Caroline Minuscule rather than the expected Rustic Capitals.35 This is evidence of an artist intervening in the transmission of a text and using his own initiative to adapt an illustration as prompted by the situation.36 In O, moreover, the two women stand inside the building because it is drawn in perspective, capturing a degree of three-dimensionality; unless the viewer understands the conventions of Late-Antique painting it might not be clear that they are also intended to be inside the building in witnesses C and P, by being placed on the other side of the two-dimensional curtained doorframe. In P, the characters all wear masks, whereas in C only the old man (Simo) and the slave (Davus) have masks. The late Medieval Terence manuscript, Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal MS 664 (c.1400), illustrates the transformation of the illustrative tradition well; it has the same character tags as P,37 lacking reference 35  P lacks the labels in Rustic Capitals, which suggests that they were also missing above the figures on the lost folio in O, since both manuscripts go back to a common ancestor; this is further suggested by their absence above the two figures on f. 17v of O. 36  A good example of another artist improvising as he worked is found in the famous AngloSaxon poetic codex, Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Junius 11. On p. 77, two spaces were left by the scribe for illustrations, one at the top and one at the bottom of the folio, with three lines of text between them. When he came to this folio, the artist chose not to put an illustration (was it not available in his source?) in the top space, but extended the upper stories and towers in the lower illustration upwards through the text and into the blank space above. There is evidence throughout Junius 11 (the so-called ‘Caedmon Manuscript’) of the artist adding details to his illustrations for which their is no textual authority, clearly seen in the abundance of original detail in the depiction of the creation of Eve on p. 9—the celestial scene and the angel ascending a ladder to heaven (this seems to have originated in the biblical story of Jacob’s ladder in Genesis, which in turn may have its source in Middle Eastern art and mythology where a ladder was sometimes shown as one means of ascending into the heavens). See Muir 2004. 37  For discussion of the relationship between the labels in P and Arsenal 664, see Turner’s contribution in this volume.

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to Pamphilus, is fully painted and illustrated in contemporary style, and transforms the Late-Classical representative doorframe into an elaborate twostorey building, with the pregnant Glicerium reclining on a bed in the upper room (f. 22r).38 Witness N, a late tenth–early eleventh-century manuscript from France (Leiden, UB, VLQ 38), perhaps from Fleury, is of considerable interest because it is the first extant early witness to introduce new elements into the illustrations, details derived from a re-reading of the text and not directly from the tradition. If, for example, the illustrations for Eunuchus 2.2 in O (f. 41v) and N (f. 32r) are compared,39 the reader would be excused for not perceiving that they are for the same scene, since O lacks the butcher’s stand displaying fish, birds, and animals for sale at the market which appear in N; in the text, however, Gnatho describes the way in which he arrived at the market with an acquaintance, and all the store-keepers ran up to greet him (Eu. 255–9). N also introduces additional figures, perhaps those of Gnatho’s acquaintance and the store-keepers, whom the reader is expected to recognize from the text. The same is true of the illustration for Heauton timorumenos 3.2 in O (f. 79v) and N (f. 65r).40 There is at first glance little to connect the two illustrations, other than that they have two characters in common, Syrus and Chremes. Once again, there are no scene labels in N, but the speakers are clearly indicated in the text. The domed building on the left and the character slipping out the back door are again introduced independently by the artist or the workshop Master and reflect a re-reading of the text and an impulse to make the illustration have greater narrative dimension (the closing words of this scene seem to refer to Clitipho sneaking out of the house, Hau. 561). In N the characters’ faces are now life-like, rather than masked. Note too that the artist seems not to have understood the relevance of the hand gestures depicted in O and has consequently left them out. In the scene depicting the presentation of the newborn infant in Andria 4.3, there is further creative intervention by the artist of N (f. 20r). Witness C (f. 14v) represents the Late-Antique illustrative tradition; the child is naked and held with two arms. In N, however, an elaborate extra building has been added at the right, from which the slave Davus emerges, holding the infant. He has a naturalistic beard, unprecedented headgear, and gestures differently; the child is clothed here and held in one arm.41 The illustration in 38  For a reproduction of Arsenal 664, see Gallica 2012b. 39  The illustration from N (f. 32r) is reproduced in Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 8.12. 40  The illustration from N (f. 65r) is reproduced in Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 8.12. 41  The illustrations from CNO are reproduced in ‘O and Related Images’ (Comparison 14), Muir and Turner 2011.

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O (f. 25v) reproduces the Late-Antique style and composition of C, but modernises the architecture and clothing, as it usually does. In the illustration for Andria 3.2 there is a very significant departure in N (f. 14r) from the tradition represented by CPO. The doorway, which in C (f. 11r) and P (f. 18r) is more elaborate than usual, has been transformed in N into a turreted building with arches. The reclining mother (Glicerium), nurse (Archilis), and babe in swaddling clothes are all newly introduced and are based on details in the text. Lesbia enters the building via a rear door, whereas she merely stands in front of the building in CPO. Note too the large painted initial here, decorated with acanthus-style leaves.42 The illustrated tradition usually divides Adelphoe 3.3 into two separate scenes,43 and the second of these provides a good example of how the representation of staging develops from the Carolingian witnesses to the early printed witnesses. In C (f. 56r) the artist uses the simple traditional doorway to indicate a house, as also in P (f. 107r); in O (f. 107r), the architecture of the doorway is narrower than usual, but it has an upper storey with tiled roof and a Romanesque tower, as is usual in this witness. This simple architectural element becomes a complete workshop in the late Medieval manuscript of Terence owned by the Duc de Berry (Paris, BnF lat. 7907a, f. 83r);44 the development of the architecture is based on evidence derived from the text. Here four characters are depicted, not three; the slave Stephanio does not have a speaking part, although he is addressed by Syrus in Ad. 380 [Figure 9]. At the beginning of the scene the servant/slave Syrus enters, coming from the market accompanied by two slaves carrying baskets of fish. At Ad. 376 Syrus directs the slave Dromo to go into the house and clean the fish, except for the live eels, which are not to be killed until just before they are to be prepared and served; immediately after this, Stephanio is told to go inside and soak the salted fish in water as part of their preparation. In the early witnesses (CPO), Syrus stands to the right of the doorway and points backwards at Dromo, cleaning the fish inside the house, while he is talking to Demea. The eels, still alive, are pictured swimming in a vessel filled with water. In the Berry manuscript, Syrus is entering the kitchen and looking backwards outside towards Demea, to whom he is talking. Dromo is standing at a workbench cleaning the fish, with the eels in a pan of water in front of him on the floor; Stephanio is kneeling, stirring a pot with a wooden paddle (apparently washing the salted 42  The illustrations from P and N are reproduced in ‘O and Related Images’ (Comparison 17), Muir and Turner 2011. 43  One other scene in Terence’s plays, Eunuchus 5.4, is also divided into two in the γ-tradition. 44  For the catalogue description and reproduction of this manuscript, see Gallica 2011a.

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fish in water). The kitchen has utensils and pots hanging on its walls—these details are inferred and are included because they are commonplace and thus expected by the reader/viewer in the depiction of a kitchen. As the imagery is transformed in the Renaissance and the Age of Print, this propensity to include complex architecture is taken even further, and may have much to relate about the staging practices in the fifteenth century, in addition to artistic conventions. In the Arsenal witness (MS 664) the artist introduces an elaborate Romanesque barrel-vaulted building with a clerestory and a tower into the illustration for Eunuchus 3.1 (f. 57v) [Figure 14], which in C (f. 23v) and O (f. 45v) have no architectural elements at all. In the illustrations for this scene in CPO, the slave Parmeno is positioned at the side of the stage where he overhears what the major characters are saying to each other; in the text they are not aware of his presence, or at least they never address him directly; for his part, Parmeno provides a running commentary on their conversation. In the later Paris witness, the overhearing by Parmeno is depicted as deliberate eavesdropping; he is shown on the outside of the building with his ear to the door, a detail lacking in the other witnesses—‘eavesdropping’ was indicated by a particular gesture in Classical rhetoric and drama, which is found, for example, in the illustration for Hecyra 4.2 in O (f. 143v), where Laches holds his right arm upwards with his little finger extended. Because the artist of Arsenal 664 has introduced the architectural features here the classical gesture for eavesdropping has become irrelevant. The mob scene in Eunuchus 4.7 has been radically reconfigured in the Arsenal manuscript—the characters following Thraso are holding more specialised weapons (e.g. the long battle-axe and the spiked club) and a twostorey building has been introduced to represent Thais’ house [Figure 20]. There is in fact textual evidence for the characters retreating into a building in this scene, where Chremes says to Thais: Viden tu, Thais, quam hic rem agit? Nimirum concilium illud rectumst de occludendis aedibus (Eu. 783–4). Thais, do you see what he’s doing? It was surely a good idea to bolt the door. Arsenal 664 depicts three characters within the building, Chremes, Thais, and a second woman, the servant Pythias, who actually speaks at the end of the preceding scene (4.6) and also appears in the following one (4.8); they look down at the mob from the upper storey. Once again, the innovation in the illustration here serves as a link, providing a degree of continuity within the act.

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In the illustration for Heauton timorumenos 1.2 (f. 93r) the scene labels in the Arsenal manuscript introduce an extra name (Clinia) and a number to indicate there are two young men in this scene (adulescentes duo). The four figures depicted inside the building are in reality only three in number because the upper and lower storeys depict two different parts of the same scene; at the opening of this scene Clitipho addresses Clinia through the doorway before speaking on stage to Chremes. Although in earlier witnesses nonspeakers are sometimes illustrated, though not identified, Clinia has been left out of the traditional illustration for this scene.45 A minimal representation of a towered building to the left in O becomes a complete house with an upper storey and dormer window in the Arsenal illustration. The subdividing of an illustration into two scenes happens routinely throughout the Arsenal witness; it was foreshadowed in the earlier manuscripts, where it happens only occasionally—for example, in Hecyra 5.4 in O (f. 150v), Pamphilus is represented twice because the artist has similarly depicted two actions from the one scene.46 This tendency in the Arsenal witness to add characters is even more pronounced in the next scene of Heauton timorumenos (2.1), a soliloquy by Clitipho, where the manuscript depicts Clitipho with Clinia outdoors, encountered by three women and a servant (f. 95r)—although none of these unidentified (and unlabelled) characters appears in this scene, Clinia and the courtesans are mentioned in his speech. In the illustration in O for 45  Compare the illustration in O (f. 71r) in Muir and Turner 2011. 46  An illustration from the Genesis poem in MS Junius 11 (late 10c), shows another artist experimenting with the collapsing of multiple narrative references into one illustration; on p. 28, illustrating the temptation of Adam and Eve, the angelic tempter is shown offering the forbidden fruit to both Eve and Adam, apparently simultaneously, but in reality a series of actions is depicted, moving from right to left: on the right hand side, the disguised Tempter offers Adam the fruit; in the centre, he offers it to Eve; and on the left, Eve eats the fruit. In this complex and experimental manuscript, the narrative line of the illustrations advances in a variety of ways, from left to right (what might be considered the ‘normal ‘way, if the illustrative technique is thought of in terms of ‘text’), from right to left, from top to bottom (ideal for depicting the fall of the rebel angels towards Hell on pp. 3 and 16, and the Tempter’s return to Hell on p. 36), and from bottom to top (ideal for depicting the journey of the Tempter from Hell upwards to the Eden, where he approaches Adam and Eve on p. 20). In the Creation of Eve scene (p. 9, cited earlier), the narrative line is on an upwards diagonal from right to left across the illustration; on p. 49, in the depiction of the story of Cain and Abel, the narrative line of the five episodes zigzags down the page from top to bottom. The complex experimentation with narrative in the illustrations of this manuscript, which may be derived from a ninth-century continental model, is indicative of a new dynamism in post-Carolingian illustrative technique. For discussion, see Muir 2004.

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Heauton timorumenos 2.3, the four characters are depicted without a ground surface or any architectural features (f. 73v), whereas in Arsenal 664, where the labels are also more detailed, the young men Clitipho and Clinia greet the servants through a window of a house, which is well-drawn, using rudimentary perspective (f. 96v). Even though these scenes are in a manuscript witness, the urge to illustrate the play more fully is apparent and anticipatory of woodblock illustrations in the print tradition. Another example of these developments is seen in Adelphoe 3.1, where Sostrata and Canthara address each other. In O (104v) there is no representation of a ground surface or stage, nor are there any buildings around them here or in C (f. 55r) and P (f. 104v). In the Arsenal illustration (f. 137v) the matron Sostrata and the nurse Canthara are seated facing each other as they speak, the former braiding wool, while a servant stands beside each of them—two newly introduced figures in the illustrative tradition. Unusually here, the two servants have been added by the artist without textual authority; in fact, Sostrata remarks that they are alone and have no one to send for a midwife or to fetch Aeschinus: miseram me! neminem habeo—solae sumus, Geta autem hic non adest— nec quem ad obstetricem mittam, nec qui accersat Aeschinum (Ad. 291–2). Oh dear! We’re alone. Geta isn’t here, and there’s nobody to send for the midwife or to fetch Aeschinus. Arsenal 664 demonstrates a characteristic Late-Medieval interest in complex architecture, foreshadowed in the elaboration of Late-Antique doorways in manuscripts from the tenth century onwards; the full extent of this development is encapsulated in the treatment of the traditional author portrait of Terence. The earliest examples of the portrait (cf. C f. 2r, P f. 2r) follow the Late-Antique tradition of having the author framed in a medallion resting on a pedestal, sometimes supported on either side by characters from the plays.47 From the tenth century onwards, the witnesses begin to depict Terence seated within a building, either composing (as in K)48 or reciting before an audi-

47  The author portraits from C and O are reproduced in ‘O and Related Images’ (Comparison 4), Muir and Turner 2011. 48  Paris, BnF, lat. 16235 (f. 41r).

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ence with mimes in the foreground (as in Tur).49 In Arsenal 664 (f. 1v) and the Duc de Berry’s Terence manuscript, BnF 7907A (f. 2v), a whole walled city is illustrated—in the upper register Calliopius is shown reciting before an audience with masked dancers acting out the play, and in the lower Terence is depicted presenting his works to Senator Terentius Lucanus [Figure 4]. A few further words must be said in closing about the transformation Terence’s Comedies underwent as the dynamic manuscript era gave way to the Age of Print, and as secular drama re-emerged from a two-dimensional existence in manuscripts to be performed once again on stage. In the illustration for Adelphoe 3.3 in Badius’ edition of 1493, the set comprises a complete building with curtained doorways representing individual rooms all along its front; there are labels above the curtains listing the names of the house owners, and other labels indicating major characters in the play [Figure 10]. Syrus (labelled ‘Si.’) and Demea (‘De.’) stand on the stage in the foreground, with the kitchen behind them; a curtain is drawn aside revealing Dromo (‘Dro.’) and Stephanio (‘Ste.’) cleaning the fish within. Hegio (‘He.’) is pictured coming out of the house through a curtained doorway and stepping onto centre stage. This last detail is an innovation in the depiction of this scene and is inconsistent with the action of the play; Hegio actually comes back into the play from the country at the beginning of the next scene (Adelphoe 3.4). He soon begins to address Demea, whom he has approached (Demea is depicted twice in this illustration), thus forming a linking device between the two scenes, in a manner fully consistent with the techniques found in Parisian manuscripts. The characters in Badius’ edition are in contemporary dress, as in postCarolingian Medieval manuscript illustrations. The illustrations, however, show a real antiquarian interest in details of Roman staging. In the frontispiece, the audience is seated in three tiers, with the aediles in a separate box; a musician at the front of the stage is shown playing a pipe, recalling details from the Didascaliae to Terence’s plays. Moreover, in some of the subsequent scene illustrations, statues of Bacchus and Phoebus flank the stage, reflecting the comment of Vitruvius that temples to these two gods are built beside theatres (Vitr. 1.7.1: see figure 23). In the Badius frontispiece there are prostitutes soliciting outside the theatre—the association of the theatre with a dissolute lifestyle has a long history50—the audience inside is looking towards the stage. A further transformation occurs in the frontispiece to the Strassbourg 49  Tours, BM, lat. 924 (f. 13v). See Figure 24. 50  As early as Isidore of Seville (c.560–636 AD) we read idem uero theatrum, idem et prostibulum, eo quod post ludos exactos meretrices ibi prostrarentur (“Just as is the case with [the etymology of] the theatre, so too it happens with the brothel [prostibulum], for the reason

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publisher Johannes Grüninger’s 1496 edition of Terence’s plays (whose illustrations clearly draw upon those in Badius), where the prostitutes and their clients have become characters on the stage and the audience is looking downwards at them from tiered balconies; the people in the windows behind them at ground level are other actors, not members of the audience. The origin of the concept of a three-tiered circular theatre enclosing a stage, which lies behind the illustrations in Badius and Grüninger, is uncertain, but it is a new development in the illustrative tradition. In Vatican City, BAV, Vat. lat. 3305 from around 1100, Calliopius is shown reading in the presence of Terence inside a building with an audience of ‘Romani’ in the foreground; and in the illustrations in Arsenal 664 and BnF 7907A (discussed above), Calliopius is reading Terence’s plays in a single-level rudimentary building. Vitruvius makes no mention of the audience being seated in tiered seating, only that the scaenae frons may be up to three storey high and be decorated with pilasters and columns.51 A depiction of a three-storied theatre and its plans is found in a translation into vernacular Italian of Vitruvius’ De architectura (1c. BCE) by Cesare Cesariano, which was published in 1521, twenty-eight years after Badius’ edition.52 This type of theatre has been associated by some with the identification in the Renaissance of the Colosseum as the theatre par excellence.53 During the early years of the Age of Print (the second half of the fifteenth century) innovations in text production caused a momentous cultural adjustment similar to that experienced thirteen centuries earlier during the transition in book production from roll to parchment codex, when codices were sometimes made from traditional material, papyrus, and set out in multiple columns mimicking the format of the earlier rolls. Hybrid texts—printed in fonts based on late Medieval scripts but with their woodcuts subsequently embellished and illuminated by hand—were commonplace, revealing an that after shows have been completed prostitutes used to be thrown on the ground there,” Isid. orig. 18.42.2). 51  Vitr. 5.3–6, and see also Granger 1934 v. 1 plate G, Prestel 1974 plates XLVIII–L, and Sear 2006 68–95 for detailed diagrams and description of the structural elements of the Roman stage. 52  Diagrams of theatres are in fact already found in Fra’ Giocondo’s 1511 edition of Vitruvius (ff. 50v and 52r; see the images provided on-line by the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek), but they are linear designs, in no way comparable to full-blown illustrations of Cesariano. Cesariano’s edition also had a gestation of over twenty years, thus some of the illustrations may pre-date those of Fra’ Giocondo. 53  For discussion of the association of the Colosseum with the development of the design of Renaissance theatres, see Krinsky 1969 22–3. See also Tosi 1994 (including figs. 10–11) and for a more recent and detailed discussion Torello-Hill 2015.

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anxiety about abandoning the familiar for the largely unknown.54 The frontispiece to Johannes Grüninger’s 1496 edition of Terence’s plays depicts dramatic characters in their costumes painted by hand after the text had been printed. The continuing comparative analysis of illustrated printed editions of Terence’s plays will afford a greater understanding of the nature of their transformation and production in the early modern era.55

54  A similar anxiety is being experienced today as the analogue text gives ground to the digital—it remains to be seen how the digital facsimile editions such as Muir and Turner 2011 will be received and used, and how the traditional editions make room for them. 55  For further discussion see the contribution by Chong-Gossard here.

CHAPTER 3

Illustrating the Manuscripts of Terence Beatrice Radden Keefe* Of the illustrated Terence manuscripts that survive, the earliest, a ninthcentury work now in the Vatican, is the best known and most closely studied.1 With its large cycle of 150 miniatures, showing lively, gesturing figures wearing ancient theatrical masks, this manuscript has long held the fascination of those looking at these scenes or their many reproductions. How close are the scenes to actual performances of the comedies, it has been wondered, and on what model, now lost, did the artists of this manuscript rely? Close interest in these illustrations is suggested by their repeated copying; already in the early tenth century, an attempt was made to replicate the miniatures in another manuscript of the comedies.2 But for reasons unknown, this illustrator did not complete the task (a daunting one if he intended to copy every miniature of the earlier work), and he stopped work after painting twenty-six illustrations. Many centuries later, the antiquarian Fulvio Orsini included an engraving of the Vatican Terence’s frontispiece in his collection of portraits of famous men from antiquity, Imagines et elogia virorum illustrium, first published in 1570.3 The engraver here carefully replicated not only the bust portrait of the author, but also the square frame painted around the portrait, and the two masked figures holding this frame.4 Not long after, in the 1630s, watercolours of scenes and character masks were painted for the collector Cassiano dal Pozzo’s Museo Cartaceo, while Christoph von Berger included engravings of every miniature in his 1723 study of character types and masks, Commentatio de personis vulgo larvis seu mascheris.5 These engravings, made by F.G. Wolffgang, closely follow the arrangement of figures in the original manuscript, as well as their masks, gestures and postures. *  I thank Andrew Turner and Giulia Torello-Hill for inviting me to contribute to this volume. For their help with the catalogue, I would also thank Robert Giel, Erik Petersen, José Luis del Valle Merino, and Gregory de Souza. 1  This manuscript is BAV, Vat. lat. 3868 (see no. 46 in the catalogue below). 2  This is BAV, Archivio di San Pietro, H 19 (no. 38 in the catalogue). 3  Orsini 1570 42. 4  For a discussion of the frontispiece, see Gaunt 1964. 5  Claridge and Herklotz 2012 37–40, 262–319; Von Berger 1723.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004289499_004

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Von Berger’s eighteenth-century work remained the only publication to reproduce all the miniatures in the Vatican Terence until Günther Jachmann’s facsimile of 1929.6 Jachmann’s monochrome photographs were quickly followed, in 1931, by Leslie Webber Jones and Charles Rufus Morey’s two-volume corpus, The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence prior to the Thirteenth Century.7 The first of Jones and Morey’s volumes contains a series of smallformat monochrome plates of every scene not only from the Vatican Terence, but also from twelve other illustrated Terence manuscripts. This monumental work, which remains an important visual resource, was the culmination of about five years of examining and writing on these thirteen manuscripts.8 The plates of illustrations are gathered by Jones and Morey according to play and scene, useful for comparative study of the imagery, but less conducive to a thorough understanding of each manuscript. Moreover, the photographs are of the illustrations alone, with only a few lines of text visible above and below the scene, giving little sense of the manuscript as a whole, and how the scene fits into and relates to the text and nearby scholia and glosses. For the past eighty-five years, the illustrations of Terence have been seen and studied mostly through this collection of photographs. And save for a few important studies of individual works, many of the manuscripts examined in Jones and Morey’s corpus, and indeed the broader illustrated tradition, have only rarely been returned to as a subject.9 As David H. Wright put it in a 1993 article, the illustrated manuscripts of Terence have been “entombed” in these volumes.10 At the end of their text volume, Jones and Morey describe two lost LateAntique illustrated manuscripts, which they propose served as models for some of the works in their corpus. This interest and approach have been, and remain, a predominant theme in most art historical studies of Terence illustration.11 Jones and Morey also name nine later illustrated manuscripts at the end of their text volume, and suggest that more await discovery.12 The following summary catalogue, though still provisional with forty-eight 6   Jachmann 1929. 7  Jones and Morey 1931. 8   Morey first wrote on the Vatican Terence in 1926 (Morey 1926a and Morey 1926b). 9   See, for example, Wright 1993; and Wright 2000. 10  Wright 1993 183. 11  See Weston 1903; Jones 1927; and Wright 2006. 12  Jones and Morey 1931 1. 225. These later illustrated Terence manuscripts are: Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Phillips 1800; Florence, BML, Plut. 24 sin. 2; Florence, BML, Plut. 38.34; Escorial, RBME, D IV 4; Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 664; Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 1135; Paris, BnF, nouv. acq. lat. 458; Paris, BnF, lat. 7907 A; and Paris, BnF, lat. 8193.

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manuscripts, greatly expands on their list, and includes all the illustrated Terence manuscripts from the ninth to the sixteenth century that I currently know of. This catalogue reveals a wider, more varied tradition of illustrating Terence’s comedies than has previously been considered. It includes some little-known manuscripts with quite interesting and unique illustrations, such as the illustrated Terence in Copenhagen (no. 3 in the catalogue), and two manuscripts now in libraries in the United States (nos. 19 and 36). Previous art-historical consideration has focused on the Vatican Terence and closely related manuscripts dating from the ninth to the twelfth century. The catalogue that follows includes witnesses up to the early sixteenth century and will enable us to explore the different relationships between a larger number of extant illustrated Terence manuscripts more fully. Further questions to be asked of this new corpus, spanning 700 years, are how the artists conceived of the plays—as ancient comedies, Medieval romances, or as something else entirely?—and what these illustrations reveal about the particular interests and understanding of their makers and users. While manuscripts with only a single author portrait have been listed, those with figural illustrations obviously unrelated to the text, or simply with decorated initials and borders, are not.13 Manuscripts with sketches added by later hands have also been excluded.14 The catalogue is ordered alphabetically by current location of the manuscript, and includes a short description and selected bibliography for each. Catalogue 1 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Phillips 1800 Italy (Northern ?)—15th century. ff. 96; 170 × 100/120 mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 16v)—Hau. (f. 33r)—Ad. (f. 49v)—Hec. (f. 64v)—Ph. (f. 77v). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 1r): a bust portrait of Terence in profile to the left, wearing a red hat (known as a cappuccio) and green robe, within

The Venice manuscript they also name (“Bibliotheca S. Michaelis Venetiarum Lat. 79”), now in Oldenburg’s Landesbibliothek (9), is not actually illustrated. 13  One example is a Terence manuscript in Messina (Biblioteca Regionale Universitaria Giacomo Longo, F.V. 15), which has purely decorative figures within an opening initial. 14  Some unillustrated Terence manuscripts with added sketches are: Carpentras, BM, 367; London, BL, Burney 266; London, BL, Royal 15.B.VIII; Nice, BM, 84; and Oxford, Bodleian Library, Laud Lat. 76.

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the decorated N(atus in excelsis . . .) beginning the Epitaphium Terentii (here called the Eulogium Terentii); in the margins of this page: foliate ornament and gold balls. Rose, V. 1893–1905. Verzeichniss der lateinischen Handschriften der Königlichen Bibliothek zu Berlin. Berlin: Asher. Vol. 1. 436 (no. 196). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 303 (no. 27).

2 Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Hamilton 620 Italy—2nd half of 14th century. ff. 119; 320 × 225 mm. An. (f. 1v)—Eu. (f. 21r)— Hau. (f. 42v)—Ad. (f. 62r)—Hec. (f. 81r)—Ph. (f. 98r). Copied by a Johannes (colophon: f. 119r). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 2r): a half-figure portrait of Terence in three-quarter profile to the right, wearing headgear, the index finger of his right hand raised to his left palm, within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris; in the margins of this page: foliate ornament and gold balls, as well as an unidentified coat of arms held by two winged putti. Böse, H. 1966. Die lateinischen Handschriften der Sammlung Hamilton zu Berlin. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. 298–9 (no. 620). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 302 (no. 23).

3 Copenhagen, Kongelige Bibliotek, Gl. Kgl.S 1994 4˚ France—1473. ff. 347; 166 × 115 mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 59r)—Hau. (f. 122r)—Ad. (f. 177r)—Hec. (f. 234r)—Ph. (f. 284r). 23 miniatures painted in colours and gold (ff. 1r, 3r, 17v, 26v, 37r, 48r, 63r, 72v, 82v, 94v, 107v, 148v, 184r, 193r, 205r, 221v, 236v, 247v, 261r, 285v, 302r, 316v, and 329r); one miniature has been removed, cut from f. 178r. One miniature within an arched gold frame before the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris (now badly damaged), and 22 smaller miniatures illustrating scenes from the comedies, in rectangular gold frames, positioned at the bottom of folios. Figures in late Medieval clothes gesture at each other as though in conversation either in simple landscapes or beside and within buildings. On f. 1r (Figure 5), with a foliate and floreate border including a coat of arms held by two angels, the opening miniature seems to illustrate a performance of the comedies: a man (the reciter), holds a scroll and stands on a wooden platform surrounded by men looking up at him (the audience), some

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making pointing gestures; behind the speaker, a man and woman (the actors), stand within a doorframe and in front of a curtain; they are flanked by two groups of gesturing figures (probably additional actors), three men on the left, and two men and two women on the right, wearing aprons. A monochrome photograph of the miniature on f. 1r before the damage is in Neiiendam 1969. Jørgensen, E. 1926. Catalogus codicum latinorum medii aevi bibliothecae regiae Hafniensis. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. 291–2. Neiiendam, K. 1969. “Le théâtre de la Renaissance à Rome (1480 environ à 1530).” ARID 5: 103–97 (105–6); fig. 2 (f. 1r). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 172–3 n.84, 208 n.36, 247 n.42, 340–1 (no. 202).

Escorial, Real Biblioteca del Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, D IV 4 Italy (Ferrara ?)—15th century. ff. 174 (+ f. 121 bis); 155 × 95 mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 27r)—Hau. (f. 57v)—Ad. (f. 87v)—Ph. (f. 116v)—Hec. (f. 147r). Decorated borders painted in colours and gold at the beginning of every play except Andria include busts of figures and scenes in roundels (ff. 27r, 57v, 87v, 116v, and 147r). Within the foliate and floreate border inhabited by birds on f. 27r, at the beginning of Eunuchus, is a small gold roundel in the upper margin with the frontal bust of a male figure wearing a brimless black cap (this is possibly a portrait of Terence); in another, larger gold roundel held by putti in the lower margin, a marriage ceremony takes place (the man and woman before the priest might be Chaerea and Pamphila, whose marriage is discussed at the end of Eunuchus). The manuscript has lost its opening folio, which presumably had a similar border for the play Andria, and the lower borders of ff. 57v, 87v, 116v, 147r have also been removed. 4

Antolin, G. 1910–23. Catálogo de los códices latinos de la Real biblioteca del Escorial. Madrid: Imprenta Helénica. Vol. 1. 506. Riou, Y.-F. 1978. “Gloses et commentaires des comédies de Térence dans les manuscrits de la bibliothèque du monastère San Lorenzo el real de l’Escorial.” In Lettres latines du moyen âge et de la Renaissance. Ed. G. Cambier, C. Deroux and J. Préaux. Brussels: Latomus. 5–55 (pp. 38–9). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 317 (no. 93).

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Escorial, Real Biblioteca del Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, E III 2 Italy—15th century. ff. 138; 280 × 200 mm. An. (f. 5r)—Eu. (f. 28r)—Hau. (f. 53r)—Ad. (f. 75v)—Hec. (f. 97r)—Ph. (f. 115r). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 5r): a portrait possibly of the character Glycerium, wearing a gold hat and garment, as a three-quarter figure in profile to the right within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris. The manuscript is now bound with an unillustrated 1482 copy of the comedies (ff. 139–246). 5

Antolin, G. 1910–23. Catálogo de los códices latinos de la Real Biblioteca del Escorial. Madrid: Imprenta Helénica. Vol. 2. 65–8. Riou, Y.-F. 1978. “Gloses et commentaires des comédies de Térence dans les manuscrits de la bibliothèque du monastère San Lorenzo el real de l’Escorial.” In Lettres latines du Moyen Âge et de la Renaissance. Ed. G. Cambier, C. Deroux, J. Préaux. Brussels: Latomus. 5–55 (pp. 39–44). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 317–8 (no. 94).

Escorial, Real Biblioteca del Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial, N II 12 Spain (Catalonia?)—15th century. ff. i + 148 + 4; 290 × 200 mm. An. (f. 2r)—Eu. (f. 25v)—Hau. (f. 51r)—Ad. (f. 77r)—Hec. (f. 102r)—Ph. (f. 123r). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 2r): a portrait of Terence as scribe, wearing a brimless black cap and red robe, seated on a bench holding a penknife and pen to an open book on a writing desk (in which are inkhorns and an ink bottle), in front of a round bookstand with a lantern, within the decorated N(atus in excelsis . . .) beginning the Epitaphium Terentii. 6

Antolin, G. 1910–23. Catálogo de los códices latinos de la Real Biblioteca del Escorial. Madrid: Imprenta Helénica. Vol. 3. 137. Riou, Y.-F. 1978. “Gloses et commentaires des comédies de Térence dans les manuscrits de la bibliothèque du monastère San Lorenzo el real de l’Escorial.” In Lettres latines du moyen âge et de la Renaissance. Ed. G. Cambier, C. Deroux, J. Préaux. Brussels: Latomus. 5–55 (pp. 45–7). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 318 (no. 97).

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7 Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 24 sin. 2 Italy (Florence?)—beginning of 15th century. ff. 61; 350 × 240 mm. An. (f. 1v)— Eu. (f. 11v)—Hau. (f. 22v)—Ad. (f. 33r)—Hec. (f. 43r)—Ph. (f. 51r). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 1r): a half-figure portrait of Terence in three-quarter profile facing right, with a long grey forked beard, wearing a hat (a cappuccio) and holding a book, within the decorated R(evertente autem Scipione . . .) in the Praefatio Monacensis (ff. 1r–v); in the margins of the page: a foliate border inhabited by a seraph and birds, as well as an erased coat of arms. The initial and border have been linked to the ‘Scuola degli Angeli’ and the artist Lorenzo Monaco by Maria Grazia Ciardi Dupré. Ciardi Dupré, M.G. 1996. “I codici miniati di Santa Croce.” In Santa Croce nel solco della storia. Ed. M.G. Rosito. Florence: Edizioni Città di Vita. 77–98 (91). D’Ancona, P. 1914. La miniatura fiorentina (secoli XI–XVI). Florence: Leo S. Olschki. Vol. 2. 482 (no. 956). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 281, 325 (no. 128).

There is a digital facsimile on the BML’s website (http://www.bml.firenze .sbn.it). 8 Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Plut. 38.34 Florence—1397. ff. 166; 200 × 140 mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 28v)—Hau. (f. 58r)— Ad. (f. 87r)—Hec. (f. 114r)—Ph. (f. 136r). Copied by Piero di Antonio di Chello (colophon: f. 166r). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 1r): a half-figure portrait of Terence in three-quarter profile facing right, wearing a hooded robe and holding a book, within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris; extending from decorated initials into the margins of the page: foliate ornament inhabited by birds. D’Ancona, P. 1914. La miniatura fiorentina (secoli XI–XVI). Florence: Leo S. Olschki. Vol. 2. 40–1 (no. 21). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 167 n.75, 279, 325 (no. 127).

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There is a digital facsimile on the BML’s website (http://www.bml.firenze .sbn.it). 9 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, LIP 26 (Ld or L) Ghent, St Peter’s—around 1030. ff. 128; 275 × 200 mm. An. (f. 1v)—Eu. (f. 22v)—Hau. (f. 46v)—Ad. (f. 67r)—Hec. (f. 87r)—Ph. (f. 105v). Copying attributed to Wichard and others. Eleven drawings in brown ink (now very light and somewhat difficult to see), illustrating the opening scenes of Andria (ff. 2r, 5r, 6r, 7v, 8v, 9v, 10r, 10v, 11r, 11v); spaces for illustrations were left beyond f. 11v. These drawings, of figures without masks in garments with V-shaped folds and zigzag hems, are unrelated to illustrations in earlier Terence manuscripts. Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 120–9. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–1989. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 615. Prete, S. 1979. “Manoscritti preumanistici delle commedie di Terenzio nella Biblioteca di Leida.” CodMan 5: 65–77 (69–70). Saenger, P. 1997. Space Between Words: The Origins of Silent Reading. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. 198–9. Verhulst, A. 1957. “L’activité et la calligraphie du scriptorium de l’abbaye SaintPierre-au-Mont-Blandin de Gand à l’époque de l’abbé Wichard (+1058).” Scriptorium 11: 37–49.

Several images of folios are on the Leiden Universiteitsbibliotheek website (https://socrates.leidenuniv.nl). 10 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek, VLQ 38 (N) Fleury, St Benoît-sur-Loire (?)—11th century. ff. 154; 255 × 178 (190 × 120) mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 27r)—Hau. (f. 53r)—Ad. (f. 79v)—Hec. (f. 106r)—Ph. (f. 128r). Fifty-one illustrations, painted with colours (from f. 1r to f. 37v), or left as ink drawings (from f. 46r to f. 65r). Two miniatures have been removed, from f. 18r (wholly) and f. 23r (partially). Spaces for illustrations were left empty in the sixth quire (ff. 38r–45v) and beyond the last ink drawing on f. 65r. Showing

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figures without masks standing or sitting beside or within elaborate buildings or within landscapes with hills, these illustrations are unrelated to those in earlier Terence manuscripts. de Meyïer, K.A. 1973–1984. Codices Vossiani Latini. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Vol. 2. 101–3. Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 130–51. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 615. Prete, S. 1979. “Manoscritti preumanistici delle commedie di Terenzio nella Biblioteca di Leida.” CodMan 5: 65–77 (72–4). Victor, B. 2003. “Simultaneous copying of classical texts 800–1000: techniques and their consequences.” In La collaboration dans la production de l’écrit médiéval, actes du XIIIe colloque du comité international de paléographie latine (Weingarten, 22–25 septembre 2000). Ed. H. Spilling. Paris: École des Chartes. 349–58.

Several images of folios are on the Leiden Universiteitsbibliotheek website (https://socrates.leidenuniv.nl). 11 London, BL, Egerton 2909 Italy, Viconovo—1419. ff. 115; 300 × 210 (200 × 120) mm. Copied by Edoardo di Giacomo Bergognini (colophon: f. 111v). Two historiated initials painted in colours and gold, both on f. 6r: a bust portrait of Glycerium in profile facing right, holding a distaff in her left hand (Glycerium’s sister Chrysis is described as spinning wool in Andria 1.1), and a book under her right arm, within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris; a bust portrait of Terence in profile facing right, wearing a kerchief around his head, within the decorated P(oeta quom primum . . .) beginning the prologue of Andria. Billanovich, G. 1974. “Terenzio, Ildemaro, Petrarca.” IMU 17: 1–60. Mann, N. 1975. Petrarch Manuscripts in the British Isles. Censimento dei Codici Petrarcheschi, 6. Padua: Antenore. 263–4.

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Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 215 n.58, 218, 220 n.10, 224 n.19, 226 n.25, 278, 352 (no. 254).

An image of f. 6r is also in the BL’s Online Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts (http://www.bl.uk). 12 London, BL, Harley 2563 Italy—last quarter of 15th century or 1st quarter of 16th century. ff. 1*–2* + 170; 220 × 150 (120 × 75) mm. Two coloured ink drawings (f. 1r): a man and woman (possibly characters from the plays), scantily clad, stand on grassy ground facing and gesturing toward each other (the woman also has a staff under her arm), within a square frame above the Epitaphium Terentii (beginning Natus in excelsis . . .); Terence, his right hand raised to his head, sits between two piles of books on the ground, below two large floreate forms and four rabbits (beneath the Epitaphium text in the lower margin); in the margins of this page: a border of foliate vine scroll. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 354 (no. 264).

An image of f. 1r is in the BL’s Online Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts (http://www.bl.uk). 13 London, BL, Harley 2717 France—3rd quarter of 15th century. ff. 1* + 128; 255 × 170 (170 × 95) mm. Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 1r): a man (likely Terence), shown frontally, wearing a brimless black cap and red robe, sits on a chair at a desk, holding an open book, within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris; in the margins of the page: a foliate and floreate border, inhabited by birds, and an unidentified coat of arms held by an angel. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 355 (no. 270).

An image of f. 1r is in the BL’s Online Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts (http://www.bl.uk).

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14 London, BL, Harley 2751 Italy (Northeast ?)—1st quarter of 15th century. ff. 60; 260 × 165 (170 × 105) mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 11v)—Hau. (f. 22v)—Ad. (f. 33r)—Hec. (f. 42v)—Ph. (f. 51r). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold and now damaged (f. 1r): a man, wearing a large, wide-brimmed hat, and a woman (they are likely to be Pamphilus and Glycerium, the lovers in Andria), stand facing each other in profile, within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris; in the margins of the page: foliate ornament and gold balls. The manuscript has four more initials, inhabi­ ted by solo women (probably female characters from the plays), on ff. 11v, 22v, 33r, 42v. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 355–6 (no. 273).

An image of f. 1r is in the BL’s Online Catalogue of Illuminated Manuscripts (http://www.bl.uk). 15 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, A 33 inf. Milan—1408. ff. iii + 118 + i; 320 × 240 mm. Historiated initial painted in colours (f. 9v): a bust portrait of Terence in three-quarter profile to the right, wearing a hat (a cappuccio), his right hand pointing upward and left touching index finger to thumb, within the decorated U(os istec intro auferte . . .) beginning Andria 1.1. The manuscript opens with a foliate border and the Visconti arms on f. 9r. The initial and border have been attributed to the ‘Master of the Vitae Imperatorum.’ Billanovich, G. 1974. “Terenzio, Ildemaro, Petrarca.” IMU 17: 1–60. Cipriani, R. 1968. Codici miniati dell’ Ambrosiana. Contributo a un catalogo. Con 26 tavole fuori testo. Vicenza: Neri Pozza. 144. Levi D’Ancona, M. 1970. The Wildenstein Collection of Illuminations. The Lombard School. Florence: Olschki. 11–20. Sabbadini, R. 1933. Classici e umanisti da codici Ambrosiani. Florence: Olschki. 69–85. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 47 n.9, 157, 218, 226 n.25, 272, 362–3 (no. 308).

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16 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, R 80 sup. Northern Italy—1448; ff. 104 + i; 280 × 210 mm. Copied by Francesco de Turri (colophon: f. 103v). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 5r): a bust portrait of Terence in profile facing right, wearing a fur hat and collar, pointing with his right hand and holding a book with his left, within the decorated U(os istec intro auferte . . .) beginning Andria 1.1; in the lower margin of the page: a shield left empty for a coat of arms, and foliate scroll. This work has been attributed to the circle of the ‘Master of the Vitae Imperatorum.’ Cipriani, R. 1968. Codici miniati dell’ Ambrosiana. Contributo a un catalogo. Con 26 tavole fuori testo. Vicenza: Neri Pozza. 116. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 367 (no. 326).

17 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, S.P. 4 Bis or H 75 Inf. (known as F) Reims—2nd half of 10th century. ff. 120 (now missing text of Andria, Eunuchus 1–415, and Phormio 833–1055, and with three bifolia of a humanist Plautus); 258 × 210 (190 by 130) mm. Eu. (f. 1r)—Hau. (f. 19v)—Ad. (f. 50r)—Hec. (f. 75v)— Ph. (f. 97r). 115 wash drawings in brown ink and blue (some now damaged by reagents, and the first, on f. 5v, almost entirely removed). Masked figures stand on uneven ground lines beside arched doorframes, in arrangements (and with postures and gestures) similar to those in the earlier, ninth-century Vatican and Paris Terence manuscripts (nos. 27, 28, and 46 in this catalogue). David H. Wright has suggested that this manuscript’s artist worked from a lost LateAntique model (shared by other early illustrated manuscripts) known as U. Bethe, E. 1903. Terentius. Codex Ambrosianus H. 75 inf. phototypice editus. Leiden: Sijthoff. Buonocore, M. 1996. Vedere i Classici. L’illustrazione libraria dei testi antichi dall’età romana al tardo medioevo. Rome: Fratelli Palombi. 191–2 (no. 15). Crivello, F. 2001. “Gerberto e le arti figurative: opere d’arte e manoscritti miniati intorno a Gerberto d’Aurillac.” In Gerberto d’Aurillac da abate di Bobbio a papa dell’anno 1000. Atti del congresso internazionale (Bobbio, Auditorium di Santa Chiara, 28–30 settembre 2000). Ed. F.G. Nuvolone. Archivum Bobiense Studia 4. Bobbio: Associazione culturale amici di Archivum Bobiense. 195–215.

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Radden Keefe Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 102–19. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 622. Wright, D.H. 2006. The Lost Late Antique Illustrated Terence. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. 197–201, 206–16.

18 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, S.P. 55 Bis or A 51/a Sup. Florence—2nd half of 15th century. ff. vi + 180 + iii; 150 × 90 mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 30r)—Hau. (f. 61v)—Ad. (f. 92v)—Hec. (f. 122v)—Ph. (f. 148v). Historiated initial and decorated border painted in colours (f. 1r). A young woman and man standing in a landscape (probably the lovers Glycerium and Pamphilus) within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris. In the margins of this page, a foliate and floreate border inhabited by putti, rabbits, and human-headed winged creatures, and including a bust portrait of Terence within a roundel, and a roundel held by four winged putti left empty for a coat of arms. Cipriani, R. 1968. Codici miniati dell’ Ambrosiana. Contributo a un catalogo. Con 26 tavole fuori testo. Vicenza: N. Pozza. 3. Jordan, L. and S. Wool (eds). 1984–1989. Inventory of Western Manuscripts in the Biblioteca Ambrosiana. Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press. Vol. 1: A–B Superior. 40. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 368 (no. 329).

19 New Haven, Yale University Beinecke Library, Marston 229 Northern France—end of 15th century or beginning of 16th century. ff. ii + 127 + ii; 200 × 130 mm. An. (f. 8v)—Eu. (f. 28v)—Hau. (f. 51v)—Ad. (f. 72r)—Hec. (f. 90v)—Ph. (f. 107v). Arms of the Terrail de Bayard family within the decorated O(rto bello athenis . . .) in the Praefatio Monacensis (f. 1r), followed by four historiated initials painted in colours and gold: a young man and woman (likely Pamphilus and Glycerium), within the decorated T(erentius genere extitit . . .) beginning the Praefatio Monacensis (f. 8r); a young man and woman (probably the lovers Clinia and Antiphila, characters in Heauton timorumenos), within the decorated A(cta Ludis Megalensibus . . .) beginning the didascalia

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of Heauton timorumenos (f. 52r); a man standing beside an unclothed woman and swaddled infant in a bed (possibly the lovers Pamphilus and Philumena, characters in Hecyra, with their child), within the decorated A(cta Ludis romanis . . .) beginning the didascalia of Hecyra (f. 90v); two men (probably Antipho and his father Demipho, characters in Phormio), within the initial A(cta Ludis romanis . . .) beginning the didascalia of Phormio (f. 107v). Shailor, B.A. 1984–1992. Catalogue of Medieval and Renaissance manuscripts in the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. Binghamton, NY: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies. Vol. 3. 436–40; pl. 49 (f. 52r). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 230–1 n.41, 380 (no. 384).

Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13 (O, or the Oxford Terence) St Albans—mid-12th century. ff. 174; 283 × 221 (152 × 141) mm. An. (f. 3v)—Eu. (f. 35r)—Hau. (f. 65v)—Ad. (f. 96v)—Hec. (f. 127r)—Ph. (f. 151v). Two fullpage brown ink drawings (on ff. 2v, 3r), followed by 136 drawings illustrating scenes from the comedies and interspersed with the text. Masked figures in Romanesque styles of dress stand in the arrangements and with the postures and gestures of several earlier Terence manuscripts (cf. Figures 2, 12, 16). The artists of this manuscript, one of whom has been identified as the Master of the Apocrypha Drawings, are thought by some (including Jones and Morey) to have directly copied the drawings in P, the ninth-century Paris Terence (no. 27 in this catalogue); others, such as Bernard Muir and Andrew Turner, suggest the model for O was an illustrated manuscript (since lost) which was produced in the same scriptorium as the Paris work. 20

Hoeing, C. 1900. “The Codex Dunelmensis of Terence.” AJA 4: 310–38. Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 68–93. Muir B.J. and A.J. Turner (eds). 2011. Terence’s Comedies. Bodleian Digital Texts 2. Oxford. [Digital facsimile of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13]. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 623–4.

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A full set of images is on the Early Manuscripts at Oxford website (http:// image.ox.ac.uk). 21 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Canon. Class. Lat. 100 Ferrara—3rd quarter of 15th century. ff. 94; 265 × 185 (176 × 120) mm. Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 3v): a bust portrait of Terence in profile facing right, wearing a brimmed red hat and robe, within the decorated V(os istaec intro . . .) beginning Andria 1.1; in the margins of the page: a full white vine-stem border with two putti and a wreath awaiting a coat of arms. Mann, N. 1975. Petrarch Manuscripts in the British Isles. Censimento dei Codici Petrarcheschi, 6. Padua: Antenore. 368–9. Pächt, O.E. and J.J.G. Alexander. 1966–1973. Illuminated Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Vol. 2: Italian School. 41 (no. 406), pl. XXXIX (f. 3v). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 278, 385 (no. 405).

An image of f. 3v is on the Bodleian’s Luna website (http://bodley30.bodley .ox.ac.uk:8180/luna/servlet). 22 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Rawl. G. 135 Pavia—1400. ff. i + 80; 287 × 215 (190–5 × c. 125) mm. Copied by Uberto Decembrio (colophon: f. 80r). Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 3r): a bust portrait of Terence (now damaged) in profile facing right, wearing a brimmed blue hat and robe within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris; bar borders decorated with rinceaux in the left and right margins of the page. Pächt, O. and J.J.G. Alexander. 1970. Illuminated Manuscripts in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Vol. 2: Italian School. 72 (no. 685), pl. LXVI (f. 3r). Scarcia Piacentini, P. 1980. “Angelo Decembrio e la sua scrittura.” Scrittura e civiltà 4: 247–77. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 273, 389 (no. 421).

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Watson, A.G. 1984. Catalogue of Dated and Dateable Manuscripts, c. 435–1600 in Oxford Libraries. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Vol. 1, 113 (no. 684); Vol. 2, fig. 224 (f. 14r).

An image of f. 3r is on the Bodleian’s Luna website (http://bodley30.bodley .ox.ac.uk:8180/luna/servlet). 23 Oxford, Magdalen College, Lat. 23 England—around 1450–60. ff. ii + 154 + ii; 240 × 178 (172/176 × 106/108) mm. Copied in part by the English scribe Thomas Candour. Two historiated initials painted in colours (ff. 34r, 62r): a frontal bust of a nude female figure (possibly the character Thais in Eunuchus), holding a comb in her right hand and some of her loose hair in her left hand, above the decorated M(eretrix adolescentem cuius . . .), beginning a summary for Eunuchus (f. 34r); and the frontal bust of a male figure with a grey beard (likely Chremes, who speaks the opening lines of Heauton timorumenos), wearing a yellow cap, pointing downward with his right hand, within the decorated initial Q(uamquam haec inter . . .), beginning Heauton timorumenos 1.1 (f. 62r). Alexander, J.J.G. and E. Temple. 1985. Illuminated Manuscripts in the Oxford College Libraries, the University Archives, and the Taylor Institution. Oxford: Oxford UP. 51 (no. 516). Hunt, R.W. and A.C. de la Mare. 1970. Duke Humphrey and English Humanism in the Fifteenth Century. Oxford: Bodleian Library. 32. Mann, N. 1975. Petrarch Manuscripts in the British Isles. Censimento dei Codici Petrarcheschi, 6. Padua: Antenore. 474–6. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 390 (no. 426).

24 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 664 (Térence des Ducs) Paris—around 1411. ff. 238 (missing six folios, two miniatures from missing folios now kept in the Musée des Beaux Arts in Nantes); 337 × 240 mm. An. (f. 2v)—Eu. (f. 45r)—Hau. (f. 87v)—Ad. (f. 126r)—Ph. (f. 166r)—Hec. (f. 208v). 133 miniatures painted in colours and gold: a frontispiece with an inhabited foliate border (f. 1v; see Figure 4), followed by 132 framed column miniatures from the comedies interspersed with the text. In the column miniatures, unmasked figures, some richly, others more humbly clothed, stand in empty landscapes,

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or in late Medieval interiors or townscapes (see Figures 11, 14, 20). The illuminators involved have been identified as the Luçon Master, the Bedford Master, the Cité des Dames Master, the Adelphoe Master, and the Orosius Master. MarieHélène Tesnière and Inès Villela-Petit 2004 have suggested that BnF lat. 7907 A (no. 30 in this catalogue) did not serve as this manuscript’s direct model, as had previously been thought. Meiss, M. 1974. French Painting in the Time of Jean de Berry: The Limbourgs and their Contemporaries. New York: George Braziller. Vol. 1. 41–54, 336–9. Tesnière, M.-H. and I. Villela-Petit. 2004. “Terence, Œuvres.” In Paris 1400: Les arts sous Charles VI. Ed. E. Taburet-Delahaye. Paris: Editions de la Réunion des musées nationaux. 241–3. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 239–41, 245 n.35, 248, 392–3 (no. 434).

A digital facsimile is on the BnF’s Gallica website (http://gallica.bnf.fr). 25 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 1135 Paris—around 1460. ff. 333; 136 × 97 mm. Six framed miniatures, painted in colours, illustrating scenes from the comedies (ff. 6v, 64r, 122v, 179r, 233v, and 279r); in the first, illustrating the opening scene of Andria, Simo, wearing a chaperon, stands within an arched interior flanked by Sosia, wearing an apron and stepping through a doorway, and by a group of men, one holding fish, another fowl, and a third carrying a basket on his head. Martin, H. 1885–1892. Catalogue des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal. Paris: Plon. Vol. 2. 299. Meiss, M. 1974. French Painting in the Time of Jean de Berry: The Limbourgs and their Contemporaries. New York: George Braziller. Vol. 1. 41–54; fig. 219 (f. 6v). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 393 (no. 436).

26 Paris, BnF, Nouv. Acq. Lat. 458 Milan (?)—1438. ff. 136; 214 × 146 (122 × 95) mm. Copied by Giovanni Pietro da Birago (colophon: f. 136r). Twenty marginal drawings, some with colour,

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illustrating the first play Andria. Arms of the Milanese Birago family within the decoration on f. 1r. Delisle, L. 1891. Bibliothèque Nationale: Manuscrits latins et français ajoutés au fonds des nouvelles acquisitions pendant les années 1875–1891. Paris: H. Champion. Vol. 2. 627. Prou, M. 1896. Manuel de paléographie. Nouveau recueil de facsimilés d’écritures du XIIe au XVIIe siècle (manuscrits latins et français). Paris: Alphonse Picard et fils. pl. VI/1. Samaran, C. and R. Marichal (eds). 1959–1984. Catalogue des manuscrits en écriture latine: portant des indications de date, de lieu ou de copiste. Paris: CNRS Editions. Vol. 4/1: Bibliothèque nationale, fonds latin (supplément), Nouvelles acquisitions latines, petits fonds divers. 87, pl. LXI (f. 68r). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 405–6 (no. 485). (Referred to wrongly as Nouv. Acq. Lat. 498.)

27 Paris, BnF, Lat. 7899 (P or the Paris Terence) Reims (?)—9th century. ff. 176; 261 × 215 (170 × 140) mm. An. (f. 3r)—Eu. (f. 35r)—Hau. (f. 66v)—Ad. (f. 95v)—Hec. (f. 124v)—Ph. (f. 147v). Six full-page wash drawings in brown ink (ff. 2r, 2v, 67r, 96r, 125r, 148r), and 143 smaller wash drawings illustrating scenes from the comedies are interspersed throughout the text. The scenes in this manuscript of figures wearing Late-Antique theatrical masks and costumes (cf. Figures 3, 19, 22) are strikingly close (both in arrangement of figures as well as their postures and gestures) to the painted miniatures in the earlier Vatican Terence (no. 46 in this catalogue), and its two artists are also thought to have carefully copied the lost Late-Antique model U. Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 53–67. Köhler, W. and F. Mütherich. 1930–99. Die karolingischen Miniaturen. Berlin: Deutscher Verlag für Kunstwissenschaft. Vol. 6/2: Die Schule von Reims. 216–27. Laffitte, M.P. and C. Denoël. 2007. Trésors carolingiens. Livres manuscrits de Charlemagne à Charles le Chauve. Paris: Bibliothèque nationale de France. 180–81 (no. 47).

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Radden Keefe Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 626–7. Omont, H. 1907. Comédies de Térence. Reproductions des 151 dessins du manuscrit latin 7899 de la Bibliothèque nationale. Paris: Berthaud frères. Wright, D.H. 2006. The Lost Late Antique Illustrated Terence. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. 192–197, 206–16.

A digital facsimile is on the BnF’s Gallica website (http://gallica.bnf.fr). 28 Paris, BnF, Lat. 7900 (Y or J) Corbie (?)—middle of the 9th century; ff. 48 (text is incomplete, missing Andria 1–78 and 924 to the end, and Eunuchus 1–80); 290 × 230 (220 × 170) mm. An. (f. 2r)—Eu. (f. 8r)—Hau. (f. 15v)—Ad. (f. 24v)—Hec. (f. 33r)—Ph. (f. 40r). Twentynine drawings in brown ink, illustrating the first two plays Andria and Eunuchus (ff. 2r–11v). Spaces for illustrations were left unfilled after f. 11v. Figures, some masked, are in similar arrangements as in the earlier Vatican (no. 46 below) and Paris (no. 27 above) illustrated Terence manuscripts, though their postures, gestures, and clothing are not so carefully replicated here. The illustrator is also believed to have worked from the lost Late-Antique model U. Bischoff, B. 1961. “Hadoardus and the Manuscripts of Classical Authors from Corbie.” In Didascaliae. Studies in honor of Anselm M. Albareda. Ed. S. Prete. New York: Rosenthal. 41–57. Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 94–101. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 627–8. Wright, D.H. 2006. The Lost Late Antique Illustrated Terence. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. 187–91, 206–16.

A digital facsimile is on the BnF’s Gallica website (http://gallica.bnf.fr). 29 Paris, BnF, Lat. 7903 (Zp or Z) Limoges, St Martial’s (?)—around 1000. ff. 87; 267 × 206 (192 × 138) mm. An. (f. 3v)—Eu. (f. 19r)—Hau. (f. 35r)—Ad. (f. 49v)—Hec. (f. 61r)—Ph. (f. 74r).

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Three drawings in brown ink by different hands (ff. 4r, 5v, 36v), with spaces left for additional illustrations. Simo stands in the arched doorway of a building, gesturing toward Sosia (mislabelled dauus seruus), who holds a spoon with a key, and two figures (each labelled seruus), one carrying a jug and birds, the other a key and fish on a ring, before Andria 1.1 (on f. 4r); Simo, wearing a hat and holding a trifoliate object in his right hand, gestures with his left hand toward Davus, who holds a cane, before Andria 1.2 (f. 5v); Chremes, holding a hoe, points in the direction of Menedemus, holding a mattock, before Heauton timorumenos 1.1 (f. 36v). Only the illustrator of f. 4r seems to have any obvious knowledge of the earlier imagery (see nos. 27, 28, and 46 in this catalogue). Gaborit-Chopin, D. 1969. La décoration des manuscrits à Saint-Martial de Limoges et en Limousin du IXe au XIe siècle. Paris: Librairie Droz. 23–4, 79–80, 210–11. Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 155–62. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 629–30. Saenger, P. 1997. Space Between Words: The Origins of Silent Reading. Stanford, CA: Stanford UP. 225. Wright, D.H. 2006. The Lost Late Antique Illustrated Terence. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. 201–2.

30 Paris, BnF, Lat. 7907 A Paris—around 1408. ff. 159; 300 × 210 (200 × 130) mm. An. (f. 3r)—Eu. (f. 25v)— Hau. (f. 51r)—Ad. (f. 74r)—Hec. (f. 97v)—Ph. (f. 117v). 144 miniatures painted in colours and gold: a frontispiece with three-sided bar border decorated with rinceaux and a grotesque (f. 2v), followed by 143 framed column miniatures illustrating scenes from the comedies and interspersed with the text. In the column miniatures, some showing several moments in a single scene, figures without masks stand in shallow, empty landscapes, or beside or within simple buildings (cf. Figure 9). The artists of this manuscript, two identified as the Master of Flavius Josephus and the Orosius Master, are no longer thought to have worked from drawings in the Paris Terence (no. 27 in this catalogue), but from written directions (some of which are still visible under ultraviolet light).

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Radden Keefe Hedeman, A.D. 2011. “Translating the Past: Laurent de Premierfait and the Visualization of Antiquity.” In Medieval Manuscripts, Their Makers and Users. A Special Issue of Viator in Honor of Richard and Mary Rouse. Turnhout: Brepols. 27–50. Meiss, M. 1974. French Painting in the Time of Jean de Berry: The Limbourgs and their Contemporaries. New York: George Braziller. Vol. 1. 41–54, 347–50. Tesnière, M.-H. and I. Villela-Petit. 2004. “Terence, Œuvres.” In Paris 1400: Les arts sous Charles VI. Ed. E. Taburet-Delahaye. Paris: Editions de la Réunion des musées nationaux. 241–4. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 172 n.83, 239–41, 398 (no. 450).

A digital facsimile is on the BnF’s Gallica site (http://gallica.bnf.fr). 31 Paris, BnF, Lat. 8191 Northern Italy—1441. ff. 71; 234 × 178 mm. An. (f. 1v)—Eu. (f. 14v)—Hau. (f. 27r)—Ad. (f. 39v)—Hec. (f. 51r)—Ph. (f. 60v). Historiated initial painted in colours (f. 1r): four male figures stand in a landscape (possibly a scene from the life of Terence) within the initial T(erentius afer ex nobilitate) beginning a Vita (f. 1r); in the margins of this page, a border of foliate and floreate ornament inhabited by birds and with an unidentified coat of arms. Samaran, C. and R. Marichal (eds). 1959–1984. Catalogue des manuscrits en écriture latine: portant des indications de date, de lieu ou de copiste. Paris: CNRS Editions. Vol. 3: Bibliothèque nationale, fonds latin (supplément), Nouvelles acquisitions latines, petits fonds divers. 617. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 400–1 (no. 463).

A digital facsimile is on the BnF’s Gallica site (http://gallica.bnf.fr). 32 Paris, BnF, Lat. 8193 Paris—beginning of 15th century. ff. 185; 225 × 160 mm. An. (f. 5r)—Eu. (f. 35r)—Hau. (f. 66v)—Ad. (f. 97r)—Hec. (f. 127r)—Ph. (f. 153r). Copied by the scribe J. Monfaut. Fourteen miniatures painted in colours illustrating scenes

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from the comedies (ff. 5v, 36v, 68r, 98r, 99r, 100v, 102v, 103v, 104r, 105r, 105v, 107v, 109v, 128v), some with written directions for the artists still visible; several preliminary drawings (ff. 112v, 114r, 114v, 115v, 118r), also with written directions; and four empty gold frames (ff. 9v, 161v, 176v, 182v). Painted in washes of pale colours, figures without masks wearing late Medieval clothing styles stand in empty landscapes, or beside or within simple buildings. Meiss 1974 attributed the miniatures to an artist he called the Roman Texts Master, also responsible for a Virgil in Lyon (Bibliothèque du Palais des Arts, 27). Marie-Hélène Tesnière and Inès Villela-Petit 2004 have suggested that BnF lat. 7907 A (no. 30 in this catalogue) was not a direct model for this manuscript, as had previously been thought. Meiss, M. 1974. French Painting in the Time of Jean de Berry: The Limbourgs and their Contemporaries. 2 Vols. New York: George Braziller. 41–54, 350–1. Tesnière, M.-H. and I. Villela-Petit. 2004. “Terence, Œuvres.” In Paris 1400: Les arts sous Charles VI. Ed. E. Taburet-Delahaye. Paris: Editions de la Réunion des musées nationaux. 241–4. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 249–51, 401 (no. 465).

A digital facsimile is on the BnF’s Gallica site (http://gallica.bnf.fr). 33 Paris, BnF, Lat. 12322 + BnF, Lat. 12244 (π) France—10th century. ff. 3 (now in fragments, comprising Ad. 944–88, and Hec. 280–327 and 628–701); 310 × 250 mm. One ink drawing with a brown and yellow wash on f. 77r in BnF, lat. 12322, a manuscript of Bernard’s De consideratione ad Eugenium papam, which includes a second unillustrated leaf with Hec. 280–327 (f. 78). The drawing shows Micio and Demea (both figures are labelled), who speak with Syra and Aeschinus in Adelphoe 5.9 (which is the text following the illustration). While Micio gestures with open palms, Demea has both of his outstretched hands in a two-fingered gesture. Another fragment of this manuscript, without illustration, and containing Hec. 628–701, is now part of BnF, lat. 12244. Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 1, fig. 581 bis (f. 77r); Vol. 2, 193–4.

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Radden Keefe Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 633–4.

34 Paris, BnF, Lat. 16235 (K) Southwest France—10th century; ff. 119; 334 × 291 mm. An. (f. 3v)—Eu. (f. 20v)—Hau. (f. 40v)—Ad. (f. 58r)—Hec. (f. 80v)—Ph. (f. 98v). Brown ink drawing before the prologue to Heauton timorumenos (f. 41r): a portrait of a bearded man seated within an elaborate building, with a pen in his right hand, his left hand holding a book open on the lectern beside him. This figure has been given the label Calliopius, thought to be the reciter of the comedies (the letters Call are still visible to the right of his head). Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 1, fig. 329; Vol. 2, 152–4. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 634–35.

35 Paris, BnF, Lat. 18544 France—2nd half of 11th century. ff. 48; 255 × 190 mm. An. (f. 2r)—Eu. (f. 9v)—Hau. (f. 18r)—Ad. (f. 26v)—Hec. (f. 34r)—Ph. (f. 40v). Two drawings in brown ink (both on f. 34v; Figure 6): the first (depicting Hecyra 1.1, in which Philotis speaks to Syra) of Philotis (she is labelled), wearing a veil, stepping and gesturing to the left; and the second just below (depicting Hecyra 1.2, in which Parmeno speaks with Philotis and Syra), of Parmeno (also labelled), pointing toward an unlabelled male figure at right (possibly the slave Scirtus, a non-speaking character in this scene), who points with both hands. Clearly by the same artist, both drawings appear entirely unrelated to the illustrative tradition. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 635.

36 Princeton, Firestone Library, 28 Pavia–1442 (?). ff. ii + 267 + ii; 250 × 165 (120 × 75) mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 35 bis r)—Hau. (f. 82r)—Ad. (f. 131r)—Hec. (f. 175r)—Ph. (f. 214v). Copied by Pietro Galin (Petrus Garinus) for Jean des Salins (colophon: f. 263r). Five illustrations, three ink and coloured wash drawings and two sketches in brown ink, in the opening folios of the first play Andria. They depict Simo, bearded, wearing a

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brown hat and garment and making a cross-armed gesture, within a penwork medallion in the lower margin, below the text of Andria 1.1 (f. 2v); Pamphilus, wearing a tall hat, pulling Glycerium away from the funeral pyre of Chrysis (illustrating a scene not in the play itself but described by Simo in Andria 1.1), with four figures and two towers in the background, in the lower left margin, below the text of Andria 1.1 (f. 4v); a disembodied hand holding a curved sword cutting at the crowned head of Oedipus, above some marginal commentary about that king (f. 6v); a head in profile, facing left, of a male figure wearing a hat, possibly the slave Davus, forming part of the penwork decoration of the word nil, in Andria 1.2 (f. 7r); Pamphilus, in a tall hat, and Mysis, wearing a veil, standing in profile, pointing at each other, in the right margin, beside Andria 1.5 (f. 8r). A hardpoint sketch of a man wearing a tall hat (likely Davus) is also visible in the right margin of f. 7r. Skemer, D.C. 2013. Medieval and Renaissance Manuscripts in the Princeton University Library. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 198–201.

37 Tours, BM, Lat. 924 (Tur) Tours (?)—1st quarter of 12th century. ff. 77; 280 × 185 (222 × 116) mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 13v)—Hau. (f. 27v)—Ad. (f. 40v)—Hec. (f. 53r)—Ph. (f. 64r). Copied by a scribe Leo (colophon: f. 77v). 129 miniatures (cf. Figures 13, 17, 24) painted in colours and gold, including five that have been partially removed (ff. 5v [2], 6v [2], 9v); three additional miniatures have been wholly removed (ff. 7v, 8v, 9r). In the opening miniature, beneath the text of the prologue to Andria, a woman holding a basket, stands at left, behind a bearded Simo who points toward Sosia, standing in front of a building at the right, pointing in turn (Figure 7). This woman might simply be a servant (carrying the items Simo orders to be brought inside in the opening line of Andria 1.1), or she could be Glycerium (much discussed by Simo and Sosia in Andria 1.1, which begins on the next page). These scenes of unmasked figures wearing Romanesque clothing styles, including Crito dressed as a pilgrim in Andria (ff. 10v, 12r), and Chaerea as a monk in Eunuchus (ff. 19r, 20r, 24r), are unrelated to the illustrations of earlier Terence manuscripts (cf. nos. 27 and 46 in the catalogue). Cahn, W. 1996. Romanesque Manuscripts: the twelfth century. Vol. 2. London: Harvey Miller. 22–4 (no. 11). Dorange, J.A. 1875. Catalogue descriptif et raisonné des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque de Tours. Tours: Jules Bouserez. 407–8.

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Radden Keefe Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 175–92. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 638–39.

A complete set of the illustrations is on the BnF’s Enluminures website (http:// www.enluminures.culture.fr). 38 Vatican City, BAV, Archivio di San Pietro, H 19 (B) Corbie (?)—10th century (with 15th-century additions). ff. 130; 260 × 190 mm. An. (f. 10v)—Eu. (f. 31r)—Hau. (f. 56r)—Ad. (f. 72v)—Hec. (f. 92v)—Ph. (f. 109v). Copied by the scribe Iterius (colophon: f. 130v). Two full-page mini­ atures painted in colours: a portrait of Terence held by two masked figures (f. 9v), and a shelf of masks of the characters in Andria (f. 10r); about twentythree other miniatures in the play Andria, and one in Eunuchus, were painted as well (but these were erased in the early fifteenth century), and spaces for miniatures were left unfilled beyond f. 32r. The scribe and illustrator (they were possibly one and the same) worked from the ninth-century Vatican Terence (no. 46 below). Buonocore, M. 1996. Vedere i Classici. L’illustrazione libraria dei testi antichi dall’età romana al tardo medioevo. Rome: Fratelli Palombi. 200–2 (no. 19). Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 46–52. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 640–1. Von Büren, V. 1994. “Note sur le ms. Vaticano Arch. S. Pietro H 19 et son modèle Vaticano lat. 3868: les Térence de Cluny?” Scriptorium 48: 287–93. Wright, D.H. 2000. “An Abandoned Early Humanist Plan to Illustrate Terence.” In Miscellanea Bibliothecae Apostolicae Vaticanae 7. Studi e testi 396. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. 481–500.

39 Vatican City, BAV, Barb. Lat. 82 Italy (Bologna ?)—15th century. ff. 120 + 1; 240 × 165 mm. An. (f. 3v)—Eu. (f. 23v)—Hau. (f. 45v)—Ad. (f. 65r)—Hec. (f. 83v)—Ph. (f. 100r). One miniature and one historiated initial painted in colours (both on f. 4r): Simo stands with

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two slaves in front of a building, in which there is a woman (possibly Glycerium) within the miniature; and below this on the page, a portrait of Terence, holding a book, within an initial beginning the play Andria. Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010. Les manuscrits classiques latins de la Bibliothèque Vaticane. Paris: CNRS éditions. Vol. 1: Fonds Archivio San Pietro à Ottoboni. 129–30. Riou, Y.-F. 1973 “Essai sur la tradition manuscrite du Commentum Brunsianum des comédies de Térence.” RHT 3: 79–113 (97 and 99 n. 3). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 424 (no. 583).

40 Vatican City, BAV, Barb. Lat. 133 Genoa—beginning of 15th century. pp. 210; 285 × 210 mm. An. (p. 1)—Eu. (p. 34)—Hau. (p. 72)—Ad. (p. 107)—Hec. (p. 143)—Ph. (p. 172). Copied by T.G. (or G.T. ?) of Novara at the Ducal Palace in Genoa (colophon: p. 209). Historiated initial painted in colours (p. 1): a frontal portrait of Terence, bearded, wearing a red hat and robe, seated on a chair at a desk, within the initial P(oeta quom primum . . .) beginning the prologue of Andria; in the margins, a foliate border and the arms of a family member of Sofia of Genoa held by two angels kneeling on a ground with trees. Work attributed by Ilaria Toesca to the circle of the ‘Master of the Vitae Imperatorum.’ Jeudy, C. 1971. “Manuscrits du fonds Barberini.” In “Notes sur quelques manuscrits de la Bibliothèque Vaticane.” RHT 1: 183–225, at 200, pl. VII (p. 1). Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010. Les manuscrits classiques latins de la Bibliothèque Vaticane. Paris: CNRS éditions. Vol. 1: Fonds Archivio San Pietro à Ottoboni. 164–5. Toesca, I. 1969. “In margine al ‘Maestro delle Vitae Imperatorum’.” Paragone 20/237: 73–7. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 424–5 (no. 585).

41 Vatican City, BAV, Ottob. Lat. 1365 Italy (Lombardy ?)—beginning of 15th century. ff. i + 127; 235 × 160 mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 22v)—Hau. (f. 44v)—Ad. (f. 66v)—Hec. (f. 88r)—Ph. (f. 105v).

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Historiated initial painted in colours and gold (f. 1r): a bust portrait of a bearded Terence; in the margins, a foliate and floreate border inhabited by birds and an erased coat of arms. Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010. Les manuscrits classiques latins de la Bibliothèque Vaticane. Paris: CNRS éditions. Vol. 1: Fonds Archivio San Pietro à Ottoboni. 534–5. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 426 (no. 594).

42 Vatican City, BAV, Ottob. Lat. 1368 Basel—1436. ff. 128; 235 × 160 mm. An. (f. 3r)—Eu. (f. 24r)—Hau. (f. 47r)— Ad. (f. 70r)—Hec. (f. 91r)—Ph. (f. 108r). Copied at the council of Basel in 1436 (colophon: 128v), possibly by Pietro Donato. Six miniatures painted in colours within frames in the lower margins at the beginning of plays (ff. 3r, 24r, 47v, 70r, 91r, 108r). Figures, without masks, wearing late Medieval clothing inhabit simple landscapes. The first miniature, beneath the text of the prologue of Andria, is of Simo and a crowd of five figures looking on as Pamphilus pulls Glycerium away from the funeral pyre of Chrysis, illustrating a scene not in the play itself but described by Simo in Andria 1.1 (no. 36 in this catalogue also has an illustration of this). Work attributed by Richard Hunt to Peronet Lamy. Buonocore, M. 1996. Vedere i Classici. L’illustrazione libraria dei testi antichi dall’età romana al tardo medioevo. Rome: Fratelli Palombi. 363–5 (no. 88). Hunt, R.W. 1975. The Survival of Ancient Literature. Catalogue of an exhibition of Greek and Latin classical manuscripts mainly from Oxford libraries displayed on the occasion of the Triennial Meeting of the Hellenic and Roman Societies 28 July– 2 August 1975. Oxford: Bodleian Library. 85–6. Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010. Les manuscrits classiques latins de la Bibliothèque Vaticane. Paris: CNRS éditions. Vol. 1: Fonds Archivio San Pietro à Ottoboni. 536–7. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 277, 426–7 (no. 597).

43 Vatican City, BAV, Ross. 445 Northern Italy (?)—15th century. ff. 100. 285 × 195 mm. An. (f. 1v)—Eu. (f. 18r)— Hau. (f. 37r)—Ad. (f. 54v)—Hec. (f. 71r)—Ph. (f. 84v). Historiated initial

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painted in colours (f. 1r): a bust portrait of Terence, in profile, wearing a hat, within an initial (Terentius genere exstitit) in the Praefatio Monacensis; in the margins of this page, floreate and foliate ornament, and an erased coat of arms. Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010. Les manuscrits classiques latins de la Bibliothèque Vaticane. Paris: CNRS éditions. Vol. 2.2: Fonds Palatin, Rossi, Sainte-Marie Majeure et Urbinate. 443–4. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 430 (no. 622).

44 Vatican City, BAV, Urb. Lat. 653 Italy—15th century. ff. 126; 230 × 155 mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 22v)—Hau. (f. 46r)—Ad. (f. 68r)—Hec. (f. 89r)—Ph. (f. 107r). Two historiated initials painted in colours (ff. 1r, 22v): a man, holding a flower, and a woman (possibly the lovers Pamphilus and Glycerium), within an initial at the beginning of Andria; in the margins of the page, a foliate border and the Montefeltro arms held by two cherubs (f. 1r); there is also the half-figure of a man (possibly Chaerea), within an initial at the beginning of Eunuchus (f. 22v). Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010. Les manuscrits classiques latins de la Bibliothèque Vaticane. Paris: CNRS éditions. Vol. 2.2: Fonds Palatin, Rossi, Sainte-MarieMajeure et Urbinate. 626–7. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 633 (no. 431).

45 Vatican City, BAV, Vat. Lat. 3305 (S) France (Tours ?)—12th century. ff. 108; 245 × 181 mm. An. (f. 9r)—Eu. (f. 25v)—Hau. (f. 42r)—Ad. (f. 60r)—Hec. (f. 76v)—Ph. (f. 91r). Ten brown ink drawings, a few with colour, in the first three plays (ff. 8v, 9r, 9v, 11v, 12v, 17v, 18v, 21r, 26v, 49r): one full-page frontispiece showing a Roman performance of Andria recited by Calliopius (f. 8v), followed by smaller drawings interspersed with the text (except the drawing on f. 26v, in the left margin). A first artist (who had knowledge of the earlier illustrated tradition) completed several brown ink drawings (two remain, on ff. 9r, 49r). These were later mostly erased and replaced with new, quite original drawings (9v, 11v, 12v, 17v, 18v, 21r, 26v), and colours were added to a few. Additional spaces for illustrations were left unfilled, except for a partially erased sketch on f. 54v, which seems to be the work of a third hand.

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Radden Keefe Buonocore, M. 1996. Vedere i Classici. L’illustrazione libraria dei testi antichi dall’età romana al tardo medioevo. Rome: Fratelli Palombi. 218–20 (no. 27). Cahn, W. 1996. Romanesque Manuscripts: the twelfth century. Vol. 2. London: Harvey Miller. 44–5 (no. 33). Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 163–74. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 643. Raffaelli, R. 2002. “Un prologo medievale di Terenzio. Per l’esegesi dell’illustrazione del Vat. lat. 3305, f. 8v.” In Due Seminari Plautini: la tradizione del testo, i modelli. Ed. C. Questa and R. Raffaelli. Urbino: QuattroVenti. 89–101. Wright, D.H. 1993. “The Forgotten Early Romanesque Illustrations of Terence in Vat. lat. 3305.” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 56: 183–206.

46 Vatican City, BAV, Vat. Lat. 3868 (C, or the Vatican Terence) Aachen (?)—first half of the 9th century. ff. 92; 343 × 293 (250 × 220) mm. An. (f. 3v)—Eu. (f. 18v)—Hau. (f. 35r)—Ad. (f. 50r)—Hec. (f. 64v)—Ph. (f. 76v). Copied by Hrodgarius (colophon: f. 92v). Six full-page miniatures painted in colours (ff. 2r, 3r, 35r, 50v, 65r, 77r), and 144 smaller miniatures illustrating scenes from the comedies interspersed throughout the text. Figures in the Vatican Terence wear theatrical masks and have Late-Antique hair and clothing styles. Frequently set beside or within simple doorframes, these figures have their hands posed in a set of gestures, and hold items referred to in the text or else described in the marginal glosses, such as the birds and fish in the first scene of Andria. This manuscript’s four artists (one probably the Adelricus who added his name to f. 3r) are thought to have carefully and exactly copied a now lost illustrated manuscript made in Rome around the year 400 (and known as U). Buonocore, M. 1996. Vedere i Classici. L’illustrazione libraria dei testi antichi dall’età romana al tardo medioevo. Rome: Fratelli Palombi. 168–70 (no. 8). Jones, L.W. and C.R. Morey. 1931. The Miniatures of the Manuscripts of Terence Prior to the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP. Vol. 2. 27–45.

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Köhler, W. and F. Mütherich. 1930–1999. Die karolingischen Miniaturen. Berlin: Deutscher Verlag für Kunstwissenschaft. Vol. 4: Die Hofschule Kaiser Lothars. 85–100. Munk Olsen, B. 1982–9. L’Étude des auteurs classiques latins au XIe et XIIe siècles. Paris: CNRS. Vol. 2: Livius-Vitruvius. 644–45. Mütherich, F. 1990. “Book Illumination at the Court of Louis the Pious.” In Charlemagne’s Heir, New Perspectives on the Reign of Louis the Pious (814–840). Ed. P. Godman and R. Collins. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 593–604. Wright, D.H. 2006. The Lost Late Antique Illustrated Terence. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. 183–7, 206–16.

47 Vatican City, BAV, Vat. Lat. 6728 Northern Italy—15th century. ff. 122; 255 × 187 mm. An. (f. 8r)—Eu. (f. 27v)— Hau. (f. 48v)—Ad. (f. 67v)—Ph. (f. 86v)—Hec. (f. 106v). Historiated initial painted in colours (f. 8r): a bust portrait of a Terence, wearing a hat, and holding a book. Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010. Les manuscrits classiques latins de la Bibliothèque Vaticane. Paris: CNRS éditions. Vol. 3.2: Fonds Vatican latin, 2901–14740. 616–18. Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 436–7 (no. 647).

48 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, 309 Florence—1470s. i + 172 ff.; 180 × 128 mm. An. (f. 1r)—Eu. (f. 31v)—Hau. (f. 62v)—Ad. (f. 91v)—Hec. (f. 119r)—Ph. (f. 143r). Four historiated initials (ff. 1r [2], 1v, 2r) and decorated borders painted in colours: the initials comprise a frontal bust portrait of Terence, wearing a laurel crown and holding a book, within the decorated N(atus in excelsis . . .), beginning the Epitaphium Terentii (f. 1r); two busts, of a woman and man (likely Glycerium and Pamphilus), facing each other, in profile, within the decorated S(ororem falso creditam . . .) beginning the Argumentum of Andria by Sulpicius Apollinaris (f. 1r); a portrait of Terence, holding his head, writing at a desk, within the initial P(oeta quom primum . . .) beginning the prologue of Andria (f. 1v); Simo and Sosia within the initial V(os istaec intro . . .) beginning Andria 1.1 (f. 2r). Also, within a medallion in the white vine stem border on f. 1r, is a youth held by one of three soldiers

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in armour (possibly illustrating a scene from Terence’s early life), and in the border of f. 1r a coat of arms, possibly of Alfonso of Calabria, held by putti. These initials and borders have been attributed to the workshop of Francesco di Antonio del Chierico. Hermann, H.J. 1930–1933. Die Handschriften und Inkunabeln der italienischen Renaissance. Part 3: ‘Mittelitalien: Toskana, Umbrien, Rom’. Die illuminierten Handschriften und Inkunabeln der Nationalbibliothek in Wien, Vol. 6. Leipzig: Hiersemann. 72–3 (no. 64); pl. XIX/1 (f. 1r). Villa, C. 1984. La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca. Padua: Antenore. 282–3, 443 (no. 677).

CHAPTER 4

Thais Walks the German Streets: Text, Gloss, and Illustration in Neidhart’s 1486 German Edition of Terence’s Eunuchus James H. Kim On Chong-Gossard*

In the centuries-long history of illustrated texts of Terence, one gem that is often overlooked is the German translation of Terence’s Eunuchus, financed by Hans Neidhart of Ulm and printed in 1486 by Conrad Dinckmut.1 Produced a mere generation after the invention of movable type and the printing press, this incunabulum is a testament to what the new technology of the printed book could achieve in bringing a single play of Terence to a German-speaking readership. Specifically, Terence’s Latin was translated into the vernacular Swabian dialect, also called West Upper German,2 so the play could be easily read by those whom Neidhart assumed shared his humanist interests in Terence—namely, the rhetorical excellence of his plays, their learnedness, and their moral lessons. The incunabulum also remained a luxury item and was designed to look like a manuscript, with red-rubrics, Gothic font, illustrations derived from Terence’s manuscript tradition, and a traditional presentation of primary text and glosses. All of this was designed to direct the reader not only to accept the work as an authoritative new edition of Terence, but also to empathize with the characters of the drama, and even to visualize a performance with a contemporary look—and all of this with a moral lesson to be learned, especially about love affairs with prostitutes. *  The research for this chapter was supported under the Australia Research Council’s Discovery Projects funding scheme, for a project entitled “The Transformations of Terence: Ancient Drama, New Media, and Contemporary Reception” (project number DP110101571) awarded to Prof. Bernard J. Muir and myself at the University of Melbourne as co-chief investigators from 2011–2013. 1  I use the standard spelling of these men’s names, which in the incunabulum itself are spelled ‘Hanns Nythart zů Ulm’ and ‘Cůnrad Dinckmůt.’ 2  Ulm, Freiburg im Breisgau, Basel and Tübingen are Alpine cities whose local dialects have traditionally been grouped together as West Upper German, or Alemannic. Other cities in this dialect group include Strassburg, Stuttgart, and (Bavarian Swabia) Augsburg.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004289499_005

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General Overview

Neidhart’s edition of the Eunuchus is credited as the first German translation of a play of Terence, during an explosive period of classical learning in northern Europe. The arrival of humanism into southern Germany was evidenced not least by the founding of universities, the majority of them in the West Upper German region, including Albrechts University (now the University of Freiburg) in 1457, the University of Basel in 1460, and the University of Tübingen in 1477.3 Hans Neidhart himself was perhaps not the most famous German humanist, and he was better known as a Bürgermeister of Ulm from 1478 until the late 1480s.4 Yet he made an impression on his contemporary Felix Fabri, the Dominican theologian, who in his autobiographical Tractatus de civitate Ulmensi described Hans Neidhart as a secular man, and without a degree in scholarly prominence (sine gradu scholaris eminentiae), but one who opens up (books of) learned history and the volumes of orators and poets, and who reads bucolics and comedies, Vergil’s Aeneid, Seneca’s tragedies, and other intelligent works.5 Given the implication that Hans Neidhart did not even have a university degree (gradus), there remains some doubt whether he was in fact the translator and editor of the Eunuchus, or merely an initiator and financier of the publication, given the imprecision of the colophon on the final page (N93r [F203]) of the incunabulum: “Dise Comedia hat Hanns Nythart zů Ulm lassen trucken den Cůnrad Dinckmůt” (“Hans Neidhart of Ulm had Conrad Dinckmut print this comedy”).6 Since it is also known that Neidhart provided financial backing for the Schwäbische Chronik of Thomas Lirer, also published by Dinckmut in 1486, it is unclear whether the phrase ‘hat lassen trucken’ means any more than a similar economic involvement in the Eunuchus on Neidhart’s part. For this reason, the publication of the Eunuchus is often referred to simply as ‘die

3  Ulm itself did not have a university until 1967. 4  Fischer 1915 vi argues for a term of office from 1478 to 1489, which would mean the Eunuchus translation was printed while he was Bürgermeister. 5  Amelung 1972 20. All translations of Latin and German are my own. 6  Throughout this article I will refer to the pagination of Neidhart’s incunabulum and Fischer’s edition with the following citation method: N aij r = Neidhart aij recto, N28r = Neidhart 28 recto, N24v = Neidhart 24 verso, F32 = Fischer p. 32.

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Ulmer-Terenz.’7 For the purpose of this study, however, the translator will be referred to as Neidhart, since no better alternative has ever been suggested. Neidhart’s pursuit in translating Terence was clearly the product of the 1470s, a decade when other German humanists were busy translating Latin classics. Albrecht von Eyb translated Plautus’ Menaechmi and Bacchides, Heinrich Steinhöwel translated Aesop’s Fables (an illustrated edition of the translation was printed in 1479), and Niklas von Wyle made many German translations of Latin and Italian verse, including Boccaccio and Petrarch. Niklas von Wyle in particular had the aim of imposing Latin grammar onto the German language for the betterment of the latter. Neidhart refrained from this model, yet at the same time wanted his German reader to be aware of Latin idioms, as evidenced through some of his glosses.8 For many modern scholars, however, Neidhart’s attempt at translation is simply lacking in elegance. Hans Wagener reproduces Max Herrmann’s judgment that, through Neidhart’s edition, “Terence was first received in the vernacular in a curious combination of stilted German speech and elegant or comical costume.”9 Eric Morrall’s edition of Niklas von Wyle’s German translation of Eurialus and Lucretia by Aeneas Silvius Piccolomini (later Pope Pius II) also contains a typical assessment. Niklas translated a Latin passage (100, 21–24) that Piccolomini had adapted from Eu. 193–6. Morrall compares Niklas’ translation of the adapted Terence, with Neidhart’s translation of the genuine Terence, and concludes that, “Niklas’ literal translation retains the repetitions and internal rhymes,” whereas Neidhart’s version “with its wordy das-clauses and clumsy substantival expression ‘das dein wollust an mir sye’ for me tu oblectes remains prosaically literal.”10 No information survives about how many copies of Neidhart’s book were originally produced, or how much they sold for. Twenty-seven copies (either whole or fragmentary) survive today in various libraries in Germany (in Berlin, Darmstadt, Freiburg, and Munich, to name a few), Vienna, London, Washington D.C. and New York City; the location of two additional copies is unknown.11 Physically, a copy measures 290 × 200 mm (roughly the size of an A4 page) which was described as ‘opulent’ by Hermann Fischer in his 1915 transcript of Neidhart’s text.12 The incunabulum is typeset with round Gothic let7  Bertelsmeier-Kierst 2013. 8  Fischer 1915 vii; Bidlingmaier 1930 92. Bidlingmaier’s doctoral dissertation, as far as I am aware, remains the only work written on the topic of Neidhart’s translation. 9  Wagener 1988 10, referencing Herrmann 1893 18–20. 10  Morrall 1988 32. 11  A complete list can be read online at MRFH 2013. 12  Fischer 1915 ix.

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ters with wide margins around the printed text and rubrication added by hand after printing, imitating the layout of manuscripts. In particular, initial letters are rubricated, as are page numbers in Roman numerals at the top of the right hand side of the page only, referring to the page as a unit (recto and verso, as was customary). When Neidhart’s translation was published in 1486, the technology of the printing press was barely thirty years old, yet this new technology had revolutionized classical learning. New printed editions of Latin texts, both primary texts and ancient commentaries, were produced rapidly in Italy and Germany. The fact that Neidhart’s text was specifically a German translation invites us to speculate about his target audience, which might include persons with some knowledge of the classical world, but with an interest in accessing that world through the vernacular. Neidhart’s opening statement (‘Hernach volget’ etc.) on the first page gives us some clues: Hernach volget ain Maisterliche und wolgesetzte Comedia zelesen und zehœren lüstig und kurtzwylig. Die der Hoch gelert und groß Maister und Poet Therencius gar subtill, mit grosser kunnst und hochem flyß gesetzt hat. Darinn man lernet die gemüet, aigenschafft und sitten der menschen des gemainen volcks erkennen [.] Darumb ain yeder so durchlesen oder hœren deß wissen empfachet. sich desterbas vor aller betrügnuß der bœsen menschen mag hütten und wissen zebewaren.13 Here follows a masterful and well-constructed comedy, funny and entertaining to read and to hear, which the highly learned and great master poet Terence composed very subtly, with great art and high diligence. Within it, one learns to recognize the disposition, nature and manners of individuals from the common folk. Thereby every man receives the chance to read through or hear some wisdom. He might thereby protect himself against every deception of wicked men, and know to beware. (N aij v [F3])14

13  Throughout this chapter I have transcribed faithfully Dinckmut’s ‘ü’ and ‘ů’, but have needed to use the characters ‘œ’ and ‘æ’ to transcribe what Dinckmut prints as an ‘e’ superimposed over an ‘o’ and ‘a’ respectively. 14  I have translated ‘des gemainen volcks’ as ‘of the common folk,’ but the word ‘gemain’ (like the Latin vulgus) does have a range of derogatory semantics, including ‘belonging to the mob’ and ‘vicious.’

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It is well known that Terence was read in schools throughout the Middle Ages, and Neidhart’s emphasis on the didactic value of the Eunuchus implies that his target audience included young readers. Certainly the abilities to recognize (‘erkennen’) the (presumably untrustworthy) nature of common people, to protect oneself (‘hütten’) against deception, and to beware (‘bewaren’) are skills one associates needing to be mastered by younger men, as is the gift of wisdom (‘wissen’). Such ethical concerns with Terence’s plays also inform the Donatus commentary (which was widely disseminated in the Renaissance by means of manuscripts and printed versions, rapidly becoming the chief commentary on Terence) and are therefore not new to Neidhart.15 Also, Neidhart twice refers to the reading (‘lesen’) and hearing (‘hœren’) of Terence, implying a school setting where students would both read Latin and hear it recited by their teacher. Of course, the fact that Neidhart’s edition is not in Latin, but in German, suggests a range of target audiences. It could indeed be a crib for students who have been given the task of reading and understanding Terence’s Latin; but illustrations would be unnecessary for a crib. Because the text is in the vernacular, it was accessible to anyone who could read German (or understand German read aloud) and wanted to learn more about antiquity by reading one of its masterpieces. Neidhart’s very first words about the Eunuchus, that it is “ain Maisterliche und wolgesetzte Comedia,” may be an advertisement to this discerning readership who might have only wanted to read a single play, the best of the best. Neidhart’s glosses, as we shall see, presume some familiarity with classical learning, but on certain subjects (especially ancient Greek mythology) Neidhart assumes that his audience needs various references demystified. In some cases Neidhart’s explanations end by connecting an ancient reference to a fifteenth-century custom or proverb, thus demonstrating the general relevance of classical learning to his contemporary world. Neidhart’s opening statement is followed by several pages outlining the plot, beginning at the top of N aij v (F4) with, “Ain bůlerin schloß auß den Jüngling . . .” (“a courtesan has locked out the young man . . .”). This continues at the top of N aiij r (F5) with, “Ain Edle Jungkfraw mit namen Pamphilia aus Athenis geraubet ward gen Rodis gefürt.” (“A noble young girl with the name

15   Following Victor 2013, I use the term ‘the Donatus commentary’ to describe the Commentum Donati, which is clearly a compilation combining the scholia of the fourthcentury CE scholiast Aelius Donatus, and many other related texts. Bidlingmaier 1930 understood Neidhart’s adoption of the Donatus’ commentary to be a sign of Neidhart’s own didactic purpose in making his translation; this will be discussed below.

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Pamphilia was stolen from Athens and taken to Rhodes”).16 This is a translation of the Donatus commentary rapta quaedam ex Attica uirgo nobilis atque aduecta est Rhodum (Don. Ter. Eu. praef. ii.1). At the end of N aiiij r (F7), Neidhart provides a definition of comedy, “Comedia ist ain gedicht aus mengerlai das gemüt und anfechtung mitler person inhaltende” (“Comedy is a poem of sorts containing the feelings and temptation of the common person”). This is another adaptation of the Donatus commentary, or rather, the portion of Donatus attributed to Evanthius’ On Comedy, which begins Comoedia est fabula diuersa instituta continens affectuum ciuilium ac priuatorum (“Comedy is a story containing various lessons about public and private passions,” Evanth. de com. v.1). Neidhart includes Cicero’s famous adage: “Und spricht Cicero das Comedia menschlichs wesens ain spiegel seie. und ain pildung der warhait” (“And Cicero says that comedy is a mirror of human customs, and a picture of the truth”), which is an exact translation of comoediam esse Cicero ait . . . speculum consuetudinis, imaginem ueritatis (Evanth. de com. v.1). Neidhart also summarizes the action of each act (‘geschicht’) over the course of three pages (N av r—N avj r [F9–11]) and even indicates the opening words of each act, and on what page of his edition they occur. The plot summaries themselves are translations of the Donatus commentary’s act divisions (Don. Ter. Eu. praef. iii.1–5). Neidhart does not translate the Prologue of the Eunuchus, but instead begins the play with Act 1, Scene 1, line 49 of the Latin (see Figure 8). Each scene of each act is preceded by a woodblock illustration depicting the action with costumed characters in the middle of a German street, beneath a heading which names the scene and act and outlines the action that is about to unfold. There is little evidence that Neidhart had any role in designing and carving these woodblock illustrations, so the artist is traditionally known as ‘Der Meister des Ulmer Terenz,’ who has also been identified as the woodcut artist for Thomas Lirer’s Schwäbische Chronik, the publication of which (as noted above) Neidhart financed in the same year and with the same printer as the Eunuchus.17 There are a total of 28 such woodblocks in Neidhart’s incunabulum. On the pages where the text of the play is printed, the German translation of Terence’s Latin is at the upper left in larger letters, presented in prose style and without any line numbers. Neidhart does, however, comment in his 16  Throughout this chapter, I will use the spellings of names as they appear in the translation and illustrations of Neidhart’s edition (Pamphilia, Phedria, Cherea, Traso, Gnato) instead of the Latin original (Pamphila, Phaedria, Chaerea, Thraso, Gnatho). 17  Betz 1958 12. Throughout this chapter I shall try to be consistent in calling the artist ‘the illustrator from Ulm.’

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introductory material that he uses four kinds of punctuation that are, “nach sitt und gewonhait der Poetry oder Poetische gedict” (“in accordance with the practice and habit of poetry or poetical verse”): a forward slash for a sense break, a full stop, a question mark, and a parenthesis (N avij v [F14]). To the right (never to the left) and below are Neidhart’s glosses. These glosses vary in size throughout the work, and pages N79v (F176), N80r (F177), and N89v (F196), all of which come at the end of a scene are short passages with no glosses at all. The division of the Eunuchus into acts and scenes in Neidhart’s edition differs slightly from the Terence manuscript tradition. Although there are still five acts, Neidhart’s edition has a total of 28 scenes, whereas Medieval manuscripts (which did not indicate act divisions) traditionally illustrated only 27 scenes, and modern editions recognize only 26.18 Furthermore, line 207 of the Latin is designated by the Donatus commentary as the start of Act 2, Scene 1. In Neidhart’s edition, the illustration for this section by the artist from Ulm is labelled “Der dritt tail deß ersten underschaids” (“The third scene of the first act”) at N11r (F39). Confusingly, however, Neidhart’s own gloss on the following page (N11v [F40]) begins, “Das ist der ander actus oder geschicht” (“This is the second actus or act”). And in Neidhart’s introductory material (Nav v [F10]), he himself explains that “Die ander geschicht vacht an dem. xj. blat an” (“The second act begins on the eleventh page”). One cannot know for certain how the final product was assembled, and indeed the precise working relationship between editor, publisher, and illustrator remains a complicated one even in today’s publishing practices. If we assume that the editor and translator (whom I presume was Neidhart) was responsible for composing the introductory material, then he clearly had illustrations in mind for his edition and a basic vision for their content, since he tells his reader, “You also find each persona in each picture (‘figur’) . . . with clothes (‘gewand’) and features (‘gestalt’), whereby each persona can be recognized distinctly (‘underschaidenlich’) from the others” (N avij v [F14]).19 Even so, it is probable that Neidhart did not write the scene headings that accompany each woodblock illustration. Not only do 18  C (BAV, Vat. lat. 3868, dating to the ninth century), for example, has 27 miniatures for the Eunuchus, but two of them (#21 and #22) show the same characters (Parmeno and Pythias) and correspond to a single scene in modern editions, Act 5, Scene 4. The illustrator from Ulm follows the Medieval pattern, depicts Parmeno and Pythias twice, but labels these illustrations as separate scenes, Act 5, Scenes 4 and 5. 19  Amelung 1972 34–35 argued that this is evidence for Neidhart’s own influence on the design of the woodcuts, one way in which the woodcuts depart significantly from the illustrated Terence manuscript tradition: “The designer’s hands were tied while designing the personae from the outset. He had to strive to portray them equally in regard to ‘costume and persona’ in every scene in which they occurred. Surely Neithart [sic] had

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the woodblocks and Neidhart’s glosses use different German translations for the Latin actus (‘underschaid’ versus ‘geschicht’), there was also some obvious miscommunication on where Act 2 should begin. Luckily, the illustrations which begin Acts 3, 4, and 5 occur on the same pages that were indicated by Neidhart in his introductory material (N av v [F10]–N avj r [F11]). But Neidhart’s glosses make no mention of scene numbers, and whereas modern editors assign nine scenes to Act 5, the Ulm illustrations assign eleven. The illustration labelled “Der sibent tail des fünfften underschaids” (“The seventh scene of the fifth act”) depicts Parmeno alone in brief soliloquy (Eu. 997–1001, assigned by modern editors to the end of Act 5, Scene 5). As Amelung has noted, it is likely that Neidhart had seen an unillustrated manuscript now in Munich, BSB, Clm 21275, which originated from Ulm itself in the early 1470s, and is the only manuscript known to treat Eu. 997–1001 as a separate scene. In Amelung’s words, “one must assume that Neithart [sic] was inspired by this MS in this instance to swim against the current of tradition.”20 Thus Act 5 ends up with three more scenes than the Donatus commentary, yet Neidhart’s glosses in Act 5 make no mention where new scenes begin. Naturally, this leads to some confusion when comparing Neidhart’s translation to modern Latin editions of Terence. For better or for worse, I will use the Ulm illustrations’ numbering system for acts and scenes.

Neidhart’s Glosses

Given that scholia and commentary on Greek and Roman drama have a very long tradition stretching back to antiquity itself, it is not surprising that Neidhart would supply a commentary to his own German translation of Terence’s Eunuchus. What is surprising is that his glosses are not so much a slavish translation of someone else’s, but a unique combination of ancient scholia and his own erudition, for the benefit of a reader who might have encountered Terence in Latin, but in fact does not need to know any Latin in order to appreciate the drama. As a result, on those few occasions when Neidhart does discuss the Latin original (or indeed, Latin literature in general) in his glosses, it reads as though Neidhart is showing off his learnedness for the uninitiated. This is admittedly a stereotypical phenomenon in commentaries, also discussed with him the characterization of each person and explained to him which should appear as young or old, and which as members of the upper classes or as servants.” 20  Amelung 1972 24. It must be remembered that MS Clm 21275 is unillustrated and cannot have influenced the artist’s decisions on how to illustrate this extra scene.

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even today. It is certainly a typical modern assessment of ancient scholia, in the vein of what Thomas Falkner (writing on Hellenistic scholia on Greek tragedy) described as, “the tendency to quarry these notes for their content as individual entries . . . as repositories of arcane and sundry materials,” and, “to regard the scholia as nuggets of erudition.”21 One example is in Act 3, Scene 1, when the braggart soldier Traso claims he possesses the good fortune that things always turn out well for him. Neidhart’s gloss—a brilliant example of a commentator’s praeteritio—adds not only that Traso’s gift (‘die bescherung’) is, “what we call fotum” (a misprint for fatum), but also that “the masters wrote much about it. Tullius (Cicero) especially wrote an entire book. Ovid. Boethius and many others. But this is not the place to mix them together” (N27r [F71]).22 Neidhart also delves into some textual criticism via Latin etymology. In Act 2, Scene 2 (N25v [F68]), he translates Cherea’s complaint about courtesans (quae nos nostramque adulescentiam habent despicatam, “who hold us and our youth in contempt,” Eu. 383–4) by coining a new word: “die uns und unsere plüende jugend all weg allso verherend” (“who thus ‘verherend’ us and our blooming youth in every way.”) Then in his gloss for ‘verherend’ (which trails onto N26r [F69]), he explains, “That is, to pull the best from us. Like the threshing of ears of wheat (‘den ehern’).” He then defends his translation by claiming (incorrectly) that the Latin despicatam comes from the Latin spica, which is ‘ain eher’ (‘an ear of wheat,’ ‘Ähre’ in Hochdeutsch).23 One wonders, does a reader of the text in German really need to know this? Previously in this scene the slave Parmeno says to his master’s son Cherea perculeris iam tu me (Eu. 379), which Neidhart translates on the same page (N25v) as, “du entrichst mich ietz.” In the gloss he explains that the Latin reads perculeris and not percusseris, and that (in his interpretation, at least) perculeris indicates a movement or corruption of the mind (“wegnuß oder entrichtung deß gemüts”), but percusseris a movement or striking of the body (“deß leibes wegnuß oder slahen”), which

21  Falkner 2002 343. 22  This is my favourite gloss of Neidhart’s, being a precursor of the modern footnote, and of the tendency among academics—myself and present company included—to overfill their footnotes with information that they would love their readers to know, but which their readers would probably claim they do not need to know (as in this footnote!). But this is not the place to confuse the reader. 23  Neidhart then adds that it means “to scorn or hold in contempt, and despicatam should be (understood to be) for despectam” (“versmehen oder verachtenund wære despicatam für despectam”). This is derived from the Donatus commentary’s gloss on Eu. 384, that despicatam means contemptam ac despectam, and that the participle despicatam is derived from the deponent verb despicor (Don. Ter. Eu. 384.1–2).

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apparently would make more sense here. In the end, he tells the reader to choose whichever he wishes (“Nimb welches du wœllest.”). In some instances, Neidhart’s glosses on Latin are an admission of his inability to find a German equivalent. In Act 2, Scene 1 (N14r [F45]), Gnato in soliloquy recalls a conversation with a raggedly dressed local man like himself. Terence’s quid istuc . . . ornatist? (Eu. 237) is translated by Neidhart as “Was zierd ist das?” (“What adornment is that?”, ‘zierd’ being the equivalent of Hochdeutsch ‘Zierde’). In his gloss he explains that this is said “Mockingly. As if he were saying: How torn-to-pieces you look! But it makes much more sense in Latin than in German.” And in Act 3, Scene 1, Neidhart leaves the phrase beluas untranslated in Traso’s speech about a man he once knew who was in charge of Indian elephants (Eu. 415), and in his gloss explains that “the large stupid animals (“die grossen unvernünfftigen their”) that one needs for waging war” are called beluae, and that the word derives from bellum, which means ‘krieg’ (N28v [F74]). On the whole, however, most of Neidhart’s glosses are his adaptation of the Donatus commentary on the Eunuchus. Yet he only mentions Donatus by name once, in Act 3, Scene 2 (N33v [F84]) after the plot has been developing for some time. Cherea and his brother Phedria and father Laches live in Athens in a house directly across from the establishment of the courtesan Thais.24 Phedria has bought two slaves as gifts for Thais, and one slave happens to be a eunuch. Cherea is smitten with a girl, Pamphilia, whom he sees passing by on the street and whom he learns is staying in Thais’ establishment; he learns this from his slave Parmeno, who saw the parasite Gnato bring Pamphilia to Thais as a gift from another client, the braggart soldier Traso. The slave Parmeno has casually suggested that Cherea dress up as the eunuch in order to infiltrate Thais’ establishment and get at the girl Pamphilia (whom they both presume is a slave herself), and Cherea takes up Parmeno’s plan to disguise himself. When Cherea, now in the eunuch’s outfit, is escorted by the slave Parmeno to the courtesan Thais, Neidhart attributes to Thais the line ego illum eunuchum, si opus sit, uel sobrius (Eu. 479), which he translates as, “Ich will den Eunuchum kommbt es dar zu, oder nüchtern” (“If it came to it, even when I was sober, I would that Eunuch . . .”, an example of aposiopesis). Then in his gloss he explains that “Donatus der über Therentium schrybt” (“Donatus, 24  Neidhart names the father ‘Laches’ following the Σ family of Terence manuscripts; the A family identify him as ‘Demea’ (Barsby 1999 264). Terence’s play itself never names the father, and the Donatus commentary confirms huius senis nomen apud Terentium non est (Don. Ter. Eu. 971). Furthermore, the play never mentions ‘Athens,’ but only ‘Attica,’ yet Neidhart consistently translates this as ‘Athenis.’

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who writes about Terence”) attributed the line to the soldier Traso, who witnesses the arrival of Parmeno and the eunuch “etwas zœrnigklich” (“rather angrily”). Elsewhere Neidhart does not mention Donatus’ name, yet he clearly owes most of his glosses to him. The Latin text of the Commentum Donati had first been printed in Venice by the German immigrant Wendelin von Speyer (alias Vendelino da Spira) in 1472.25 This was only a couple of generations after a manuscript of the Donatus commentary had been ‘rediscovered’ in Mainz in 1433 and sent to Milan for copying. Thus there is every reason to suspect that printed copies of the Donatus commentary were a ‘hot commodity’ for Neidhart and his intellectual circle. Neidhart’s borrowing of the Donatus commentary into his own glosses is highly selective. In Bidlingmaier’s words: All these changes, deletions, and intercalations which Neidhart made to the glosses of Donatus, allow him to be recognized clearly as a man of double interests: he wants on the one hand to instruct and have an effect that is morally improving, and on the other hand to revive and cherish the sense of the language, and this to be sure more on the stylistic side than on the grammatical side. The grammatical comments follow far behind in number to the allusions to diction and word usage.26 Indeed, Neidhart adapted from the Donatus commentary only what he found pertinent to the reading of the play in German. There is no mention of the ancient context of the play, such as the Ludi Megalenses at which the Eunuchus was originally performed, or the consuls in Terence’s day, or even the play’s debt to Menander; yet these details are all preserved diligently in Latin scholia (as at Don. Ter. Eu. praef. i.6). Furthermore, Neidhart does not include any of the Donatus commentary’s glosses on gestures in performance. He also dispenses with numerous sections that are concerned with other Latin authors who use the same Latin words as Terence, and he avoids any section containing ancient Greek. Among the examples of Neidhart’s selectivity in adapting the Donatus commentary is the explanation for the insulting remark, “You are yourself a hare, and you hunt for game!” (Eu. 426). The Donatus commentary provides four explanations for why being called a ‘hare’ is insulting, the last of which is: “uel quod a physicis dicatur incerti sexus esse, hoc est modo mas modo femina” (“or 25  Wendelin von Speyer had also printed Terence’s plays themselves a few years earlier; there is some debate whether this was in fact the editio princeps of Terence. See Peters 2000 316 n. 22. 26  Bidlingmaier 1930 91–92.

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because the hare is said by the natural philosophers to be of uncertain sex, that is, now male, now female.”). Avoiding anything explicitly sexual, Neidhart reproduces none of the Donatus commentary here, but instead advises, “It is better left obscure (‘verborgen’) than glossed (‘glosiert’). Let each person himself search for the meaning that is right (N29r, F75).”27 Neidhart also includes the origin of eunuchs (in Swabian, ‘verschnit(t)en’ or ‘hemling’, N8r [F33]) as deriving from the treatment given to Babylonians captured by Persians, finding it unnecessary to repeat Donatus’ inclusion of his ancient source, the fifth-century BCE logographer Hellanicus (Don. Ter. Eu. 167.6), but adding that eunuchs served rich women (a fact which is integral to the plot). Neidhart does not reproduce Don. Ter. Eu. 167.6, which is a Greek passage explaining the etymology of eunouchos as one who guards a bed (eunē) of a man or woman. Occasionally Neidhart’s adaptation of the Donatus commentary involves some reworking for the fifteenth century. In Act 4, scene 7, the soldier Traso leads a band of ruffians in a mock-battle against the courtesan Thais’ establishment. The crucial weapon (or rather, non-weapon) is the peniculon wielded by Sanga, who explains he needs it to wipe up blood (Eu. 779). Yet Traso is astounded that Sanga would bring such an item to a battle. The Donatus commentary explains apparet cocum ad repentinum strepitum sic exisse, ut artem suam fuerat expediturus (Don. Ter. Eu. 777.1). Neidhart’s gloss is quite close: Hie erscheint das der koch durch den snellen auflauf zů gelofen was gleich wie er sich zů seinem geschefft in der küchen zů gericht het mit dem für tůch. Here it appears that the cook in the hasty commotion has run just as he had prepared himself in his business in the kitchen, with a kind of a cloth. (N62r [F141]) Whereas the Donatus commentary never explains what exactly a peniculon is, the later Medieval commentary tradition of Terence always described it as a 27  Andrew Turner has drawn my attention to a scholion in BnF, lat. 7902 (f. 24r), which he transcribed. The scholiast explains: notat eum mollem ita ad coitum quod non indiget muliere cum ipse quoque succumbat uiris. et notat eum sodomiticum. uel aliter lepus est duplicis naturae. mas namque lepus fungitur uice feminae in prolis procreatione. (“He censures him as being so soft that he does not desire a woman for intercourse, since he himself also submits to men. And he censures him as a sodomite. Or in a different sense, the hare is of a twofold nature. For the male hare performs the function of the woman in the procreation of offspring.”)

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sponge.28 Witnesses P (Paris, BnF lat. 7899, mid-ninth century) and O (Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct. F. 2. 13, mid-twelfth century) depict the cook Sanga holding a large round missile that visually could be mistaken for a rock (see Figure 19 for P). But it is certainly a sponge, since in O immediately beneath the image the scholion, taken from the Commentum Brunsianum, clearly states unde et penniculum [sic] gerebat in manu id est spongiam (“whence he was even holding a peniculum in his hand, that is, a sponge”).29 P’s blob is more convincing because of a few dots of ink which suggest the texture of a sponge. In Tur (Tours BM, 924, dating to around 1100), a sponge-like lump hangs from a strap held by Sanga, whom I presume is the figure at the far left. Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 664 (dating to around 1412) depicts something similar on the edge of a stick, held high (see Figure 20). But Neidhart in his gloss explicitly adds that the cook emerges with a kind of cloth (‘tůch’), and in his translation of Terence (N62v, F142) he renders peniculon as ‘kuchenpletzlin’ (‘kitchen rag’). The illustrator from Ulm (see Figure 21) follows Neidhart’s clever lead in replacing the sponge with a cloth, something presumably more familiar in a fifteenth-century German kitchen than a sponge for cleaning up a mess, and equally ineffectual in a battle. Among the many details within the Donatus commentary, it is those on the ethical nature of comic characters which Neidhart typically reproduces and expands upon.30 This can be observed in the very first scene. In the Latin, the first utterance (Eu. 46) is a deliberative subjunctive by Phedria, quid igitur faciam? Neidhart translates this as, “Was thun ich nun?” (“What do I do now?”) (N1r [F19]). The Donatus commentary on QVID IGITVR FACIAM reads: in hac προτάσει exemplum proponitur, quam non suae potestatis sit qui amat, quam sapiat qui non amat neque aliter affectus est. In this protasis, an example is put forward: how much he who is in love is not in his own power, and how wise is he who is not in love and is not affected in any other way. (Don. Ter. Eu. 46.1)

28  Indeed, the second-century CE grammarian Sextus Pompeius Festus (at least in the epitome of Paul the Deacon) ascribes the meaning of ‘sponge’ to peniculus (Paul. Fest. p. 208 [Mueller]). 29  As Turner has kindly reminded me, the scholia were almost certainly written by the principal scribe before the artist completed the illustration, and were meant to be read with it. 30  For examples in the Donatus commentary of such details on the ēthē of comic characters in the Eunuchus itself, see Victor 2013 357.

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Neidhart translates this quite closely, but adds something special: In disem ersten tail Prothesis wirt gezaigt wie gar verirret und ayges willen ungewaltig ain yeglich mensch in bůlschaft verwickelt ist. und wie wyß der sich dar vor bewaret. In this first scene, the Prothesis, it is shown how truly lost and not at all self-willed is every man entangled in love affairs; and how wise is he who protects himself from it. (N1r [F19]) The slight change is noteworthy. Neidhart encourages a reader to ‘protect himself’ from love (‘sich bewahren’, cognate with the English ‘beware’), which might very well be the sense of the Donatus commentary’s neque aliter affectus, but Neidhart is much more explicit. For him, Terence’s drama offers a negative example of sexual conduct to guard oneself against; even his choice of ‘bůlschaft’ (close to the English ‘love affairs’) brings to the fore some of the latent salacious semantics of the Latin amat. Another brief example is in Act 3, Scene 1. The parasite Gnato meets with the soldier Traso to report on how pleased (laeta) the courtesan Thais was to receive the young Pamphilia into her household, which Traso had arranged. Gnato assures him she was pleased, non tam ipso quidem dono quam abs te datum esse (“not so much with the gift itself, as with that it came from you,” Eu. 392–393). Neidhart translates this as “Nit so vil von der gab, als das sie ir von dir geschenckt ist” (N27r [F71]). He then adds (as if it were not clear enough) that what Gnato had said is contrary to the way and nature of a courtesan (“das doch wider der bůlerin wesen und natur ist”). Thus he ends with a warning for his impressionable reader for whom the ‘bůlerin’ must remain a villain.31 Terence’s Eunuchus contains many references to Greek mythology and history, and Neidhart follows the lead of the Donatus commentary in explaining the significance of these references. In some cases Neidhart translates the Donatus commentary very closely and finds this sufficient. Examples include the Piraeus (Eu. 290), which Neidhart transliterates as ‘Pirreum’ (N18v [F54]); Pyrrhus the king of Epirus (Eu. 783) of whom Neidhart writes, “Pirhus ist ain künig Epirhotarum gewesen” (“Pyrrhus was a king of the Epirotae”) (N62v [F142]); and Omphale, queen of Lydia (Eu. 1027), which is typeset as ‘Oniphale’

31  Of course, the twenty-first-century reader is less inclined to read Thais as a villain. See Christenson 2013 273–7 for a reading of Thais as “the hooker with a heart (and a house full) of gold.”

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(N87r [F191]).32 In other cases, Neidhart both translates the Donatus commentary and offers further detail. For instance, in Act 4, Scene 5, Cremes (the girl Pamphilia’s long-lost brother) makes the observation sine Cerere et Libero friget Venus (“Without Ceres and Liber/Bacchus, Venus is cold”, Eu. 732), which in the Neidhart edition reads, “On cerere unnd [sic] wacho ist venus kalt” (N57v [F132], ‘wacho’ being a misspelling for ‘bacho’). Neidhart reproduces the Donatus commentary; but whereas Donatus does not need to explain who Ceres and Liber are, Neidhart decides to add an extra few sentences, explaining that Ceres is the goddess of grain, and Bacchus the god of wine, and that they are a metaphor for food and wine.33 In other glosses on Greek mythology, Neidhart adds information that is not found in the Donatus commentary, but which he must have obtained from another ancient source. In the final scene of the play (labelled in the illustration as Act 5, Scene 11), the parasite Gnato asks Cherea and Phedria to take him into their company so he can rid himself of the braggart soldier he hangs on to, with the words, satis diu hoc iam saxum uorso (“I have been rolling this rock for long enough now!”, Eu. 1085). Neidhart translates, “Ich weltze yetzo gnug lang disen felsen” (N92v [F202]). Neidhart paraphrases the Donatus commentary (Don. Ter. Eu. 1085.1, 2, and 3) regarding the manner in which the flatterer pokes fun at the soldier, how the phrase is a proverb, and how Sisyphus rolls the stone in hell. But then Neidhart provides additional information for his reader who might be curious why Sisyphus is in hell in the first place, writing: und verdint nimer kain end seiner arbait. darumb das er diebstal Jupiters seinem vater bekennet da der Jupiter lieb gehabt hat Eginam die tochter Exopi. And he never earns any end to his work, because he bore witness to his father the abduction committed by Jupiter, that Jupiter had loved Aegina the daughter of Asopus. (N92v [F202])

32  Neidhart transliterates Latin proper names with the proper case forms demanded by syntax, e.g., the ablative after German prepositions (‘von Pirreo’, ‘vor Athenis’), the partitive genitive (‘Epirhotarum’), or the accusative as direct object (‘Eginam,’ see below). 33  “Ceres ist ain gœtin des korns Bachus ain got des weinß. On die das ist on essen und trincken ist venus kalt” (“Ceres is a goddess of grain, Bacchus a god of wine. Without them, that is, without food and drink, Venus is cold.”) (N57 [F132]).

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The most likely source for Neidhart’s gloss is Pseudo-Acron’s commentary on Horace, given their agreement on the cause of Sisyphus’ punishment, which is not mentioned in major classical writers such as Ovid or Vergil: Pro hoc tamen flagitio tali poena perculsus est, quia Eginam, Asopi filiam, Iuppiter adamauit eamque custodiae patris furtim subripuit et factum Sisypho confessus est. Ille humana leuitate quaerenti patri prodidit. Hinc tali apud inferos poena damnatus est. Moreover, he (Sisyphus) was struck with such a punishment for the following crime: because Jupiter fell in love with Aegina, the daughter of Asopus, and abducted her in secret from the custody of her father, and he confided the deed to Sisyphus. With human fickleness, he made it known to the searching father. Because of this he was condemned to the underworld with such a punishment. (Schol. Hor. carm. 2.14.20) I suspect that Neidhart misidentified quaerenti patri as Sisyphus’ father (note his translation, ‘seinem vater’), rather than Aegina’s father. Pseudo-Acron’s Commentary on Horace was first printed in 1474 in Milan by Antonio Zaroto, at the same time as Horace’s works themselves. It is a curiosity why Neidhart adds the cause of Sisyphus’ punishment into his gloss on Gnato’s comment. The myth of Aegina’s rape actually has resonance in a play featuring the rape of a free-born Athenian girl and its consequences, but Neidhart does not draw any such thematic connection. In a couple of instances, Neidhart’s explanations of Greek myth provide both the background for specific proverbs and cultural practices in his own time, and the opportunity for explicit moralizing. It is these aspects of his glosses that most clearly suggest a target readership, one that has a high intellectual acuity and an interest in the relevance of ancient literature to their own times. First, from Act 2, Scene 3, a phrase spoken by the youth Cherea is glossed with the story of Hector and Ajax. Having agreed with the plan to disguise himself as the eunuch, Cherea cries, di uortant bene (“May the gods make it turn out well!”, Eu. 390), which Neidhart translates as, “Woͤ ll got das es wol gerat” (N26r [F69]). Neidhart derives his gloss to this line from Servius’ commentary on Vergil, which was first printed in Rome in 1470; in 1471 it was the first incunabulum in Florence to contain the printer’s name in the colophon.34 Servius’ 34  Parker 1733 193–95. That it was Servius’ commentary, and not Vergil’s works themselves, which was one of the first incunabula in Florence, is in my opinion a testament to the assumed erudition of the consumer market for Latin printed texts in the 1470s. The

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commentary was an even hotter commodity than the Donatus commentary, and would be printed in one hundred and twenty-five editions between 1470 and 1599 alone. In Vergil’s Eclogue 9, verse 6, the phrase, quod nec bene uertat [“may ill luck go with it”] is glossed by Servius as follows: tractum autem hoc est ab Hectore et Aiace: nam Hector dedit Aiaci gladium, quo se Aiax postea interemit; Hector uero balteum accepit ab Aiace, quo circa muros patriae tractus est postea. inde et illud comicum natum est di bene uertant quod agas: plerumque enim bona in peius, mala mutantur in melius. Moreover this was drawn from Hector and Ajax: for Hector gave Ajax a sword, with which Ajax later killed himself; and indeed Hector received a belt from Ajax, with which he was later dragged around the walls of his country. From this was derived also that comic (phrase), “May the gods make what you are doing turn out well,” for in general, good things change to the worse, bad things change to the better. (Serv. Ecl. 9.6) Interestingly, Servius seems to be quoting Terence, or at least a common comic phrase (di bene uertant quod agas) of which Terence uses the first half (di uortant bene). Neidhart takes Servius’ commentary as a starting-point and runs with it: This expression (‘dies Sprichwort’) has its origin from Hector and Ajax. When the Greeks once marched for Troy, there Hector fought them off with strong hand, without much opposition (from the Greeks), except for Ajax alone, who resisted him violently. After a long fencing, Hector asked him who he was. He said, “I am Ajax, son of Telamon, born from Hesione (‘Exiona’).” She was the sister of his (Hector’s) father, Priam. Then they let go their hatred and gave gifts, each to the other. Ajax gave Hector a belt. Hector [gave] Ajax a sword. And both gifts did not turn out well, since when Hector was killed by Achilles, he was bound at the feet with the same belt and dragged three times around the city. Ajax stabbed himself with the gifted sword because Achilles’ weapons had not come to him. Because of this, foreigners (‘die Welhin’) accept as a gift no knife or belt; Florentine printer Bernardo Cennini could take it for granted, after all, that most readers were educated enough to have already memorized Vergil’s poems at school (they had been in print only since 1469); what they wanted to purchase instead was a classic commentary.

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they give some money in exchange, as small an amount as it would be as a purchase. (N26r [F69]) Neidhart’s additions and errors are significant. He adds the motive for Ajax’s suicide, namely, his anger at not receiving Achilles’ weapons, as was made famous in Sophocles’ Ajax, but was perhaps better known to the German humanists through Book 13 of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, which was first printed in 1471. Neidhart also has Ajax reveal his genealogy as Hector’s first cousin— which of course he is not (not even Ovid makes that claim). Hector’s aunt Hesione was Ajax’s stepmother, not his mother; and it was Teucer that was Hesione’s son. Neidhart also updates ancient warfare to his contemporary world; the hand-to-hand combat of Greek warrior heroes now becomes a long fencing (‘langen fechten’). Finally, Neidhart ends the story with a comment on the current customs of ‘die Welhin’—a Swabian term for foreigners, but specifically their non-German neighbours, the Italians and French—which has nothing to do with the play itself. But this is the point; to Neidhart, the connection between Terence’s phrase “May the gods make it turn out well,” to the story of Hector and Ajax still has relevance, in his mind, for understanding the fifteenth-century descendants of the Romans and their weird ways (weird, at least, to the German mind), in this case, returning a coin when receiving a knife (‘messer’) as a gift. Even today, one can do a web-search on old wives’ tales and discover the adage that, if one is given a present of a knife, one should give a coin in return to avoid ‘cutting’ the friendship. Neidhart includes in this custom the gift of a belt (‘gürtel’), most certainly a sword-belt and thus as dangerous as a knife. As early as 1486 Hans Neidhart, at least, identified this superstitious exchange of coin for deadly gift as a non-German (and potentially Italian and French) custom derived from classical antiquity. A second example is Neidhart’s gloss on Jupiter and Danae at N43r (F103). In Act 3, Scene 5, Cherea (dressed as the eunuch) comes out of Thais’ establishment into the street, meets his mate Antipho, and narrates how he got lucky with Pamphilia. As becomes clear later, it was an act of rape, and by the end of the play Pamphilia is revealed to be a free-born Athenian girl (in Neidhart’s words at aiij v, ‘ain Edle Burgerin von Athenis’, itself a translation of the Donatus commentary’s ciuis et nobilis at Don. Ter. Eu. praef. ii.1). Cherea describes how he was ordered to look after the girl Pamphilia (after all, he was disguised as the eunuch) and saw a painting on the wall of Thais’ establishment depicting the god Jupiter sitting in the lap of Danae. The Donatus commentary is fixated on how this is the most appropriate picture in a brothel since it offers an example of “love that is neither gratis nor promised for a small amount, but sold for

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gold flowing into her lap”, whereby the commentator asks rhetorically, “Doesn’t it seem that a courtesan teaches young men that part of their body has been gilded, as it were, at the instigation of Jove?” (Don. Ter. Eu. 585.1). But Neidhart has the following to say: And Danae in truth was won over with gold by a king (‘ward mit gold von ainem künig überwunden’); she was so pretty and so chaste, he wanted her to be his. And she was guarded by her father, since she was the daughter of Acrisius, who was a king in Greece. And he loved her so much for the sake of her beauty that he locked her away in a high tower so that no man could come to her. But love, through a certain procurer belonging to it, that is bribes and gifts (‘miet und gab’), opened the tower so that the man who loved her came to her and impregnated her. When the father heard this, he locked her in a chest and cast her into the sea, whereupon she bore Perseus. And she floated with the child, up into Italy where now Rome lies. There fishers found them, and (she) was brought by them to the king. And he took her to wife because of her beauty. From their lineage was born Saturnus, who led the great war against Aeneas when he came as a fugitive from Troy to possess his own land. And Vergil touches upon (it) in the seventh book of the Aeneid, at the 37th verse. Back to Acrisius. The true history is changed into the story of how the god Jupiter turned himself into a golden shower which fell in through the smokeholes. Then she also eagerly received him in her lap. And then he let himself be seen in the form of a young man. The Poet touches upon this in the text. And in the words of women, lasciviousness is prodded (“Und würt in den worten der frawen geitikait gestupfft.”) And the vulgar saying: ‘It is a stony heart that bribes and gifts do not soften’ (“Es ist ain staini hertz das miet und gab nit erwaichet.” N43r [F103]) Neidhart is once again keen to display his erudition, but his section on Saturnus and the Aeneid is slightly mixed up. Vergil does indeed mention Saturnus in the Aeneid, but as an ancestor of Turnus; Saturnus himself does not lead any war. At Aeneid 7.372, Turnus is described as having Acrisius as an ancestor. Did Neidhart intend to say the 372nd verse, instead of 37th? Neidhart once again relies on Servius, who explains Danae’s arrival in Italy as follows: INACHVS ACRISIVSQUE PATRES. Danae, Acrisii regis Argiuorum filia, postquam est a Ioue uitiata, pater eam intra arcam inclusam praecipitauit in mare. quae delata ad Italiam, inuenta est a piscatore cum Perseo,

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quem illic enixa fuerat, et oblata regi, qui eam sibi fecit uxorem, cum qua etiam Ardeam condidit: a quibus Turnum uult originem ducere. After Danae, the daughter of king Acrisius, was raped by Jupiter, her father cast her into the sea after she was shut into a trunk; after she was carried away to Italy, she was found by a fisherman with Perseus, whom she had given birth to inside; and she was brought to the king, who made her his wife, with whom he also founded Ardea; from them, she (Amata) wants Turnus to reckon his origin. (Serv. A. 7.372)35 Neidhart again updates the ancient narrative to suit his times. For him, Jupiter fell in through the smoke-holes (‘die rauchlœcher’), the fifteenth-century equivalent of the impluuium, which Cherea mentions at Eu. 589.36 He also engages in some metaphorical explanations of the story; for him, Danae’s lover was no god, merely some king who opened the tower through bribes.37 Then he ends his whole mythological narrative with two more mundane observations: one, the reminder that it is women’s words that prod lasciviousness; and two, that the Danae story is the origin of another common proverb about bribes softening all but the stoniest heart. Once again, he tries to show the relevance of ancient legends to his modern reader—especially legends with a moral lesson to teach.

35  Modern Hellenists might be surprised to learn of the tradition that Danae and Perseus landed in Italy; according to the more familiar version of Euripides’ fragmentary Danae and Dictys, Pseudo-Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca, and Hyginus’ Fabulae, Danae and Perseus landed on the island of Seriphos. Donatus himself makes no mention of either tradition. But Medieval and Renaissance scholars were surely aware of the Italian tradition, not only through Servius, but also through the Mythographi Vaticani, who repeat Servius’ comments on Italy and Ardea almost verbatim at Mythogr. 1, 154 and 2, 133 (Kulscár’s numbering). 36  Technically, as noted by Barsby 2001 379 n. 30, Cherea means not the impluuium, which was a basin, but the compluuium, the opening in a Roman roof. 37  Nor was Jupiter’s use of bribes an invention of Neidhart, since the tradition goes as far back as Euripides’ Danae fr. 324, a tirade against gold (χρυσός) in which Acrisius claims that Danae feels countless passions because the goddess of love has a look like gold in her eyes. Furthermore, Mythogr. 1, 154, after quoting Eu. 588–9, adds Ideo autem in aureum imbrem mutatus dicitur quia auro custodes corrupit et sic cum ea concubuit (“For this reason moreover he is said to have changed into a golden shower, that he bribed her guards with gold and lay with her”).

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The Illustrations

A woodblock illustration prefaces each of the 28 scenes of Neidhart’s translation of the Eunuchus. Every woodblock illustration in Neidhart’s book takes up an entire page; this is in contrast to the miniatures in illustrated manuscripts of Terence, which typically take up no more than half a page and are often framed with text above and below. The illustrations in Neidhart’s book show costumed characters gesturing and communicating with each other in a German street, with name tags floating near their bodies. Often the characters are those whose arrival is mentioned at the end of the scene that follows, rather than characters who had arrived at the end of the previous scene; but this is actually in keeping with the illustrations in some Terence manuscripts.38 Scholarly judgment of the woodblock illustrations by the artist of Ulm has not been very positive. Schreiber was unimpressed when he wrote: “The details are executed with great skill, and rules of perspective are observed, but the figures are too monotonous, and for that, a little boring.”39 Hermann Fischer in 1915 wrote: Whether his artwork is great, I don’t know; the architectural features, which together with the costumes give an interesting picture of the time, are suggested schematically; the windows, when not a single person is situated in them, are suggested only through stark vertical lines. But not one of the woodcuts is the same as the other; and also the architecture, nearly always pictures of streets, is something different on every page. Over the door of the house of the picture on folio 45 verso (under p. 108) is a coat-of-arms which I have not been able to determine. It is not that of Neidhart.40 The illustrator from Ulm’s choice to depict the action of the Eunuchus in a city street could be a significant one, since 1486 was a momentous year in the history of staging ancient drama. On 25 January 1486 in Ferrara, Plautus’ Menaechmi was publicly performed for the first time in centuries, and included in the stage design was a city landscape painted on a backdrop.41 Some scholars have 38  For example, the illustration of Eunuchus Act 4, Scene 5 in Arsenal 664 includes Thais at the right, even though she does not appear in the scene; her entrance actually initiates the next scene. 39  Schreiber 1910–1911, no. 5330. 40  Fischer 1915 viii. 41  See Torello-Hill’s chapter in this collection.

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discounted any connection between the Ferrara performance and the illustrator from Ulm, including Helmut Schiemann, who wrote in 1954 in his comments to his edition of the work of Max Herrmann (my translation): The artist, whose name we don’t know, in his arrangement appears to be influenced predominantly by the old manuscript illustrations and also seems to have known the miniatures of the French codices of the fifteenth century. It is important that in the pictures of Ulm we find city walls, houses and streets, because the scene in the performances of ancient drama being held for the first time in 1486 in this way in Ferrara and other Italian cities, was decorated exactly with this [sic]. The artist of Ulm, however, has certainly not seen these sensational performances himself, and [in the words of Max Herrmann] ‘even if he owned a picture of them, of something already staged, or about to be put on stage’, he nonetheless had ‘translated everything from the dramatic into the epic, or even into the completely meaningless.’42 More recently, Julie Stone Peters has concurred, writing that the illustrator from Ulm “shows a typical urban scene, the figures labelled and ranged in relation to a perspective of a street, but without any indication that the artist had a performance in mind.”43 Even if the Eunuchus’ woodblocks have not been regarded as masterpieces, they nevertheless complement Neidhart’s translation by similarly refashioning the Medieval tradition for a new German readership. Just as Neidhart had combined the traditional form of a Latin manuscript of Terence (text and glosses, many of them from the Donatus commentary) with a contemporary focus (a vernacular text with notes revealing the origin of fifteenth-century customs and proverbs), so the illustrator merged bodily stances and gestures traditional to the Medieval illustrations of the Terence manuscripts with contemporary costume and architecture. All the characters in the woodblocks are dressed in late fifteenth-century northern European clothing and accessories, including feathered hats, rosaries, and stylish Burgundian shoes with varying point lengths, purely contemporary with Neidhart’s audience. None of the characters wears a classical mask. The eunuch’s costume is the most distinctive, being that of a court jester (including pointed ears with bells on the ends), 42  Herrmann 1954 2.23. Although Schiemann was of the view that the performances of Plautus in Ferrara included decorated scenes of houses and streets, I do not share that view. 43  Peters 2000 97.

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a sign of his difference from the elite (see Figure 18). A sword is also part of the eunuch’s costume, probably an allusion to his duty as a bodyguard for the maiden Pamphilia; but it is a flat sword, rather than the long swords worn by the youth Phedria and the soldier Traso, a further sign of the eunuch’s lower status (and, I suspect, his assumed blunted virility).44 This is the illustrator from Ulm’s innovation, since in Terence’s manuscript tradition the eunuch is not shown with a sword. Furthermore the illustrator from Ulm has drawn the action as happening in the middle of the street, with characters coming in and out of houses, or (more often) lingering around doorways. This ‘liminality’ (to borrow Cull’s description) is exactly what happens in the fiction of the play. To quote John Cull, The door is generally an obstacle that prevents physical access to Thais and her favors, whether it stands open or closed. Of the seven mentions of her door that I have noticed (19, 57, 60, 184, 193, 210, 222), only once is the door in motion, suggestive of someone crossing the threshold.45 I would add further that the illustrator does not so much focus on the threshold of Thais’ establishment (as Terence’s text does), as on the threshold of the ‘anywhere.’ Only Thais’ house occasionally looks distinguishable because of its big door, or because identifiable characters lean out of it. Beyond that, the street really does look different in every woodblock, and the space between the houses is one that morphs from scene to scene, as if the characters are wandering aimlessly through some vast Medieval metropolis. If the figures can be said to be liminal, it is because they are on the threshold of a space that has not yet defined itself, and they are forever waiting for it to take a recognizable shape. This makes the action take place anywhere and yet nowhere, lending it a bleak fantasy element that is almost twenty-first-century in feeling. The use of contemporary dress and architecture in illustrating Terence is not in itself unique to the illustrator from Ulm, since (as observed by Helmut Schiemann in the quotation above) the miniatures of French codices of Terence from the early fifteenth century also depicted the characters in contemporary clothing and in front of contemporary houses. Two examples of such codices of Terence are the Duc de Berry’s manuscript (Paris, BnF, lat. 7907a), produced around 1400 (see Figure 9), and the Térence des Ducs (Arsenal 664), produced 44  The sword could also represent a standard part of the jester’s costume. In Renaissance England, at least, the jester’s costume could include a wooden sword, club, dagger, or imitation sceptre (Southworth 1998 4). 45  Cull 2010 146.

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around 1412 (see Figures 4, 11, 14, and 20). The similarities between the artwork in Arsenal 664 and that by the illustrator from Ulm with respect to the architecture of the buildings in Act 1, Scene 1, and Act 4, Scene 7 are striking, especially the frame of the house and the shape of the door and square windows (cf. Figures 8 and 11, and Figures 20 and 21). Also similar is the frame of the illustrations themselves. The illustrator from Ulm uses a simple border of parallel solid lines, which is essentially how the French artists drew the frames of their square miniatures before filling in the empty space with golden ink. But though the frames are similar, the aesthetics are quite different by virtue of the technology that produced the illustrations. In the new medium of the woodblock, the final image would consist of lines (and occasional solid masses to indicate empty windows or open doorways) created by black ink pressed by the woodblock on paper, rather than many colours of ink applied painstakingly on parchment. Whereas the French artists covered every square inch of their miniatures with some colour, the woodblock artist relied on the contrast between black line and empty white space to convey his vision. Some surviving copies of Neidhart’s Eunuchus are, in fact, coloured (see Figure 21 for an example), but there is no evidence that the colour was applied before the book was sold; there is every reason to believe that colouring was added later at the request of the customer, or by the customer himself. The experience of the printer Lienhart Holle, also from Ulm, whose first book was a 1482 edition of Ptolemy’s Cosmographia with all copies beautifully coloured, is instructive; the whole process, which even involved blue colours using lapis lazuli, drove him into debt, and he closed his business within a year.46 If Dinckmut did colour the surviving coloured editions of Neidhart’s Eunuchus, they must have been one-offs for customers who were willing to pay handsomely for it. Yet, in other important ways, the illustrator from Ulm maintains elements traditional to the Medieval illustrated Terence manuscripts, as though his readers expected his illustrations to adhere to that tradition. However, scholars have sought in vain for a single Medieval manuscript that the artist from Ulm used as a model. Bidlingmaier argued that a manuscript from the branch of F could have been a model, based on identical arrangements of personae.47 But Oskar Lenz in his 1922 dissertation on the changes in illustrations of Terence over time had noted several variations and concluded that there was “nothing of the previous Terence illustrations that was of influence, even if such (an influence) is even to be assumed. In no case is it a copy, nor is there even a

46  For the full story of Holle’s disastrous publishing venture, see Tedeschi 1991. 47  Bidlingmaier 1930 20–2.

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close connection to a model.”48 Lenz did observe various “echoes of ancient illustration”, which included the arrangement of the illustration before each scene, tags listed next to the personae in each illustration, and “the striking preference for hand gesture”, though Lenz insisted that “we see very little detail in the gestures reminiscent of the antique illustration.”49 The name tags which the Ulm artist puts immediately next to the characters’ bodies are indeed reminiscent of the tags in some Medieval Terence manuscripts.50 Further, a short plot summary is placed above the frame of each illustration as a heading. For example, for Act 1, Scene 3, the following heading precedes the illustration: Der dritt tail deß ersten underschaids. Redt der jüngling und der knecht mit ainander. Und sicht Parmeno das Gnato ain jungkfrawen fürt der Thais zeschencken. als im enpfolhen was der selben Thais ain mœrin und ain verschniten zeschencken. The third scene of the first act. The youth and the slave speak with each other. And Parmeno sees that Gnato is leading a girl to Thais as a gift. Then he is ordered to give to the same Thais a mooress and a eunuch as gifts. (N11r [F39]). Neidhart’s summaries are his own work and do not appear to be derived from any other source. But even the inclusion of such summaries is consistent with the tradition of illustrating Terence. For example, Arsenal 664 and O also contain plot summaries for each scene accompanying the miniature illustration (the summaries in O are from the Commentum Brunsianum). In Arsenal 664, the summary precedes the miniature, even spilling over from the previous page; in the case of O, the summary is immediately under the illustration (rather than over it) and leads directly to the text. The other illustrative tradition that the artist from Ulm appears to maintain is the conventions for hand and body gestures. Contrary to Lenz’ assessment 48  Lenz 1922 104. 49  Lenz 1922 3, 103, 105. 50  This is different from Arsenal 664, in which names are listed below the miniature (Figure 20). BnF 7907a, produced in the same milieu and probably the same workshop, sometimes has captions next to the figures, and at others at the foot of the illustration. The placement of the labels is such that often a reader must rely on costume to determine who is who. For more on the order of labels in the Medieval manuscripts, see Turner in this volume.

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that very little is reminiscent of Antique illustration, it can be demonstrated that the artist from Ulm understood this grammar of representation by comparing him with selections from four manuscripts: P (BnF lat. 7899, mid-ninth century); O (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13, mid-twelfth century, concerning which critical opinion is divided as to whether it is a direct copy of P, or else of a closely related manuscript produced in the same scriptorium);51 Tur (Tours BM, 924, dating to about 1100); and Arsenal 664 (c. 1412).52 For Act 3, Scene 1: Figure 12 is of O, Figure 13 is of Tur, Figure 14 is of Arsenal 664, and Figure 15 is of Neidhart’s edition. In all four illustrations, the soldier Traso stands at the viewer’s left; the parasite Gnato is in the middle with his face turned towards Traso; and the slave Parmeno is at the right. The placement of the eavesdropping Parmeno (around a corner) is similar in Arsenal 664 and Neidhart; but whilst in Arsenal 664 the speakers are indoors, in Neidhart their conversation is in the street. There is a surprising continuity of gestures between the manuscript illustrations and Neidhart. In O and Neidhart, the parasite Gnato raises his right hand with palm fully open upwards and bends his elbow, and with his left hand tugs at the edge of his outer garment; in Tur, Gnato’s right hand is raised but actually points away from Traso, and in his left hand he holds some kind of staff, with his sleeves hanging down noticeably; in Arsenal 664, Gnato raises both his hands with palms fully open upwards, bending both elbows. The position of the palms corresponds either to what Dutsch calls ‘pleading and modesty’ (2007 63) or ‘protest and disagreement’ (2007 65), both of which would fit Gnato’s role as the witty flatterer of the braggart soldier in this scene. Three of the illustrations (O, Arsenal 664, and Neidhart) share the most in common. In all three, one of Gnato’s feet is in front of the other: in O, his right foot is slightly cocked, whilst his left foot looks level; in Arsenal 664, his left foot is in front, and in Neidhart his right foot is in front. The different illustrators give either the impression that he is balancing his weight on one leg, or actually stepping. Meanwhile, the soldier Traso tugs his cloak with his left hand, and raises the index finger of his right hand; in the latter two illustrations, he raises his hand in front of his chest, whilst in O it looks as though Traso is in the process of raising his hand upward. The pointed finger corresponds to what both Dodwell (2000 36) and Dutsch (2007 64) call ‘insistence.’ Traso also has one foot in front 51  See Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 5.3. 52  There has been much scholarly debate on the precise meanings of these gestures, but I confine my references to Dodwell 2000 and Dutsch 2007. I also wish to mention Wright’s caution that “We must realize that these gestures do not have a fixed symbolic value independent of the body language and narrative context” (Wright 2006 216).

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of the other (or at least one foot cocked), always the opposite to Gnato; and he has a sword slung around him (in Neidhart, the sword dangles rather alarmingly between his legs). Finally, in all four illustrations the costume of the soldier Traso is more elaborate than the others; he wears a crown or a colourful hat, in Tur he wears a cloak fastened at the neck, and in Arsenal 664 he wears hose of different colours. In Neidhart, Traso wears the only coat that has buttons, and the tips of his shoes are the longest—both of which were fifteenthcentury signs of status. For Act 3, Scene 2: Figure 16 is from O, Figure 17 is from Tur, and Figure 18 is from Neidhart. Cherea, dressed as the eunuch, and the Ethiopian slave girl are escorted by Parmeno as gifts for Thais, while Traso and Gnato watch on. Cherea and the Ethiopian girl are led inside Thais’ establishment, and the handmaiden Pythias follows shortly after, until Thais herself departs and the scene ends. Both O and Tur suggest movement into a building by showing a body in a doorway, and Arsenal 664 (not figured here) suggests movement by showing Thais twice. But the illustrator from Ulm suggests movement instead by placing the characters facing each other in a city square outside Thais’ door (a ‘framing’ with architecture). The illustrator from Ulm has labelled the eunuch ‘Dorus E(u)nuchus,’ even though it is not actually Dorus, but Cherea in disguise; but Thais thinks he is Dorus, and actually addresses him as Dorus. In Tur and Arsenal 664, neither Cherea’s nor Dorus’ names are tagged (even though a person in a eunuch costume is clearly depicted). The illustrator from Ulm is the only artist to tag the Ethiopian girl (‘Mœrin’). Interestingly, neither the illustrator from Ulm nor Tur depicts and tags the handmaiden Pythias, who has only one line in the scene; yet she appears in O and Arsenal 664.53 Once again there is a striking similarity of gestures and stance. In Neidhart, the parasite Gnato raises his right hand and extends his thumb and first two fingers; his body is at an angle, so it is a little difficult to see, but the same gesture is present in O. In Tur as well, Gnato’s right hand is raised but behind Traso’s body. The gesture with the index and middle finger stretched out is analogous to Dutsch’s ‘statement and interpellation’ gesture (2007 62). This matches well the parasite’s role in this scene, which is to burst into hysterical laughter, possibly at the slave Parmeno’s insult to the soldier Traso; Gnato quickly covers up his laughter by pretending he is remembering a joke Traso told earlier. In Neidhart, the soldier Traso bends his left elbow and extends 53  Amelung 1972 35 also noted that “an innovation for which there is no precedent in the tradition of Terence illustration is the consistent representation of all personae occurring in a scene, even if they remain silent and do not intervene in the action. Even personae whose approach will be announced at the end of a scene appear in the picture.”

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his left hand outward pointing with his forefinger, curling his bottom fingers back; his right elbow is also bent, and his right hand fully open upwards. This same gesture is in O, and with the opposite hands in Tur. The gesture with the elbow bent and the fingers stretched out is equivalent to Dodwell’s ‘surprise, amazement’ (2000 80) and Dutsch’s ‘astonishment and anxiety’ (2007 67). This certainly corresponds with Traso’s reaction to the arrival of the eunuch and Ethiopian slave girl as gifts from Thais’ rival client. In Neidhart, Traso has his two feet quite close together, as does Traso in O. As for Thais, in Neidhart she makes a signal with her left hand, moving her forefinger and thumb towards touching each other, similar to Tur; in O it is her right hand that makes the gesture, and forefinger and thumb actually meet. Dodwell calls this ‘approval’ (2000 63, which includes a description of this very scene). Neidhart’s Thais uses her right hand to tug at her skirt, as she does in Tur and Arsenal 664. The most climactic scene in the Eunuchus is Act 4, Scene 7, when the soldier Traso and his ruffians take up arms and try to besiege the establishment of the courtesan Thais. Figure 19 is from P, Figure 20 is from Arsenal 664, and Figure 21 is from Neidhart. Traso calls out to his minions by name—Simalio, Donax (Neidhart’s Dorax), Syriscus (Neidhart’s Siristus), and Sanga—and inspects their weaponry, including a crowbar (Latin vectis, Swabian ‘rigel’). Sanga has a couple of lines comically explaining why he is fighting with a peniculon. The illustrations of this scene show the greatest variety in terms of artistic choices, yet the illustrator from Ulm preserves clear continuities with the tradition. His Traso bends his right elbow and with his right forefinger points towards Thais and her establishment; this is the same as in P and O, where he gestures with his left elbow and hand. His other hand is open and his arm extended (although in P and O his arm is bent downwards, giving the comical impression that he is stroking Donax’s crowbar). Traso in Tur has the same right elbow and forefinger gesture, but his left hand holds his hip; it is, in fact, the same stance Traso has in Act 3, Scene 2 of Tur. As for Gnato, in Neidhart he faces Traso, bends both elbows and raises both his hands and, uniquely, has his back to the reader.54 Gnato has this same gesture (bent elbows and raised hands) in Tur, in P and O (where his hands wring 54  Amelung 1972 35 uses the placement of Traso and Gnato to illustrate the low emotion (‘die geringe Bewegtheit’) of the woodcuts: “Clearly no great store was set by impressive gestures and moving facial expressions, even though the personae are drawn with great care. Even in a scene that is as moving as its text as Act 4, Scene 7, where Traso advances with his followers to storm the house of Thais, the illustration looks almost serene. Traso and Gnato stand quite apathetically on the left side as if the spectacle on the right does not concern them.”

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some drapery, and he stands off to the far left), and even Arsenal 664 (where he holds up a weapon in one hand, and is not so much facing Traso as leaning his head towards him). In all these illustrations, Traso and his minions are at the left, and Thais and Cremes (who has learned that he is in fact Pamphilia’s brother) are at the right. The illustrator from Ulm follows the lead of Arsenal 664 in showing Thais, Cremes, and the handmaiden Pythias inside a house, looking through square windows (whereas the other manuscripts omit Pythias and a house); he even adds a fourth head at the window, that of the handmaiden Dorias. He enjoys this scene so much that he illustrates it twice, using it as the picture for the previous scene (Act 4, Scene 6) even before the ruffians have arrived! And in both illustrations, the artist from Ulm follows Neidhart’s lead (as mentioned earlier in this chapter) in updating Sanga’s peniculon from a sponge to a cloth or dishrag (or as Neidhart translated it, ‘kuchenpletzlin’).55 What this brief comparison demonstrates is not simply that the illustrator from Ulm was using these gestures as a model for his own work, nor even that he was merely replicating the gestures; instead, we can say with confidence that he studied the gestures thoroughly enough to understand their semantics.56 We have no knowledge of whether the illustrator from Ulm would have described them in the same terms as modern scholars do, or theorized about their origin, in the way that both Dodwell and Dutsch have discussed parallels between the gestures and both Quintilian’s writings and ancient Greco-Roman art. But we can observe that, even for scenes where the illustrator from Ulm does not replicate any Medieval manuscript exactly, he nonetheless substitutes gestures that have a meaning appropriate to the action, exercising the same degree of variation as artists before him. In Act 3, Scene 4, Cherea’s mate Antipho arrives outside Thais’ establishment, having left the Piraeus to come searching for him. Cherea steps out of Thais’ door, and Antipho is astonished to see him dressed in the eunuch’s costume. In both O and Tur, Antipho lifts his arm and points to the emerging Cherea (whose entrance, interestingly, ends this scene, since his first lines begin the next scene). In O, Cherea is 55  Amelung 1972 35 argues that Sanga in the Ulm illustration holds an apron (‘Küchenschürze’). Lenz 1922 104 recognized it as a kitchen rag (‘Küchenlappen’) and also observed that the Ulm artist followed Neidhart’s translation, not the Latin original. 56  Even though, as stated above, no single manuscript has ever been identified as a model, all scholars who have studied the artist from Ulm’s woodblocks agree that his grammar of hand gestures simply did not appear ex nihilo. Weil 1923 77 postulated a lost model that the artist from Ulm surely had studied. Amelung 1972 34 considered such a supposition disastrous, and instead attributed the artist from Ulm’s design to directions from Neidhart himself; Amelung neither supposed nor refuted the Ulm artist’s familiarity with the Terence illustrated manuscript tradition.

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coming out of a building and does not so much gesture as he holds onto a pillar; in Tur, Cherea bends both elbows and raises both hands, all fingers extended upwards, looking comically like a bank teller being robbed. The illustrator from Ulm follows neither of these presentations, but instead chooses gestures that are equally appropriate for the dramatic situation. His Cherea emerges from Thais’ doorway with his right hand steadying his sword, but with his left elbow bent and left hand held up in a gesture analogous to Dutsch’s ‘pleading and modesty’ (2007 63), the same gesture that he earlier gave to Gnato (who used his right hand) in Act 3, Scene 1 (Figure 15). Meanwhile Antipho bends his right elbow and holds his hand at waist height in a cup-shape (palm facing upwards) with his fingers moving towards his thumb but not touching them. This is a gesture of surprise, or what Dutsch calls ‘astonishment’ (2007 67), and in her description of folio 13 of P, she gives it these characteristics: the “right arm is bent at the elbow, its upper part close to the body. The palm, held slightly above the waist, points to the right; all fingers are stretched out and, except for the thumb, held together.”57 Both of the gestures chosen by the illustrator from Ulm fit the dramatic action. Cherea’s gesture, associated with Gnato already once in the play, invokes the pleading and flattery that anyone would need when discovered in a ridiculous outfit by one’s best mate. Antipho’s gesture is a clever variant on the manuscripts, since the gesture with the palm above the waist suggests astonishment just as well as raising the arm up high and pointing does; and whereas pointing (as in the manuscripts) might overtly draw attention to one’s surprise, the gesture with the palm above the waist (to my mind, at least) indicates a more internal puzzlement (and after all, Antipho is talking to himself in soliloquy). Thus, one should give full credit to the illustrator from Ulm and those who imitated him (see below) for their place in the history of illustrating Terence. The full longevity of these dramatic gestures is well worth appreciating; they were repeated faithfully, albeit with a great deal of variation, over the generations in subsequent illustrations of Terence’s plays, from the Carolingian manuscripts right up to the very end of the fifteenth century. Reception How successful was this entire venture of translation, glosses, and illustrations, rubricated by hand after printing, and all bound into a luxurious edition? Since we do not know how many copies of Neidhart’s book were originally produced, 57  Dutsch 2007 68.

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or how well they sold, our best evidence for how well it was received comes from two sources: the imitation of the artist from Ulm’s illustrations by other woodcut artists in the 1490s, and the adoption of Neidhart’s translation and commentary into Grüninger’s 1499 German edition of Terence’s plays. The German humanist Sebastian Brandt and the Basel printer Johann Amerbach had intended to produce a new illustrated Latin edition of Terence’s plays in 1493. The preliminary illustrations for this edition—over a hundred and forty pen and ink drawings on white-ground woodblocks—survive and have been attributed to Albrecht Dürer, who would have completed them around 1492, when he was about twenty-one years old, a mere six years after Neidhart’s book was printed. Brandt and Amerbach abandoned their project, and the vast majority of the woodblocks of the illustrations were never cut. The year 1493 was also the year that Badius and Treschel’s illustrated edition of Terence’s plays was printed in Lyon, and it has been the general speculation that Brandt and Amerbach dropped their project because the Lyons edition had already cornered the market.58 In any case, the Terence illustrations attributed to the young Dürer are indebted to Neidhart’s Eunuchus. In the opinion of Willi Kurth, Dürer’s training as an apprentice in Nuremberg from 1486 to 1490 undoubtedly shaped his artistic style, and “a close resemblance in style to the Ulm Master of the Lirar Chronicle and the Eunuch of Terence” to the style of Nuremberg book illustration from 1488 onwards “has been universally recognized.”59 What is striking, however, is just how extensively the artist employed by Brandt and Amerlach reproduces the illustrations from Neidhart’s edition when creating his own drawings. Thomas Wilhelmi, in his study of what remains of the text of Brandt’s intended Terence edition, argues that although it is possible Brandt and Amerbach had borrowed a Terence manuscript from outside Basel, there is not enough similarity between Brandt’s edition and the manuscript tradition, or even to Neidhart’s translation of the Eunuchus, to pinpoint Brandt’s sources.60 What Wilhelmi does not comment on, however, are the sources for Brandt and Amerbach’s illustrator (for sake of simplicity, henceforth to be denoted Dürer). Portions from all six of Terence’s plays are represented in the surviving drawings, in which Dürer copied not only the artist from Ulm’s presentation of characters in late fifteenth-century clothing using Medieval gestures, but also his use of architectural space to surround the characters. Dürer’s innovation was to add an imaginary landscape of stony paths, hilly terrain and shrubbery as a foreground for far-off city buildings and bridges; but even 58  Wilhelmi 2002 107. 59  Kurth 1927 7. 60  Wilhelmi 2002 106–7.

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the buildings, with their slit-windows and rounded doorways in solid black, invoke the schematic architecture of Ulm in Neidhart’s Eunuchus. It could be argued that Dürer (following the illustrator from Ulm’s example) had access to a manuscript of Terence and replicated the traditional gestures for all six plays; but for my purposes, it seems incontrovertible that for his Eunuchus drawings, Dürer copied the illustrator from Ulm. Although it is not possible to reproduce the pictures here, there are correspondences with regard to the characters’ clothing (down to identical hats and accessories, like Laches’ rosary) and stance (including the hand gestures). Even Parmeno holds his hat the same way in both artists’ illustrations of Act 1, Scene 1. In 1496 in Strassburg, Johann Grüninger printed his illustrated Latin edition of Terence’s plays, admittedly dependent on Badius and Trechsel’s Lyons edition three years earlier.61 The illustrations, however, are quite innovative for the time, whereby the printer used factotum blocks or woodcut stamps, each representing a character or background image (like a building or tree or landscape), and set them together to create a composite image. Grüninger reused the same factotum blocks in his March 1499 German edition of Terence, which is credited as the first printed German translation of all six plays of Terence. Apparent in the design of the factotum blocks (which unfortunately cannot be reproduced here) are not only Dürer’s use of natural landscape as background, but also the illustrator from Ulm’s use of height and sharp architectural lines as surround. The characters wear northern European clothing, but this is the next generation. The slave Parmeno is much more dressed up now (how he has come up in the world!) and wears a feathered hat like his master Phedria did in Neidhart’s edition. The eunuch’s costume is once again that of a jester carrying a mock sword, comically looking rather more like a broom. The characters even gesture with their hands and arms in poses reminiscent of Neidhart and the Terence manuscripts; but because the blocks are reused throughout the play, each character is frozen into a gesture that runs the risk of ill-suiting the scene they are meant to illustrate. Even more interesting is that Grüninger in his German edition mentions Neidhart in his introductory comments, giving credit to, “den ersammen und wysen Hansen Nythart Burger zů Ulm das er die andern Comedi Eunuchum vor iaren getütscht hat” (“the honourable and wise Hans Neidhart, citizen

61  Interestingly, it was Strassburg which produced the editio princeps of Terence (at least, by most accounts) in 1470 by Johannes Mentelin, who also printed the first German translation of the Bible in 1466.

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of Ulm, that he put into German the second comedy, Eunuchus”).62 And to top it off, Grüninger’s section on the Eunuchus (37v to 84v) is a reprint of Neidhart’s 1486 translation and commentary, rather than an entirely new product. Neidhart’s words are occasionally rephrased or respelled, but in all other respects, Grüninger repeats Neidhart’s text verbatim. For example, the very first lines of Neidhart’s translation are spoken by Phedria: Was thun ich nun? wird ich auch noch nit gan. so ich unbegerend bin berieffet? oder will ich mich allso stellen das ich der bulerin schmachait nit verdulde? What do I do now? Shouldn’t I go, though I am sent for without expecting it? Or will I prepare myself not to tolerate the insults of courtesans? (N1r [F19]) Grüninger reprints this with the following minor spelling changes, but no change in meaning: Was wurd ich nun tůn. würd ich ouch noch nit gon. so ich unbegere(nd) byn berüfft. oder wil ich mich also stellen das ich deren bůlerin schmachheyt nit verdulde. Grüninger, like Neidhart, does not translate the prologue to the Eunuchus, nor indeed the prologue to any of Terence’s plays. Grüninger also reprints most of Neidhart’s glosses. Although there was not enough room for Neidhart’s gloss on Hector and Ajax, nonetheless the gloss on Danae and Perseus’ arrival in Italy (including the erroneous reference to the 37th verse of the seventh book of Vergil’s Aeneid) is reprinted on Grüninger 1499 64v, and Neidhart’s gloss on Sisyphus is reprinted on Grüninger 1499 83v. Yet another publication that arguably has its roots in Neidhart’s Eunuchus is the 1499 illustrated edition of the Spanish playwright Fernando de Rojas’ Celestina, printed in Burgos. The Spanish play itself is modeled on Terence, and John Cull makes a compelling argument that the illustrations to Celestina, with their emphasis on characters lingering around doorways in an urban landscape, owe their ultimate inspiration to the illustrator from Ulm. The Spanish 62  This is the first (and only) testimony in Neidhart’s lifetime that he authored the translation of the Eunuchus; yet, given that Grüninger elsewhere made mistaken attributions, some scholars doubt whether even this constitutes proof of Neidhart’s authorship. See Bertelsmeier-Kierst 2013.

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characters also gesture with their hands and arms, but not with the precision of the Ulm artist’s Terentian cast. Cull notes how other scholars have pointed to the 1493 Badius and Treschel and the 1496 Grüninger illustrated editions of Terence as models for the Burgos Celestina, but he argues that Neidhart’s edition has been overlooked as an even earlier model. He is mindful that book production in Spain at the end of the fifteenth century was dominated by Swiss and German immigrants, and concludes: The individual responsible for executing the woodcut illustrations of the Burgos 1499 edition—most likely a Swiss or German engraver in view of the practices employed at Spanish print shops in the period, owned primarily by German printers—may very well have been familiar with the illustrations from the 1486 German translation of Terence’s Eunuchus.63 Conclusion Although it has often been overlooked in the history of printed editions of Terence, nonetheless with respect to translation, commentary, and illustration, Neidhart’s German edition of Terence’s Eunuchus truly set the standard for others to follow. It is a true ‘translation’, making the ancient world accessible to the reader of 1486. Editor, illustrator, and publisher created a product that was both an extension of the old and familiar, and an innovation that brought Terence (albeit only one of his plays) to a wider readership. Neidhart’s incunabulum was typeset as a luxury item that resembled a manuscript; and in fact, since rubrication was added by hand after printing, it was technically a hybrid manuscript. Neidhart presented a classical text and provided glosses in the manner traditional to a manuscript, and in contrast to the contemporary practice of printing a text and a commentary in separate volumes. The illustrator from Ulm, for his part, continued the centuries-old tradition of how to illustrate Terence with the recognizable repertoire of dramatic gestures and body postures. On the other hand, the incunabulum was more than just another edition of Terence. The play itself was in the vernacular, the very first of its kind in Germany. The glosses not only explained the moral message one might get from reading Terence, but also often revealed the relevance of the ancient world for the contemporary world through some of its customs and proverbs. The translation and glosses were considered of such quality that Grüninger reprinted them in 1499, finding no compelling interest to improve 63  Cull 2010 157.

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upon Neidhard’s text. The illustrations showed characters in contemporary dress wandering through urban streets surrounded by closely-packed Swabian houses, which was so attractive that Dürer adopted the same style for his own illustrations. All these things together—the vernacular text and glosses, their organization on the page, and their seamless placement between full-page illustrations of the dramatis personae (with names next to every character’s body) as they wander in the fantastical city landscape—all contribute to how Neidhart directs his audience to ‘read’ the play in a new way. This is not primarily a book designed for reference or for schoolroom study (a scholar would do better to read it in Latin), or even for performance. Instead, the book is for the enjoyment of the drama, and it encourages its reader to visualize the action in his mind as if it were happening in real time, not on an ancient stage by actors wearing masks. This visualization is made as easy as possible by the vernacular language, the glosses, and the illustrations with clothing, streets and city architecture that are contemporary in style but just vague enough to imply that the action could be happening anywhere in northern Europe. In a reader’s imagination, the drama was capable of happening to them, in their own time, so that Terence’s play about Greek courtesans and braggart soldiers became not an antiquated object of the past, which one might or might not ever see staged, but rather a fantastical and yet meaningful adventure that could happen to any fifteenth-century German, and even an experience from which a valuable lesson—about love affairs—could be learned.

Part 2 Scholarship

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CHAPTER 5

Terence Quotations in Latin Grammarians: Shared and Distinguishing Features Salvatore Monda* Marcus Terentius Varro, in a fragment of the epistle addressed to an unidentified Fufius, writes: Quintiporis Clodi Antipho fies, ac poemata eius gargari­ dians dices: ‘O Fortuna! o Fors Fortuna!’ (“You will be the Antipho of Clodius Quintipor, and you will say his verses in a gurgling voice: ‘O Fortune! O Lucky Fortune!’ ”).1 Varro’s passage—quoted by the philosopher and lexicographer Nonius Marcellus (p. 168 [L.]) with regard to the rare verb gargaridiare2— contains a partial quotation from Terence’s Phormio, the context of which is: O Fortuna, o Fors Fortuna, quantis commoditatibus, quam subito meo ero Antiphoni ope uostra hunc honerastis diem! O Fortune, O Lucky Fortune! How many benefits, and how suddenly you’ve bestowed them on my master Antipho today! (Ter. Ph. 841–2)

*  This paper deals with the indirect tradition of Terence’s six plays. Terence’s lines are often quoted in works with literary and scholarly content, in antiquarian studies, textual interpretations and linguistic inquiries. I will only discuss the quotations from Terence in Latin grammarians and I will rule out in principle glossaries, commentaries and works of erudition (though I will mention a few of these in the course of the work). A study of the grammatical tradition and Terence’s text deserves a more detailed analysis, devoted to each grammarian or, at least, classified by types of artigraphical tradition (i.e. the traditions of artes gram­ maticae). I limit myself here to a few general considerations. On the role and function of the quotations from Latin poets and writers in grammatical treatises the essential starting point is the work of Mario De Nonno, especially the paper “Le citazioni dei grammatici” (De Nonno 1990b), but also essential are other studies, which employ rigorous methodology, such as De Nonno 1990c, 1998, 2010, De Paolis 2000, and Munzi 2011. Finally I would like to thank Andrew Turner and Giulia Torello-Hill for accepting this chapter for publication. 1  Fragments of Varro’s epistles (the so-called Quaestiones epistolicarum) are edited by Semi 1965 2.92–7. See also Rocca 1978 213–15. 2  It is a variant of gargarizare or gargarissare, a form mentioned by Varro again in De lingua Latina 6.96, as a lexical Graecism (from ἀναγαργαρίζεσθαι).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004289499_006

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In his lexicon Nonius is citing Varro who, in turn, is citing Terence. However, Varro’s epistle is quoted by Nonius two other times. In one case, the lemma is noenum pro non (p. 209 [L.]): Varro epistula ad Fufium: ‘si hodie noenum uenis, cras quidem, sis, ueneris meridie die natalis Fortis Fortunae’.3 In another instance, on the difference between fors and Fortuna, Nonius (p. 687 [L.]) writes: Varro epistula ad Fufium: ‘di quaeso Fors Fortuna, quantis commoditati­ bus hunc diem!’ 4 It has been argued that Nonius owned a manuscript of Terence,5 but he was definitely not able to quote directly from Varro’s Epistula ad Fufium. The three references he makes to this epistle could indeed derive from different sources; the last of these, in addition to mangling the passage of Varro, could also have changed the verse quoted from Phormio, giving a quotation that is more extensive, including words from the next line, but is also reduced by omissions. On the distinction between fors and Fortuna he could have directly recalled Terence without using a second-hand quotation from Varro, but this is Nonius’ way of working: he is following a lexicographical source here,6 and does not seem to know or remember that the passage comes from Terence. Moreover, there always remains the doubt that quite different citations of the same line may have been produced by neither Nonius nor his sources, but by the copyists who transmitted the text to us. There is also another question. Ph. 841–2 is delivered by the slave Geta: why then does Varro say Antipho fies? The name Antipho is an emendation by Franz Buecheler, but the correction seems quite reliable.7 It does happen sometimes that a quotation by a commentator or grammarian is introduced with the name of the character who speaks the verses, rather than with the title of the play,8 but in Terence’s Phormio we cannot assign the lines to the adulescens Antipho, who is in fact mentioned in them, and are obliged to attribute the speech to the slave Geta. We may infer that Varro possessed a manuscript of Terence with scene-divisions and scene-headings, from which he took the wrong name of

3  Riese 1865 106 joins this fragment of the epistle ad Fufium to the one mentioned above. 4  This is the reading of the manuscripts of Nonius. Lindsay 1903 prefers to emend di quaeso to dices o, and prints dices: O Fors Fortuna as in the quotation on p. 168. 5  See Lindsay 1901. 6  Lindsay 1901 10 [no. 35A] attributes the quotation of Varro’s epistles by Nonius possibly to a Glossary drawn mainly from Varro, which he denotes ‘Gloss. iv’ (see below). 7  Antipho fies ac for ant foriae ac in Nonius’ manuscripts ( fies ac was conjectured by Alexander Riese). In the apparatus to Nonius, Lindsay hesitantly suggests Antiphoni haec. 8  So, e.g., Fulgentius when he introduces a quotation with Plautus in Cacisto or Plautus in Crisalo, to refer, respectively, to the Vidularia and the Bacchides, or even Servius when he writes Plautus in Pirgopolinice in order to quote the Miles gloriosus.

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the character (in the scene, in addition to Antipho and Geta, Phormio is also present), but this argument is rather weak. The uncertainty in this discussion extends to Clodius Quintipor9 too. At first glance it may appear that he was a comic actor ridiculed by Varro because he had mispronounced that verse during a stage performance of Terence’s Phormio (poemata eius meaning “Terence’s verses”), but it is more likely that he was an author of comedies and in one of his plays a character called Antipho— that probably gave the play its title—delivered the speech O Fortuna, o Fors Fortuna, remodeling Terence’s line (if so, poemata eius could mean “his own verses”).10 Varro in fact mentions Clodius Quintipor on another occasion, in the Menippean satire Bimarcus (fr. 59 [Ast.] = 52 [Cèbe]): cum Quintipor Clodius tot comoedias sine ulla fecerit Musa, ego unum libellum non ‘edolem’ ut ait Ennius? (“while Quintipor Clodius wrote so many comedies without any inspiration of the Muse, how could I not ‘finish’, as Ennius says, a single little book?”).11 From this fragment it seems that Clodius Quintipor was a playwright, rather than a comic actor who staged old comedies by Terence. His literary output must have been incredibly prolific, for Varro to compare the vastness of Clodius’ production to his own single little book.12 If so, in this case, Nonius would be citing Varro, who is citing Clodius Quintipor who, in turn, is alluding to Terence. Moreover, the phrase O Fortuna, o Fors Fortuna is a widely used formula, which also appears at the beginning of the second scene of Querolus (§16), when Querolus exclaims: O fortuna, o fors fortuna, o fatum sceleratum atque impium! (“O fortune, o lucky fortune, o wicked and impious fate!”). This inextricable interlacing of quotations and imitations is not an isolated case in the transmission of classical texts, and anyone dealing with the so-called indirect tradition frequently encounters this situation. But for a text like that of Terence, which at some point in its long history left the theatre stage to appear with even greater success on the shelves of libraries and in school teachers’ 9  This form of the name may be preferable to Quintipor Clodius, as he is commonly called, since it is possible that nomen gentilicium and cognomen are here reversed: this practice, originally poetic (see Pl. Merc. 10 Macci Titi), is common in Cicero’s epistles and in firstcentury AD prose (e.g. Tac. dial. 1.1 Iuste Fabi): see e.g. Echavarren 2013. For discussion of this personage, see also Schuster 1963. 10  But there remains the problem of the third quotation by Nonius (p. 687 [L.]), which adds (from Terence) quantis commoditatibus hunc diem: has Clodius Quintipor imitated, by remodeling them, both verses of Terence? 11  This fragment of Varro also comes from Nonius (p. 719 [L.]), but in this case we can be sure that the lexicographer was able to read the text of the satire (see Lindsay 1901 20, 119). 12  The context is unknown to us (see the commentary by Cèbe 1974 232), but here Varro could be being ironic towards himself, since he was aware that his production exceeded that of any other Roman writer.

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lectures, we cannot expect that Ph. 841 ceased to be quoted after Varro. In fact the line resurfaces in the grammarians, being quoted by Donatus in his commentary on Hec. 386, and by Priscian in his Institutiones (GL 2.188). In the former the meaning of the formula is explained; in the latter the line is only cited to illustrate the declension of fors. We are faced with two grammatical quotations of a different nature, representing the two main school activities of an ancient grammarian, as described by Quintilian in Inst. 1.4.2: haec igitur professio, cum breuissime in duas partes diuidatur, recte loquendi scientiam et poetarum enar­ rationem, plus habet in recessu quam fronte promittit (“this profession, that can be briefly divided into two parts, the art of speaking correctly and the exegesis of the poets, has more beneath the surface than it outwardly promises”).13 Terence is well represented in both of these distinct branches into which the profession of the grammarian is divided, that is, the “art of speaking correctly”, and the “exegesis of the poets”. Two continuous commentaries have come down to us, those of Aelius Donatus (fourth century) and Eugraphius (fifth/ sixth century), and also a number of other late ancient and Medieval scholia, beginning with those in the margins of the Codex Bembinus.14 As for the purely grammatical uses, the study of Terence’s text in antiquity is evidenced by an impressive number of quotations, making him an auctor of outstanding significance in the obseruatio of linguistic phenomena and in the transmission of grammatical knowledge. Terence is the last poet of the fabula palliata to experience great success on the stage. After his death, fewer and fewer new authors of comedies entered the limelight and the Roman theatres saw in particular revivals of the best known older plays.15 Besides, the preference of the audience was beginning to turn to easier dramatic genres, aimed at a public of lower pretensions and with a less refined palate. Although the six comedies continued to be performed even after his death, Terence started to gain another kind of fame, among a reading audience rather than spectators.16 This was not a truly literary fame—the modes of production, circulation and diffusion of books in the ancient world prevent us from talking about bestsellers in a modern sense17—but rather a 13  Barwick 1922 219–23; De Nonno 1990b 605–6; De Paolis 2013 267–72. 14  The commentary of Aelius Donatus is published together with that of Eugraphius in three volumes by Paul Wessner (Wessner 1902). On them see Victor 2013 353–61. The Scholia Bembina (announced but not published by Wessner) are collected in Mountford 1934; the so-called Scholia Terentiana (a compilation of various Medieval scholia) are published by Schlee 1893. On the Medieval commentaries see Villa 1984, 2007, and Riou 1997. 15  Questa and Raffaelli 1990 146–49, 162–77; Cain 2013 380–2. 16  Cf. Marti 1974 and Questa and Raffaelli 1990 177–201. 17  On literacy in the Roman world see Cavallo 1983, 1989, and 1991; Starr 1987; Harris 1989 149–322; Humphrey 1991.

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familiarity mainly due to school teaching: Terence soon became one of the authors most widely read by schoolboys.18 Terence quickly became an authority on language on account of the purity of his Latin style, as attested by a passage of Cicero. In an epistle to Atticus (Cic. Att. 7.3.10) the orator invokes the authority of the playwright, whose comedies were even believed to have been written by Gaius Laelius—Cicero says— because of their elegance.19 The reason for referring to Terence is the incorrect use of the preposition with the names of towns: Venio ad ‘Piraeea’, in quo magis reprehendendus sum quod homo Romanus ‘Piraeea’ scripserim, non ‘Piraeum’ (sic enim omnes nostri locuti sunt), quam quod addiderim ‹‘in’›; non enim hoc ut oppido praeposui sed ut loco; et tamen Dionysius noster et qui est nobiscum Nicias Cous non rebatur oppidum esse Piraeea. sed de re uidero. nostrum quidem si est peccatum, in eo est quod non ut de oppido locutus sum sed ut de loco, secutusque sum non dico Caecilium (258 R.³), ‘mane ut ex portu in Piraeum’ (malus enim auctor Latinitatis est), sed Terentium (cuius fabellae propter elegantiam sermonis putabantur a C. Laelio scribi), ‘heri aliquot adulescentuli coiimus in Piraeum’ (Eu. 539);20 et idem, ‘mercator hoc addebat, captam e Sunio’ (Eu. 114–5);21 quod si δήμους oppida uolumus esse, tam est oppidum Sunium quam Piraeus. sed quoniam grammaticus es, si hoc mihi ζήτημα persolueris, magna me molestia liberaris. Now I come to Piraeus, in which matter as a Roman I am more open to criticism for writing Piraeea instead of Piraeum, the form universally used by our countrymen, than for adding the preposition. I prefixed it not as to a town but as to a locality—and after all our friend Dionysius and Nicias of Cos, who is with us, think Piraeus is not a town. But the matter of fact I leave for further enquiry. If I have made a mistake it is in speaking as of a locality instead of a town, and I had for precedent I won’t say Caecilius (‘when I went early from the harbour to Piraeus’), for his Latinity is not much to go by, but Terence, whose plays were supposed from the elegance of their diction to be the work of C. Laelius: ‘Yesterday a party of us young fellows went to Piraeus’ and ‘The trader added that she was taken 18  Bonner 1977 216; Gianotti 1989 446–7; Cain 2013 382–4. 19  Ter. Ad. 15–21; Quint. Inst. 10.1.99; and Donatus’ Vita Ter. p. 3 [Wessner]. 20  All extant manuscripts of Terence read in Piraeo here. On Cicero’s reading in Piraeum, see Velaza 2007a 107–8. 21  Terence’s text is: mercator hoc addebat: e praedonibus, unde emerat, se audisse abreptam e Sunio.

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from Sunium’—if we are going to say that Demes are towns, then Sunium is as much a town as Piraeus. But since you have turned schoolmaster, perhaps you will once for all solve my problem for me and take a big load off my mind. (trans. D.R. Shackleton Bailey). It is significant that Cicero, in order to solve a grammatical matter, gives an example from Terence and concludes his speech addressing Atticus as a scholar: the argument is grammatical and requires the authority of a grammarian.22 The lectures at grammarians’ schools certainly contributed to the wide circulation of Terence’s comedies in the ancient world, a distribution that suffers no break in continuity in the late period or during the Middle Ages, as evidenced by a manuscript tradition of more than seven hundred extant manuscripts.23 Four manuscripts are from Late Antiquity: A, or BAV, Vat. lat. 3226, also called Bembinus, because it originally belonged to Bernardo Bembo, father of Pietro Bembo, and dated between the fourth/fifth and fifth/sixth centuries;24 and three fragments, two of them papyri, Πa and Πb,25 and the other a palimpsest, Sa, preserved in the Monastery of St. Gall.26 The rest of the witnesses are Medieval, from the Carolingian era,27 and Renaissance manuscripts, written in minuscule script. Die Geschichte des Terenztextes im Altertum by Günther Jachmann is still the necessary starting point for the study of the tradition of Terence.28 As is now well known, the witnesses are classified into two branches, one represented by the single manuscript A, and the other, Σ, by all the later manuscripts, for which we also use the term ‘Calliopian’ because they feature subscriptions like Calliopius recensui, or recensuit, and feliciter Calliopio bono scholastico. The 22  See Bonner 1977 202–3. 23  Cf. the catalogue in Villa 1984. 24  See, respectively, Lowe, CLA 1.12, and Pratesi 1979. 25  P.Vindob. inv. L 103, fourth/fifth century (An. 489–582), and P.Oxy. 2401, fourth/fifth century (An. 602–668, 924–979a). 26  Sankt Gallen, Stiftsbibliothek 912 (Hau. 857–863, 875–878) dated fifth century by Lowe, CLA 7.974 and Villa 1984 415. 27  But from two lost manuscripts of the seventh/eighth century (designated gl. I and gl. II by Lindsay-Kauer) are derived Terentian glosses found in BAV, Vat. lat. 1471 and in the Abolita glossary: see Lindsay 1925b. 28  Jachmann 1924. See also Lindsay 1925a; Fehl 1938; Prete 1951; Pasquali 1952 354–73; Marti 1961 117–47; Reeve 1983b; Grant 1986; Velaza 2007a; Victor 2007, 2013 343–7 and 2014; and cf. the pages devoted to the manuscript tradition in many critical editions of Terence, e.g. Posani 1990 47–71.

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so-called Calliopiana recensio itself is divided into two classes, γ and δ; their relationship is attested by common errors, but there are also differences that separate them.29 The two branches, A and Σ, descend independently from a single archetype, designated Φ by Jachmann, which is the source of the entire manuscript tradition, as confirmed by a number of errors and similar scene-divisions and sceneheadings.30 This is still the prevailing hypothesis, despite some opinions to the contrary.31 The ancestor Φ does not belong to an epoch close to that of the author. While there may at first have been some scripts for use by theatre companies, the texts that have survived can hardly depend on manuscripts whose circulation was meagre and limited to theatre troupes.32 We must assume that our texts date back to very ancient ekdoseis, edited by grammarians and adhering to philological criteria. From an edition of this kind, which was used to fix and preserve the text, derived the commercial editions such as Φ. Jachmann argues that Φ was copied between the second and third centuries and derives from an edition by Probus in the first century AD:33 compared to this oldest edition, Φ has some errors, reconstructible by agreements of Σ and A, which a grammarian like Probus would not have committed. The errors are often metrical and, while later grammarians may have had difficulty recognizing the verses of the archaic comedies, it seems unlikely that someone in the first century AD could not identify and correct inaccuracies of this kind. Giorgio Pasquali, in the long chapter of his Storia della tradizione devoted to Terence,34 accepts in general the findings of Jachmann, but prefers to date Φ to the third century, and more precisely to the period of cultural decline between 251 and 284 AD.35 Despite the views of these scholars, we cannot state with

29  Some scholars believe also in the existence of a third class of codices mixti (μ): Webb 1911; Jachmann 1924 133–4. Contra Marti 1961 144–7. 30  Jachmann 1924 53–71, 77–85. See also Pasquali 1952 355–6; Reeve 1983b 413; Questa and Raffaelli 1990 179–94. 31  Marouzeau thinks of full independence between the two branches of the tradition: see Marouzeau 1934 49, and also the preface of the first volume of his edition (Marouzeau 1942–1949) 89–94; Andrieu 1940 11–22 and 1954 98, and Rubio 1957–1966 are of the same opinion. Victor 1996 also raises doubts about the existence of a common archetype because of the extreme contamination of the manuscripts. 32  Questa and Raffaelli 1990 144–5. 33  Jachmann 1924 72–6, 83–4; 1934 647–50. 34  Pasquali 1952 354–73. 35  Pasquali 1952 361.

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certainty that the model of Φ was really an edition by Probus:36 though Probus did comment on Terence, there is no evidence that he also published an edition or that, if he did, his edition stands at the head of our tradition.37 Velaza cautiously suggests that the edition from which Terence’s tradition derives could be that of Aemilius Asper in the period of Nero or the Flavians, or that of Sulpicius Apollinaris, the author of the periochae, in the age of the Antonines.38 The assumption—based on the colometric evidence—that the oldest edition is earlier than Probus and dates back to the intense grammatical activity that unfolded between the second and first century BC, should not be neglected.39 In fact, with regard to colometry—though this aspect has a very limited contribution to make, compared to its role in the text of Plautus—the two branches of the Terence tradition still preserve traces of the oldest edition.40 In this case Φ may reflect the very oldest edition through the intermediacy of a manuscript of the second century AD, which added, between the didascaliae and the prologues, Sulpicius’ periochae. For the study of the indirect tradition of Terence, as we shall see, an important issue is the dating of Σ. The appearance of this recensio is perhaps due to the work of some scholar or grammarian—not everyone agrees he is to be identified with the Calliopius41 mentioned in the subscriptions—who tried to rearrange a visibly faulty text and to make it suitable for students’ reading. This must have occurred at a rather late period, given the metrical inaccuracy of many readings. In many instances the Σ manuscripts show a text trivialized 36  Probus’ editorial activity, attested by Suet. gramm. 24 (commentary ad loc. by Kaster 1995), was evaluated in optimistic terms by early twentieth-century German philology, but see the opposing views by Scivoletto 1959. See also, especially on Virgil, Zetzel 1981 41–54; Jocelyn 1984, 1985a, 1985b; Delvigo 1987 11–18; Timpanaro 1986 18–23, 77–127 and 2001 37–111. 37  Marti 1961 120. On Probus’ edition Reeve 1983b 412 n. 7, writes: “Whether his work counts as an edition is purely a matter of terms; the real questions are how and in what form it became public, and how much it affected later copies”. 38  Velaza 2007a 51–66. 39  Questa and Raffaelli 1990 200. 40  The Bembinus and, among the Calliopians, especially P (BnF, lat. 7899) are the most reliable manuscripts from the point of view of colometry. Questa and Raffaelli 1990 199– 200 observe that P’s mise en page agrees with that of the Bembinus. Questa 2007 438–41 restores the colometry and scansion of the two short cantica of the Andria (An. 481–4 and 625–38a), while on the canticum of the Adelphoe (Ad. 610–17), he had already published a study entitled Lyrica Terentiana: Questa 1984 399–415. See also Raffaelli 1982 179–80 and 2007; and Danese 1989 on the agreement between Πa and P. A different perspective is offered in the colometric analysis of Victor and Quesnel 1999. 41  On the grammarian Calliopius see Kaster 1988 388–9.

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and normalized without respect for the prosody, and this often happens in the passages in which the text of A, and probably that of their common source, is corrupt or hard to understand. Jachmann believed that the δ-class was the direct descendant of Σ, and that the γ-class, which has more corruptions, was created by a Late-Antique revision. Twelve descendants of γ are illustrated and the drawings depend on a common source, which is generally agreed to be the work of an illustrator who did not attend ancient performances but inferred the scenes from the text.42 Jachmann argues for the date of γ to be taken as a terminus ante quem for the chronology of Σ, locating it between the fourth and fifth centuries, the period in which (in his opinion) the miniatures were created (assuming also that the illustrations were created specifically for the text of γ).43 The ancestor of γ, according to Jachmann, would thus be earlier than the Bembinus and datable to the fourth century. In his view Σ would belong to the third or fourth century, and Calliopius’ subscription was added later, in the fifth century: Σ would have been created before Calliopius. Pasquali, however, on the basis of the typology of the illustrations, believes that the model of γ should be dated to the fifth or sixth century:44 so the Calliopian recensio would date back at the earliest to the fifth century.45 These kinds of subscriptiones (as Jachmann also well knew) always date to the fifth century AD, and Pasquali’s dating has the advantage of reassociating Calliopius with the recensio which goes under his name. The δ-class, with a text mostly better than the γ-class, has been held to be the earlier of the two classes,46 but Grant separates the illustrations (which he claims were created for a non-Calliopian manuscript) from the text of γ,47 which would have existed separately from the illuminated manuscript, and argues that the miniatures are not useful for dating Σ.48 Lindsay’s interpretation is different again from the others. In his opinion, Σ was created during a period subsequent to the Roman grammarians.49 He argues that at the origin of Σ stands the activity of a pupil of Calliopius who 42  See Jones and Morey 1931 2.195–212; Varwig 1990 and Nervegna 2014 727–31. For other perspectives and further bibliography see Dodwell 2000; Demetriou 2014a 789–94 and her extensive discussion in this volume. 43  Jachmann 1924 98–119. 44  Pasquali 1952 363–8. Marti 1961 120–1 suggests the beginning of the fifth century. 45  Pasquali 1952 365. 46  Jachmann 1924 127–30. 47  Grant 1986 18–59. 48  Dodwell 2000 4–21 dates the miniatures to the third century AD, chiefly on art-historical evidence. 49  Lindsay 1925a.

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provided the constitutio textus using a manuscript of his teacher which was close to A, but, by interpreting the interlinear glosses as teachers’ variants, he decisively contributed to the introduction of errors, trivializations, and interpolations.50 He would date this ‘pupil-edition’ to the end of the fifth century. Another issue that may touch on the text of Terence used by the grammarians is that of the arrangement of the plays in the different classes of the tradition.51 The Codex Bembinus or A follows the chronological order: Andria, Eunuchus, Heautontimorumenos, Phormio, Hecyra, Adelphoe. The arrangement of the δ-class is based on the alphabetical sequence: Andria, Adelphoe, Eunuchus, Phormio,52 Heautontimorumenos, Hecyra. In the γ-class the plays could be arranged by the authorship of the Greek originals53 (the first four comedies derive from Menander, and the last two from Apollodorus of Carystus): Andria, Eunuchus, Heautontimorumenos, Adelphoe, Hecyra, Phormio. However, Grant’s assumption is perhaps preferable: he suggests that at some time there was a two-volume edition of Terence which was based on a manuscript which contained the plays in the traditional order. In the second volume, however, the order Phormio–Hecyra–Adelphoe was changed so that these plays could appear in alphabetical sequence, which by chance was the order of the plays in the first volume. Since the Terentian corpus is hardly large enough to require two volumes, the most likely occasion for such a division would have been the production of a de luxe illustrated edition—either Ψ or Ψ' or the first illustrated Γ manuscript.54 50  Marti 1961 124 offers a useful comparison of the principal stemmata codicum that have been proposed, inclusive of Lindsay’s. 51  Other kinds of arrangement are, of course, taken into account: see below, p. 118, on the manuscript employed by Nonius Marcellus. Manuscripts of Donatus offer the following sequence of Terence’s plays: Andria, Eunuchus, Adelphoe, Hecyra, Phormio (the commentary on Heautontimorumenos is lost), but manuscripts AK have only Andria and Adelphoe, which could attest an alphabetical sequence. Eugraphius’ commentary has different orders in its manuscripts. On the question, see Velaza 2007a 67–78. Add the inventory of eighth century preserved in Berlin, Staatsbibliothek Preussischer Kulturbesitz, MS Diez 66, which mentions the presence in Charlemagne’s library of a manuscript that contained the comedies in this order: Andria, Eunuchus, Hecyra, Heautontimorumenos: cf. Reeve 1983b 416 n. 32, and Villa 1984 1–3. 52  The position of the Phormio is probably due to the spelling Formio, or even to the title of the Greek model, Epidicazomenos. 53  Leo 1883 319. 54  Grant 1973 103. Grant argues that the illustrated cycle in the γ-class derives from an earlier manuscript, which he denotes Ψ.

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Grant’s conclusions are fascinating, but cannot be proven. At the least, the Bembinus and the γ-class follow the same order for the first three plays, though the latter has reversed the order of the last three comedies. Even if the order of plays is not enough to establish the branch to which a manuscript belongs, my view is that both A and Σ derive from an edition (Jachmann’s Φ) in two codices, each containing three plays.55 In this archetype the plays were arranged in chronological order: the Bembinus retained the original sequence, while the γ-class reversed only the arrangement of the second volume in favour of an alphabetical order. The δ-class, however, preferred a stricter alphabetical sequence of the six plays.56 As can be seen, the direct tradition of Terence was characterized by uncertainty from its earliest stages. Consequently, the indirect tradition also holds many uncertainties and raises questions to which it is often difficult to give a definite answer. The scholars who have dealt with it have often sought in the grammarians’ quotations possible confirmation of their assumptions about the transmission of the text, or have interpreted the origin and nature of the quotations on the basis of their beliefs about the direct tradition. Before dealing with that issue, however, it is necessary to consider the problem of the number and provenance of the indirect accounts. The writers immediately following Terence are not very generous with quotations from his plays. Cicero and Quintilian are exceptions: the former quotes Terence 39 times,57 and the latter, who is more likely to draw examples from other genres and other poets, nonetheless cites Terence 9 times, a quite significant figure.58 If we examine Varro the results change considerably: there are at least 400 quotations from ancient writers and poets in the surviving part of the De lingua Latina, but only 4 from Terence;59 furthermore, only one of 55  See also below n. 96. 56  Velaza 2007a 77–8 suggests the alphabetical order as the original one, but his discussion is not reliable. 57  The number of citations for each comedy: Adelphoe: 2; Andria: 12; Eunuchus: 9; Heau­ tontimorumenos: 11; Hecyra: 0; Phormio: 5. The data are drawn from Zillinger 1911 151–5. On Cicero and Terence see also the works of Kubik 1887 314–24, Malcovati 1943 163–81, Spahlinger 2005 56–7, 234–9, and Müller 2013 370–6. 58  The number of quotations: Andria: 2; Eunuchus: 6 (but line 46 is quoted four times); Phormio: 1. We may also notice that Quintilian refers once to Plautus and never quotes his lines. Quintilian is unwilling to grant authority to the archaic authors, as he explicitly says in Inst. 1.6.39–45. On Quintilian’s quotations from the Latin poets see Cole 1906, Carlozzo 1979, and, more generally on Latin dramatists, Aricò 2002. On Terence in particular, see Müller 2013 373–4. 59  As opposed to 64 quotations from Plautus. The quotations are: Adelphoe 75 (in 6.69), 117 (in 7.84), 584 (in fr. p. 193 [G.-S.]), and Andria 710 (in the same fragment).

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these is from Book Seven, which, uniquely, is usually richer in quotations with etymologies drawn from a list of poetic citations. Purely on the basis of the quotation of Ad. 117 in Varro ling. 7.84, Giorgio Pasquali argued that the text of Terence was fixed already in ancient times in an edition that became the common one, and which replaced the oldest variants. One of these variants, widely considered genuine, is found in this passage of Varro, who quotes Terence as follows: scortatur, potat, olet unguenta de meo (“he is out with the girls and goes drinking and smells of perfume”),60 with scortatur given in place of the received opsonat. Pasquali’s reconstruction represents the common opinion among scholars, both before and after him.61 The verb scortatur in Varro is the lemma to be explained, which ought to make his quotation more reliable.62 However, the explanation has been called into question by the observation of Lindsay and Kauer in the apparatus of their Oxford edition. These scholars doubt the reading scortatur, noting the presence of this verb just above, at the beginning of Ad. 102 (scortari), from which Varro would have derived it by mistake: not surprisingly, at Ad. 117 they prefer to print opsonat and not scortatur. Lindsay and Kauer’s observation seems to me quite convincing, while it should also be remembered that this is the only quotation from Terence in Varro’s seventh book: this may mean that he is quoting Terence at second hand.63 In this case his quotation becomes less reliable than it appears at first sight and scortatur could be reduced to a simple explanatory gloss rather than a reading. Initially Terence does not seem to have enjoyed special status compared to the other Latin dramatists: in the canon of the poet and literary critic Volcacius Sedigitus (second century BC, fr. 1 [Blänsdorf] preserved by Gellius 15.24) he is only ranked sixth after Caecilius Statius, Plautus, Naevius, Licinius, and Atilius, and before Turpilius, Trabea, Luscius Lanuvinus, and Ennius. In Seneca there is a single quotation from Terence, in Epist. 95.53, without attribution and with a slightly altered text, of the well known line Hau. 77: homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto (“I’m a man: I regard no human affairs as not affecting me”).64 Of course, we must take into account the small number of plays written by Terence, compared to Plautus and Caecilius; but, even adjusting 60  Pasquali 1952 357–8. 61  On the passage of Varro see also Jachmann 1924 76; Müller 1926 63–8; Craig 1929 12–13; Velaza 2007a 104. 62  So Craig 1929 12. 63  For further discussion of this aspect of Varro’s Book VII see Dahlmann 1932 44–8 and Jocelyn 1987 66–72. 64  This line is never quoted by grammarians and lexicographers, but it is mentioned in three instances by Cicero; see Cic. off. 1.30; leg. 1.33; fin. 3.63. See Mazzoli 1970 199–200.

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proportionally, the difference in the amount of attention accorded to Terence is obvious. Did the fact that the ancients were very familiar with Terence make him less attractive for citation purposes? Or did that practice perhaps really only explode later, on the impulse of some particular grammarian? During the archaizing movement of the second century AD the writers of antiquitates and lexicographers clearly prefer Plautus to Terence. Out of approximately 1,200 citations in Festus’ De uerborum significatione only 12 come from Terence, compared with 177 from Plautus (there is also no reason to believe that Verrius Flaccus’ De uerborum significatu, from which Festus drew his epitome, had a greater number of Terentian examples).65 Festus is not an isolated case. In the second century there are few quotations even in Gellius’ Noctes Atticae: out of a total of at least 1,150 quotations, 40 come from Plautus and only 3 from Terence.66 And in the works of Fronto, the poet is never mentioned, although in three passages he seems to be imitated.67 The reason for this paucity of citations is clear: while Plautus has a lexical creativity that makes him a gold mine of exempla, the colloquial register of Terence’s style only occasionally makes him an auctoritas worthy of being remembered. The text of Plautus’ comedies was the field on which the best of Republican scholarship practiced, from Accius to Aelius Stilo and up to Varro, with methods that modern scholars have often associated with those of the grammarians of Alexandria. For Plautus it was necessary to form a canon of the genuine comedies based on shared criteria, but for Terence the issue does not arise, and questions about the authenticity of the plays do not extend beyond the poet’s detractors. However, in the fourth century the situation appears to take a different turn,68 and the text of the six plays takes its place in the syllabus.69 The 65  The number of citations in Festus for each comedy is: Adelphoe: 2; Andria: 2; Eunuchus: 0; Heautontimorumenos: 1; Hecyra: 1; Phormio: 6. I calculated the occurrences in Festus’ epitome by Paul the Deacon only for the missing parts of the Farnese codex (Festus’ De uerborum significatione survives in a manuscript, the so-called Farnesianus [Napoli, Bibl. Naz. IV A 3, s. XI], the half part of which is lost: we know the missing passages thanks to the epitome written by Paul the Deacon in the eighth century). 66  Hau. 287, Ph. 88–9, 172. 67  Ad. 331 and Ph. 470 at Fronto p. 115,23 [v.d.H.²]; Eu. 476 at Fronto p. 175,7 [v.d.H.²]. 68  Although Macrobius in his Saturnalia never mentions Terence, he twice remodels An. 205 (Macr. Sat. 1.5.4 and 2.1.4), in both cases as a formula to introduce an intervention of Praetextatus. Macrobius is more interested in other kinds of texts and even from Plautus the quotations number only nine. 69  Cf. Auson. 8.58–60 [Green]; Aug. Conf. 1.16; Hier. In Eccles. 9.10 (CCSL 72, p. 256–7 [Adriaen]); Adv. Rufin. 1.16 (CCSL 79, p. 15 [Lardet]); Sidon. Epist. 2.2.2. For Terence in late Latin literature see Cain 2013 387–94.

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archaizing movement was still alive in peripheral areas such as Africa: according to common consensus this is the time of Nonius Marcellus’ activity as grammarian70 and author of an encyclopedic dictionary, the De compendiosa doctrina, in twenty books.71 Nonius owned a manuscript with the six plays of Terence, as has now been established thanks to Lindsay’s elucidation of Nonius’ working method. Lindsay identified the books (41 in total) which Nonius used during the composition of the De compendiosa doctrina, and he also reconstructed the order in which these books were used and the relative sequence of the citations from each of them.72 Nonius reproduces with mechanical fidelity the title-headings of the editions that he used. He draws up the items to be explained from the 41 books in his possession and, following the order in which he excerpted the entries, puts them in the different sections of his dictionary or in the letters that make up the three alphabetically arranged books (II–IV); this applies both to the primary quotation that gave rise to the lemma, and to secondary ones that are sometimes offered in addition. Using Lindsay’s terminology, we can divide the quotations that illustrate a lemma into ‘direct quotations’ and ‘indirect quotations’; furthermore, the item may have a ‘first quotation’, which has given rise to a lemma, and other secondary ones, the socalled ‘extra quotations’.73 The Terence manuscript is no. 23 on the list.74 The arrangement of Terence’s plays in the edition employed by Nonius is: Andria,

70  The chronology of Nonius is doubtful, although the terminus post quem of the second century AD is secure (Nonius uses Gellius though without naming him), as well as the terminus ante quem of the fifth-sixth century (Nonius is a source of Priscian). His native country is definitely Thubursicum in Numidia, as he himself testifies in the inscriptio of the Compendiosa doctrina (Nonius Marcellus Peripateticus Thubursicensis). A ‘Nonius Marcellus Herculius’ appears in an inscription of Thubursicum dated to 323 (CIL 8.4878), but he could also be a descendant. Keyser 1994 and 1996 suggests backdating him to the age of Severi (specifically, to about 205–220). Contra Deufert 2001, who refutes above all the linguistic evidence of Keyser and prefers to confirm the traditional chronology, in the fourth century. 71  Books I–XII are those more properly grammatical; Books XIII–XX are miscellaneous. Only Books II, III, and IV are arranged alphabetically (per litteras). 72  See Lindsay 1901. After Lindsay, others have dealt with Nonius’ method: Strzelecki 1932– 1933 and 1936, Della Corte 1954 and 1980, Churchill White 1980, Llorente 1996, Gatti 2004, De Seta 2005, Velaza 2007b. 73  On these latter see above all Lindsay 1905. 74  On Nonius and Terence see Klotz 1864, Umpfenbach 1870 lvi–lviii, Bartels 1884, Craig 1929, De Seta 2005, Velaza 2007c.

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Adelphoe, Phormio, Hecyra, Heautontimorumenos, Eunuchus.75 Nonius’ quotations from Terence number 220.76 The practice of reading at school had long since given rise to commentary by teachers of grammar, sometimes in the shape of marginal scholia to the text of the plays, whose fortunes are interlaced with those of the first and oldest editions. The extant continous commentary of Aelius Donatus derives from this teaching activity, but we also know of other commentators who preceded him: the grammarians Probus, Arruntius Celsus, Helenius Acro, Aemilius Asper, and Euanthius.77 The texts commented on are those from which the late grammarians often excerpt their quotations. The most extensive commentaries on other poets which have survived to the present day are also full of quotations from Terence. In Servius’ commentary on Virgil, Terence is quoted 201 times,78 as opposed to 112 citations from Plautus. Porphyrio on Horace quotes Terence 20 times,79 usually without any attribution to specific plays, while Plautus is cited only 12 times, with titles always specified.80 In Ps. Acro’s commentary on Horace there are 51 quotations from Terence,81 without titles, and sometimes without the poet’s name, to be compared with 9 from Plautus. Robert B. Lloyd argues that the real author of the great popularity of Terence is Servius and that Donatus is near the beginning of this development,82 but in 75  See Lindsay 1901 120, who wonders if the position of the Phormio in this alphabetical arrangement is due to the spelling Formio. But the final position of the Eunuchus is also outside the alphabetical order. 76  Distributed as follows: Adelphoe: 34; Andria: 52; Eunuchus: 43; Heautontimorumenos: 32; Hecyra: 17; Phormio: 42. 77  See Umpfenbach 1870 xxxvii–xxxviii, Wessner 1905 12–33, Buffa 1977. Probus’ fragments ex commentario Terentiano are edited by Aistermann 1910 frr. 43–52, and Velaza 2005 frr. 44–53. 78  This is the distribution: Adelphoe: 35; Andria: 51; Eunuchus: 47: Heautontimorumenos: 31; Hecyra: 14; Phormio: 23. The data are drawn from Mountford and Schultz 1930. See also Craig 1930b, and 1931. I do not distinguish between Servius and Servius Auctus, but in the data offered by Lloyd 1961 318–23 there are 137 references to Terence in Servius and 85 in Servius Auctus (Lloyd counts also the cases in which the poet is cited by both of them). 79  Citations: Adelphoe: 2; Andria: 1; Eunuchus: 9; Heautontimorumenos: 3; Hecyra: 2; Phormio: 3. 80  Exceptions: references to Eu. 46–9 in Porph. Hor. Serm. 2.3.262 (totus hic locus de Eunocho Terentii est), and Ph. 342 in Serm. 2.2.77 (Terentius in Formione). But Eu. 732 is introduced without the author’s name in Porph. Hor. carm. 3.18.6–7. 81  Citations: Adelphoe: 9; Andria: 11; Eunuchus: 15; Heautontimorumenos: 5; Hecyra: 5; Phormio: 6. 82  Lloyd 1961 325–6.

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my view the rise in Terence’s fortune had begun before Servius’ generation and is already manifest in grammatical treatises (for instance that of Sacerdos). At the end of the fourth century AD, with the grammarian Arusianus Messius, the poet officially became part of the so-called quadriga, together with Cicero, Sallust and Virgil, as an important author for school teaching, but the use of the six comedies in schools is a process which began even before the end of the fourth century. The rise in the fortune of Terence must be mainly sought in the artigraphical tradition (that is, the tradition of grammatical works known as artes grammaticae) and in the sources used by the grammarians who frequently quote from Terence, i.e. normative grammars that served as reference aids in learning Latin and reflected the current grammatical norms, providing reliable information about the correct use of the language. For an author as universally known as Terence, who was constantly read during Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, in principle it is not correct to ask whether a grammarian may have had access to a manuscript containing his plays, because the answer would inevitably be positive. Instead, it may be asked whether, alongside quotations made at first hand, the grammarian has also drawn quotations from other sources, and especially whether the text possessed by the grammarian was or was not accompanied by a commentary. The following table contains the number of quotations from Terence in the Latin grammarians. To count them I used Keil’s edition, except in cases where there is a newer, more reliable edition:83

Charisius Diomedes Ars Bobiensis Prisciani inst. Prisciani fig. num. Prisciani metr. Ter. Prisciani praeex. Prisciani inst. nom.

Adelph. And.

Eu.

Hau.

Hec.

Ph.

TOT.

21 11 1 86 0 2 0 0

23 10 0 121 0 2 0 1

2 6 0 27 0 2 0 0

3 6 1 12 0 2 0 0

18 8 1 77 2 2 0 2

74 49 5 467 2 18 1 3

7 8 2 144 0 8 1 0

83  In the Appendix I provide a list of editions of the Latin grammarians who cite passages from Terence’s plays. I have counted the number of citations and therefore also those passages which are cited more than once. Given the high number of occurrences, I must take into account the possibility of errors.

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Prisciani part. Aen. [Probi] cathol. [Probi] inst. art. [Probi] de nomine Auctor ad Caelestinum Donat. ars mai. Seru. in Don. mai. Expl. in art. Don. Cledonius Pompeius Consent. de nom. Consent. barb. Eutyches [Augustini] regulae Anon. Bob. nom. Anon. dub. nom. Macrobii diff. Anon. Bob. uerb. [Victorini] ars Sacerdos Ruf. metr. com. Velius Longus Agroecius Bedae orth. Albinus/Alcuinus Audacis excerpta Dositheus Arusianus Anon. Bob. nom. TOT.

Adelph. And.

Eu.

Hau.

Hec.

Ph.

TOT.

1 4 2 0 1 0 1 1 5 3 0 1 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 7 2 0 1 0 0 2 1 34 0 190

4 4 5 1 0 1 0 6 7 5 0 0 3 1 2 0 0 2 0 8 3 0 4 1 2 1 0 40 0 257

0 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 1 0 1 0 1 1 2 8 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 23 0 78

0 1 0 0 0 0 0 2 3 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 1 2 7 3 0 1 0 0 1 4 26 1 81

4 2 1 0 0 0 0 0 2 2 1 1 4 0 0 1 0 0 1 3 2 1 1 0 0 0 1 24 0 161

11 19 9 2 2 3 1 16 22 25 1 3 14 6 7 1 3 4 6 48 19 1 8 2 3 4 6 176 2 1.043

2 5 1 1 1 2 0 7 5 10 0 1 3 5 4 0 1 0 1 15 9 0 1 1 1 0 0 29 1 276

Few Latin texts can boast such numerous quotations in grammarians. We can observe that the authors of artes grammaticae who mention Terence more often—they are the same ones who mention Plautus more often too— include Charisius, Diomedes and Priscian, three grammarians who pursued their teaching in the eastern areas of the empire: in particular, we know that

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Charisius and Priscian, at different times, were active in Constantinople. In this city, certainly until the sixth century, the citizens were Greek-speaking, but the court and institutions continued to expect a Latin education84 and in the libraries both Greek and Latin texts were collected. The grammars of Charisius and Diomedes are rich in quotations, which are often unrelated to the previous artigraphical tradition. In this regard, Mario De Nonno has written: “La novità di un tale comportamento è tale da consentire, mi pare, di considerare citazioni di questo tipo come una sorta di consapevole ed estremo recupero di testi e testimonianze destinati altrimenti ad inabissarsi”.85 Diomedes’ ars grammatica, in three books graded by the age and skills of the learners,86 contains a total of 49 quotations from Terence. Many of these are concentrated in the chapter de coniunctione temporum of Book I87 and precisely in the section devoted to the uses of the indicative (de modo finitiuo, GL 1.388–91). It may be worthwhile to review this section in detail. Diomedes usually specifies the name of the authors, in many cases indicating even the titles of the works. Here, however, he only does this at the beginning, when he cites Cic. Catil. 1.21 (ut Cicero), Ter. Ad. 144–5 (item Terentius), and An. 388 (ut Terentius). Thereafter he continues with a list of sentences in indicative mood, citing examples, without any attribution, as follows: Ph. 166,88 Ad. 896–7, Hec. 141, Cic. S. Rosc. 1, Ter. An. 387, Hau. 765, Cic. Cael. 5, Ter. An. 175–6, Ph. 89–90, Ad. 635, Eu. 207, Ov. Met. 1.639, Ter. Hec. 195–6, Ad. 811–12, Verg. A. 2.705–6; finally, after a short lacuna in which the initial section on the future has been lost, there follow, this time with the authors specified, Verg. A. 2.12 (apud Vergilium), and Cic. S. Rosc. 21.89 The ars of Diomedes is the result of a gradual compilation of several sources, but combined also with material derived from first-hand reading. Some special features of this section de modo finitiuo suggest the use of an earlier source:

84  See e.g. Marrou 1964 vol. 2 49–52; Jones 1964 vol. 2 998–1002. 85  De Nonno 1990b 641. 86  On Diomedes see Kaster 1988 270–2 and Schmidt 1989 132–6. 87  It is the chapter that deals with the consecutio temporum. 88  In Terence’s text the line, an iambic octonarius, is: iam depecisci morte cupio: tu conicito cetera, but here only the close of the line is included, because the quotation (anepigraphic, after all) is: ego quod res est ita dico, tu conicito cetera. The text may have been modified to make it clearer that this is an example of the present tense followed by imperative. 89  Of particular importance is the last example on the use of the present tense with the imperfect subjunctive (GL 1.390): reperimus apud ueteres instans finitiuorum iungi etiam inperfecto subiunctiuorum, quod raro fit, cuius exempli prodendi gratia uel sola Tulliana sufficit auctoritas. ait enim in Rosciana sic et cetera.

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most of the quotations appear only here,90 except the last two (Verg. A. 2.12 and Cic. S. Rosc. 21)91 which are also found in the chapter of Charisius that corresponds to that of Diomedes (Book III.viii de qualitatibus Latini sermonis et temporibus, pp. 347–9 [Barwick]). Charisius and Diomedes definitely have a shared source,92 which they do not share with other now extant grammarians, at least with regard to the subject matter. Charisius makes more cuts in this source; from all the examples cited here he mentions only Verg. A. 2.12 and Cic. S. Rosc. 21. Everything—including the significant presence of Cicero— suggests that the source is Flavius Caper, whose De Latinitate is often recognized as a model for both Charisius and Diomedes’ Book I de uerbo.93 Charisius’ main source, besides Caper,94 is the grammarian Iulius Romanus (third century), specifically the Aphormai, from which he excerpts whole chapters, remaining quite faithful to the original.95 Sometimes the quotations from Terence appear to cluster together in a section of text. For instance, chapter 16 of Book II (de interiectione) contains many examples from the authors of the Republican period (e.g. Naevius, Plautus, Ennius) and, towards the end, it presents a group of contiguous quotations from Terence: Ad. 111, Eu. 65–6, Ad. 111, 127, and Eu. 84 (p. 315 [Barwick]). Judging by Charisius’ citations from Terence, which are predominantly from Adelphoe, Eunuchus and Phormio, and are more scarce for the other three plays, one might assume that his main source owned a single papyrus roll containing these three plays in alphabetical order: this would be consistent with other similar instances from Iulius Romanus which reveal the use and circulation of small collections of dramatic texts arranged 90  Even Verg. A. 2.705–6 is quoted only here. Exceptions: Ad. 144–5 cited by Diomedes also in his chapter de aduerbio (GL 1.406); Cic. S. Rosc. 1 just below is taken up twice (GL 1.393 and 395); An. 175–6 receives some attention in treatises on metrics and prosody (Rufin. p. 12 [D’Alessandro] and Prisc. Metr. Ter. pp. 25–6 [Passalacqua]). 91  Charisius’ words correspond almost perfectly with Diomedes’: Char. pp. 348–9 [Barwick]: reperimus apud ueteres instans finitiuorum iungi etiam inperfecto subiunctiuorum, quod raro fit. eius exempli prodendi gratia uel sola Ciceronis sufficiat auctoritas pro Sexto Roscio, uelut et cetera. Diom. GL 1.391: reperimus apud ueteres instans finitiuorum iungi etiam inperfecto subiunctiuorum, quod raro fit. cuius exempli prodendi gratia uel sola Tulliana sufficit auctoritas. ait enim in Rosciana sic et cetera. 92  Cf. Barwick in the apparatus of his edition of Charisius, p. 348. 93  See Barwick 1922 191–215, and De Nonno 1990b 640–6, with other bibliography. See also Schmidt 1989 123–4 on Cominianus as a possible common source. 94  For Arruntius Celsus and Helenius Acro, see Velaza 2007a 60–2. More generally on Charisius see Kaster 1988 392–4 and Schmidt 1989 125–31. 95  I refer to the precise synthesis of De Nonno 1990b 641–2. On Iulius Romanus see also Froehde 1892, Barwick 1922 63–6, 197, Kaster 1988 424–6, and Schenkeveld 2004.

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alphabetically.96 But there are no other examples of this order and, ultimately, it is not easy, for a grammarian like Charisius who uses multiple sources, to reconstruct the order of the plays. Therefore, we should think in terms of individual sections. If we look at the long chapter 15 of Book I (de extremitatibus nominum et diuersis quaestionibus, pp. 61–143 [Barwick], still from Caper), we observe that the distribution of the quotations is as follows (in order of quantity): Eunuchus: 5, Adelphoe: 2, Andria: 2, Heautontimorumenos: 1, Phormio 1, Hecyra: 0. The elements at our disposal are too few to assume an order, even if the larger number of examples from Andria, Adelphoe, and Eunuchus may correspond to the same sequence as we find in δ-class. It should also be noted that on p. 75 [Barwick] compluria, which appears in Ph. 611, is quoted as Terentius in Adelphis, but that in the same section on p. 93 [Barwick], which likewise derives from Caper, Charisius provides the correct attribution to Phormio.97 For a similar case, which also involves Phormio, Javier Velaza has suggested, though cautiously, a variant of transmission:98 Ph. 95 is quoted by Charisius as in Hecura, then in Phormione.99 Velaza passed over the previous example unnoticed: they are attribution errors—often harmless—which are quite common in the indirect tradition. In addition, the passage in question involves Arruntius Celsus, one of the commentators on Terence.100 This leads me to suggest that sometimes the confusion which results in erroneous attributions might be attributable to a grammarian citing from a text with a commentary: the gloss of Arruntius Celsus could belong to his commentary on the Hecyra and precisely to Hec. 719–20, where the phrase hanc / uicinam might have been compared to the adverbial usage hic uiciniae in Ph. 95. This could also have been the origin of the oversight by Charisius, who assigned the passage of Phormio to Hecyra. Priscian shares the same sources as Charisius and Diomedes, but also cites many texts at first hand. In addition he reveals his debt to Nonius101 and to 96  For the likely existence of a corpusculum employed by Iulius Romanus containing Amphitruo, Bacchides and Plautus’ lost play Caecus uel Predones, see Deufert 2002 241–3. On papyrus codices with three plays see, also, Samia, Dyskolos and Aspis in P.Bodmer 26 (in reverse alphabetical order). Besides, Lindsay 1901 9 [no. 30] rightly suggests a volume containing Amphitruo, Asinaria and Aulularia as the second manuscript of Plautus owned by Nonius. See also above p. 115. 97  Also on p. 159 [Barwick] (from Iulius Romanus) the attribution is correct. 98  Velaza 2007a 60–1. But, fortunately, he is more inclined to view it as an error of memory. 99  Viciniae, ‘hic uiciniae’ Terentius in Hecura: ubi Celsus ‘aduerbialiter’ inquit ‘ut domi militiae­ que’; Charisius p. 287 [Barwick]. 100  On the grammarian Arruntius see Kaster 1988 390. 101  Cf. Bertini 1975.

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Donatus’ commentary on Terence.102 At any rate it is unlikely that he owed all his illustrative quotations to his predecessors. Sometimes he presents in his Institutiones whole sections of Terence’s text, split across several chapters of his ars. The number of his quotations from Terence is very high, but there is a noticeable imbalance between Andria, Adelphoe, Eunuchus, Phormio, from which he derives most of his citations, and Heautontimorumenos and Hecyra: here, due to the very large sample and significant differences between the two groups, we can hazard a guess that his quotations are mostly from the first comedies in the collection that he (or his source) had available. If so, the arrangement would lead us directly to the text of the δ-class.103 However, I shall return below to issues concerning the relations between Priscian and the direct tradition. The artes from the western part of the empire offer a smaller number of quotations from Terence. They fall into two distinct types: the artes of limited extent, dating back ultimately to Remmius Palaemon and the trend of Schulgrammatik,104 and the artes of the so-called ‘regulae-type.’105 The artes of the first type make a very limited use of quotations, mostly excerpted from the authors used in school, with a high prevalence of Virgil and a quite limited use of the other authors of the quadriga (Terence, Sallust and Cicero). Despite this, Sacerdos provides a number of quotations.106 In the table above I provided the overall framework for the quotations from Terence in the three books of Sacerdos, but we find the great majority of the quotations (40 out of 48) in the first book (GL 6.427–70), which is the only one that is part of the Schulgrammatik tradition.107 The most remarkable point is that out of 40 quotations 13—even though mixed with others, especially from Virgil, Cicero and 102  On Priscian see Kaster 1988 346–8. See also the papers collected by Baratin, Colombat and Holtz 2009, and especially the article of De Nonno, who has studied the various stages of composition of the work, noting that the original title of the Institutiones is Ars gram­ matica (De Nonno 2009 250–9). 103  Also Velaza 2007a 69–70 ascribes to Priscian a purely alphabetical order (see above n. 51), but does not provide evidence for this hypothesis. Maybe he rightly extends to Institutiones what Jocelyn 1967 66 has observed with regard to the alphabetical arrangement in the short treatise De metris fabularum Terentii. 104  See the fundamental analysis of Barwick 1922 147–58, 164–7; see also De Nonno 1990b 629–33. 105  For the identification and the features of this type of grammatical work cf. Law 1987, and De Nonno 1990b 633–40. 106  On Marius Plotius Sacerdos see Kaster 1988 352–3 and Schmidt 1989 112–16. 107  Distributed as follows: Adelphoe: 6; Andria: 12; Eunuchus: 5; Heautontimorumenos: 8; Hecyra: 6; Phormio: 3.

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Sallust—are concentrated in the short chapter de coniunctione (GL 6.444–6).108 Sacerdos’ chapter is not superior, even quantitatively, to that of the other Latin grammarians known to us (e.g. Prisc. GL 3.93–105), but it should be observed that most of the quotations from Terence come from lines that are quoted only by Sacerdos in this chapter, and by no other grammarian: we could infer that it is the result of lectures given during the lessons of the grammarian to his students. In contrast there are very few Terence quotations in Donatus’ ars maior, in Consentius, in Audax’s excerpta, and in Dositheus. Donatus’ activities both as commentator and as author of artes grammaticae fall within the same pedagogical system,109 so for this major commentator on Terence we would expect to find an extensive use of quotations from that playwright in his two artes grammaticae. Instead, however, Donatus observes the rules and methods of the artigraphical typology on which he based his work, and, accordingly, he quotes especially from Virgil—on whom he was also a commentator—with only seven quotations from Terence,110 all of them limited to the ars maior and included in the third part, that de barbarismo, de soloecismo, etc.111 Unlike Donatus, however, the grammarians of the so-called Donatus-Gruppe—with which it is usual to define the group of commentators on Donatus or the authors of artes grammaticae who were inspired by him112—usually quote frequently from Latin auctores (prose-writers too): we find 25 quotations from Terence in Pompeius, 22 in Cledonius, 16 in the Explanationes in Donatum. Dositheus (fourth century AD), whose text was intended for speakers of Greek who were learning Latin,113 is among those grammarians who have very few quotations from other authors (with the exception of Virgil); consequently in this treatise Terence is practically absent too. The dramatist is 108  They are: An. 206 (GL 6.446; also quoted in Prisc. GL 3.103–4 [Book XVI de coniunctione]; Metr. Ter. p. 26 [Passalacqua]; Rufinus p. 12 [D’Alessandro]); An. 249 (GL 6.445 and 446): An. 693: (GL 6.446); Eu. 696 (GL 6.445; Sacerdos quotes the line with regard to the use of quando as adverb of time, while Prisc. GL 3.81 [Book XV de aduerbio] quotes the line in reference to modo, omitted in the quotation of Sacerdos); Eu. 829 (GL 6.445); Hau. 53 (GL 6.445); Hau. 514–15 (GL 6.445, slightly altered); Hau. 614 (GL 6.445); Hec. 198 (GL 6.445); Hec. 733 (GL 6.446); Ph. 62 (GL 6.446); Ph. 405 (GL 6.445). 109  See Holtz 1981 25–7. On Donatus see also Kaster 1988 275–8, and Schmidt 1989 154–8. 110  Ad. 185 (p. 661, 5 [Holtz]), 537 (p. 673, 4 [Holtz]), An. 218 (p. 665, 8 [Holtz]), 933 (p. 658, 12 [Holtz]), Eu. 732 (p. 668, 16 [Holtz]), Ph. 77 (p. 673, 3 [Holtz]), 101 (p. 661, 8 [Holtz]). 111  See Holtz 1981 109–21, especially p. 113 and the overall table of quotations on p. 118. 112  See Holtz 1977 and 1981. See also Kaster 1988 139–68, 343–6 on Pompeius, and 255–6 on Cledonius. 113  See Kaster 1988 278; De Nonno 1990b 631 n. 111.

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quoted only five times: barring Ph. 623 quoted in GL 7.426 (= p. 89 [Tolkiehn]), a very common line in grammatical texts,114 and Ad. 584 quoted in GL 7.395 (= p. 37 [Tolkiehn]), which is often found in Charisius,115 there are four quota­tions from the Hecyra that are found only in the ars of Dositheus, concentrated, as in Sacerdos, in a single chapter (de coniunctione) dealing with the use of si.116 But unlike Sacerdos, we cannot state that this chapter was probably composed by Dositheus: generally this grammarian—in the manner of Donatus—cites his auctores without specifying the name of author and work (except for a few rare cases), but in this chapter the name of the author is always specified (except for the long series from Virgil at the end) along with the title of their works (e.g. Terentius in Hecyra). Furthermore, Dositheus usually provides the rules of correct elocutio, while in our case he cites Terence as an exception to the norm (sed Terentius hanc regulam non est secutus), as was done also in the lost treatises of Caper and Pliny the Elder. It seems possible, then, that Dositheus’ source for this chapter de coniunctione could have drawn his inspiration from these two grammarians. Even in the works of the ‘regulae-type’ there is no extensive use of examples and the reference point is always poetry, but the main characteristic of this group is to widen the field of quotable authors, following the model of Flavius Caper and his lost de Latinitate. In this work the grammarian had taken care to collect a large amount of linguistic material: he was particularly attentive to the use of ueteres, but he was not unwilling to use also some more recent authors (iuniores). Even though in the second book of the ars of Sacerdos (GL 6.471–95), which should be ascribed to this artigraphical type, the number of authors cited (usually by name) is quite large,117 the quotations from Terence number only six.118 The so-called Catholica Probi, however, which partly represent a different edition of the second book of Sacerdos, offer a greater number of quotations from Terence (19 in all). It should be noted that the small ars of Priscian Institutio de nomine et pronomine et uerbo, which belongs to the ‘regulae-type’, does not provide any quotations, apart from Verg. Aen. 10.421 114  It is also found in Diomedes (GL 1.311); Prisc. Inst. (GL 3.217 and 293); Prisc. Part. Aen. pp. 90, 116 [Passalacqua]; Ps. Probus Inst. art. (GL 4.142); Cledonius (GL 5.72); Arusianus p. 41 [Di Stefano]. 115  Pp. 42, 92, 197 [Barwick]. It is quoted also in the so-called ars Bobiensis, GL 1.535 (= p. 5 [De Nonno]). Except in Char. on p. 42 [Barwick], in all other cases, the line of Terence is mentioned together with Plaut. Rud. 1156. 116  Hec. 767 in GL 7.420 (= p. 78 [Tolkiehn]); Hec. 570–1 in GL 7.419 (= p. 77 [Tolkiehn]); Hec. 765 in GL 7.419 (= p. 78 [Tolkiehn]); Hec. 775 in GL 7.419 (= p. 78 [Tolkiehn]). 117  Cf. De Nonno 1990b 636–7. 118  Adelphoe: 2; Andria: 1; Eunuchus: 1; Heautontimorumenos: 1; Hecyra: 1; Phormio: 0.

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and 3.621,119 and a small group of quotations from Terence followed by two passages of Sallust, which are concentrated in a chapter devoted to the passive imperatives.120 The names of Virgil and Terence are also associated in the explanation of the vocative in -i of the names in -ius.121 Finally, a separate type, although sometimes incorporated in the larger artes grammaticae, is represented by the treatises that deal with metrics and prosody.122 These grammarians prefer Virgilian examples for their rules, and avoid the Latin dramatists. Thus in the third book of Sacerdos, devoted to metre (GL 6.496–546), An. 28 is the only line of Terence to be quoted (twice, at GL 6.523 and 545).123 As well, only two quotations from Terence are present in the so-called Auctor ad Caelestinum,124 a datum of some importance because it is a work that, despite being relatively short compared to the great artes, is rich in over 640 citations. But overall, the position occupied by Terence in this kind of treatise is of particular prominence: in fact, the transition from the stage to the libraries had led to the loss of knowledge relating to the theatrical performance and also concerning verse composition (and delivery).125 This must have happened soon enough if, as early as the end of the fourth century, the grammarian Rufinus wrote a Commentarium in metra Terentiana with the intention of demonstrating that the ancient playwrights composed in verse.126 At the beginning the treatise is based on the authority of some excellent sources, such as Euanthius, Asper, Diomedes, Varro, Charisius, Caesius Bassus, and others. Rufinus quotes Terence 19 times, of which 9 lines are from the Andria. Priscian’s De metris fabularum Terentii, written at the beginning of 119  Quoted, without any indication of the author and the work, on pp. 19 and 35 [Passalacqua]. 120  P. 38 [Passalacqua], citing Ter. Ph. 549–50 and 210, Eu. 506, Sall. Cat. 52.5 and Iug. 10.8. 121  P. 18 [Passalacqua]: hic Virgilius o Virgili hic Terentius o Terenti. 122  See De Nonno 1990b 618–26 and 1990c. 123  Among the other metrical treatises the line is mentioned, together with the next one, by Rufinus p. 12 [D’Alessandro], with regard to the iambic trimeter, and Prisc. Metr. Ter. p. 24 [Passalacqua]. But it is also quoted by Prisc. Inst. GL 3.119; 3.331; and Part. Aen. p. 111 [Passalacqua]. 124  See De Nonno 1990a. 125  On the poor sensitivity of the grammarians to metrical phenomena, see De Nonno 1990c: he observes the substantial indifference of the grammarians towards accepting unmetrical examples from the poets. See also Questa and Raffaelli 1990 178 n. 70. 126  Rufinus was also the author of a commentarium on the clausulae of the orators. Both texts are lost and what remains of them is a collection due to an early Medieval excerptor (Commentarius in metra Terentiana, GL 6.554–65 and Commentarius de numeris oratorum, GL 6.565–78): see Cybulla 1907; Wessner 1931; Kaster 1988 351–2; D’Alessandro 1994. The latest edition is that of Paolo D’Alessandro (see the Appendix).

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the sixth century, also has the same function;127 Priscian admits to using and adapting the work of other grammarians.128 The treatise offers 18 quotations from Terence, 8 of which are from the Andria. A different attitude among grammarians began to emerge at the beginning of the fifth century. There was no longer an exclusive interest in issues related to the choice of words and to lexical usus, for which examples were sought predominantly from the poets. Now a greater attention to syntax took root, which would find its highest development in Priscian’s Institutiones, and examples in these works were drawn mainly from the prose-writers.129 In this new framework, however, a work appeared in which we can recognize an independent position compared to the earlier models of grammatical traditions described so far: the Exempla elocutionum or “examples of constructions” by Arusianus Messius (fourth/fifth century). This work leads the reader to the correct use of Latin by means of four models, the so-called quadriga Messii, according to the formula employed by Cassiodorus, Inst. 1.15.7, which may suggest a possible alternative title for the work. Terence passages quoted by Arusianus number 176 in all and these alone represent 16.87% of our quotations from grammatical texts. The Heautontimorumenos and the Hecyra are otherwise infrequently quoted by grammarians, but Arusianus Messius represents a major exception to this tendency, although his highest number of citations comes in fact from the Eunuchus.130 As for the Hecyra, Arusianus is the grammarian who gives us the highest number of citations (26, followed by Priscian’s Institutiones with only 12 occurrences). A comprehensive evaluation of Terence’s quotations in the grammarians is still waiting to be carried out, even though there is no lack of more limited studies on the topic. A good starting point is the collection of quotations and testimonia by Franz Umpfenbach in the Praefatio of his Terence edition,131 although the collations on which he bases his conclusions are not always completely reliable. At the beginning of the section relating to the indirect tradition Umpfenbach argues that we can not trust the extant grammarians, for which we might expect that they have been careful in preserving the original readings 127  Edited by M. Passalacqua (see the Appendix). See also Jocelyn 1967. 128  P. 19 [Passalacqua] (= GL 3.418). See Jocelyn 1967 65–7. 129  Cf. Baratin 1989, Munzi 2011. 130  Of course, it can be observed that most of the quotations from the Heautontimorumenos come from Priscian’s Institutiones, but in this grammarian, in relation to the total of his Terence citations, the frequency of those which come from this play is lower: 5.78 % as opposed to 13.06 % in Arusianus. 131  Umpfenbach 1870 xxxvii–lxix.

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of the poet, since they rarely resorted to ancient manuscripts of Terence, while it is clear that they were used to copying the quotations from each other.132 More than fifty years later there appeared the detailed work of Peter Josef Hubert Müller, which provides a useful summary of the citations in the grammarians, with the aim of explaining how many differences from the direct tradition of Terence can often be interpreted as banalizations and normalization of the text due to school teachers’ work.133 But the greatest contribution to the study of the indirect tradition of Terence is that offered by a pupil of Lindsay in the 1920s and 1930s, J.D. Craig, the author of a volume entitled Ancient Editions of Terence.134 Craig examined the indirect tradition of Terence from the beginning, but he focused mainly on Donatus, Nonius, and Arusianus Messius. Afterwards he published a series of articles concerned with quotations of Terence in Priscian, in Servius, and in Servius Auctus, and with Terence and Donatus.135 After Craig, attention has been paid to the grammatical tradition by scholars who have dealt with the transmission of the text of Terence: by Prete and Pasquali, for instance, and, more recently, Grant, Ceccarelli, and Velaza.136 Besides, we must not forget those who, like Mario De Nonno, despite not having published works devoted specifically to Terence, have also dealt with the Latin dramatist in their studies on citations by grammarians.137 Often scholars who have studied the indirect tradition of Terence have tried to identify the relationships that exist with the direct tradition, in order to reconstruct the various stages of the transmission of the text. Some works have also focused on the exegesis of individual passages, including those which, by examining unexplored manuscripts, both of Terence and the grammarians, have been able to shed new light on controversial passages. I will give here a few instances of this kind of work. The fifth chapter of Ceccarelli’s study of the Medieval tradition of Terence138 is entitled “Contatti con la tradizione indiretta.” Ceccarelli’s first example 132  Umpfenbach 1870 l: “De fide grammaticorum, quorum quidem libri extant, quos etiam in singulis uerbis et litteris de poëtae manu conseruanda et recuperanda religiose sollicitos fuisse expectes, ideo derogandum esse constat, quod uix ullum ad ueteres Terenti libros recurrisse, immo alium ex alio exempla transcripsisse apparet”. 133  Müller 1926. 134  Craig 1929; his title echoes that of the more famous book by Lindsay on Plautus, The Ancient Editions of Plautus, Oxford, 1904. 135  Craig 1930a, 1930b, 1931, and 1936. 136  Prete 1951, and his edition (1954) 36–7; Pasquali 1952; Grant 1986; Ceccarelli 1992; and Velaza 2007a. 137  See e.g. De Nonno 1990c. 138  Ceccarelli 1992 55–61.

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shows how assumptions about the indirect tradition of Terence will never be secure until we have access to more reliable collations, including of the witnesses used in the most recent editions: the attribution of readings to manuscripts must be carefully checked. In An. 912 Lindsay-Kauer’s apparatus assigns the true reading (lactas) to P and to Donatus, whereas Ceccarelli observes that in reality even P has the incorrect iactas and the manuscripts Fl and M,139 ignored by the editors, preserve the right reading;140 it is likely that Donatus’ commentary has influenced the choice in the two manuscripts. De Nonno has studied a Beneventan manuscript of Priscian not used by Martin Hertz for his edition published in Keil’s Grammatici Latini. This manuscript, BAV, Vat. lat. 3313 (ninth century), which De Nonno proposed to designate by the letter Z, provides a text that in several places is better than the other witnesses of Priscian and which in more than one case reveals itself to be useful for the text of the archaic authors quoted.141 In An. 287 Z quotes this line with the true reading (utraeque): the apparatus of critical editions that assign to Priscian the wrong reading utraeque res need to be corrected.142 We also find this wrong reading in manuscripts DGEvη of Terence (see LindsayKauer’s apparatus ad loc.), so perhaps this tradition has negatively influenced the other manuscripts of Priscian. The study of the indirect tradition of Terence presents many obstacles, mainly due to the large number of grammatical citations and to the fact that the material has a heterogeneous origin, which does not allow common and unique lines of interpretation. It is difficult in some cases to judge the correctness of readings which completely disagree with the extant manuscript witnesses, and also hard to understand the nature and origin of these quotations. Last but not least there is the question of which Terence text was employed by grammarians as the source of their quotations. On all these issues many scholars have expressed views, often differing sharply from those of their predecessors. In Craig’s opinion the grammarians, since they share many readings with the Bembinus against the Calliopians, employed manuscripts closer to A. Craig agrees with Lindsay’s assumption that Σ was created during a period subsequent to the Roman grammarians, at the end of the fifth century. Sesto

139  Fl = Florence, BML, Conv. Soppr. 510; M = Munich, BSB, Clm 14420. 140  Ceccarelli 1992 55 and n. 1. Andrew Turner points out to me per litteras that lactas occurs in another manuscript of Terence, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 231, and he rightly suspects that it may be found in other witnesses too. 141  De Nonno 1977 and 1982. 142  De Nonno 1982 57 n. 1.

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Prete believes in the existence of a tradition of the Terence text employed by grammarians which is independent of both the branches A and Σ.143 However, since we have no certainties about the early stages of the transmission of Terence’s comedies, in my opinion it is not advisable to use quotations by grammarians to confirm or refute the assumptions concerning the first ancient editions or the origin of two main branches of the tradition. A preliminary examination of the citations from Terence in Nonius Marcellus was made by Maria Luisa De Seta, who questioned Craig’s opinion that the manuscript of the six comedies possessed by Nonius (presumably in the fourth century) belonged to the recensio Bembina.144 De Seta in many cases associated Nonius’ tradition with that of Σ. Even with regard to the grammarians, some examples given by Craig in his works seem to connect the grammarians’ quotations to Calliopian manuscripts, rather than to A.145 Craig occasionally bases his argument on cases of agreement in preserving good readings, sometimes shared by nearly all the Terence tradition.146 He tends to underestimate the number of agreements between Priscian and Σ against A.147 The problem is his assumption that Σ was formed later than Priscian. Craig is in part right when he says that “some of Priscian’s lections must have been transferred to copies of Terence,”148 because Priscian was very familiar to Medieval scholars, but this is still not enough to account for the examples of grammarians’ agreement with Σ. It is impossible here to re-examine grammarians’ quotations from Terence in order to ascertain what text of the six plays they employed, since this would require a thorough examination of each author based on a good knowledge of trends and patterns of quoting Terence in the different types and parts of grammar. So I shall confine myself to a few examples from Priscian, as he is the grammarian who has the highest number of citations. He is a late grammarian (fifth/sixth century) but nonetheless earlier than the period in which— according to the assumption of Lindsay and Craig—Σ was formed.

143  Prete 1951; 1954 36. 144  De Seta 2005. 145  Doubts about Craig’s analysis had already been expressed by Jones 1930, Pasquali 1952 369 n. 5, and Marti 1961 122. See also recently Velaza 2007c. 146  Cf. e.g. Craig 1929 70: “the one solid fact on which we can put reliance is the general consensus of Nonius and Codex Bembinus, where the Bembine text is not in error”. 147  Craig 1930a 70–1. Cf. his conclusion (p. 71): “But, even if it could be shown that these were genuine citations of Priscian, nothing more would be proved than that here and there Priscian’s copy of Terence had variants which found their way into the Calliopian text. The evidence that Priscian used the A text and not the Calliopian text is overwhelming”. 148  Craig 1930a 72.

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Craig’s assumption of the identity of the text of the manuscript employed by Priscian and that of A149 is not supported by the evidence of some passages in which the grammarian reproduces Σ’s readings as opposed to those of A. In GL 3.107 Priscian quotes An. 922, which in the generally accepted text reads as follows: nam ego quae dico uera an falsa audierim iam sciri potest. as for what I’m telling you, it could find out now whether everything I’ve heard is true or false. Priscian’s citation of the line agrees with Σ against A in reading dixi and audieris in place of dico and audierim, and even agrees with CP in omitting ego. Craig observed that the quotation is transmitted only by the Priscian manuscripts RD, and “is bracketed by Hertz as a later edition, so its authority vanishes”.150 However, the quotation and the whole additamentum entitled Proprietates Latinorum are also in the good manuscript Z ignored by Hertz,151 and in P, BnF, lat. 7530 (eighth century), the famous grammatical miscellany compiled at Montecassino that has only a few excerpts from Priscian’s Institutiones. De Nonno explains the additamenta which are found in part of the manuscript tradition, like this, as notes made on the status of attached annotations, and relates them to the layered nature of the material collected by Priscian and his pupils for the compilation of the ars.152 This confirms that the line was indeed cited by Priscian, who did not quote it loosely but employed a text that agrees with Σ. That scribes are not responsible for this misquotation is proved by the fact that Priscian’s reading dixi represents the lemma that the grammarian was illustrating. Ph. 88–9 is quoted three times by Priscian, in the Institutiones (GL 3.26 and 3.109) and in the Partitiones (p. 127 [Passalacqua]). The standard text of the lines is as follows: in quo haec discebat ludo, exaduorsum ilico tonstrina erat quaedam.

149  Craig 1930a 72 provides no examples of Priscian’s accord with A, but believes it is enough to refer to Umpfenbach’s collection of passages (lix–lxii). 150  Craig 1930a 70–1. 151  F. 281v. Unlike the manuscripts RD, where the long additamentum follows the incipit of the Book XVII, in Z it is found after the explicit of Book XVI without any sign of division. 152  De Nonno 2009 269–78.

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just there, opposite the school where she had her lessons, there was a barber’s shop. The issue here is the reading ilico (A), for which Σ, Iouiales, and Priscian read ei loco (loco in manuscripts of Gellius 6.7.4). Priscian in the Institutiones twice quotes line 88 with ei loco, while in the Partitiones he omits ei loco (or ilico); the phrase is redundant here, since Priscian cites the verse to illustrate the compound adverb exaduersum. In Institutiones Book XIV (de praepositione), which deals with the adverbs joined to cases (aduerbia quae solent casibus adiungi), and which Roman grammarians have included among prepositions (Romani artium scriptores inter praepositiones posuerunt), Priscian first recalls the use of aduersum as a preposition in the sense of ἐπί, through the example of An. 42 (loosely quoted), and then mentions the adverbial usage in the sense of ἐναντίως with our example from Ph. 88–9 (GL 3.26). The first line is quoted with the transposition ei loco exaduersum.153 In Institutiones Book XVII (de construc­ tione) the quotation is restricted to exaduersum ei loco (without transposition) as an example of a compound of aduersum (GL 3.109).154 Craig’s discussion is unclear, and is complicated by the fact that he assumes the possibility—which he fortunately decides to discard—that exaduersum is a preposition with the dative ei loco.155 Even in the truncated citations of GL 3.26 and 3.109 ei loco is redundant, and exaduersum would be enough to illustrate the adverb used absolutely. It is hence possible that ei loco is a scribe’s interpolation introduced from manuscripts of Terence (with an accidental transposition of ei loco exa­ duersum, in place of Σ’s exaduersum ei loco, in GL 3.26). In this example, unlike the previous one discussed above, the agreement between Priscian and the Calliopians could therefore be due to scribal interference.156 Another example occurs in Priscian’s use of Ph. 758–9, the commonly accepted text of which reads:

153  Manuscript Z, f. 249r, has (ante corr.): ei loco aduersum tonstrina erat quaedam. 154  Ms. Z, f. 283r, has exaduersom ei loco. 155  Craig 1930a 71. 156  But it should be noted that, in the view of Jocelyn 1967 63–4, in Books XVII and XVIII Priscian himself seems to have selected the Latin illustrations of the grammatical rules, rather than deriving them directly from another grammarian he used as a source: so, exa­ duersum ei loco (without transposition) in GL 3.109 (from the Book XVII) could even be due to the grammarian.

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offendi adueniens quicum uolebam et ut uolebam conlocatam amari. coming home, I found her given in marriage to the man I wanted and in the way I wanted her to be loved. Priscian’s Institutiones (GL 2.574) agrees with Σ in giving the unmetrical con­ locatam filiam157 against the reading conlocatam amari found in A.158 And, finally, another error that Priscian shares with Σ and the corrector of A is found in the quotation of Ad. 608 ipsis coram at GL 3.226,159 in place of the original reading in A of ipsi coram. Such examples show that there is little evidence that Priscian used a text which was similar to that represented by the Bembinus. Patterns of quotation from Terence in each grammar suggest that the ancient scholars had access to a large selection of sources. The parallels come either from their own reading or from some earlier grammarian or commentator. It is possible that a grammarian took the words in an inaccurate form from his authorities. Besides, scribal errors would explain a good many of the misquotations. It thus requires great care to connect the Terence manuscript owned by each grammarian to one of the two branches of the tradition. I still agree with Umpfenbach when he says that none of the witnesses seem to agree with one or the other branch of the manuscripts of Terence to such an extent that we could argue a clear dependence on A or Σ.160 The notable progress that has been achieved in the study of Terence’s manuscript transmission has not succeeded in solving the problems caused by the lack of a new critical edition founded on a larger number of manuscripts and on more accurate collations. However, some improvement in editing Terence’s text can be achieved by studying the indirect transmission: today we have a better knowledge of the manuscript transmission of the grammarians, scholi157  So also Z, f. 224v. On the same folio the manuscript presents a different ending of chapter 11. It is a second ending, separated from the first one by a simple Exp̄ l. Our line is cited a second time without variants: in both cases reads collocatam and the title is omitted (in formione is always added supra lineam by the second hand). This ending, absent from Hertz’s edition, is published by De Nonno 1977 387 n. 4. 158  The verse is a iambic septenary (some editors adopt Faernus’ conjecture conlocatam gnatam). 159  Confirmed by Z, f. 334r. 160  Umpfenbach 1870 lxviii: “nullum autem ex testibus apparuit ita cum una uel altera familia codicum Terentianorum conspirare ut ab eius auctoritate pendere dici possit”.

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asts and lexicographers and of their ways of citing archaic poetry. On the other hand, it is impossible to include the Terence manuscripts employed by grammarians in a stemmatic analysis of the witnesses to the text of Terence. For the purposes of textual criticism, it is more fruitful to turn to the quotations when the direct tradition is not satisfactory, or when a quotation has a reading in many respects better than that of A and Σ: this is what we generally expect from the indirect tradition and it is better not to ask any more of the ancient grammarians. Appendix Editions of the Latin grammarians citing passages from Terence’s plays161 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Charisii ars: GL 1.1–296; Barwick 1925. Diomedis ars: GL 1.299–529. Ars Bobiensis: GL 1.533–65; De Nonno 1982. Prisciani institutiones: GL 2, 3.1–377. Prisciani de figuris numerorum: GL 3.405–12; Passalacqua 1987. Prisciani de metris Terentii: GL 3.418–29; Passalacqua 1987. Prisciani praeexercitamina: GL 3.430–40; Passalacqua 1987. Prisciani institutio de nomine pronomine et uerbo: GL 3.443–56; Passalacqua 1999. Prisciani partitiones: GL 3.459–515; Passalacqua 1999. [Probi] de catholicis: GL 4.3–43. [Probi] instituta artium: GL 4.47–192. [Probi] de nomine: GL 4.207–16; Passalacqua 1984. Auctor ad Caelestinum (de ultimis syllabis): GL 4.219–64. Donati ars maior: GL 4.367–402; Holtz 1981 603–74; Schönberger 2009. Seruius in Donati artem maiorem: GL 4.421–48. Explanationes in artes Donati: GL 4.486–565; Schindel 1975 258–79. Cledonii ars: GL 5.9–79. Pompeius in artem Donati: GL 5.95–312. Consentius de nomine et uerbo: GL 5.338–85. Consentius de barbarismis et metaplasmis: GL 5.386–404; Niedermann 1937. Eutyches de uerbo: GL 5.447–88.

161  Volume numbers and pages refer to Grammatici Latini (GL) edited by H. Keil, the ordering of which I reproduce in this list. When there are more recent editions, these are mentioned immediately after Keil’s.

Terence Quotations in Latin Grammarians 22 23 24 25

26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

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[Augustini] regulae: GL 5.496–524, Martorelli 2011. Anonymus Bobiensis de nomine et pronomine: GL 5.555–66; Passalacqua 1984. Anonymus de dubiis nominibus: GL 55.571–94; Glorie 1968 [CCSL 133A]. Macrobii Theodosii de verborum Graeci et Latini differentiis vel societatibus excerpta (= Ioannis defloratio de Macrobio, GL 5.599–630 + Macrobius de diffe­ rentiis et societatibus Graeci Latinique uerbi, GL 5.631–3): De Paolis 1990. Anonymus Bobiensis de uerbo [ex Macrob.]: GL 5.634–54; Passalacqua 1984. [Victorini siue Palaemonis] ars: GL 6.187–215. Plotii Sacerdotis artes: GL 6.425–546. Rufinus in metra comicorum: GL 6.554–65; D’Alessandro 2004. Velius Longus de orthographia: GL 7.46–81; Di Napoli 2011. Agroecius de orthographia: GL 7.113–25; Pugliarello 1978. Beda de orthographia: GL 5.261–94; Jones 1975 [CCSL 123A]. Albinus/Alcuinus de orthographia: GL 7.295–312. Audacis excerpta de Scauro et Palladio: GL 7.320–62. Dosithei ars: GL 7.376–436; Tolkiehn 1913. Arusiani Messii exempla elocutionis: GL 7.449–514; Della Casa 1977; Di Stefano 2011. Anonymus Bobiensis de nomine: GL 7.540–4; Mariotti 1984 59–68 (= Mariotti 2000 313–41).

CHAPTER 6

Problems with the Terence Commentary Traditions: The Oedipus Scholion in BnF, lat. 7899 Andrew J. Turner Dauo’ sum, non Oedipus TER. AN. 194

“I am Davus, not Oedipus.” With these words, the slave Davus in Andria expresses his perplexity at remarks by his elderly master, Simo, equating him with the Sphinx and implying that his statements are just as enigmatic as hers.1 Simo is trying to have his son Pamphilus married off to the noble girl next door, and so bring an end to his scandalous relationship with the woman whom he believes to be a prostitute; Davus, on the other hand, is fiercely devoted to Pamphilus, and is trying desperately to postpone the unwanted marriage by any means. With statements such as this he pleads his ignorance of the true state of affairs to the old man, while trying desperately to come up with a solution to this problem. As long as a general knowledge of basic Greek myths could be assumed, Late-Antique commentators on Terence had no need to explicate this remark in terms of who Oedipus was. The surviving version of the commentary of Aelius Donatus, who wrote some time in the fourth century AD, focuses rather on the hidden meaning of this line, its rhetoric, and a grammatical point. In one of the most important early manuscripts of Terence, Paris, BnF, lat. 7899, or P, probably written in the second half of the ninth century,2 a portion of Donatus’ commentary on Andria was included by an early scholiast; on f. 8r this commentary states with regard to this line: Multiplex contumelia: potest enim senem quasi sphingam dixisse, id est deformem monstrique similem; potest etiam per Oedippodem se 1  For a similar usage of the myth of Oedipus and the Sphinx in Plautus, see Pl. Poen. 443–4. 2  For the date, see Wright 2006 192 (“well along in the second half of the ninth century”), although the detailed description by the Bibliothèque nationale provided on the Gallica website also notes that the issue of an accurate date is ‘épineuse’, citing arguments both for the period of Louis the Pious (i.e. before 840) and the end of the ninth century; see Gallica 2012a.

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ultorem promittere futurum atque oppressorem sapientiae senis. Dauus sum non Oedippus. Facete se negat Oedippodem, ut senem sphingam esse confirmet. Imitationum duo genera sunt: quaedam necessitas introducit, quaedam uoluntas. Non Oedippus. Si Latine pronunties, genitiuus Oedippi faciet, si Graece, Oedippodis (Don. Ter. An. 194.2–5)3 A compound insult; for he could have said that the old man is just like the Sphinx (that is, ugly and similar to a monster); he could also, by mentioning Oedipus, be promising that he would be an avenger and the destroyer of the old man’s cleverness. I am Davus, not Oedipus. Wittily he denies that he is Oedipus, so that he might confirm that the old man is the Sphinx. There are two kinds of mockery; necessity introduces some words, intention introduces others. Not Oedipus. If you should say it the Latin way, the genitive will come out as Oedipi; if Greek, Oedipodis. But during subsequent centuries knowledge of the true identities of these classical figures was lost or obscured. In some manuscripts which contain the commentary text known nowadays as the Commentum Brunsianum (henceforth CB), which appears to have been first compiled in France in the early ninth century,4 an interlinear gloss is added above ‘Oedipus’ stating: alius seruus mendacissimus (“another slave who is full of lies”).5 A Carolingian scholiast clearly had absolutely no idea who Oedipus was, and so made up an explanation. Such errors may be good evidence for the standards of scholarship in this period, but they do not really tell us anything useful about the survival of classical culture, apart perhaps that there must have been a constant demand for commentaries on writers like Terence. In contrast to the many contemporary manuscripts of the CB, P is in fact a rich source for good scholarship on Terence which goes back ultimately to 3  The text in P is substantially that found in the edition of Wessner 1902, with the omission of a short, repetitive phrase (potest etiam inhumanum et ferum ut sphinx) in line 2. It has long been recognized that the surviving text of Donatus’ commentary is garbled, most probably due to the transmission of the work; see Zetzel 1975 339–40; Victor 2013 353–8. 4  I discuss this problematic text in detail in a forthcoming article, “The Ghent Manuscript of Terence and its Intellectual Environment”. 5  In Vatican City, BAV, Vat. lat. 3868, or C, it is found on f. 6v (although not reported in Schlee 1893); this gloss also occurs in Z (Paris, BnF, lat. 7903) on f. 6r, v (Valenciennes, BM 448) on f. 5v, and Ld (Leiden, UB, LIP 26) on f. 5v. Bruns 1811 printed alias mendacissimus (40). The same gloss appears as well in the other main glossing tradition from this period, the Commentum Monacense, or CM; for the complex relationship of this commentary to the CB and other collections of scholia and glosses, see Schorsch 2011 20–32.

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ancient sources. In its original configuration P was a deluxe manuscript, not only with illustrations but also wide, blank margins,6 and these margins provided an ideal space for scholiasts to add their comments. As already mentioned, the manuscript contains part of Donatus’ commentary on Terence, written in a hand of the late tenth or early eleventh century, which is denoted ΣD here.7 The major portion of these glosses occupies ff. 3r–9v, filling most of the available blank space and glossing An. 1–245; following this, ΣD provides isolated notes from Donatus, mostly on rhetorical figures, as well as his act summaries to all plays except Heauton timorumenos (lost in Donatus since the earliest stages of transmission).8 There is a marked change in the look of P at f. 10r and following, when the Donatus excerpts by and large cease, and the original configuration of the manuscript is revealed. Nevertheless, several new glossing hands sporadically provide commentary notes on the text, particularly a distinctive hand writing a cursive script with a high degree of abbreviation in a light brown ink. This later commentary hand has been dated to quite different periods, ranging from the eleventh to the fifteenth century, and will be discussed later in this chapter, but what is quite apparent is that the scholia he copies at times demonstrate knowledge of classical traditions which are otherwise lost. In particular, on f. 30r these scholia provide detailed plot summaries for two lost Greek plays mentioned in passing by Terence, Menander’s Phasma and the Thesaurus, which can in fact be corroborated from other sources, including papyrus fragments.9 In order to distinguish it from other hands it will be cited here as ΣB. On f. 8r of P, which is still heavily glossed with notes from Donatus, a scholiast who shares many of the features of ΣB, and who may perhaps be the same scribe, provided a short note on Oedipus which also has a number of interesting parallels to other ancient scholarship. This chapter will look at the contents of this note and the question of its sources, its relationship to the glosses elsewhere in the manuscript, and to those in other Terence manuscripts. It builds on some early observations by Claudia Villa about glosses on this 6  The manuscript pages were trimmed in the sixteenth century to 261 by 215 mm, and the text of Terence is written in a block of 25 lines per page, measuring on average 173 × 139 mm (Wright 2006 192; Gallica 2012a). The top margin on each page is generally reserved for running titles, and the left margin for rubricated character tags, but the outer margins on each recto provide roughly 65 to 80 mm of blank space, while the bottom margin usually provides around 50 to 55 mm. 7  For the date, see Munk Olsen 1982–1989, 2.627. The description in Gallica dates these glosses to the tenth century; see Gallica 2012a. 8  These added comments are partially edited in Kauer 1911. 9  Discussed at length in Turner 2010.

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particular line which appear in various Medieval witnesses,10 but it also looks at these glosses in P in the context of detailed Carolingian and later French scholarship. In doing so, it will attempt to demonstrate how scholars studied this deluxe manuscript of Terence at different periods of its existence, and drew on a whole array of material, some of which accurately preserved the intellectual traditions of Late Antiquity.

The Oedipus Scholion on f. 8r and Classical Traditions of the Sphinx’s Death

In a space left blank by the Donatus scholiast at the top of f. 8r in P another scholiast subsequently wrote a brief note discussing the identity of Oedipus and his legends.11 This note was originally squeezed into the space between the upper margin and the running title ANDRIA written in Rustic Capitals, and was partly written over the latter; later cropping then damaged the top line of this scholion, obliterating a number of letters. The gloss is written in a tiny print which is highly abbreviated, and letter forms often degenerate into a scrawl, making decipherment difficult, a difficulty compounded by the loss of text at the outset due to cropping. Nevertheless, it is possible to read the following: Œdipus filius lay et iocaste [ four or five words illegible] exp‹ostus› est, propterea quod layus pater eius in responsis audierat se a suo filio interficiendum. inuentus autem a pastoribus | ad polibum regem delatus est, qui carens herede eum tamquam filium nutriuit. qui postquam adultus est patrem suum occidit, cum matre concubuit, ex qua et duos | filios ethioclem et polinicem genuit, oculos sibi eruit, solutoque ante problemate spinga de rupe deiecit. Oedipus the son of Laius and Iocasta . . . was exposed, for the reason that his father Laius had heard in oracular responses that he had to be killed by his own son. However, he was found by shepherds and brought to King Polybus, who lacking an heir raised him as if he were a son. After he became an adult he killed his own father, he slept with his mother, from whom he also fathered two sons, Eteocles and Polynices, he plucked out 10  Villa 1981a 48–50. 11  Good images of this and other folios are now available on the Gallica website of the BnF; see Gallica 2012a.

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his eyes, and previously having solved the riddle he cast the sphinx down from the cliff. Following iocaste in the first line, there are five or six words which are difficult to decipher, especially given the loss of any abbreviation marks or suspensions; the first two may possibly be a matre; the next two may perhaps be in quadam; there is a word of five or so letters which appears to be struck through; then finally another word of four or five letters beginning with f or s, just possibly silua.12 The form expostus has been conjectured here, for while there is no descender visible for the s, a form of expono seems to be required because of the context of this passage and the other stubs of letters which are now just visible. There are no traces extant of the extra minim which would be required to give expositus, although it may possibly have been squeezed in above the level of the other letters. If the reading expostus is correct it may have some significance for the literary aspirations or sources of this writer, who also uses the Greek accusative Sphinga instead of the Latinised form Sphingem; expostus is rare and literary in its usage, appearing in works by Cato the Elder, Vergil, Silius Italicus, Statius, and Fronto.13 With regard to possible sources for this note, Villa has already noted in her survey of manuscript annotations on this line how the early scholiasts attributed their knowledge of this story to their reading of Seneca and Statius,14 but it is also apparent that scholiasts drew on earlier stages of commentary traditions, both on Terence and other classical authors, for their information. Thus the wording of the phrases cum matre concubuit, ex qua et duos filios ethioclem et polinicem genuit has affinities with a scholion in the extensive series of additions to Servius’ commentary on Vergil known as Servius Danielis or Servius Auctus; referring to Vergil’s description of the madness of Pentheus, Servius Danielis comments: DVPLICES THEBAS ciuitas in Boeotia a Cadmo et Zetho et Amphione constituta, in qua Oedipus Lai filius fuit, qui cum matre concubuit, ex qua Eteocles et Polynices fuerunt, qui se propter regnum inuicem peremerunt (Serv. A. 4.472).

12  For an association of Mt Cithaeron with forests, cf. S. OT 1026 (εὑρὼν ναπαίαις ἐν Κιθαιρῶνος πτυχαῖς); Sen. Oed. 809 (in illa temet nemora quis casus tulit?). 13  See Neue and Wagener 1902 533; TLL 5.1756. 14  See Villa 1981a 49–50 n. 84.

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‘Two-fold Thebes.’ A city founded in Boeotia by Cadmus and Zethus and Amphio, in which Oedipus was the son of Laius, who slept with his mother, from whom there were Eteocles and Polynices, who slew each other in turn on account of the kingdom. We can assume then either that the scholiast or his model compiled this note incorporating text from Servius Danielis as well as other sources, or that both the P-scholiast and Servius Danielis owe their notes to a mutual source. With respect to the latter, modern criticism has established that the additions in Servius Danielis demonstrate a far more learned level of literary criticism than Servius (whose work in any case was aimed at the education of the young), and that the most probable source for these additional comments is the lost commentary on Vergil by Donatus himself.15 A lengthy gloss in another Terence manuscript dating from the eleventh century, Ld (Leiden, UB, LIP 26), which recounts the legends of Danae and Perseus, contains wording which has many parallels to Servius Danielis as well as other Late-Antique sources, and this suggests strongly that materials deriving from Donatus were still circulating in this period and being used by scholiasts on Terence.16 Another possible source for the scholion, the lost argumentum to Book 1 of the collection of scholia on Statius, edited probably in the fourth or fifth century by Lactantius Placidus, will be discussed later in this chapter in the context of a fifteenth-century account of the Oedipus legend. In any case, if the gloss in P derives from this lost part of the Statius commentary, or else a mutual source to that of Servius Danielis, it should transmit data from a phase of literary scholarship when there was good access to ancient literary traditions since lost. A key aspect of the Oedipus scholion in P is the statement at the conclusion that Oedipus killed the Sphinx by casting her down from her cliff (spinga de rupe deiecit). This statement contradicts the version of the myth widely known today, which has the Sphinx throwing herself down from a cliff or the acro­ polis of Thebes, once Oedipus solves the riddle. Detailed Greek versions of this latter story appear in the first-century BC encyclopaedist Diodorus Siculus and the Bibliotheca falsely attributed to Apollodorus, which dates to the first 15  For a comparison of the treatment of Roman republican authors in both Servius and Servius Danielis, and the evidence this provides for the lost Donatus commentary, see Lloyd 1961; for evidence for linguistic usage in Servius Danielis (and thus Donatus) Maltby 2005. 16  This comment and its affinities both to Servius and the ‘Mythographi Vaticani’ will be treated in depth in my forthcoming article (see n. 4 above).

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or second century AD.17 In Latin the story appears in the Fabulae attributed to Hyginus (Oedipus Lai filius uenit et carmen est interpretatus: illa se praecipi­ tauit, “Oedipus the son of Laius came and interpreted the riddle, and she cast herself down;” Hyg. Fab. 57.5), dating to either the first century BC or second century AD.18 But earlier Greek versions of the myth, which appear at first to have recounted simply how Oedipus freed the Boeotian countryside from the terror of the Sphinx, without any reference to the riddle,19 also provided variants which described how Oedipus first solved the riddle, then slew the monster. Euripides, for instance, states: ἃ δόμον Οἰδιπόδα πρόπαν ὤλεσε, τᾶς ἀγρίας ὅτε δυσξυνέτου ξυνετὸν μέλος ἔγνω Σφιγγὸς ἀοιδοῦ σῶμα φονεύσας (E. Ph. 1504–7) She [the Erinys] destroyed Oedipus’ house utterly when he understood the subtle song of the fierce, incomprehensible one, and slew the singing Sphinx’s body. Our extant classical Latin literary sources dealing with this story are at best unclear about whether the Sphinx was killed by Oedipus, or whether she killed herself.20 Nevertheless, throughout the Medieval period the predominant 17  D.S. 4.64.4 (ἑαυτὴν κατακρημνίσαι, “she cast herself down a cliff”); Apollod. Bibliotheca 3.5.8. 18  For the former dating, assuming possible authorship by the freedman of Augustus, see the contribution of Schmidt 2013a; for the latter, Fordyce 2003. 19  Cf. the comment contained in the scholia to Euripides: φασιν . . . ἀνελεῖν δὲ αὐτὸν οὐ μόνον τὴν Σφίγγα, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν Τευμησίαν ἀλώπεκα, ὡς Κόρρινα (“they say . . . that he killed not only the Sphinx, but also the fox of Teumessos, as Corinna states”, Schol. E. Ph. 26 = Corinn. fr. 19 [Page]). For the earliest versions of this myth and their influence on Euripides, see Lesky 1929, 1708–11, 1722–3; for the relationship of the Sphinx story to the Oedipus myth in general, Edmunds 1983. 20  Statius seems to imply that the Sphinx killed herself when he states uicta cadit Sphinx (“having been defeated, the Sphinx fell down/died”; Stat. Theb. 11.490), although cado can be also understood as ‘be killed’; see OLD 248 (9); TLL 3.23–4. An earlier reference in the Thebaid to the Sphinx’s death (donec de rupe cruenta heu! simili deprensa . . . tristis inexpletam scopulis adfligeret aluum, “until from her bloody cliff, alas, being caught by a man of similar character . . . that gloomy one . . . dashed down her insatiable belly upon the rocks”, Stat. Theb. 2.516–18) similarly suggests that the Sphinx actively ended her own

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view for Latin writers must have been that the Sphinx killed herself, since in De ciuitate Dei, a central work in almost every monastery collection, Augustine states that Oedipus soluto . . . quaestione suo praecipitio perire compulerit (“having solved the question, forced her to perish from her precipice,” Aug. Civ. 18.13). The other variant story—namely that Oedipus killed the Sphinx—does indeed appear in both versions of the ‘Mythographi Vaticani,’ composed between the ninth and eleventh centuries,21 although it is uncertain how widely these works circulated, being known now from only two manuscripts predating the fifteenth century.22 Moreover, both versions of the ‘Mythographi’ change the gender of the Sphinx from feminine to masculine,23 and so it is uncertain whether the scribes might have taken other liberties with the story, and independently have reinstated the rôle of Oedipus as a monster-slayer.24 The comment in P about Oedipus killing the Sphinx may similarly be an inspired conjecture by a late commentator with no real detailed knowledge of the classical world. But if it does in fact derive ultimately from a source such as Donatus, it could also preserve accurately the original tradition as presented by an earlier scholar who had access to a whole range of archaic sources, both Latin and Greek.25 The following section will attempt to shed more light on life, although deprensa is difficult, depending on whether we interpret it as ‘caught out in her riddling game’, or ‘caught physically’ (I am grateful to Kyle Conrau-Lewis for this observation). Seneca the Younger seems to imply that the Sphinx was killed although he does not explicitly name Oedipus as the agent; cf. Sen. Oed. 107–8 (illa nunc Thebas lues perempta perdit, “that plague, although slain, now destroys Thebes”). Another phrase in the Phoenissae (ego ipse, uictae spolia qui Sphingis tuli, “I myself, who carried off the spoils of the defeated Sphinx”, Sen. Phoen. 138) is suggestive that Oedipus has killed her in single combat, but is still not conclusive evidence. 21  For the dating see the discussion of Heinze 2013. 22  See the discussion of witnesses in Kulcsár 1987 vi–xvi. 23  Cf. Mythogr. 1.166 (emblema eius enodauit et ipsum occidit; “he untangled the puzzle and killed him”) and Mythogr. 2.166 (ambages . . . soluit et uictum necauit, “he solved the ambiguities and, now defeated, slew him”). The same change of gender is also found in the scholion to this passage in the manuscript BML San Marco 244, discussed below. 24  A parallel may be provided by later Greek accounts of the myth, discussed by Lesky 1929, which changed the Sphinx from a monster to a bandit woman and had Oedipus slay her; Lesky views this not as a reversion to an earlier story, but rather as a result of the rationalisation of the myth (1709–10). 25  If the reading a matre is correct in this scholion, this too may be an instance of the scholiast preserving an earlier version of the myth. Thus Sophocles recounts that Iocasta gave the baby Oedipus to a herdsman to be exposed (S. OT 1171–3). Pseudo-Apollodorus, on the other hand, states that it was Laius who gave the infant to the herdsman (Apollod. Bibliotheca 3.5.7), while Hyginus says that Laius ordered the infant to be exposed without

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this problem, by looking at the questions of the date and script of the gloss, then the broader questions of its relationship to the other glosses in P, their sources, and glosses in other manuscripts.

The Date and Script of the Scholion on f. 8r

In general terms, it can be observed immediately that the Oedipus scholion must have been written at some stage after the writing of the rubricated title Andria (over which it is partly written) and the original glossing of the manuscript with extracts of Donatus, which have been dated to the late tenth or eleventh century (see above). The copying must also have occurred before the cropping of the manuscript which destroyed part of the first line; cropping may well have occurred when the manuscript was rebound during the reign of Charles IX (1560–74), whose arms are embossed on the leather of the cover.26 With regard to a terminus post quem for the copying of the other cursive glosses by ΣB, including the plot synopses of the Greek New Comedies, their presence on an inserted bifolium in the manuscript (ff. 29–30) which provides missing text from Andria and Eunuchus shows that they must have been written after the late ninth or early tenth century, to which period the main text on this inserted sheet has been dated.27 ΣB seems also to post-date supplementary text at the foot of f. 53r, written by a corrector in a pre-Gothic hand, perhaps of the eleventh or twelfth century, supplying the first 9 lines of Eu. 4.3 (originally lost when f. 52 was cut in half); these additions also ante-date repair of f. 52 with a patch, perhaps when the manuscript was rebound, since the blank parchment was also not utilized by the corrector or ΣB.28 The question of the date of the Oedipus scholion was addressed incidentally in the comprehensive art-historical study of illustrated Terence manuscripts by L.W. Jones and C.R. Morey of 1931. In their discussion of P, Jones and Morey stated that “there are at least two scholiasts, both of whom supply any reference to Iocasta (iussit exponi; Hyg. Fab. 66.1). Unfortunately, the uncertainty about readings in the first line of the Oedipus scholion caused by cropping prevents us from being conclusive on this point. 26  See Gallica 2012a; Wright 2006 197. 27  See Turner 2010 41; Gallica 2012a (“au Xe s.?”). 28  Catch-words were written by the corrector at the bottom of the illustration on f. 52v, just above the patch, and directing the reader to text for Eu. 643–51 supplied on the opposite folio (f. 53r). It appears that a further reference mark was later squeezed above these catch-words by ΣB, who then wrote a scene heading just above the supplied text on f. 53r.

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interlinear and marginal notes. The first may be of the tenth century; the second, whose script inclines to the cursive, probably belongs to the eleventh, or even a later century.”29 By the first, Jones and Morey clearly meant ΣD, and in order to illustrate the second, they specifically cited the scholion on “f. 8 (the top of margin).”30 Jones and Morey also drew attention to a series of labels for characters in the illustrations of this manuscript, which often duplicate the contents of the original character labels provided by the rubricator in the ninth century, and which were in fact written by ΣB; they state that: “Extra labels (by a hand resembling that of the second scholiast) are frequently set down under the miniatures in slate brown minuscules.”31 Although they did not give a specific date for these labels, other than their general statement that the ‘second scholiast’ on f. 8r belonged to the eleventh century “or later”, it is nevertheless a fundamental part of their argument concerning the origins of the illustrated Terence manuscript Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13, or O, that many of the labels in O were copied directly from the minuscule labels in P.32 Consequently, they must have assumed that the labels of ΣB were written before the labels in O, which can be dated to the twelfth century, most probably to its second half.33 The argument of Jones and Morey that the twelfth-century labels in O must to an extent be copies of those of ΣB is flawed for a number of reasons. In our digital edition of O, which had access to far better quality images than any available to Jones and Morey, Bernard Muir and I were able to show that the illustrations and the character labels in O were made on top of rough, preliminary sketches drawn in lead point; the labels in O cited by Jones and Morey are those written by the rubricator, largely on top of these earlier labels, in the final stages of preparation of the manuscript. In fact, where they can be read, the original labels in O correspond closely in terms of their spelling to the Carolingian majuscule labels in P (as well those in other early members of the illustrated γ-manuscripts of Terence), rather than to the minuscule labels of ΣB.34 The fact that the rubricator ignored these prompts before him may be evidence that he deliberately set out to modernise the spellings of the names 29  Jones and Morey 1931 2.54–5. 30  Jones and Morey 1931 2.55 n. 13. 31  Jones and Morey 1931 2.55. 32  Jones and Morey 1931 2.82–5, 90–1, concluding: “we have an insuperable objection to the hypothesis of a common archetype for P and O, and a final proof of their direct relation, in the manifest influence of P’s later minuscule labels on the labels of O” (90). 33  See Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 1.1. 34  Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 5.3.

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of the characters, but it is still not proof that he copied the minuscule labels in P, since the alternative spellings he used are found also in the scholia in O taken from the CB, which were written by the main scribe as part of the first stage of copying the manuscript,35 and which must have been taken from a manuscript other than P.36 The argument that the rubricator of O took his spellings from those in ΣB is in fact based on an underlying assumption that O was copied directly from P, and so is not conclusive evidence that this is the truth of the matter; rather, there are a whole range of arguments, already used by other critics, to show that O was in fact copied from another deluxe manuscript of Terence denoted ω.37 In recent discussions, a much later dating has been given to ΣB. David Wright drew attention to a “fifteenth-century ex libris in the bottom margin of folio 41r” indicating ownership by the Benedictine abbey of Saint-Denis, and continued: At the same time a scribe writing small semi-cursive minuscule in brown ink repeated all the labels to illustrations, correcting or supplementing them, wrote abbreviated running titles in the upper right corner of rectos on folios 36–149, and added many annotations.38 Wright’s opinion is corroborated by the detailed description of this manuscript provided by the Bibliothèque nationale on the Gallica website, which dates these additions to the fifteenth century and ascribes them to a French humanist. The description classifies three broad types of intervention by the humanist in the text; interlinear glosses to specific words of Terence (providing textual alternatives or else lexical glosses), character labels which parallel the original ninth-century rubrics, together with brief descriptions of the action in each scene, and finally longer arguments which essentially repeat the act summaries of Donatus originally copied by ΣD (although in fact this only occurs in Adelphoe). The description notes that the glossing by ΣB concludes 35  Thus ‘Bachis’, ‘Traso’, and ‘Eschinus’ are cited by Jones and Morey 1931 2.83 as evidence for O copying from ΣB (in place of ‘Bacchis’, ‘Thraso’, and ‘Aeschinus’), but each of these variants is already found in the scholia in O (cf. ff. 76v, 54v, 101r). For discussion of the various stages of production for O, see Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 1.4. 36  There are in fact strong affinities between the scholia in O and a series of scholia copied into Ld, which was produced and glossed at St Peter’s, Ghent, in the eleventh century; these will be discussed in my forthcoming article on the subject (see n. 4 above). 37  For a detailed discussion of the history of this argument and evaluation of the evidence, see Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 5.3. 38  Wright 2006 197.

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on f. 167v, and proposes that these glosses may have been written by a scholar working in the circle of Guillaume Fichet (1433–1480/90), whose press produced an edition of Terence in 1472; this scholar is likely to have collated one or more other manuscripts of Terence in order to produce his comments.39 These recent descriptions represent a substantial shift in dating the work of ΣB from the opinions of Jones and Morey,40 although this does not imply that the commentator’s work has no connection with Late-Antique or Early Medieval scholarship on Terence; in fact the subsequent discussion will show that the opposite seems to be the case. As a first step, though, it is necessary to look at the question of the relationship of the Oedipus scholion to ΣB, picking up on Jones and Morey’s assumption that they were roughly contemporary; any wide discrepancy in dating would naturally suggest that they have no connection with each other in terms of their intellectual content.41 The Oedipus scholion is written in a darker ink and with a thinner nib than ΣB, but many, if not all, of the abbreviations and letter forms are identical in the two scripts. Particularly striking is the form of the enclitic—que in solu­ toque in line 3; this is formed from two elements and is separated from the first part of the word by a space, and precisely the same form is found in ΣB (good examples occur on ff. 25r and 96v).42 ΣB uses the same abbreviations as the Oedipus scholion in line 1 for propterea (e.g. f. 134r), and in line 2 for tamquam (f. 126r) and patrem (f. 160r). Besides the more common contractions and suspensions, the Insular ‘9’ abbreviation for cum/con in line 2 of the Oedipus scholion is also found in ΣB (f. 30r contendit, contradixit, and on f. 160r cum potius), the same form of pro in line 3 (probleumate) occurs on f. 30r (prologo), while the contraction for re which appears in line 2 in herede also occurs throughout ΣB (cf. reprehendens on f. 160r). With regard to individual letter forms, both the Oedipus scholion and ΣB distinguish between initial and medial ‘s’ on the 39  Gallica 2012a. 40  In my previous discussion of the ΣB scholia (Turner 2010) I in fact followed Jones and Morey for issues relating to dating; I first came across the more accurate description of Gallica 2012a in the Bibliothèque nationale in January 2011, when it was only available on an internal server in the library. 41  The description of Gallica 2012a in fact attributed the Oedipus scholion to the twelfth century, stating: “plusieurs glossateurs (au moins deux) sont intervenus entre les Xe (pour le glossateur principal) et XIIe s. (cf. marge sup. au f. 8).” This may, however, have been a simple error, uncorrected because the text was only intended for in-house publication; in the subsequent discussion there is another similar error when discussing additional text on f. 53r, which is dated both to the fifteenth and tenth centuries. 42  Readers interested in comparing these details are recommended to consult the highquality images of P available in Gallica 2012a.

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one hand, and final ‘s’ on the other, using very similar forms of the latter; in both hands initial and medial ‘s’ sometimes have a tail, and sometimes just a plain shaft. The letters ‘t’ and ‘x’ are formed similarly, while ‘d’ always has a slanting ascender. In short, when the differences caused by nib and ink colour are taken into account, it becomes hard to argue anything else than that both the Oedipus scholion and ΣB were written in hands from the same period and perhaps the same scribal school, if indeed they are not the work of the same scribe, writing perhaps in a less formal hand at the top of f. 8r. If we accept that these comments are the work of the same scribe, or at least part of the same phase of glossing P, is it also possible to narrow down their date with any greater certainty? The Gallica description, while suggesting that the comments of ΣB may have emanated from the circle of Guillaume Fichet c.1470, also admits that comparison with Fichet’s autograph manuscripts does not allow definite identification of him as the scholar at work here.43 Further palaeographical work may indeed succeed in identifying this hand with greater certainty, particularly as more materials become available online, but what can already be demonstrated is that the character labels of ΣB bear strong resemblances to those from a somewhat earlier phase of Terence scholarship than that of Fichet and his circle, namely the production at the beginning of the fifteenth century of a new group of illustrated manuscripts of Terence in artistic workshops in Paris, especially the lavishly illustrated witnesses Paris BnF, lat. 7907A and Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal 664 (or the ‘Térence des ducs’).44 BnF 7907A appears to have been written and illustrated between 1400 and 1407,45 and was presented to Duc Jean de Berry at New Year 1408, while Arsenal 664 seems to have been written and illustrated a few years later,46 although it is uncertain to what extent it may be a copy of BnF 7907A, as has been argued.47 In BnF 7907A labels were at first written inside the illustration frames in gold 43  “[S]i la comparaison avec les mss. autographes de celui-ci ne permet pas de lui attribuer de manière certaine ces interventions”, Gallica 2012a. 44  For attribution of the manuscripts to workshops in Paris, see Meiss 1974 1.41–2, Avril 1975 45, Sterling 1987–1990 1.324. 45  Gallica 2011a (“1400–1407”); Meiss 1974 1.43 (“a year or two before 1408”). 46  Meiss 1974 1.43 dated it on art-historical considerations to “well after Berry’s Terence [i.e. BnF 7907A]”, although in fact his discussion in the preceding pages suggested a date of around 1410–12 (1.41–2), and this rough date is also accepted by Bozzolo (“1411–1412” Bozzolo 1984 97 [=2004 149]). Tesnière and Villela-Petit 2004 241–2 first discuss BnF 7907A, then date Arsenal 664 to “environ trois ans plus tard” (i.e. c.1410/11). 47  Meiss 1974 1.41 argued that it was a direct copy, but his conclusions have been drawn into question, since Arsenal 664 contains illustrations for scenes left blank in BnF 7907A; see Tesnière and Villela-Petit 2004 242, Gallica 2011a.

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lettering and above the relevant character, merely giving his or her name, but beginning with the illustration to An. 5.4 on f. 23r an additional rubric is written beneath the picture giving the names of the characters as well as epithets, and these rubrics continue in a haphazard fashion throughout the manuscript (they are missing for most of Eunuchus and the first part of Heauton timorumenos). In Arsenal 664 the labels are written as rubrics at the foot of each scene illustration. The character labels could have been added in each manuscript in the last stages of compilation—they are noticeably absent in the third extant member of this group of early fifteenth-century manuscripts, BnF, lat. 8193, in which the text was written in full before the illustrations were only partially sketched.48 However, many of them are also found in a fourth witness, BnF lat. 7907, copied c.1440 and intended for illustration, although this was never started (blank spaces were left at the start of each scene throughout the manuscript).49 As can be seen from Appendix 1, the wording of the character labels in BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664 at times coincides almost exactly with that of ΣB, although it is not found in this precise format in the majuscule labels in P or indeed in other extant illustrated manuscripts of Terence, including O. Thus the label for An. 5.4 reads Crito chremes symo senes tres pamphilus adulescens in all three sources, with minor variations in spelling (BnF 7907A reads adule­ scens, whereas both ΣB and Arsenal 664 read adolescens).50 In two scenes in Eunuchus which have a large number of characters ΣB and Arsenal 664 both give labels in an identical order and with the same epithets which contrast with the majuscule labels in P,51 while other lists of characters in ΣB and Arsenal 664 frequently show identical epithets, which again contrast with the majuscule labels.52 Although, as already mentioned, character labels are missing in large parts of BnF 7907A, when they do appear they occasionally approximate better

48  Although Meiss 1974 1.48 also noted that brief directions in French for the illustrator were written above the figures in BnF 8193, corresponding also to directions in BnF 7907A which can be read using ultra-violet. 49  For description and dating, see Bozzolo 1984 99–102 [2004 151–4]. 50  By way of comparison, the scene label for An. 5.4 in O on f. 30v reads PAMPHILVS CRITO CHREMES SIMO. 51  See Appendix 1 for the labels for Eu. 3.2 and 4.7. In P the majuscule labels for Eu. 3.2 (f. 47r) appear to be later in date than other majuscule character labels; they are abbreviated, and written in a black ink (see Jones and Morey 1931 2.83). Nevertheless, the minuscule labels here in P also contrast with the order of the characters in the illustration, conforming instead to the order of speakers in this scene. 52  E.g. Ad. 1.2 (demea micio fratres senes [majuscule: DEMEA MICIO SENES II]).

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the label in ΣB than does Arsenal 664.53 There are also many minor agreements in the spelling of proper names in all three sources (e.g. Simo, Traso, Bachis, Frigia), although as the previous discussion has already intimated, these spellings go back much further than the fifteenth century, and indeed were instrumental in misleading Jones and Morey to suppose that the labels in O were a direct copy of ΣB. Despite omissions and variants, there is enough firm evidence to show that the labels in BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664, as well as those in BnF 7907, derive independently from the same immediate source.54 As well, this group of labels corresponds at times quite precisely with the ΣB labels in P, although these labels are also absent for parts of this manuscript, notably in Ad. 3.3–5.555 and Ph. 5.2–5.9, where they are present in the three other witnesses. The relationship of the ΣB labels to those in the fifteenth-century witnesses becomes all the more significant when we consider that they are all illustrated manuscripts. Millard Meiss made important initial observations from a careful examination of the composition and the imagery of the pictures in BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664, concluding that the artwork in the fifteenth-century witnesses (regardless of their relationship with each other) had a definite relationship to the Carolingian illustrated traditions,56 and whereas the texts of Terence and commentaries contained in them may have been quite independent,57 there are some elements in the fifteenth-century cycle of illustration which seem to have been strongly influenced by the earlier tradition. The two slaves who 53  Thus for Hec. 5.1 both ΣB and BnF 7907A give the correct bachis meretrix laches senex, whereas Arsenal 664 has only Bachis meretrix; for Ph. 1.3 ΣB has antipho et phedria ado­ lescentes, Arsenal 664 has Antipho. Phedria. adolescens [sic] duo, while BnF 7907A has antipho phedria adulescentes duo. 54  In BnF 7907 the commentary of Laurent de Premierfait is copied into the body of the text up to Eu. 1.1 on f. 55r, and for the same part of the manuscript the labels of BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664 are found written as complete sentences; thus the rubric for An. 5.4 on f. 47r reads Scena quinta [sic] sequitur in qua Crhito Crhemes Simo senes tres et Pamphilus ado­ lescens collocuntur. However, it can also be noted that after this point, the commentary of Laurent is no longer included, and the copyist reverts to the forms of the labels as they are found in the earlier illustrated manuscripts, agreeing sometimes with Arsenal 664 (e.g., for Eu 3.2 on f. 65r, omitted in BnF 7907A), and once with BnF 7907A against Arsenal 664 (for Ad. 5.4 on f. 152r). 55  Only three scenes in this part of P have labels by ΣB, one of them incomplete. 56  Meiss 1974 1.46–7. 57  The commentaries in BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664 at any rate are independent of the commentary notes in P, and derive in part from the Commentum Laurentii, written by the French humanist scholar Laurent de Premierfait (c.1360/70–1418); see Villa 1981b, Bozzolo 1984 [2004], and Riou 1997 44–5.

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assist Sosia with wedding preparations in An. 1.1 are not mentioned in the text of Terence, but they appear in all the Carolingian witnesses and also the two later manuscripts,58 while there are also elements in both BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664 which recall the pictures in P strongly.59 Moreover, the Carolingian manuscripts also pioneered a technique whereby a character could be shown twice in the same illustration, in positions which reflected his role at two different moments of the same scene; this technique occurs twice in the original Carolingian cycle of illustrations, at Hec. 3.4 and 5.4.60 In the fifteenth century manuscripts it is used very frequently (just in Andria it occurs six times in both BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664);61 nevertheless, given the apparent dependence of the fifteenth-century manuscripts on earlier illustrated versions of Terence, it seems possible that this technique was adapted from them, following a careful study of all the images. Illustrated manuscripts of Terence were comparatively rare, particularly those which included a full cycle of illustrations,62 and if there is any one candidate among our extant witnesses for being studied by artists working in Paris in the early fifteenth century, it must be P itself, which was at the monastery library of Saint-Denis at precisely this time.63 Of course, P need not have been 58  See BnF 7907A f. 3v, Arsenal 664 f. 4v. 59  In Ad. 2.1 the line of four characters in Arsenal 664 (f. 131v), with the psaltria or music-girl grabbed by the wrist by the leno as she looks back at Aeschinus, matches the depiction of this scene in P, while in BnF 7907A (f. 77v) the characters are intermingled with each other. On the other hand, in Ad. 3.3 BnF 7907A (f. 83r) agrees with P (f. 107r) in depicting the slave Dromo cutting up fish indoors, and Meiss 1974 (1.47–8) drew attention to the close similarity of many details, while the corresponding illustration in Arsenal 664 (f. 141v) does not show this kitchen scene at all. 60  In P on ff. 134r and 146v. For discussion of this technique in C, see Wright 2006 137 and 146. 61  At An. 1.2 (BnF 7907A f. 5v; Arsenal 664 f. 8v), 1.5 (f. 8r; f. 12r), 2.1 (f. 9r; f. 14v), 3.5, (f. 16r; f. 28v) 4.1 (f. 16v; f. 29v), and 5.2 (f. 21v; f. 38v). 62  B. Munk Olsen catalogued 122 whole or fragmentary manuscripts surviving today (Munk Olsen 1982–1989, 2.598–653; 3.2.132–8), of which eleven include illustrations deriving from the Late-Antique tradition. Of these eleven, only C, P, O, and Tur (Tours, BM 924) now have full sets of images; F (Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, H. 75 inf. [S.P. 4 bis]) appears to have had them, but both the beginning and conclusion of this manuscript are lost. The cycles of illustrations in the other manuscripts, Y (BnF, lat. 7900), B (Vatican, Archivio S. Pietro H. 19), N (Leiden, UB, VLQ 38), S (Vatican, BAV, lat. 3305), Z, and Ld were never completed, and all peter out at some point in the first three plays in the γ-order (Andria, Eunuchus, and Heauton timorumenos). 63  See Gallica 2012a; “Le ms. se trouvait au moins depuis le XIIIe s. dans l’abbaye de SaintDenis, comme en témoigne la cote du XIIIe s. de cette bibliothèque (au f. 3). Il demeure dans cette abbaye jusqu’au XVIe s. (ex-libris du XVe s.) ‘Iste liber est de Sancto Dionisio

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the only manuscript consulted by these artists; certainly the frontispieces of BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664 (ff. 2v and 1v respectively) both incorporate an iconographical element, the recitation of Terence’s plays by Calliopius before dancing mimes, which recalls some aspects of the depiction of the Roman theatre in the Romanesque witnesses BAV, Vat. lat. 3305 (f. 8v) and Tours, BM, 924 (f. 13v, see Figure 24), but which is absent from the earlier Carolingian tradition. Nevertheless, given the ready availability of P to scholars and artists at this period, the similarities between the character labels in ΣB and those in the fifteenth-century witnesses take on a new significance. As mentioned earlier, the copying of character labels may have been one of the final stages in the preparation of the illuminated manuscripts, following ruling of the grids for the text and illustrations and copying of the plays and scholia, and perhaps at the same time as the illustrations were painted. If scholars in the workshops which produced BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664 did in fact consult P while designing their pictures, then it seems possible either that the rubrics in these manuscripts were derived from an intermediate text based on P which contained the ΣB labels, together with additions to fill the gaps, or that one of these scholars (in fact, the scribe of ΣB), while working on the deluxe illustrated manuscripts, jotted down his notes from this unknown manuscript (the source for the labels in BnF 7907A, Arsenal 664, and BnF 7907) in P. If this is correct, the copying of ΣB in P should be dated to c. 1408, when BnF 7907A was presented to the Duc de Berry, at the very latest.

The Relationship of the Oedipus Scholion in P to Other Sources

Donatus and the Oedipus scholion in P are by no means the only Late-Antique or Medieval sources which comment on An. 194. In BnF, lat. 7902, an eleventhcentury manuscript which may possibly have been written and glossed in Fleury,64 a scholion with very close similarities in wording to that in P (marked with italics), appears on f. 4v:

(-suo, cod.?) in Francia’ (f. 41r).” For the suggestion that the classical influences in the series of illustrations in these manuscripts may be due to the influence of a “connaisseur particulièrement averti des ressources des bibliothèques monastiques de la région parisienne et de la vallée de la Loire,” see Avril 1975 46. This scholar has been identified tentatively as Laurent de Premierfait, the author of the commentary in both BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664; see Bozzolo 1984 125–6; Tesnière and Villela-Petit 2004 241. 64  Munk Olsen 1982–1989, 2.629; Vernet 1959 35–6.

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edipus fuit filius laii et iocaste nutritusque a polipo rege patrem suum occidit, cum matre sua concubuit, occulos sibimet effodit solutoque antea probleumate spinga monstrum de rupe proiecit. Oedipus was the son of Laius and Iocasta and raised by King Polybus he killed his own father, he slept with his mother, he plucked out his eyes, and previously having solved the riddle he threw the monstrous sphinx down from the cliff. The scholia in BnF 7902 are written in a Late Caroline minuscule hand roughly contemporary to the main hand of the text, and seem to come from a variety of sources. In the margins of f. 1v there are extracts from the Excerpta de comoe­ dia, a work which circulated as part of the prefatory materials to Donatus’ commentary on Terence, and other comments deriving from Donatus are included in the margins,65 while the opening scholion on An. 1.1 on f. 2v is modelled on the Commentum Brunsianum. After f. 5v the commentary becomes relatively sparse, and marginal comments cease altogether at the beginning of Hau. 3.2 on f. 37r (the manuscript has 80 folios in total). At the opening of Eunuchus on f. 17v, however, the scholiast copied two synopses of the lost Greek play The­ saurus mentioned by Terence in Eu. 10. The first of these has a number of verbal similarities to a synopsis of the same play in P written by ΣB, which is closely related to an account found in the twelfth-century commentary usually known as the Commentarius recentior.66 The same gloss on Oedipus from BnF 7902 was identified by Villa in two Italian manuscripts of the eleventh or twelfth century now in Florence, BML Conv. Soppr. 510 (f. 3v), and BML San Marco 244 (f. 5v);67 the only significant addition to the text in either is the word reginae in apposition to iocastae in the opening line. However, both manuscripts then provide short accounts of the 65  E.g. the commentary note on An. 245 on f. 5v (inuenustus dicitur ille cui displicens obicitur, infelix cui placens negatur). 66  The scholion in P was first discussed in Turner 2010, but see also below in this chapter. BnF 7902 (f. 17v) reads in part homo quidam parcus fuit habens filium nimis largum . . . omnem fere substantiam in sepulchro abscondit precepitque filio ut in decimo anno sibi cibum attulisset in sepulcro, while ΣB (f. 30r) has senex quidam habens filium prodigum in agro suo fodit sepulchrum; ibique deposuit thesaurum. moriens praecepit filio ut in octauo anno sepulchrum effu‹n›deret et sibi sacrificaret. Despite the substitution of synonyms and the difference in the period of years, there are sufficient parallels here to show a common source for the two glosses. 67  Villa 1981a 49. For descriptions, see Munk Olsen 1982–1989, 2.608 and 609–10; he dates the glosses in San Marco 244 to the twelfth century.

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Sphinx’s riddle which differ in terms of their structure but not their contents; the version in Conv. Soppr. 510 is unfortunately illegible in part, possibly due to water damage, but the version of San Marco 244 reads as follows: Sphinx erat quoddam monstrum faciens problema transeuntibus. si non possent persoluere interficiebat eos. iste uero idyppus persoluit et precipitauit eum de rupe ut constitutum erat si posset persoluere. hoc erat problema; quod animal illud esset quod prius inceditur quattuor pedibus, postea duobus, tandem tribus. The sphinx was a certain monster presenting a riddle to passers-by. If they were unable to solve it he used to kill them. But that man Oedipus solved it and threw him from his cliff, as had been agreed if he could solve it. This was the problem: what animal would that be which first walked on four feet, then on two, finally on three. Still later, other Medieval commentary traditions on Terence provide short notes on Oedipus and the Sphinx. Mostly, their information is limited to descriptions of her riddle and his solution of it, and despite some variation in wording there are usually no references made to his family relationships, his exposure, his killing of Laius, his incestuous marriage with Iocasta, or his blinding.68 However, in one fifteenth-century manuscript of the ‘Mythographi Vaticani,’ Vatican, BAV, Vat. lat. 8743,69 a number of additional mythological accounts are appended, including the myth of Oedipus. This account has some substantial differences from the versions in P and BnF 7902, but also some very strong similarities in wording, so despite its length it is worth citing here. Laius rex Thebarum habuit uxorem nomine Iocastam, cui precepit ut omnes filios ex se genitos necaret, nam audierat a liberis suis se occidendum. Illa pariens puerum plantis perforatis in siluam deferri iussit. 68  Of the recentiores listed by Villa 2007 31–2, I have examined versions in Bern, Bürgerbibliothek, 411 (f. 165r), Copenhagen, KB, GKS 1995 (f. 2v), and Brussels, KBB, 5328–29 (f. 25v); only Copenhagen, KB, GKS 1995 describes him as Edippus pater ethio­ clis et pollinicis. The later commentary of Laurent de Premierfait (see Bozzolo 1984 121–2 [=2004 172–3]) merely supplies the information that Oedipus was the son of Laius, and in addition it concludes its account of the solution of the riddle by stating that the Sphinx allowed Oedipus to depart unharmed (Edippum incolumen permisit abire; BnF 7907 f. 11v). 69  Described in Kulcsár 1987 viii–ix. This manuscript, with the siglum V, belongs to the collection MV II, which Heinze 2013 dates between the ninth and eleventh century.

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In eadem silua Polybus rex Phocidis uenatione erat occupatus et uagitum pueri audiens afferri iubens tamquam suum nutriuit Oedipumque uocauit [a sentence follows describing Oedipus’ visit to an oracular temple]. dumque uenit, obuiauit illi pater decrepitata etate, quem ut uidit, ignorans esse patrem occidit et regno ceterisque bonis usus est. uenit ad montem ubi erat Sphynx monstrum omnibus pretereuntibus hoc enigma proponens, quid primo iiii deinde iii deinde ii deinde iii deinde iiii graditur pedibus, ea conditione ut qui solueret, ipsi pennas incideret, qui non, capite truncaretur, quod Oedipus soluens monstrum occidit. Inde rediens Thebas Iocastam matrem suam inscius duxit uxorem et genuit ex ea Polinicem et Eteoclem et duas filias Antigonam et Ismenem. Hic itaque quadam die se calcians mater uidit cicatrices factas et agnoscens ingemuit miserabiliter. Ille dolore exagitatus sibimet oculos eruit et in domo subterranea uitam finiuit (Mythographus II, suppl. V, 230). Laius king of Thebes had a wife by the name of Iocasta, whom he ordered to kill all sons fathered by him, for he had heard that he had to be slain by his own children. She, giving birth to a boy, had the soles of his feet bored through, and ordered him to be carried into a forest. In the same forest Polybus the king of Phocis had been busy with a hunt, and hearing the wailing of the boy and ordering him to be carried away he raised him as if he was his own, and called him Oedipus . . . and when he arrived [at the temple], his father, of decrepit old age, encountered him, and when he saw him, not knowing he was his father he killed him, and enjoyed both his realm and his other possessions. He came to the mountain where the monstrous Sphinx was, proposing this riddle to all passers by—what walks first on 4 feet, then 3, then 2, then 3, then 4?—on the condition that whoever solved it, could cut the wings off her, but who did not, would be decapitated. Oedipus solved this and killed the monster. Returning there from Thebes unknowingly he took his mother Iocasta as his wife, and fathered from her Polynices and Eteocles and two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. And when this man one day was putting on his boots, his mother saw the scars made on him and recognizing him groaned wretchedly. And he, stirred up by grief, plucked out his eyes, and brought an end to his life in an underground chamber. The account here includes a number of important details of the legend of Oedipus, as recounted by Sophocles and other classical Greek sources, which were omitted in P and BnF 7902; the statement that his feet were bored through, the fact that he did not know who Laius was when he killed him,

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the wording of the riddle (albeit in a slightly different formulation),70 and Oedipus’ fathering of two daughters. Some other details not included in P and BnF 7902 may derive from later Latin versions of the story—thus the story that he died in an underground chamber recalls Statius’ account of Oedipus’ protracted death underground at the outset of the Thebaid 71—while still others (e.g. Polybus’ rescue of Oedipus while hunting in the forest, the bargain offered by the Sphinx to all passers by, and the recognition scene when Oedipus is putting on his boots) are not paralleled in any extant classical sources. But as has been argued by Lowell Edmunds, it may also be the case that this story derives in part from the lost argumentum to Book 1 of the commentary on Statius’ Thebaid edited by Lactantius Placidus; the surviving commentary states explicitly that legends of Oedipus were summarized in this argumen­ tum.72 Edmunds examined other Medieval accounts of the myth of Oedipus, such as the twelfth-century French poem Roman de Thèbes, and showed that some of the details (including Polybus’ hunt in the forest) were shared with the Vatican manuscript. Since the detail that Polybus was King of Phocis also appears in the Roman de Thèbes as well as in the extant scholia of Lactantius to Statius,73 Edmunds concluded that the lost argumentum to these scholia must have provided a common source for the Vatican text and his other sources. His assertion that the account printed above is the work of the second Vatican mythographer writing in the Carolingian period74 needs to be qualified, since at least on the basis of published material the account of Oedipus cited above is only available from this single fifteenth-century manuscript,

70  The standard formulation of this riddle (first four feet, then two, then three) is found in Apollodorus (Apollod. Bibliotheca 3.5.8), although even in Greek accounts there is some variation; thus Diodorus Siculus phrases the riddle as τί ἐστι τὸ αὐτὸ δίπουν, τρίπουν, τετράπουν (“what is the same thing with two feet and three and four?”; D.S. 4.64.3). The version which appears in the Vatican manuscript has in any case parallels in earlier Latin scholia; thus a scholion in the twelfth-century manuscript Brussels, KBB, 5328–29 reads: quid esset quod primum esset quadrupes, postea tripes, postea bipes, et iterum tripes, et postea quadrupes? (f. 25v). 71  indulgentem tenebris imaeque recessu sedis inaspectos caelo radiisque penates seruantem, “keeping to the shadows and the cavern of his deep hall, maintaining a household unseen by heaven and the rays of the sun,” Stat. Theb. 1.49–51. 72  Schol. Stat. Theb. 1.61; see Edmunds 1976 141. 73  Schol. Stat. Theb. 1.64. For attribution of the origin of this error in both sources to a misreading of Statius’ line, which refers in part to Polybus and in part to Laius’ death in Phocis, see Edmunds 1976 146–7. 74  Edmunds 1976 142.

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but the dependence otherwise of both Vatican mythographers on Lactantius’ commentary75 strengthens his argument. In any case, what is remarkable about the text from BAV 8743 and the Oedipus scholion in P is not the content of these scholia, which differ at many crucial junctures, but some precise correlations in wording. In particular, the phrases audierat a liberis suis se occidendum (P: in responsis audierat se a suo filio interficiendum) with the unusual use of the gerundive and ellipsis of esse in indirect speech (also attested in Lactantius in a very similar context),76 tamquam suum nutriuit (P: eum tamquam filium nutriuit), genuit ex ea Polinicem et Eteoclem et duas filias Antigonam et Ismenem (P: ex qua et duos filios ethio­ clem et polinicem genuit), and sibimet oculos eruit (P: oculos sibi eruit), point strongly to a common source for the two accounts which has been adapted in different ways. The form sibimet which occurs in BnF 7902 and the witnesses from Florence also points to a common source for all of these texts. Lactantius’ commentary on Statius, or an intermediate text derivative of it, seems to provide a plausible source for this information, but given that we have also seen similarities in wording between the Oedipus scholion and Servius Danielis, this information might in fact go back to an earlier source, such as Donatus. In this regard, it was demonstrated convincingly by Paul van de Woestijne that many remarks in the Lactantius commentary on Statius are paralleled directly by others in Servius Danielis,77 and on the basis of these observations he argued that Lactantius in fact borrowed directly from Donatus, and further that his work was prior to that of Servius, a point which continues, however, to be debated in criticism.78 If this is this case, then either Donatus or the lost preface to Book 1 of Lactantius could have provided a common source for these manuscripts. 75  See Schmidt 2013b. 76  Schol. Stat. Theb. 6.290 (Danaus deprehendit oraculo se ab uno Aegypti fratris filio occidendum). 77  Van der Woestijne 1950 155 n. 2. Note such direct correspondences as Schol. Stat. Theb. 2.382 (Ceres, cum Proserpinam filiam suam quaereret, uenit ad Eleusium regem, cuius uxor Hioma puerum peperit Triptolemum, seque nutricem simulauit) and Serv. G. 1.19 (Ceres cum Proserpinam filiam quaereret, ad Eleusinum regem deuenit, cuius uxor Cyntinia puerum Triptolemum pepererat, seque nutricem pueri amore ducta simulauit reginae). 78  Van der Woestijne 1950 155 drew the conclusion that “le scoliaste de Stace a connu et utilisé les Commenta Vergiliana du modéle de Servius, Donat.” See Sweeney 1997 vii, arguing that he was more or less correct (“non multo erres”), Schmidt 2013b (dating him to “late 4th cent.”), and contra Wolff 2010 (between 410 and 468). Morzadec 2011 argued that the evidence was not sufficient to show conclusively that one text was derivative of the other, arguing instead that they should be read as complementary to each other (275).

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An alternative explanation of these linguistic similarities between the Oedipus scholion and the account in BAV 8743 could be that one writer directly borrowed certain linguistic flourishes from the other, or else a closely related contemporary text, while consciously following an alternative storyline. The abbreviated version of the Oedipus scholion which appears in BnF 7902 suggests that the version in P is in fact representative of a much earlier phase of scholarship, but it is not conclusive evidence that the copying of the Oedipus scholion could not been influenced by the version which appears in BAV 8743. Both of these sources seem to have been written anonymously in the early fifteenth century, and we simply have no evidence at the moment as to who these writers were or whether in fact they knew each other’s work. In summary, although we can say that there is a great probability that both texts derive independently from a much earlier phase of Late-Antique scholarship, and perhaps Donatus or else Lactantius, we cannot on the basis of present evidence rule out the possibility that some of their wording was influenced by Renaissance scholarship. The digitisation and publication of many more manuscript sources from this period could go a great way towards clarifying this issue.

The Affiliations of Other ΣB Scholia

Turning now to the other ΣB scholia in P, it can be remarked first that these notes are necessarily incomplete; although isolated examples are found in the first 9 folios (including the Oedipus scholion and some character labels), the densely written work of the ΣD scholiast did not leave very much room at all for comments by anyone else. Moreover, the ΣB scholia cease altogether from Phormio 5.2 onwards,79 suggesting that the glossator finally gave up at this point. Like the Oedipus gloss, these notes often present great difficulty to the reader, since they are highly abbreviated and degenerate sometimes into illegible scrawls. What is really required (but far beyond the scope of this book) is a complete edition of them, allowing a proper and detailed comparison with other glossed manuscripts of Terence. Nevertheless, it is hoped that the following survey will point out some broad tendencies in the glosses by ΣB, showing their affiliations with some glossing traditions, as well as (at times) a strong degree of originality in their wording. Throughout the manuscript the ΣB scholiast duplicated comments or annotations which were already present in P. The character labels have already 79  The final intervention by ΣB is an interlinear gloss on f. 168v to Ph. 768 (line 3 of Ph. 5.2).

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been discussed in light of their relationship to labels in the fifteenth-century illustrated manuscripts, although it may also be noted here that they are sometimes present where majuscule labels are absent in P, and vice versa, and that they are also absent for a large part of Adelphoe (Ad. 3.3–5.6 [ff. 106v–121r]), and for the last part of the final play, Phormio (Ph. 5.2–9 [ff. 168v–176r]), although majuscule labels continue throughout.80 Beginning at the first scene of Eunuchus on f. 36r, ΣB also wrote a title for the play in the upper right-hand corner of each recto folio, and continued this practice for each of the subsequent plays on every recto folio until f. 149r, the first scene of Phormio, even though a ninth-century rubricator had already written running titles in majuscules for the whole manuscript, including Andria. These majuscule titles are erratic in their presentation: often TERENT is written on the verso, and the name of the play on the corresponding recto, but sometimes there are variants on this pattern, so that over ff. 69v–95r the title HEAVTONTI MORVMENOS is split over the verso and the recto, and the same division is found over ff. 98v-101r for ADEL PHOAE (sic). Titles are also missing on some folios, and probably not due to cropping, since on ff. 56r and 58r an early corrector writing in minuscule script supplied the missing Eunuchus. The ΣB titles may therefore have been supplied with the thought of making the references to plays more systematic. For the last four plays in the manuscript, duplicate texts of the verse epitomes by the second-century AD Roman grammarian Sulpicius Apollinaris81 are written by ΣB, twice on the same folio (ff. 96v [Adelphoe] and 148v [Phormio]), and twice on a different one (f. 66v [Heauton timorumenos; the majuscule text is on f. 67v] and 126r [Hecyra; the majuscule text is on f. 125v]). In the case of Eunuchus, the original epitome by Apollinaris, together with the aedicula for the play and the first 30 lines of the prologue, was lost in the archetype of all illustrated γ-manuscripts, including P,82 and so on f. 35r, in lieu of an epitome, ΣB supplied an argumentum for the play (arg. II) which is found in a number of manuscripts from the Medieval period and Renaissance, first in two tenthcentury witnesses from Northern France or Flanders, Leiden, UB, BPL 109 and v (Valenciennes, BM, 448 [420]).83 On f. 126r ΣB supplied two argumenta for Hecyra, the second of which was that of Sulpicius Apollinaris, and the first an 80  See the tabulation of selected labels in Appendix 1. Isolated labels for Adelphoe occur for Ad. 3.4 (f. 109r) and 5.1 (f. 118r). 81  For his dates see Elvers 2013. 82  See Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 5.2. 83  For listings of tenth to twelfth-century witnesses, see Munk Olsen 1982–1989, 2.590 (#66), and for fifteenth-century witnesses from the BnF and Berlin, Geppert 1852 35.

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anonymous argument which is first attested in a twelfth-century manuscript written in England or France, London, BL, Royal 15.A.xii, as well as several early fifteenth-century French witnesses, including BnF 7907 and 7907A;84 like P, these two latter manuscripts prefix their copy of Sulpicius Apollinaris with the words aliud argumentum, although there are indications that this may not necessarily have been an innovation of a Renaissance scholar, but may go back to an earlier phase of scholarship.85 With regard to the four duplicate copies of the epitomes of Sulpicius, these contain a number of variant readings, some of which may be unique, but others which are attested in manuscripts belonging to the μ (mixed) or δ classes,86 so that it seems certain that these were taken from another witness. In this respect, it is noteworthy that several of the readings in these alternative epitomes correspond to those in the oldest surviving Terence manuscript, Vatican, BAV, Vat. lat. 3226 (A; also known as Codex Bembinus), a late fifth-century witness from Italy which did not apparently have any effect on the extant Medieval traditions.87 As noted earlier, the ΣD scholiast in P by and large ceased copying Donatus’ commentary on Terence at f. 9v, but from Eunuchus onwards provided his act summaries for each of the plays, usually at the appropriate point.88 For 84  For a description of Royal 15.A. xii, which belonged to the priory of Dover, see Munk Olsen 1982–1989, 2.619–20; for a listing of the French witnesses, Geppert 1852 41. 85  For Phormio, BnF 7907 and 7907A similarly first give an anonymous argumentum found in other fifteenth-century manuscripts (see Geppert 1852 43), and follow it with that of Sulpicius prefixed with the words aliud argumentum. The same anonymous argumentum, as well as the words aliud argumentum prefixing that of Sulpicius, are found in another twelfth-century witness, London, BL, Harley 2656 (described in Munk Olsen 1982–1989, 2.617). 86  E.g. Sulp. Apoll. perioch. Ter. Hec. 7, where ΣB (f. 126r) reads reuertitur for reuenit in the majuscule text on f. 125v; reuenit is found in other γ-witnesses besides P, while reuertitur is attested in mixed manuscripts, including F (see the collations in Marouzeau 1942–1949, Kauer and Lindsay 1926). 87  On f. 66v for Sulp. Apoll. perioch. Ter. Hau. 8 ΣB reads factum (=AD1p1) for fictum in P and other γ-witnesses; on f. 96v for Sulp. Apoll. perioch. Ter. Ad. 10 ΣB omits et (=AC). On f. 96v ΣB agrees with the other Medieval witnesses in giving 3 lines in place of the single line in A (Sulp. Apoll. perioch. Ter. Ad. 12), but agrees with A in giving the accusative form cithas­ triam after potitur in place of the ablative cithastria found in other witnesses. On f. 126r for Sulp. Apoll. perioch. Ter. Hec. 12 ΣB reads the present form accipit in place of the present recipit (A) and perfect recepit in other manuscripts. On f. 148v for Sulp. Apoll. perioch. Ter. Ph. 3 ΣB reads habebat clam in place of clam habebat in other manuscripts; however, A omits clam altogether. 88  On four occasions the ΣD scholiast copied the act summary opposite the wrong illustration; the misplaced summaries are Ad. 5 (f. 118v), Hec. 5 (f. 145v), Ph. 3 (f. 137v), Ph. 5 (f. 168v).

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Adelphoe, the ΣB scholiast also provided duplicate copies of the five act summaries on the same page as the ΣD scholiast, and often immediately adjacent to them, so there can be no question that he was unaware of their existence there.89 These ΣB doublets do provide a few variant readings of interest to the text of the manuscripts used by Paul Wessner in his edition, particularly some additions which expand somewhat on the terse summaries which have come down to us,90 but their value as evidence for the text of the Donatus tradition is hard to determine; prior to the 1430s and -40s, when two copies of Donatus’ commentary were brought to Italy and it began to be widely copied and disseminated, the work was relatively rare, and the relationship of the few surviving early manuscripts remains a matter of conjecture.91 The other scholia by ΣB (i.e. those which do not duplicate material already written in P) can be divided into three broad classes; (a) scene headings, (b) interlinear glosses, and (c) full commentary notes written in the margins. Scene headings are short summaries of the situation of the main characters in each scene at the outset of the action, and are usually found at the foot of the illustration in P; thus for An. 1.2 on f. 7r ΣB writes Sosia liberto recedente, incipit simo istud loqui de dauo et subito uidet illum exire de alia domo, immo de propria (“as the freedman Sosia departs, Simo begins to make that statement about Davus, and suddenly sees him coming out of another house, in fact out of his own”). Scene headings are found throughout the manuscript, although not consistently; there are only five in Andria (which has 24 scenes in P), 13 in Eunuchus (from 27), 16 in Heauton timorumenos (from 22), 16 in Hecyra (from 18), and 13 in Phormio (from 23); in Andria, Eunuchus, and Phormio they are notably absent from the final act of each play, finishing altogether at Phormio 5.1. Adelphoe provides a special case, since there is only one scene heading found in P for this play (for Ad. 5.4 on f. 120v). Given that the Donatus summaries are duplicated by ΣB for this play alone, it may have been the case that the scribe decided for some reason to change to Donatus here, or else that the source used by him was somehow defective for this play; certainly character labels are also absent for much of the second part of this play (see above), although it should also be noted that interlinear and marginal glosses written by ΣB continue throughout Adelphoe. 89  ΣB also copied the summary for Ad. 5 adjacent to the misplaced ΣD summary on f. 118v. 90  Thus for post eiusdem et Demeae iurgium (Don. Ad. praef. 3.1) ΣB (f. 97v) reads postea eiusdem et demee super uita eschini iurgium; for quod sibi rapuerit eschinus meretricem (Don. Ad. praef. 3.3) ΣB (f. 104v) reads quod spreta et derelicta filia sua eschinus nouam sibi amasiam fecerit et meretricem a lenone eripuerit. 91  For discussion, see Reeve 1983a; for the unsatisfactory state of the surviving text, see also Victor 2013 356.

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Scene headings are an important feature of many Carolingian and later glossing traditions; they are found throughout the CB as well as the Commentum Monacense (CM), then in a wide variety of variant forms in subsequent manuscripts.92 Already in eleventh-century manuscripts, such as Ld, v, and Z (BnF, lat. 7903), glosses from cognate traditions were written side by side at the beginning of the same scene, sometimes by the same scribe and sometimes by different ones, and new hybrid texts were also being created, so that precise affiliations of these notes are often difficult to determine. The scene headings in P contain a number of significant variants to published traditions which make them particularly difficult to classify; in places they preserve much of the wording of the text found in Ld, v, and Z, as well as the CM, but like the copies by ΣB of the Donatus act summaries to Adelphoe frequently contain additional clauses which develop particular points; thus the scene heading to Hau. 1.1 on f. 69r of P reads: Menedemum senem assiduo labore se excruciantem in agro cum rastro prae dolore filii sui quem a se expulerat alloquitur Chremes alius senex, eum de tam immoderato labore reprehendens. The old man Menedemus, torturing himself by constant labor in the field with a hoe on account of grief for his son, whom he had driven away from himself, is addressed by Chremes, another old man, reproaching him about such immoderate labor. With a number of small variants, the first part of this statement is found in v, Z, and the CM, but additional phrases and clauses occur in ΣB (marked in italics), and so may be either late additions to the text or else perhaps preserve an earlier version of it. This process of elaboration in the scene headings, as well as the substitution of variants (often quite subtle) can be observed throughout P,93 although until a full survey of relevant manuscripts is made it will be 92  They occur throughout the family of scholia denoted ‘Commentarius antiquior’ by Friedrich Schlee in his edition of Terence scholia (printed at Schlee 1893 79–162), which includes important early manuscripts of Terence, including C and F, although this classification has been largely abandoned ever since the highly critical response to this edition in Rand 1909. 93  Thus for the scene heading for An. 1.1 on f. 7r cited above, P substitutes the present forms incipit and uidet for the perfects coepit and uidit in v and Z, writes istud for hoc, and replaces the adjective tristem (describing Davus) in these manuscripts with the phrase immo de propria, describing Simo’s house.

Problems with the Terence Commentary Traditions

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impossible to say whether these texts by ΣB are in fact variants which originate with the scribe. Similarly, interlinear glosses by ΣB in P are reasonably common, but until a full critical edition of the type referred to above is produced, it will be impossible to determine their relationship to earlier traditions even in very broad terms. Frequently they consist of one or two words which aid the reader by providing rudimentary dramatic context, clarifying to whom a pronoun may refer, supplying synonyms to rare or obsolete words, and also explaining archaic grammatical constructions; many of them (but by no means all) are identical to, or contain the same information in, glosses belonging to the CB and CM.94 At times they form complete sentences which give additional background to particular dramatic actions, and they often spill out into the margins, occasionally approaching in length the more developed marginal notes. Full commentary notes by ΣB, providing literary or historical context to particular phrases or ideas of Terence, are found in the margins of P, although much less frequently than the types of gloss already described. The most extensive marginal commentary occurs on f. 30r, and includes two lengthy arguments for plays by (or attributed to) Menander, which as already noted find interesting parallels in the highly fragmentary ancient sources. These notes can now be identified as transmitting the same text as is found in the Commentarius Recentior, the earliest manuscripts of which date back to the twelfth century;95 indeed, a version of these same notes was copied between 1400 and 1410 in a deluxe manuscript of Terence, BnF lat. 7917, by Nicole Garbet, the secretary to Duc Louis d’Orléans and Latin tutor of his sons.96 Garbet’s version was thus produced for the same social and intellectual milieu as BnF 7907A and Arsenal 664, and presumably in the same period that ΣB was working. Despite a large number of variants, there are a sufficient number of similarities between the accounts of ΣB and BnF 7917 and against the earliest extant version of these texts in Bern, Burgerbibliothek 411 to suggest that the two French texts derive from a common intermediate ancestor,97 although given a few other variants 94  Good examples of these types of scholia may be seen on ff. 71v–72r, glossing the text of Hau. 161–99. Typical glosses on f. 71v are festa liberi patris written above Dionysia in Hau. 162 (=CB, CM), secum above lacrimas in Hau. 167 (=CM), and menedemi above eius in Hau. 168; on f. 72r compare cum quo above quicum in Hau. 178, (=CB) and facias above faxis in Hau. 187 (=CB, CM). 95  See the convenient listing in Villa 2007 31. 96  For identification of the scribe and dating, see Gallica 2011b. 97  Most strikingly, in the epitome to Thesaurus found in Bern 411 the duration set by the father for his prodigal son to return to his tomb and sacrifice is set at seven years, not eight (see Turner 2010 46 for discussion of this point).

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shared by ΣB with the Bern manuscript and against BnF lat. 7917 it is also apparent that ΣB cannot be a descendant of the latter.98 Some other marginal notes by ΣB are related to those in the CB, the CM, or closely related manuscripts. Thus the first marginal note to An. 370 on f. 14r reads non es liberatus meo studio sed casu cadente (“you were not freed by my efforts but by chance intervening”), while the corresponding note in the CB (see e.g. Z f. 9r) reads minime liberatus es meo studio sed causa ita euenit. On f. 47r, glossing suauium (“kiss”) in Eu. 455, ΣB cites a short poem in hexameters: Basia coniugibus, uerum oscula dantur amicis. s‹u›auia lasciuis miscentur grata labellis. Basia are given to spouses, but oscula to friends. Suauia are mingled together, pleasing to lewd lips. which is also found in the CM, in Z, and in v, as well as in some manuscripts of the Libri differentiarum of Isidore of Seville;99 there is a minor variant in the version of ΣB which makes no practical difference to the scansion of these lines.100 Another (relatively) lengthy note on f. 133r, referring to the word-play on iratus and iracundus at Hec. 307–9, expands upon a definition of the difference between the abstract nouns ira and iracundia from the Late-Antique text known as De proprietate sermonum et rerum, first reading:101 ira est praesens animi motio et ex causa nascitur, iracundia autem est uitium naturale et perpetuum. 98  Thus P begins its epitome to Thesaurus with the phrase senex quidam habens filium, Bern 411 with senex quidam filium habens, and BnF 7917 with senex filium habens. Likewise P later reads post mortem patris male rebus dispensatis copiae filius egens, Bern 411 has post mortem autem eius filius re male gesta cepit egere, and BnF 7917 post mortem uero patris cepit filius egere. 99  Isid. Diff. 1.398. 100  In line 1 the CM (Munich, BSB Clm. 14420 f. 98r), Z (f. 25r), and v (f. 27r) all read sed et in place of uerum. 101  For the relevant text of De proprietate sermonum et rerum, see Uhlfelder 1954 51 (no. 24). Additions in P are marked in italics. For discussion of the origins of such Differentiae in earlier antique grammatical and philosophical theory, with particular reference to Isidore, see Codoñer 1985, who notes the dating by Uhlfelder of De proprietate sermo­ num to the fourth or fifth century, but who excludes this text as an influence on Isidore (217 n. 57).

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Anger [ira] is an instant emotion of the soul and is born of a reason, but irascibility [iracundia] is a natural and permanent vice. The note then continues with an elaboration of this text in relation to the specific readings iratus and iracundus in Terence.102 On f. 83r ΣB provides an interesting note on a statement by Sostrata in Heauton timorumenos that she recognizes the ring which was left with her daughter when she was exposed (Hau. 614–15): Quidam Atenienses propter pauperiem iubebant [iubebant] interfici filias suas, sed matres misericordia ducte, faciebant eas latenter exponi, ut fecit sostrata de sua. hoc autem eadem patres similiter iubebant quia non habebant dotes quibus eas nuptui darent. Certain Athenians, because of poverty, used to order their daughters to be killed, but their mothers, guided by pity, had them secretly exposed, as Sostrata did concerning her own. Likewise, their fathers similarly ordered this ‹to be done› since they did not have the dowry with which they might offer them for marriage. The note does not have any parallels in any witnesses of the CB, CM, or recentio­ res which I have examined, but its contents suggest it derives ultimately from a commentator concerned to expound social issues in Terence, and that he wrote for a society where infanticide was uncommon, if not outlawed. Terence is in general a writer who makes few references to pagan deities or mythological figures, but besides the Oedipus scholion ΣB provides two substantial notes on them. The first occurs in Eunuchus, where the soldier Thraso, declaring his intention to become a slave to the prostitute Thais, exclaims: qui minu’ quam Hercules servivit Omphalae? (“Why ‹would I be› any less ‹a slave to Thais› than Hercules was to Omphale?”; Eu. 1027); ΣB then explains: omphale regina fuit egipti quam cum amaret hercules nichil seruilis obsequii recusauit ut eius amplexibus potiretur. itaque nentem illum et 102  ΣB continues: et ex hoc collige inter iratum et iracundum quid distet. iratus est ille qui pro tempore concitatur, iracundus uero qui frequenter irascitur et leuiter et qui accenso san­ guine in furorem compellitur; “and from this learn what difference lies between the iratus and the iracundus. The iratus is one who is roused for one period of time, but the iracun­ dus is one who is frequently angry and for slight reason, and who is driven to rage by his blood set alight”.

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pensa partientem legimus. quod ideo fingitur quia omphale umbilicum dicunt, ubi est libido feminarum. cum enim hercules uitia cuncta domu­erit, sola muliebri libidine domitus et in seruitutem est redactus. Omphale was the queen of Egypt. Because he loved her, Hercules refused no sort of debased obedience in order that he might obtain her embraces. And so we read about him spinning and dividing up the wool. This is imagined for the reason that they call the navel, where the wanton desire of women is located, ‘Omphale’. For although Hercules mastered all other vices, he was mastered by a woman’s wantonness alone, and reduced into slavery. Both the CB and CM also begin their notes on this line with incorrect statements that Omphale was the Queen of Egypt (rather than Lydia), and continue their narrative with brief summaries of how Omphale humiliated Hercules by persuading him to dress as a woman and take part in women’s weaving; the version in the CM is closer in terms of verbal parallels,103 although neither of them makes the statement that ‘we read’ about these deeds. As well, neither of them contains the next element in the ΣB note, an aetiology of the Omphale myth through an association with the Greek noun ὀμφαλός (“navel”) with the idea of sexual desire; instead, this aetiology is known in Latin through the sixthcentury mythographer Fulgentius, whose account of Hercules and Omphale contains some direct parallels with the text of ΣB, suggesting that either the ΣB account is derived in part from Fulgentius, whose interpretation of the myth is influenced by Christian moral perspectives,104 or else from a common source. The second of these notes occurs in Hecyra on f. 134r; with regard to a prayer for good health to the god Aesculapius (quod te, Aesculapi . . . nequid sit huius oro, “I pray to you, Aesculapius, let that be nothing of this kind;” Hec. 338) ΣB explains:

103  Thus Munich, BSB Clm. 14420 f. 104v reads: omphale regina egypti fuit quam adamauit hercules, quae cum noluisset eum ad suos admittere amplexus nisi promitteret se quicquid illa petisset facturum, in tantum delusit eum ut etiam filare fecisset et colum tenere more feminarum (parallels in bold font). 104  Cf. Fulg. Myth. 2.2 [74]: Et tamen a libidine superatur; onfalon enim Grece umbilicum dici­ tur; libido enim in umbilico dominatur mulieribus, sicut lex diuina dicit: ‘Non est praecisus umbilicius tuus’ [Vulg. Ezech. 16.4], quasi si diceret: peccatum tuum non est amputatum.

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esculapius deus medicine filius appolinis et corone, unde a poetis coronides nuncupatur. propterea medicinae deus habitus est quod ypolitum sanauit. fulminatus autem postea a ioue est. Aesculapius, the god of medicine, ‹was› the son of Apollo and Coronis, which is why he is called ‘Coronides’ by the poets. He was considered the god of medicine for the reason that he cured Hippolytus. However, afterwards he was struck by lightning by Jupiter. Neither the CB nor the CM provides any more information here than brief glosses stating that Aesculapius is the deus medicinae (“god of medicine”); representatives of the recentiores add the detail that he is filius Apollonis (“the son of Apollo”).105 Ovid in fact is the only extant classical poet to call the god ‘Coronides’ (Ov. Fast. 6.746; Met. 15.624), and the full story of Aesculapius and Hippolytus, including Jupiter’s casting of the lightning bolt, is recounted by him in Fasti 6.733–62,106 so it seems highly likely that the ultimate source of this note by ΣB is this same account in Ovid. Conclusions Simply on its own, the Oedipus scholion on f. 8r of P provides tantalizing evidence for the survival of Late-Antique scholarship into the Medieval period. The brief myth of Oedipus which it contains is expressed in language which directly recalls that of Servius Danielis and Lactantius Placidius, writing on the same or parallel topics, and its variant account of the death of the Sphinx can also be corroborated by alternative and archaic Greek versions of the myth, which could quite plausibly have been known to literary scholars such as Donatus working in the fourth century. The broader relationship of this gloss to some equally intriguing accounts in the ΣB scholia, such as the notes on Athenian infanticide, or on Omphale and Aesculapius, must be considered in light of two questions: (a) whether the Oedipus gloss was in fact written by ΣB, or at least by some close contemporary working with the same materials used by ΣB; and (b) to what extent the ΣB glosses can be seen as a coherent whole, not deriving from a heterogeneous 105  E.g. Bern, Bürgerbibliothek, 411 f. 178v; BnF 7917 f. 170r; Copenhagen, KB, GKS 1995 f. 14v. 106  Greek versions were apparently available in the lost epic Naupactiaca as well as works by the fifth-century BC lyric poets Telestes and Cinesias; see Philodemus De pietate B 6736 [Obbink], PMG 806–7.

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group of materials assembled in the fifteenth century by the scribe, and used by him in magpie fashion, but from the same source, whether it was a manuscript of Terence glossed with a single commentary, or indeed a lost commentary written as a separate document like the CM, and (presumably) the first version of the CB.107 With regard to the first question, I have argued that despite some immediate differences with regard to ink-colour and nib-size, the forms of the letters and abbreviations in both scripts have a number of strong similarities which make it highly likely that the notes are in fact the work of the same scribe. With regard to the second, it can be observed that the ΣB glosses in fact function in two separate ways: they elucidate various points in the text of Terence, but they also correct it, providing alternative versions of the character labels, of the running titles, of the verse introductions of Sulpicius Apollinaris, and of Donatus’ act summaries to Adelphoe. It has been shown that there are strong parallels between the character labels in this manuscript and those in the deluxe illustrated manuscripts of Terence being produced in Paris at roughly the same time, and so the ΣB glossing in P may in fact have formed part of a detailed study of this manuscript, in connection with the preparation of other deluxe texts which were meant to supersede it.108 Such factors as the consistency of the character labels of ΣB with those in these other manuscripts, and the similarity of alternative readings in the verse introductions of Sulpicius to readings from the μ or δ classes, point to a single manuscript being used for this part of the correction process, although they are by no means conclusive proof for it. The way in which the scene headings of ΣB and other notes copied by him contain phrases and sometimes whole clauses not found in parallel sources, like the CM or Donatus, points to an earlier scholar reorganising and rewriting material from disparate sources, but without any earlier manuscripts which directly parallel the scholia in P, it is very difficult to say when this occurred; it may conceivably have been a product of an intense period of literary scholarship which preceded the creation of the deluxe illustrated fifteenth-century manuscripts, or it could likewise have been a chance survival from a much earlier period, used in the study of P as a preliminary step in the creation of these late masterpieces. What is particularly striking, however, is the accuracy of many of these comments compared to other Medieval commentary

107  For discussion of the original form of this work, see Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 6.2. 108  Although their dating differs from the one proposed here, the same idea was in fact proposed by the authors of Gallica 2012a (with regard to the 1472 printed edition of Terence produced by the circle of Guillaume Fichet).

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traditions such as the CB, which contain many absurdities.109 The scholia of ΣB show on the other hand a level of detailed knowledge when dealing with aspects of the ancient world, whether mythological, literary, or social, which in some respects is comparable to the surviving Late-Antique commentary traditions on literary authors like Vergil, Horace, or Juvenal. Looked at in a slightly different way, the scribal activity of ΣB in P matches closely many of the intellectual tendencies of the early fifteenth century, which strove to preserve the records of the distant past and present them in a new setting. As Carla Bozzolo remarked with regard to the commentary of Laurent Premierfait, such works provide evidence of “[l]’histoire complexe des commentaires humanistes à Térence, étroitement liée à celle, non moins complexe, des commentaires qui se sont formés à l’époque carolingienne [the complex history of the humanist commentaries on Terence, closely linked to that, no less complex, of the commentaries which developed in the Carolingian period]”.110 In this respect, these commentary notes are yet another reason, in addition to its very important text and illustrations, why we should continue to regard P as one of the most important manuscript witnesses for the traditions of Terence.

109  For the CB see Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 6.3; Victor 2013 360–1. 110  Bozzolo 1984 93 [=2004 145].

7r

11v

15v

17r

19v

21r

23r

28r

29r

An. 1.2

An. 2.1

An. 2.5

An. 3.1

An. 3.3

An. 3.4

An. 4.1

An. 4.5

An. 5.1

CHARINVS ADOLESCENS PAMPHILVS II DAVVS SERVVS CRITO SENEX MYSIS ANCILLA DAVVS SERVVS –

SIMO CHREMES SENES II –

CHARINVS BYRRIA PAMPHILVS BYRRIA SIMO PAMPHILVS DAVVS –

SIMO DAVVS

BnF lat. 7899 (majuscule labels)

Chremes Symo senes duo

dauus seruus symo chremes senes duo carinus pamphilus adolescentes duo dauus seruus –

biria symo pamphilus dauus Misis symo dauus lesbia glicerium –

Symo pater Pamphili Dauus famulus Simonis carinus biria pamphilus

(miniscule labels)

21r

–

–

–

18r

20v

–

–

–

–

–

–

15v

14v

13r

11v

9r

5v

BnF lat. 7907A (rubrics)

Appendix 1: Comparison of Selected Scene Labels in Parisian Manuscripts

Scene



37v

36v

29v

27r

25r

22r

20r

14v

8v

Carinus pamphilus adolescentes duo dauus seruus Crito senex Misis ancilla Dauus seruus Chremes Symo senes duo

Carinus Biria Pamphilus biria dauus pamphilus symo Misis Symo Dauus Lesbia Glicerium Symo Chremes senes duo Dauus seruus Symo

Symo Dauus

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172 Turner

32r

34r

37r

40r

47r

48r

An. 5.4

An. 5.5

Eu. 1.2

Eu. 2.1

Eu. 3.2

Eu. 3.3

CHREMES ADVLESCENS PYTHIAS ANCILLA

PHAEDRIA ADVLESCENS PARMENO SERVVS [GNA TRA THA PAR EVNVCVS-CHEREA VIRGO]

THAIS PHAEDRIA PARMENO

CHARINVS PAMPHILVS DAVVS

[PAM CRI CRE SIM]

BnF lat. 7899 (majuscule labels)

Scene

thais meretrix traso miles parmeno seruus gnato parasitus eunuchus pithias ancilla chremes adolescens pitias ancilla

–

–

–

36r

35r

30r

27v

24v

–

Crito chremes symo senes tres pamphilus adulescens Carinus pamphilus adolescentes duo Thais meretrix phedria adulescens parmeno seruus Phedria adulescens parmeno seruus –

BnF lat. 7907A (rubrics)

Crito chremes Symo senes 23r tres pamphilus adolescens

(miniscule labels)

Thais meretrix phedria adolescens parmeno seruus Phedria adolescens parmeno seruus Thais meretrix Traso miles parmeno seruus Gnato parasitus pithias ancilla

48v

61v

59v

Chremes adolescens pithias ancilla

Carinus pamphilus adolescentes duo

43v

51v

Crito Chremes symo senes tres phamphilus adolescens

41v

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56v

71v

74v

85v

99r

100v PARMENO SERVVS SANNIO LENO AESCHINVS ADVLESCENS

Eu. 4.7

Hau. 1.2

Hau. 2.3

Hau. 4.4

Ad. 1.2

Ad. 2.1

SYRVS DROMO SERVI II CLINIA CLITIPHO ADVLESCENTES II BACCHIS MERETRIX PHRIGIA ANCILLA CLINIA ADVLESCENS DROMO SYRVS SERVI DEMEA MICIO SENES II

GNATO PARASITUS SANGA THRASO MILES DONAX LOBAR SIMALIO SIRISCVS THAIS MERETRIX CHREMES ADVLESCENS CLITIPHO ADVLESCENS CHREMES SENEX

BnF lat. 7899 (majuscule labels)

Scene

(cont.)

– –

77v

–

66r

76r

–

56r

Sirus dromo serui duo clinia clitipho adolescentes duo bachis meretrix clinia adolescens frigia ancilla dromo sirus serui duo demea micio fratres senes parmeno seruus sannio leno eschinus adolescens

–

54v

clitipho adolescens Chremes senex

129v Demea Mitio fratres senes 131v Sannio leno Eschinus adulescens

Traso miles Gnato parasitus Sanga simallio siriscus dorax locaris serui chremes adolescens thais meretrix 93r Clitifo Clinia adulescentes duo, Chremes senex 96v Syrus dromo serui duo clitipho clinia adulescentes duo 111v Bachis Clinia Syrus frigia dromo

73v

43r

traso miles gnato parasitus sanga simallio siriscus dorax locaris serui chremes adolescens thais meretrix –

Arsenal MS 664 (rubrics)

BnF lat. 7907A (rubrics)

(miniscule labels)

174 Turner

Hec. 2.2

Ad. 5.7

Ad. 5.4

Ad. 5.3

Ad. 5.1

Ad. 3.4

Ad. 3.3

eschinus adolescens cthesipho adolescens Sirus seruus Sannio leno –

–

(miniscule labels)

120r DEMEA SENEX SYRVS SERVVS 121v AESCHINVS ADVLESCENS DEMEA SENEX GETA SERVVS SYRVS SERVVS 131v PHIDIPPVS LACHES SENES II SOSTRATA MVLIER phidippus senex laches senex Sostrata mulier

eschinus demea Geta Sirus

–

107r DROMO SYRVS SERVVS DEMEA SENEX 109r HEGIO SENEX GETA SERVVS hegio senex geta seruus DEMEA SENEX demea senex 117v SYRVS SERVVS DEMEA – SENEX 118v MICIO DEMEA SENES II –

102r SYRVS SERVVS SANNIO LENO 103v AESCHINVS CTESIPHO ADVLESCENTES II SYRVS SANNIO EIDEM II

Ad. 2.2

Ad. 2.4

BnF lat. 7899 (majuscule labels)

Scene

103r

95r

94r

92v

92r

84v

83r

80r

78v

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Phidippus laches senes duo Sostrata anus

–

demea senex

–

Syrus demea

215r Phidippus laches senes duo Sostrata anus

158r Mitio Demea senes duo fratres 160r Demea senex Sirus seruus 161v Eschinus Demea Syrus Geta

156r Syrus Demea

Syrus seruus 141v Syrus seruus demea Demea senex senex Hegio Geta Demea 144r hegio Geta Demea

Syrus seruus Sannio 133v Syrus seruus Sannio leno leno Eschinus Sannio 136r Eschinus Sannio Ctesipho Syrus Tesipho Syrus

BnF lat. 7907A (rubrics)

Problems with the Terence Commentary Traditions

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132v PAMPHILVS ADVLESCENS PARMENO SERVVS 137r LACHES PHIDIPPVS SENES II PAMPHILVS ADVLESCENS

Hec. 3.1

Ph. 2.4

Ph. 2.1

159v GETA SERVVS DEMIPHO SENEX CRATINVS HEGIO III CRITO DU ADVOCATI

153v GETA SERVVS ANTIPHO EIDEM PHEDRIA 154v DEMIPHO SENEX PHEDRIA ADVLESCENS GETA SERVVS

Ph. 1.4

Ph. 1.3

143v BACCHIS MERETRIX LACHES SENEX 152v ANTIPHO PHEDRIA ADVLESCENTES II

Hec. 5.1

Hec. 3.5

BnF lat. 7899 (majuscule labels)

Scene

(cont.)

123r

127v

demipho Geta hegio cratinus crito

122r

demipho phedria geta

Geta antipho phedria

121v

173r Geta Antipho Phedria

171v Antipho Phedria adolescens [sic] duo

233v Bachis meretrix

224r laches phidippus senes duo pamphilus adulescens

218v mirrina pamphilus parmeno

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175r Demipho senex Geta seruus Phedria adulescens demipho Geta 181v Demipho Geta Hegio hegio Cratinus crito Cratinus Crito

Laches phidippus senes duo pamphilus adulescens Bachis meretrix laches senex antipho phedria adulescentes duo Geta antipho phedria demipho Geta

108r

laches senex phidippus senex pamphilus adolescens 114r

–

104v

pamphilus adolescens mirina parmeno seruus

bachis meretrix laches senex antipho et phedria adolescentes

BnF lat. 7907A (rubrics)

(miniscule labels)

176 Turner

h. 5.6

Ph. 5.2

Ph. 5.1

Ph. 4.5

Ph. 4.4

167v CHREMES DEMIPHO SENES GETA SERVVS 168v SOPHONA ANVS CHREMES SENEX 171r DEMIPHO SENEX GETA SERVVS GETA SERVVS ANTIPHO ADVLESCENS PHORMIO PARASIT(VS)

161r PHEDRIA ADVLESCENS ANTIPHO II DORIO LENO GETA SERVVS 163r DEMIPHO CHREMES SENES II 166r ANTIPHO ADVLESCENS GETA SERVVS

Ph. 3.2

Ph. 4.1

BnF lat. 7899 (majuscule labels)

Scene

–

Sophrona anus chremes senex –

demipho geta chremes

demiphon chremes fratres antipho Geta

137r

135r

134r

133v

133r

130v

128v

phedria dorio antipho geta demipho chremes senes duo fratres antipho adulescens Geta seruus Demipho geta chremes Sophrana anus chremes senex demipho senex geta seruus Geta Antipho Phormio

phedria dorio antipho geta

BnF lat. 7907A (rubrics)

(miniscule labels)

195r Demipho senex Geta seruus 200r Geta Antipho phormio

192v Demipho Geta Chremes 193v Sophrona Chremes

187r Demipho Chremes senes duo fratres 191r Antipho adulescens Geta seruus

183v phedria dorio Antipho Geta

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part 3 Text and Performance

⸪

CHAPTER 7

Donatus’ Commentary: The Reception of Terence’s Performance Chrysanthi Demetriou

Introduction: Donatus ‘Performing’ Terence

The commentary of Aelius Donatus is invaluable testimony to the reception of Terence in Late Antiquity. Despite enormous difficulties in establishing the original form of the text,1 it has been shown that its basic purpose was to facilitate the use of Terence’s text in elocutionary exercises at Donatus’ LateAntique school.2 Simultaneously, however, it makes many interesting comments on various aspects of Terence’s comedies, and so almost incidentally reveals the way in which central elements of these comedies were perceived by the fourth-century CE commentator.3 Perhaps the most controversial of Donatus’ comments on Terence’s composition for modern scholars are those concerned with delivery; namely, his observations on the way a line should be delivered through the use of the appropriate tone, facial expression, or gesture.4 The vivid character of the commentator’s remarks, as well as the strong tone of some delivery instructions, has resulted in a long discussion on Donatus’ possible connection with the staging of Terence’s plays.5 Indeed some scholars have attempted to posit a 1  See in particular Victor 2013 353–8, Zetzel 1975. 2  On the basic aim of Donatus in regard to the teaching of Terence in delivery exercises, see Leo 1883 330; Hilger 1970 160; Blundell 1987 43; Thomadaki 1989 366; Jakobi 1996 7; Maltby 2007 21. 3  The study by Barsby 2000 enumerates various themes examined by the commentator and demonstrates the importance of this commentary for the study of Terence’s comedy. 4  Barsby 2000 511–13 gives some examples of observations on stage action and delivery, which he considers “unexpected” (513). 5  Basore 1908 presents a detailed categorisation of the scholia, offering, in many instances, discussion and evaluations. Basore gives many useful insights into the problem of Donatus’ sources in regard to his performance scholia: although pointing to their rhetorical background, he allows for their possible stage influence. Warnecke 1910 592–4 suggests that some of the commentator’s observations do not simply derive from Terence’s text. Donatus’ references to delivery (i.e. notes on facial expressions, gestures, and voice delivery) are collected

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004289499_008

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specifically theatrical background to Donatus’ observations,6 in particular in relation to scholia that describe specific gestures and postures (e.g. the exact position of the fingers or a designation of gesture that shows the speaking character’s sentiment or intention). However, the lack of explicit evidence for theatrical performances of Terence in Donatus’ time has inevitably drawn such interpretations into question.7 Donatus’ scholia have also been related to the code of gestures which appear in the illustrated Medieval manuscripts of Terence,8 the origin of which has been hotly debated.9 The importance of the miniatures, which probably derive from an original of c.400 CE,10 in studying Terence’s text has always been grasped by scholars, who recognized from an early stage that the characters’ gestures in the illustrations are consistent with the comic characters’ emotions and thoughts.11 It has been argued that the illustrations are products of a close analysis of the text;12 nevertheless, correspondences between the miniatures by Taladoire 1951 49–52, who argues for their use in teaching. Madyda 1953 also produces a detailed categorisation of the scholia, pointing to their rhetorical rather than histrionic background. Thomadaki 1989, quoting several categories of Donatus’ scholia on delivery manner, argues for the commentator’s interest in theatrical representation. Finally, a brief overview of the various stances towards the origins of performance scholia is given in Jakobi 1996 10–14, who argues that such scholia mainly derive from a close reading of the text. On the connection of delivery scholia with the scope of Donatus’ work and the composition of his audience, see Demetriou 2014a. 6  E.g. Basore 1908 4–10 points to the stage value of several scholia, especially in regard to the scholia on certain gestures found also in Quintilian and the illustrated manuscripts. Basore rightly also points to the fact that such correspondences indicate that “the stage and the rostrum had much in common” (p. 10). 7  On the evidence of performances of Terence up until the fourth century CE, see the references gathered by Cain 2013 381–2. 8  The correspondences between Quintilian, the manuscript illustrations, and Donatus were already pointed out by Leo 1883 337–41. 9  For an overview of various arguments on the origin of these manuscripts and their possible connections with the stage, see Demetriou 2014a 791–2 and n. 13 below. 10  On the dating of the common prototype of the Medieval illustrated manuscripts, see Wright 2006 209–11. On the origin of the illustrations, see also Muir and Turner 2011 Introduction 1.3. 11  This was pointed out as early as the seventeenth century in the work of Anne Dacier, who produced an edition of Terence accompanied by reproductions of some manuscript illustrations; see Herklotz 2012 76–8. The correspondence between the text and the gestures made by the figures was again pointed out in nineteenth century by Séroux d’ Agincourt, an art historian; see Herklotz 2012 83. 12  See for instance Csapo and Slater 1995 77–8, who nevertheless observe that costumes and gestures are to some extent influenced by the “iconographic tradition of theater

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and Late-Antique stage practices can still be drawn.13 And even if the illustrator of this lost original did not depict a theatrical staging of Terence, he definitely represented stereotypical iconography of stage performances.14 Furthermore, both Donatus’ comments and the figures in these illustrations also present parallels with theoretical sources for oratory, most notably the testimony by Quintilian.15 Quintilian’s chapter on oratorical gesture (Quint. Inst. 11.3) is a significant source for spatial movement on stage, as this was received or witnessed in the first century CE. The rhetorician, instructing the students on the proper bodily movement employed when delivering their speeches, finds the opportunity to note what is suitable for the stage (rather than the courts), or what is common to both rhetoric and theatre.16 Quintilian’s testimony, apart from being a valuable source for education practices and curriculum in the first century CE, has also long been recognized as an important aid to the study of Donatus’ references to character gestures.17

illustration” (p. 78). Nervegna 2014 728–9 points to the close correspondences between the illustrator’s figures and the list of characters written before each scene in the Bembinus, and argues that the miniatures “do not follow earlier models but are instead invented according to some basic principles” (p. 729). 13  Dodwell’s argument that the illustrations depicted stage performances of Terence (2000 86–100) probably went too far. Wright 2006, although arguing for the illustrator’s lack of familiarity with actual performances of Terence and for the illustrations being the artist’s inventions (pp. 212–14), accepts influences on the depiction of gestures from “the tradition of stage performances, in this era presumably from mime” (p. 216; see also p. 218 for the origin in mime of costumes for eunuchs). On the connection of the illustrations with theatrical performances, see also Aldrete 1999 57. 14  Dodwell’s study (Dodwell 2000, mainly 34–86), despite its problems, certainly demonstrates that the illustrations follow some certain patterns in the representation of stock gestures; see also Dutsch 2007 47. 15  On parallels between Quintilian and the manuscript illustrations see Dutsch 2007, who concludes that the correspondences between the two sources suggest that the illustrations were in fact influenced by revivals of drama in antiquity. Correspondences between Quintilian’s gestures and the manuscript illustrations have long been noted; for an overview see Maier-Eichhorn 1989, 149, who is more sceptical about the validity of such parallels, given that gestures considered by Quintilian as common are not found in the illustrations. Yet although a direct connection seems improbable, Dutsch’s work has emphasised the common background of these two sources, Quintilian’s descriptions and the manuscript illustrations. 16  On Quintilian’s remarks and their connection with stage practices, see Graf 1991 as well as Dutsch 2007. 17  Already from Basore 1908.

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This paper will develop arguments that the gestures described by Donatus in his commentary on Terence’s plays may have been influenced both by rhetorical practice and by aspects of contemporary performances. While there is no firm evidence that the plays of Terence were still performed in the fourth century, we know that many other dramatic genres were flourishing at the time of Donatus which may have influenced his comments. More importantly, they demonstrate a common concept of performance conventions that stretched from the early Empire to Late Antiquity. In a recent study, Dorota Dutsch has examined references from the three sources (Donatus, Quintilian, miniatures) in an attempt to outline the development of Roman theatre performance principles,18 and has shown how correspondences between the three sources throw light on certain performance trends that, by the time of Donatus, become standard practices in both rhetoric and theatre. This paper, which focuses on Donatus’ commentary, will examine further parallels, based on specific descriptions of gestures found in it, in an effort to identify the principles governing Donatus’ observations on performance,19 and to explore possible stage influences on it, direct or indirect. The commentator may not have been a witness of a Late-Antique staging of Terence, and may have simply reflected other modes of performance (see below on popular spectacles in the fourth century), but his scholia demonstrate a strong preoccupation with visual representation.

Gestus et Verba: Donatus and the Rhetoric of Performance

Let us start our examination with the most evident element connecting Quintilian and Donatus: the use of literary texts in rhetorical training. The practice of reading comic poets aloud at schools is in fact attested in Quintilian (Quint. Inst. 1.11.12–14), and so it should be easy to find parallels between some of Quintilian’s observations and Donatus’ instructions on performing Terence’s plays which, as already noted, were employed as a tool in the delivery exercises. Even when comments in Donatus relating to performance do not find easy parallels in Quintilian’s work, which was written with the express purpose of educating elite Roman males on how to speak with appropriate gravitas, it can still provide valuable illustrations of other aspects of theatrical presentation when it discusses how not to speak or comport oneself. Thus in 11.3.89 he 18  Dutsch 2013, mainly 423–31. 19  See also Demetriou 2014b, where I discuss Donatus’ portrayal of Terence’s characters, with emphasis on the way each role would have been performed.

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explicitly states that mimetic gestures should be avoided by the orators, since abesse . . . plurimum a saltatore debet orator, ut sit gestus ad sensus magis quam ad verba accomodatus (“an orator has to be very different from a dancer; he must adapt his gesture to his sense more than to his words”). A good example of the usefulness of Quintilian for understanding Donatus’ comments occurs with regard to the servile gesture.20 Donatus assigns the gestus servilis (i.e. a servile gesture) to comic slaves of Terence in several instances (scholia on An. 183.1 and 184.4, Eu. 274.5, Ad. 567.2),21 but does not give a description of such a posture. However, the servile gesture is defined by Quintilian in Inst. 11.3.83, where he states: Umerorum raro decens adlevatio atque contractio est: breviatur enim cervix et gestum quendam humilem atque servilem et quasi fraudulentum facit (“rarely is it becoming to shrug or hunch the shoulders, because this shortens the neck and produces a gesture of humiliation and servility, suggesting hypocrisy”).22 Another factor to consider here is that Quintilian’s description itself is clearly influenced by theatrical practices. It finds close parallels in the manuscript illustrations, in which slaves are often depicted shrugging their shoulders and shortened necks,23 and indeed in the archaeological record, since a servile posture similar to that found in the manuscript illustrations appears in statuettes and other iconography representing slaves from comedy.24 Thus Hellenistic statuettes present standing or sitting slaves shrugging their shoulders,25 while a first-century fresco from Pompeii “illustrates the conventional slave stance: legs straddled, shoulders raised, buttocks and stomach extended.”26 A key link between the two works comes from the use of gestus, or gesture, in close connection with speaking. Just as Quintilian elaborates on the way a good orator should make use of gestures appropriate for each eventuality, so Donatus often provides a detailed description of specific hand gestures, with emphasis on the use of fingers. For instance in the commentary on the Adelphoe Donatus notes: Et hoc ‘tibi’ et ‘tu’ pronuntiandum est intento digito et 20  On gestus servilis in Donatus, Quintilian and the manuscripts, see Basore 1908 37–8. On the importance of these correspondences in revealing the commentator’s (traditional) sources and staging interests, see Demetriou 2014a 790–4. 21  On Donatus’ interpretation of the stereotyped performance of comic slaves, see also Demetriou 2014b 232–4. 22  Text and translations of Quintilian are taken from Russell 2001. 23  See for instance the discussion by Dutsch 2007 62, on the depiction of Sosia’s posture in the first act of the Andria in BnF, lat. 7899, f. 6. 24  See Dodwell 2000 30. Dutsch 2007 62 also points to parallel archaeological evidence. 25  Bieber 1961 104–5, figs. 404, 405, 406, 407, 411. 26  Wiles 1991 206. The painting is found in Bieber 1961 103, fig. 395.

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infestis in Micionem oculis; nam hoc agi stomacho aduersum dissimulatores solet (“and this tibi and tu must be delivered with an extended finger and hostile eyes against Micio; for this is usually performed with irritation against dissemblers;” Don. Ter. Ad. 97.2).27 In the particular line to which the scholium refers, Demea addresses Micio, saying explicitly that he regards him as the main cause for Aeschinus’ moral corruption and unrestrained behaviour (Ter. Ad. 96–7).28 It is particularly interesting that Donatus assigns to Demea—or, to be more precise, to the reader enacting Demea—a specific hand gesture: the use of the extended finger, presumably denoting a demonstrative gesture. Moreover, the commentator justifies his suggestion by adding that the specific gesture is used to express “irritation towards dissemblers.” Such a general remark seems to be placing the commentator’s choice into a framework of tradition, pointing perhaps to a known, acceptable gesture. Quintilian’s remark in Inst. 11.3.94 might be a good parallel for the use of a similar hand gesture in oratory: At cum tres contracti pollice premuntur, tum digitus ille quo usum optime Crassum Cicero dicit explicari solet. Is in exprobrando et indicando (unde ei nomen est) valet when three fingers are doubled under the thumb, the finger which Cicero says Crassus used so well is extended. This finger is important in reproach and in indication (which is why it has its name, i.e. index). According to Quintilian, the extended index finger is used (among other things) to blame and point things out (in exprobrando et indicando). What is more, Donatus’ remark seems to find a parallel not only in the (rhetorical) context of Quintilian’s testimony but also in the iconography associated with Terence’s comedies.29 It is noteworthy that in this particular scene (Ad. 1.2) Demea is depicted with a pointing gesture to Micio in the illustrated Terence manuscripts.30 27  Basore 1908 24 points to the parallel between Donatus’ and Quintilian’s notes, further suggesting that, in both sources, solet indicates a conventional use of the gesture. 28  Jakobi 1996 162 classifies the scholium as a ‘hypokrisis-scholium’ in accordance with the commentator’s interest in the consistency of Demea’s characterisation. Thomadaki 1989 369 quotes the scholium in a group of examples that indicate characters’ sentiments. 29  For the presence of this gesture in the illustrations depicting scenes of the Andria, see Dutsch 2007 64. On Quintilian’s passage, see also the commentary by Maier-Eichhorn 1989 72–3. 30  See Jones and Morey 1931 nos. 460–463: BnF, lat. 7899 (= P) f. 99r, BAV, lat. 3868 (= C) f. 52r, Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct. F. 2.13 (= O) f. 99r; see also Wright 2006 99. The point-

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A parallel reference to gesture is found in the scholium to An. 333: [2] ‘hic’ δεικτικῶς: quasi efficaciorem ostendit. [3] Ergo ad comparationem alterius refertur (“hic [functions] demonstratively: as if he points out the more efficient one. Therefore he is represented in comparison with the other”). In the line discussed by the scholium, Pamphilus refers to the slave Byrria who is seen on stage along with his master, Charinus, but the scholium draws a specific comparison between the two. More importantly, the commentator describes the delivery of hic with the Greek adverb δεικτικῶς. Therefore Donatus’ comment suggests that the speaker accompanies his delivery with a demonstrative gesture,31 pointing to the slave Byrria. In the manuscript illustrations of this scene, Pamphilus is indeed shown with a pointing gesture.32 Furthermore, the hand gesture adopted by Pamphilus in the manuscripts, with the index and middle fingers extended, appears in a very similar manner in a description by Quintilian in Inst. 11.3.98–99.33 This gesture (in one of its variations) is used when the speaker wants to make a distinction in his speech (habilem demonstrando in latus aut distinguendis quae dicimus, “useful for pointing to one side or marking breaks in what we are saying.” 11.3.99).34 Pamphilus is in fact doing precisely this in the above instance, pointing out both Charinus and Byrria (aut tu aut hic Byrria, “either you or Byrria here;” An. 333). Thus, given the evidence from both manuscript illustrations and Quintilian’s description of the deictic gesture, it becomes plausible that Donatus’ note of ‘demonstratively’ is associated with a similar demonstrative hand gesture. Another interesting comment showing this close connection between words and appropriate gestures employed is found in the commentary on Ad. 377: [1] . . . nam ‘istum’ quod ait δεικτικόν est; uidetur enim ostendere digito, quem dicat (“for the istum, which he says, is demonstrative; for he seems to be pointing to whom he is talking about with his finger”). In this instance, the slave ing gesture with the use of the extended index is most prominent in Tours, BM 924, f. 41v (no. 464), although this manuscript is of a much later date than the Carolingian witnesses. 31  On δεικτικῶς as a designation of a demonstrative gesture in Donatus, see Taladoire 1951 49. 32  See for instance BnF, lat. 7899 (= P) f. 11v (Jones and Morey 1931 no. 49). Dutsch 2007 62–3 analyses this gesture with special emphasis on the Andria (mainly in P), naming it the ‘prologue gesture’. The presence of this gesture in the manuscripts suggests that it is associated with a gesture used by a character when addressing a future speaking character. 33  Dutsch 2007 63 makes the connection between Quintilian’s description and the depiction of this gesture in the illustrations. On the other hand, Basore 1908 24 pointed to a parallel between Donatus’ and Quintilian’s notes. 34  See also the commentary by Maier-Eichhorn 1989 81–5.

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Syrus gives orders to one of the slaves (or a cook) regarding the cooking preparations, instructing him to leave a big eel in the water for a while (Ad. 377–8). Donatus comments on Syrus’ instructions, stating that istum is a demonstrative word and adding that the speaker points to the object with his finger. What is more, it is noteworthy that Syrus is also shown with a pointing gesture in the manuscript illustrations.35 Once more, both sources follow the same principle in representing the same action. In all these instances, the illustrative tradition in the manuscripts provides another important strand of evidence for the association of gestures with words in Late Antiquity. Based on the fact that the manuscript figures present a set of recognizable gestures, Dutsch in fact argues that the manuscripts “suggest that by the late fourth and early fifth century the tendency to associate gestures with certain phrases took the form of a meticulous set of rules.”36 In the case of Donatus’ commentary, as seen in the previous examples, this tendency to associate certain phrases with specific gestures is particularly evident in the ‘visualization’ of demonstrative gestures.37 The commentator refers to a gesture associated with admiratio in the scholium on Eu. 403, where the soldier Thraso is boasting about his close relationship with the king, and his parasite Gnatho expresses his apparent admiration by exclaiming mirum! (“amazing!”). Donatus comments here with regard to this word: [3] potest etiam simpliciter pro admirantis gestu accipi (“it can be also understood simply to take the place of a gesture of admiration”). Thus, in Donatus’ view, Gnatho’s reaction could have been simply expressed by the gestus admirantis, a gesture showing his admiration and wonder.38 Similar comments, elaborating on a character’s intention as expressed in his gesture, can be found elsewhere. For instance in Andria 1.1 Simo narrates to Sosia the details of his investigation into the behaviour of his son, Pamphilus, and reports the dialogue he had with the slaves belonging to his son’s friends. 35  See Jones and Morey 1931 nos. 500–502, on Adelphoe 3.3: P f. 107r, C f. 56r, O f. 107r; on C, see also Wright 2006 108. The only case in which the finger is not extended is in Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, H. 75 inf. [S.P. 4 bis] (= F), f. 64r (Jones and Morey 1931 no. 503). The correspondence between the illustrations and Donatus’ comment is indicated by Basore 1908 24, who draws a further connection with Quintilian’s description in Inst. 11.3.94. 36  Dutsch 2013 425. 37  For Donatus’ notes on demonstrative gestures, see e.g. Don. Ter. An. 506.2, 855.2, 890.3; Hec. 75; Ph. 145.1. 38  Blundell 1987 114–15 regards this passage as problematic, due to the commentator’s suggestion that mirum can be replaced by a gesture. He suggests that “there is possibly a conflation of two ideas, which might have been expressed cum admirantis gestu pronuntiari and pro admirantis interiectione accipi”.

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When Simo stresses that his son only attended the dinner (cenavit), Donatus makes the following comment on An. 88: [3] cetera in gestu sunt quaerentis, quid dicat de Pamphilo, nec inuenientis (“as regards his gestures, they are of someone seeking to learn what he might say about Pamphilus, and not finding out”). According to Donatus’ interpretation, Simo accompanies his words with the gestus quaerentis nec inuenientis, that is the action or, more precisely, gesture of someone asking and not finding what he is looking for.39 Such an observation is consistent with the fact that Simo is reporting a long series of anxious questions about his son’s behaviour to Sosia. However, what is particularly important is that the commentator refers to a gesture. Needless to say, there is no indication in Terence’s text of the use of a particular type of gesticulation or a note of a change in Simo’s movement. In this regard comparison of the figures in the illustrated manuscripts of Terence might again be useful, since they elsewhere present Simo adopting a gesture that seems to parallel that which Donatus attributes to him in this instance.40 Donatus’ references to symbolic gestures sometimes reveal the state of the character. A well-known case occurs in the scholium on An. 110, where Donatus refers to a gesture used by Simo: [1] [ac] si dixisset ‘hoc cogitabam’, sensum tantum cogitationis dicere debuit; sed quia ‘sic cogitabam’ dixit, ipsum gestum cogitantis exponit. est igitur μίμησις and if he said hoc cogitabam, he should just told us the gist of his deliberations; but because he said sic cogitabam, he exhibits the very gesture of someone in thought. It is therefore imitation.41 In this passage the old man Simo accompanies his thought with a ‘gesture of someone in thought’ (gestus cogitantis). Although the commentator does not describe the exact position of the hands, a gesture demonstrating ‘pondering’ seems to be stereotyped in the illustrated manuscripts as well as in 39  Basore 1908 41 refers to this comment as indicating a “gesture significative of perplexity”. 40  In Andria 2.4, Simo is wondering what plan Pamphilus and Davus are devising, and expresses his puzzlement using a certain hand gesture. For the gesture, see the illustrations in Jones and Morey 1931 vol. 2, nos. 63–65 (P f. 15r, C f. 9v, O f. 16r). On C, Wright 2006 18 assigns to Simo a “meditative attitude”. For other cases in which the illustrations depict characters adopting a gesture expressing their puzzlement, see Dodwell 2000 65–70. 41  Basore 1908 65 includes this in his account on mimetic gestures, simply pointing to the “histrionic value” of such comments.

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other sources: its basic characteristic is the touching of one’s chin.42 Simo is depicted having an appropriate gesture in Andria 1.2, right after the situation discussed in Donatus’ scholium cited above,43 and as well Simo’s gesture resembles the description of Quintilian in Inst. 11.3.103. As Dutsch rightly suggests, the instances in which this gesture is employed in the illustrations represent moments in which both wonder and thinking could be possible states of the characters.44 As in the cases examined above, the commentator seems to imply that the performer employs a certain, recognizable gesture. What is more, he again makes an observation based on the principle that certain phrases are delivered accompanied by particular gestures.45 The examples we have considered so far in Donatus’ commentary deal with the relationship of gestures to particular words or ideas, but it is also true that several other of his references to gestus may be better described as relating to the broader dramatic action of Terence’s plays. In these cases, the close dependence of gesture upon the text often extends beyond the designation of (demonstrative) hand or finger gestures. A reference to a gesture signifying a rather specific attitude is found in the scholium on Ph. 52: [4] praeuenit petitionem dicendo ‘accipe’. et hoc cum gestu offerentis dicitur (“he prevents the request by saying accipe. And this is said with the gesture of offering”). The line is delivered by Davus, who is addressing Geta and offering him money. Donatus suggests that the line is delivered accompanied with the gestus offerentis, an observation easily inferred from Davus’ words. But it is also interesting that in the manuscript illustrations Davus is shown extending his hand towards Geta, offering him a sack, which obviously contains the money.46 42  For instance in the gesture of Demea, in P, f. 107r (Adelphoe 3.3; see Jones and Morey 1931 no. 500) and in O f. 107r (Jones and Morey 1931 no. 502). Wright 2006 107, on C f. 56r, adds that Demea is “inclining his head slightly to express his distress”. On this gesture and its presence in the illustrated manuscripts, see also Dodwell 2000 85–6. Cf. Pl. Mil. 200–15, in which there is a description of Palaestrio’s gesture when in deep thought. Among other gestures, Plautus refers to an os columnatum, usually interpreted as “his face supported by his hand” (Hammond, Mack and Moskalew 1997 96). 43  For Simo’s gesture of touching his chin, see for instance P, f. 7r (Jones and Morey 1931 no. 24); on Simo’s gesture, see also Dodwell 2000 85–6. 44  Dutsch 2007 67 gives further examples of the usage of the gesture outlined by Quintilian. 45  Dutsch 2013 425–9 examines this instance as the basic case study to demonstrate the parallels between Donatus, Quintilian, and the illustrations, and a basic principle in LateAntique performance of various kinds: the use of certain gestures along with certain phrases (in this case the adverb sic). 46  See Jones and Morey 1931 nos. 690–693: P f. 150r, C f. 78r, O f. 154v, F f. 105v; see also Wright 2006 152–3. The depiction of Davus in the manuscripts is also mentioned by Basore 1908 40, yet without references to specific manuscripts.

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In a similar case, Donatus comments on the posture of Charinus’ slave, Byrria, in the commentary on the An. 415: in gestu est, nam est figura corporis obseruantis quid agatur (“it is in his gesture, for it is the posture of a body observing what is being done”). When Byrria sees Pamphilus and Davus entering the stage, he decides to listen to their dialogue. Donatus elaborates on the slave’s words and assigns him the posture of someone ‘observing’. What is interesting is that Donatus indicates that the understanding of Byrria’s action is helped by his gesture (gestus) as well as his body shape or posture ( figura corporis). The manuscript illustrations present Byrria in this instance (Andria 2.5) in a posture indicating a situation of observing and overhearing a discussion.47 Later in the play (Andria 4.5) the slave Davus appears in a similar posture, while holding with both hands his scarf.48 In this scene Davus does not participate in the dialogue between Mysis and Crito but stands on stage as an eavesdropper, while at the end he states—addressing the audience—that he will follow them inside.49 The repetition of identical gestures throughout the manuscript illustrations makes clear that the illustrator of their Late-Antique archetype followed a specified “repertory of gestures.”50 In particular, the illustrator makes use of several types of symbolic gesture to indicate certain emotions or reactions.51 In the same way, Donatus often does not simply extrapolate a suitable gesture based on a mimetic representation of a character’s words, but he also points to gestures that are associated with certain states: for example, the gestus abeuntis, offerentis, observantis, or quaerentis discussed above. Given the well-known correspondences of Donatus with the manuscript illustrations as well as Quintilian, might we assume that he had also a certain ‘repertory of

47  Cf. O f. 16v (Jones and Morey 1931 no. 72). Basore 1908 41 briefly mentions the parallel depiction in the manuscript illustrations. Parmeno in Eunuchus is presented in a similar posture, for instance in P, f. 41r (Eunuchus 2.2; Jones and Morey 1931 no. 185). On C f. 9v, Wright 2006 18 notes that Byrria’s posture shows “the anxiety with which he comes to listen.” 48  Cf. C f. 15v (Jones and Morey 1931 no. 138); see also Wright 2006 30, on Davus’ posture: “this presumably expresses his anxiety and his consequent decision to go into Glycerium’s house rather than go home.” 49  See also the examples discussed by Dodwell 2000 22–4; it is noteworthy that Dodwell considers the “gesture for eavesdropping” (p. 23) as a mere stage gesture. 50  Phrase taken from Dutsch 2007 47. 51  For different categories of gestures used by the illustrator as well as subcategories of symbolic gestures, see the discussion in Dutsch 2007 of examples of illustrations of the Andria (especially 62–71).

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gestures’ in mind?52 Does he point to specific postures or gestures known to his audience? Or does he simply suggest that the character—and consequently the performer of the passage—would accompany his words with any sort of gesture showing his sentiments? To an extent, this question is linked with the problem of how gestures expressing certain emotions and reactions can be stereotyped. Certainly not all people express the same feelings with the same gestures.53 On the other hand, certain expressions are found which are characteristic to specific places and cultures, while they are not found elsewhere. For instance, the thumb has a prominent role in Roman gesture-language and is used in several hand gestures, which in turn develop over time and place.54 In the same manner, gestures are understood within a particular cultural system.55 They are often symbolic, since they present a reaction via a code that is recognizable by a specific audience.56 Is it thus possible that Donatus refers to the use of a certain gesture because this is stereotyped and known to his readers and students? This possible use of codified gestures brings us back to the issue of the relationship of Donatus’ comments to theatrical practice. As far as the manuscript illustrations are concerned, scholars, mainly based on the fact that there is not much evidence of performances of Terence at that time, have suggested the possibility that the illustrator made use of contemporary stage practices, including the popular spectacles of mime and pantomime.57 In the same 52  In his discussion of Donatus’ observations of this type, Basore 1908 considers the parallels with Quintilian and the manuscript illustrations as a possible evidence of Donatus’ reference to conventional codes. He further briefly suggests that the nature of Donatus’ notes makes it possible that the commentator refers to ‘recognized types’, stressing the commentator’s tendency in presenting ‘stock’ expressions (pp. 36–7). Basore’s remarks were often inconclusive, but certainly opened up the ground for further research and analysis. 53  On the difference between gestures expected in theatre and natural gestures, see the analysis from a theatre-historical perspective by Hughes 1991 9–12, who notes that whereas psychology does not prove that certain gestures express specific emotions, ancient acting styles followed standard gestures for expressing both emotions and stock situations. 54  On the use of the thumb in Roman culture, see Corbeill 2004 41–66. 55  For examples of gestures changing their meaning across time as well as the importance of the audience’s perception of a gesture, see the overview by Corbeill 2004 1–11. 56  Dutsch 2013 411–12, writing on Quintilian, Cicero, and the rhetorical tradition surrounding their views, points to the fact that Quintilian and Cicero reflect the view (also evident in earlier sources) that gestures showing emotional states are innate and can stand in the place of words, eventually forming a universally accepted language. 57  See Aldrete 1999 57 on the arrangement of the characters and the background of the illustrations, which suggest a lack of familiarity with a stage performance of Terence. Wright 2006 216, in discussing the gesture of overhearing in the illustrations, points out that it

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context, quoting scholia on the comic parasite’s gesture (cf. Don. Ter. Eu. 232.3 and 274.3), Jakobi briefly expressed the possibility that Donatus has in mind contemporary mime performances.58 The possible influence of mime in the commentary formed a part of the debate on the interpretation of Donatus’ comment on An. 716 and the enactment of female roles by female performers.59 In fact, Donatus in some cases might make indirect references to pantomimic terms, both in his terminology (e.g. in the use of the terms saltatio—dancing, and gesticulatio—gesticulation)60 and his descriptions (e.g. Don. Ter. An. 186 and Hec. 267, where he assigns the questioning old men a hand gesture of pointing to one’s ear, thus outlining a clear connection between the character’s words and his gestures).61 It seems then that a brief overview of the performance popular trends of Donatus’ time might help us in the interpretation of the way Terence’s staging is envisaged in the commentary.

Donatus and Popular Performance Trends

Undoubtedly the landscape of stage spectacles in the fourth century CE, when Donatus composed his commentary, had changed dramatically since the first performances of Terence’s comedies in the second century BCE.62 Even by the “probably comes from the tradition of stage performances, in this era presumably from mime”. 58  Jakobi 1996 171. He interestingly makes a connection with the representation of masks in the manuscript illustrations: both Donatus and the illustrator might have had theatrical monuments in mind. 59  For instance, Jakobi 1996 12 regards Donatus’ reference as a reflection of contemporary mime performance practices, while Kragelund 2012 418–20 argues that Donatus refers to contemporary performances of Terence. Webb 2002 282 accepts the possibility that Donatus’ comment on An. 716 reveals that female performers enacted literary drama and comedy in particular, while at the same time she points to the popularity of mime, which also employed female performers. 60  See for instance the scholium on Ad. 265 [3], in which the commentator assigns the pimp Sannio a certain gesticulatio and subsaltatio. The comment simply suggests that Sannio responds in a vivid gesture. However, saltatio is usually used to denote dancing (e.g. Quint. Inst. 1.11.18 and 11.3.66), while gesticulatio is a common term for a ‘mimetic performance’, see OLD s.v. gesticulatio. 61  On the two passages see also Basore 1908 15–16, who traces a common gesture evident also in other sources. 62  Beacham 1991 127 notes that from the second century BCE no new comedies were composed but, during the empire, there were revivals on stage; he takes Donatus’ comment on An. 716 as evidence for these revivals. On p. 152 he notes that in the fourth century “the

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time of Quintilian there were significant changes, notably with the advent of recitatio. Recitatio, the action of reading aloud a piece of literature, provides a broader context to Donatus’ use of Terence’s works.63 In fact there is evidence that from the first century the reading of a piece of literature was often turned into a performative spectacle that employed non-verbal effects.64 On the other hand, over this period playwrights began not just to offer their works for a recitatio in order to get useful feedback on their composition, but gradually developed a new genre, writing pieces intended exclusively for recitation.65 Thus the development of recitatio made drama recitation a distinctive form, “a performance genre blending the theatrical and rhetorical traditions”.66 Accordingly, we can assume that the reading of Terence’s comedies in Donatus’ school was conducted in a more performative context, perhaps even reflecting amateur productions of Terence.67 With regard to theatre performed by professional actors to a public audience during Donatus’ day, although revivals of traditional drama seem to be attested, pantomime was in fact the most popular type of performance in imperial Rome.68 We have an idea of how pantomime performances were staged: there was an actor (a dancer), who enacted all roles of a myth, the story of which was sung in the form of a libretto.69 The centre of a pantomime performance was the solo actor’s movement,70 and the dancer simply represented the sung story by means of gestures. As the closest performative genre pantomime continued to flourish” all over the empire. However, although pantomime and mime were extremely popular in late antiquity, there were still stage performances of literary drama (e.g. tragedy). We certainly have evidence from Constantinople in the sixth century; see Jones 2012 309–10. 63  Similarly, Dutsch 2013 427, in discussing Donatus’ comment on An. 110, suggests that the commentator may refer to the reading of a recitator. 64  Dupont 1997, 51–2. 65  Hollingsworth 2001, 136. 66  Dutsch 2013 425. 67  See Dutsch 2007, 54 on school performances of Terence. 68  Jory 2002, 238. For an overview of the emergence of pantomime, the type of performance, and its popularity from Augustan Rome for about five hundred years, see pp. 240–1. Pantomime was popular until the sixth century in the West, see Lada-Richards 2007 24; on the diversity of performance genres, see p. 120. 69  However, this picture is not complete or definite. On pantomime performance, see Jory 1998 and Hall 2008 3. Lada-Richards 2007 38 refers to the fact that there is not one specific way pantomime was performed or staged; on standard pantomime form, see also pp. 40–2; on variety even among the members of the same school, p. 46. 70  Hall 2008 4 notes: “at the heart of all pantomime performance was the notion that a story could be told through a dancer’s silent, rhythmical movements, poses and gestures”.

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to pantomime, mime71 did in fact include speaking characters. However, both genres had a common characteristic: they employed vivid gesticulation,72 with emphasis “upon the value of corporeal eloquence.”73 Gesture is crucially important in pantomime since, in the absence of speech, the actor’s movement would in fact narrate the plot.74 The lack of facial expression—since masks were used—results in bodily movement being the only way of communication. The actor’s gestures could represent a character’s emotion and depict what this character would say.75 As mentioned above, the basic aspect of pantomime gesture was its imitative character: the performer had to show through his body the whole of the action and make his audience understand his ‘narration.’76 Nevertheless a pantomime actor would also make use of symbolic gesture to impersonate circumstances or abstract situations.77 Therefore some of the performer’s gestures are descriptive, while others are symbolic, i.e. constructed according to conventions. Lucian, in his defense of pantomime acting, stresses the artful performance of a dancer, arguing that a performer would be able to impersonate emotional situations: someone in love, in anger, in madness, or in sadness (Salt. 67).78 Furthermore, he points to the fact that dancing demonstrates someone’s thoughts, stressing that figures (σχήματα) should be clear and intelligible (Salt. 36 and 62); the dancer is in fact able to communicate through gestures (Salt. 64). Similarly, Quintilian emphasizes the eloquence of dancing, suggesting 71  Csapo and Slater 1995 369 note that the two main spectacles in imperial times were mime and pantomime. Beacham 1991 135 notes that “there was rich stylistic interchange” between comedy and mime and that mime movements seem to have influenced actors’ acting. For mimes in the third and the fourth centuries, see pp. 137–8. 72  On the connection between mime and pantomime, their differences and similarities, see Webb 2002 286–7. On the differences, see also Hall 2008 24 and Hall 2013 466. 73  Lada-Richards 2007 29–30 (29). Beacham 1991 130 notes on mime performers that: “their grimacing, gesticulation, and general expressiveness were an essential part of the performance”. 74  Petrides 2013 440–5 discusses the “neutral mask” of pantomime and he argues that its form favoured body rather than facial performance. 75  Jory 1998 217. Also, Beacham 1991 141. 76  On the synchronization between words (the story sung) and gestures as well as the close connection between words and gestures in pantomime, see Lada-Richards 2007 41–2. 77  On the symbolic use of pantomime gesture, see Lucian Salt. 69; on both mimetic and symbolic dimensions of pantomime movement, see Lada-Richards 2007 44–5. 78  On Lucian Salt. 67, see also Lada-Richards 2007 51–2. Zimmermann 2008 224 observes: “as one can infer from Lucian, On Dancing 67, and the anonymous epigram ‘On the Pantomime’ in the Latin Anthology, the danced reproduction of psychological impulses is an essential characteristic of the fabula saltata”.

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that you can understand the story the actor is enacting even if you do not hear the libretto (Inst. 11.3.66).79 Although it is certainly difficult to apply a universal language to all pantomime performances in every place and period, it seems that some sort of gesture code was in use in order for the audience to understand the action.80 The need for both symbolic and imitative gestures inevitably led to the creation of stereotypes in performers’ movement, which, to some extent, presupposed the audience’s familiarity.81 Besides, it is certainly plausible that in a spectacle strictly focused on movement such as pantomimes, a recognizable set of gestures is essential in order to achieve the audience’s understanding and participation. However, standard gestures used in pantomime spectacles would be based, at least to a certain extent, upon everyday non-verbal behavior, in order to secure their maximum effect upon the participating audience. In the same manner, Donatus might have a similar system in mind—if not a universally accepted one, at least a code developed in his school. The gestures described in Donatus’ scholia had to be constructed in such a way that they would be recognized by the audience of his commentary; thus, they would reflect common concepts of non-verbal communication. In this way the instructions for a recitator would be clear. On the other hand, given his audience’s familiarity with contemporary performances, varying from literary comedy to mime and pantomime, his references to specific gestures could imply a well-known style of performance. I do not of course argue that Donatus is composing his commentary according to set rules of pantomime performance, but the performance style of such a popular spectacle, certainly not detached 79  For discussion of references to the pantomime’s eloquence in Lucian, Quintilian, as well as Augustine, see also Lada-Richards 2007 44. 80  Lada-Richards 2007 28. On p. 39 she points to the possibility that local traditions might have had a certain influence on the way pantomime was performed. She further suggests that an actor’s art would use formulae (p. 49). On the question on whether there was a set style of pantomime performance, Lada-Richards brings forth the various dimensions of the problem (p. 49, on contradictory accounts by Augustine and Lucian), concluding (p. 50) that pantomime performance could not be considered as “closed” (as Augustine suggests), but accessible, especially to a more “informed” audience, i.e. its fans (pp. 50–51). 81  Similarly, Beacham 1991 142, discussing the dancer’s performance, notes in addition to costumes and masks, “the conventional nature of the most prominent of the many roles he was expected to learn: the movements of which (a sort of gestic vocabulary) were ‘set’ by firm tradition”. In the same context May 2008 347 notes that “if the dancer does not follow the prescribed gestures, the actions haplessly metamorphose from one myth into another”. In n. 24 May states that Lucian Salt. 80 “shows how essential the use of the approved and formalised gestures must have been to pantomime performance”.

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from stereotypes found in everyday non-verbal communication, presumably would have played a prominent role in the commentator’s and his students’ interpretation of Terence’s performance.82 As seen above, Quintilian makes extensive references to pantomime acting style, trying mainly to differentiate dancers from orators (most notably in Inst. 11.3.88–89).83 The rhetorician argues that an orator should refrain from the use of mimicking gestures. The fact that the action of “visualisation” (effingere) of someone’s speech belongs to the spectrum of pantomime (rather than to rhetoric) further reinforces the suggestion that Donatus’ descriptions are influenced by pantomime techniques. In fact, the emphasis on the distinction between an orator’s and an actor’s gesture in regard to its imitative character seems to be a topos in classical rhetoric.84 On the other hand, in the third century CE, Lucian (Salt. 62) makes a comparison with an orator, indicating that both the orator in his speech and the pantomime actor in his gesture should be clear, while he points to their common background—the art of impersonation (Salt. 65).85 Rhetoricians were still making efforts to distinguish their profession from pantomime performance in the sixth century CE.86 In practice, due to dancers’ travels through the empire and the constant need for innovation, pantomime acting was inevitably influenced by other dramatic forms,87 while pantomime might have also received influences from artistic and rhetorical non-verbal language.88 With pantomime being a popular spectacle in the empire, its influence is expected to have been prominent in other performance genres; Donatus’ school recitation exercises, as reflected in his commentary, might thus provide evidence for this influence.

82  The case of Seneca’s drama is probably a good parallel for the impact of pantomime on other dramatic genres. Zimmermann 2008 219–20 interprets descriptions of action found in Seneca’s tragedies as influences by the contemporary popular performance of pantomime. On the influence of pantomime’s popularity upon Seneca’s drama, see also Zanobi 2008 227 and 252. 83  Quintilian often points to the boundaries between oratory and pantomime in regard to the use of gesture (Inst. 11.3.184, 1.11.15–19, 1.12.14); on the references, see also Lada-Richards 2007 116–17. 84  Most notably in Cic. de Orat. 3.220, discussed in Dutsch 2013 422. On Quintilian and Cicero, see also Lada-Richards 2007 46 and Graf 1991 43. 85  On pantomime and declamation, see Lada-Richards 2007 114. 86  See Lada-Richards 2007 115, quoting Choricius. 87  Lada-Richards 2007 29. 88  Lada-Richards 2007 50.

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Conclusion Scholars have so far argued for various influences on Donatus, either from stage revivals of literary comedy or contemporary performances (e.g. mime). It is quite clear that Donatus is influenced by some traditions, reflecting the ‘genre blend’ of his time. It is impossible, however, to trace Donatus’ influences exactly; what we can describe are rather contemporary stage conventions, evident in the commentary as well as other literary and iconographic sources. In this framework, the trends of Donatus’ time are certainly of great importance in interpreting his stage conventions. The second sophistic favoured a tendency towards the construction of types and the performance of roles and its powerful influence was still being felt in Donatus’ time. In rhetorical education, exercises of ethopoiia played a central role, leading to a certain sort of performance in the framework of declamation.89 As well, aesthetics at the time of Donatus might have formed a solid background for the interpretation of the context of his scholia. Art in late antiquity (both iconography and literature) favoured the expression of the universal against the individual. The plastic arts of this period also favour schematisation: figures move away from naturalism towards a uniform representation, often in static movement.90 This context might have served as the framework in which the manuscript figures were produced, representing stereotypical gestures and appearances. On the other hand, the preference for universal representations is also evident in Donatus’ scholia on movement:91 the commentator understands the employment of certain gestures in a specified manner. We should not forget that Donatus’ work is meaningless without the interaction and participation of his audience. When Donatus refers to specific gestures without providing a description, he obviously considers them to be recognizable by his audience. Although some of them might have been known through tradition (e.g. the representation of comic slaves), others, not connected with characters but mainly concerned with the expression of an emotional status, presuppose a common understanding and expectation. In fact a common ground, in this

89  On ‘role-playing’ in second sophistic, see Gyselinck and Demoen 2008 95–6. 90  Roberts 1989 69, 81. 91  On Donatus assigning a uniform style of performance to stock characters, see Demetriou 2014b.

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case the visualization of the same or a similar type of movement, constitutes the basis of a successful communication.92 In conclusion, Donatus’ parallels with the illustrations (as well as other iconographic sources) and Quintilian do not reveal their exact origins, e.g. whether they derive from formal or non-professional staging practices. Yet they are important in revealing the context in which the enacting of Terence’s comedies is placed: within the loose boundaries of genres and the aesthetics of Late-Antique (art and) performance. Although Donatus’ observations, as their correspondences with literary and iconographic evidence suggest, are heavily influenced by established conventions of theatrical tradition (not always distinguishable in regard to the genre to which they belong), the commentator seems to construct the enactment of the comedies based on a specified gesture code, while his reception of Terence’s performance is simultaneously governed by principles that reflect stage conventions and trends of his time.

92  On the vital role of “preestablished patterns or schemata” that are central in the representation of art, see Roberts 1989 119: the artist in fact “presupposes a similar visual sense . . . on the part of his audience”.

CHAPTER 8

Ornatu prologi: Terence’s Prologues on the Stage/on the Page Gianni Guastella* Foreword Orator ad vos venio ornatu prologi: sinite exorator sim eodem ut iure uti senem liceat quo iure sum usus adulescentior, novas qui exactas feci ut inveterascerent, ne cum poeta scriptura evanesceret. (Ter. Hec. 9–13) I come to you as an advocate in the guise of a prologue. Allow me to succeed in my advocacy; let me enjoy as an old man the same privilege as I did in my younger days, when I ensured that new plays which had been driven off the stage became established and that the scripts did not vanish from sight along with the playwrights (trans. J. Barsby). In the opening lines of the second prologue to Hecyra, Ambivius Turpio described himself as an orator “dressed up as a prologue,” asking for the audience’s attention before introducing a comedy which had met no success in the past. Understanding the exact nature of Turpio’s ornatus prologi would be interesting, but we will never know what costume was actually worn by the actor delivering those lines on a Roman stage. In ancient sources there is no mention of the subject. Only much later, in the ninth century, a few miniatures first display the image of the Prologus as a character.1 These pictures had a limited but influential circulation, appearing first in a few major illustrated manuscripts of the Carolingian period, then re-emerging in the first printed *  I wish to thank Giulia Torello-Hill and Andrew Turner for inviting me to contribute to this volume. My warmest thanks to Chiara Felici for her useful suggestions and to my sister Manuela for her help in translating this paper into English. 1  In this discussion, the italicised Latin form Prologus will be used to denote this specific character when he appears in Terence’s plays, while ‘prologue’ refers to other uses, including the actual text.

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editions of Terentian comedies.2 On the strength of the evidence we can derive from the manuscript tradition, I would like to present an outline of the character to whom Terence entrusted his defence in front of the Roman audience. I would also like to briefly describe the development of the function attributed to the prologue during the early stages of the ‘revival’ of modern theatre.

Functions of the Prologue

At the opening of a ceremony or of a performance, there always comes a point when the audience is invited to adopt an attitude suitable to the kind of interaction about to be initiated. Managing this transitional moment can be problematic. The main issue is attracting the attention of the audience. How is this task to be carried out? There are several alternatives: a master of ceremonies, an announcement and a request for silence, the dimming of the lights, and so on. In a play, prologues are located in the liminal stage of the performance, when the beginning of the show must be ‘unravelled’. At this precise point, in fact, one or several actors directly interact with the audience, either by giving information about the play or by introducing particular issues the author wishes to submit to his audience’s judgement. One of the most effective descriptions of the functions gathered in this liminal stage of the performance can be found in the famous prologue written by Ruggero Leoncavallo for his opera Pagliacci (1892).3 PROLOGO Tonio, in costume da Taddeo come nella commedia, passando attraverso al telone Si può? . . . (poi salutando) Signore! Signori! . . . Scusatemi se solo mi presento.—Io sono il Prologo. Poiché in iscena ancor le antiche maschere mette l’autore, in parte ei vuol riprendere le vecchie usanze, e a voi di nuovo inviami. Ma non per dirvi come pria: “Le lagrime che noi versiam son false! Degli spasimi 2  For a full survey of all known illustrated manuscripts of Terence, see the contribution of Radden Keefe in this volume. 3  I quote from Leoncavallo 1893 7–8.

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e dei nostri martir non allarmatevi!” No. L’autore ha cercato invece pingervi uno squarcio di vita. Egli ha per massima sol che l’artista è un uomo e che per gli uomini scrivere ei deve.—Ed al vero ispiravasi. PROLOGUE Tonio in the costume of Taddeo in the play, coming through the curtain Excuse me! (bowing) Ladies and gentlemen, excuse me for being the one who introduces himself.—I am the Prologue. Since the author is putting on the stage again characters from the past, he would like to revive some of the old customs and so sends me out again to you. But not to say, as before, “The tears we shed are feigned! Do not worry about our sufferings and our torments!” No. The author instead has attempted to portray a glimpse of life. His only principle is that the artist is a man and it is for men that he must write. Real life was his inspiration. Tonio manages everything by himself: begs the audience’s pardon, greets them, attracts their attention, introduces himself and . . . proclaims himself to be the Prologue. He then describes the author’s aims and his poetics: the wish to revive an ancient theatrical tradition, while renewing it in a realistic way. In fact, in 1892 the prologue was one of the ‘old customs’ that no one practised any longer, although its function had been vital during the rebirth of modern theatre. According to Aristotle (Rhet. iii. 1414b), in ancient plays, the prologue had the same role as a preamble in an oration or a prelude in music: πάντα γὰρ ἀρχαὶ ταῦτ’ εἰσί, καὶ οἷον ὁδοποίησις τῷ ἐπιόντι. for all these are beginnings, and as it were a paving the way for what follows (transl. J.H. Freese) Aristotle considered the prologue an archē logou (1414b), the beginning of a speech. In his opinion its main function, both in speeches or epics and in tragedy or comedy, was to give the audience some information about the subject of the work (1415a).4 4  ἐν δὲ προλόγοις καὶ ἔπεσι δεῖγμά ἐστιν τοῦ λόγου, ἵνα προειδῶσι περὶ οὗ [ᾖ] ὁ λόγος καὶ μὴ κρέμηται ἡ διάνοια· τὸ γὰρ ἀόριστον πλανᾷ· ὁ δοὺς οὖν ὥσπερ εἰς τὴν χεῖρα τὴν ἀρχὴν ποιεῖ ἐχόμενον ἀκολουθεῖν τῷ λόγῳ [. . .] τὸ μὲν οὖν ἀναγκαιότατον ἔργον τοῦ προοιμίου καὶ ἴδιον τοῦτο, δηλῶσαι

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While Aristotle insisted on the informative purpose of the prologue, in some treatises on rhetoric two other functions are emphasized: besides giving information, in fact, it is necessary to urge the audience to pay attention as well as to show good will towards the speaker. A similar consideration of the functions of the exordium is particularly evident in the Roman treatises devoted to rhetoric.5 A concise definition is found at the beginning of the section on exordium in Rhetorica ad Herennium (1.6): Principium est, cum statim auditoris animum nobis idoneum reddimus ad audiendum. Id ita sumitur, ut attentos, ut dociles, ut benivolos auditores habere possimus.6 The Direct Opening straightway prepares the hearer to attend to our speech. Its purpose is to enable us to have hearers who are attentive, receptive, and well-disposed (trans. H. Caplan) These three functions recur in the prologues of Plautus. Besides either telling what happened before the story that is to be represented, or giving information

τί ἐστιν τὸ τέλος οὗ ἕνεκα ὁ λόγος [. . .]. “But in prologues and epic poems the exordia provide a sample of the subject, in order that the hearers may know beforehand what it is about, and that the mind may not be kept in suspense, for that which is undefined leads astray; so then he who puts the beginning, so to say, into the hearer’s hand enables him, if he holds fast to it, to follow the story [. . .]. So then the most essential and special function of the exordium is to make clear what is the end or purpose of the speech” (trans. J.H. Freese, slightly adapted). 5  See the bibliography quoted by Calboli Montefusco 1988 3 n. 8 and by Calboli 1993 211–13, 514. 6  For further discussion see Rhet. Her. 1.7–8: Dociles auditores habere poterimus, si summam causae breviter exponemus et si attentos eos faciemus; nam docilis est, qui attente vult audire. Attentos habebimus, si pollicebimur nos de rebus magnis, novis, inusitatis verba facturos aut de iis, quae ad rem publicam pertineant, aut ad eos ipsos, qui audient, aut ad deorum inmortalium religionem; et si rogabimus, ut attente audiant; et si numero exponemus res, quibus de rebus dicturi sumus. Benivolos auditores facere quattuor modis possumus: ab nostra, ab adversariorum nostrorum, ab auditorum persona, et ab rebus ipsis. (“We can have receptive hearers if we briefly summarise the cause and make them attentive; for the receptive hearer is one who is willing to listen attentively. We shall have attentive hearers by promising to discuss important, new, and unusual matters, or such as appertain to the commonwealth, or to the hearers themselves, or to the worship of the immortal gods; by bidding them listen attentively; and by enumerating the points we are going to discuss. We can by four methods make our hearers well-disposed: by discussing our own person, the person of our adversaries, that of our hearers, and the facts themselves.” Trans. H. Caplan). Cf. also Cic. Inv. 1.20–23; de Orat. 2.323–325; Quint. Inst. 3.8.6–10 and 4.1.1–5 and the passages commented by Calboli Montefusco 1988 1–32.

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about the characters that are going to enter the stage, he typically concludes his prologues by inviting his listeners to pay attention (sometimes he asks them to remain silent) and be well-disposed.7 Although the informative function is central to the majority of the prologues that survive in classical drama, the structurally vital aspects in all the ancient prologues of archaic Roman Comedy appear to be the other two functions, which are always present in the actor’s appeal to the audience. We realize this as we consider the allocutive markers used by the actor in the text of the prologues of Plautus and Terence (especially at the beginning and at the end). When addressing the listeners in the second person plural, the actor is usually requesting their attention and benevolence.8 As we shall see at the end of this paper, this characteristic of the prologue is constant in all texts written for the comic stage.

Terentian Prologues

With respect to the surviving dramatic corpus, Terence’s prologues constitute a significant change from previous practice, and they were to have a strong influence on later drama. In Terence’s comedies the prologue was no longer the same: it had lost its informative function9 and was instead entirely devoted to conveying the author’s views concerning his writings. Accordingly, the actor delivering the prologue became a sort of spokesman for the poet. Consequently, all forms of delayed prologue, which were quite common both in Menander and in Plautus, disappeared. Terence gave both a fixed form10 and a new appearance to what Aristotle defined as archē logou. From his time on the prologue became, in every 7  Menander had already structured some of his prologues in a similar way: cf. Sisti 1987 303–10, Belardinelli 1994 105–7 and 118, Raffaelli 2009 106–8. 8  Cf. the prologue of Plautus’s Asinaria, simply devoted to introduce the title of the comedy and its model (Diphilus’s Onagos) 1–3: Hoc agite sultis, spectatores, nunciam, / quae quidem mihi atque vobis res vortat bene/ gregique huic et dominis atque conductoribus and 14–15: date benigne operam mihi / ut vos, ut alias, pariter nunc Mars adiuvet. Greek tragic poets never address the audience using the second person plural like this. In the few extant texts, Menander and the other playwrights of New Comedy make a limited use of the same allocutive devices: see Bain 1977 186–9, Bruzzese 2011 126–7. 9  Some (anonymous) Medieval scholars strongly objected to such modification to the function of the prologue: see Villa 1984 92–3. 10  A standard format also characterises the beginning of most Senecan tragedies, whose prologues have a mainly informative function. In seven out of ten cases such prologues

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respect, archē dramatos, the liminal stage, where audience and author, as it were, start a negotiation on the fiction about to be staged. The first person to enter the Terentian stage was always a specific character called Prologus in our manuscripts;11 some centuries later, as we shall see, this character would also be given the name Calliopius.12 The prologue is a part of a play in which communications among author, characters and audience13 have not yet taken a definite shape. The actor delivering the prologue addresses his listeners in the second person plural and, leaving aside the informative function typical of Plautine prologues, acts mainly as the author’s spokesman (and occasionally as his real advocate),14 while also inviting the audience to be quiet, pay attention and show benevolence towards the poet and the actors. At this stage, he is not conversing with the other characters, as he will be for the rest of his performance; he is speaking to

are monologues in iambic trimeters (delivered by Iuno in Hercules furens, by Hecuba in Troades, by Medea and Oedipus in the eponymous tragedies, by the ghost of Thyestes in Agamemnon, by the ghost of Tantalus—urged by the Fury—in Thyestes, and by Hercules in Hercules Oetaeus). In the remaining cases we find prologues in anapaestic meter (delivered by Hippolytus in Phaedra and by Octavia in the homonymous praetexta). Only the prologue of Phaedra has no actual informative function, since it is a sort of lyric ‘ouverture’, in which Hippolytus, taken up in his passion for hunting, reveals his principal character traits. Completely different, of course, is the situation in the Phoenissae—an anomalous tragedy in many respects—that has no prologue. 11  Already in Plautine comedies we can find eight Prologues as ‘characters’ (or, as Raffaelli 2009 56–7 would rather have it, “prologhi di capocomico,” i.e. “prologues delivered by principal comic actors”): see Asinaria, Captivi, Casina, Menaechmi, Poenulus, Pseudolus, Truculentus, and Vidularia. 12  Even in the so-called ‘Commentarius antiquior’ a persona Calliopii appears (cf. for instance ad v. 3 in the second prologue to the Hecyra, p. 140 Schlee): see Raffaelli 2002 95–8. 13  Denoted a ‘trilogue’ in Kerbrat-Orecchioni and Plantin 1995 1–3. 14  Cf. Hau. 11–12: Oratorem esse voluit me, non prologum:/ vostrum iudicium fecit; me actorem dedit (“The playwright wanted me as an advocate, not as a prologue speaker. He has turned this into a court, with me to act on his behalf”, trans. J. Barsby). Since Terence usually reacts to the accusations of his enemies at the beginning of his comedies, his prologues reflect the main rhetorical features of a defence speech, as Eugraphius (see e.g. his comments on the prologue of Andria, pp. 3–4 [Wessner]) already pointed out. This subject was particularly emphasized by German scholars, from Leo 1898 15–28 (in particular 15–16 and 24–5) to Gelhaus 1972. See also Focardi 1972 (especially 55–65, about the meaning of orator in Hec. 9 and Hau. 11).

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the audience directly.15 The ‘you’ he is addressing is structurally different from the ‘you’ that is commonly used in the conversation between characters. It is also evident that although the Prologus acts as the author’s spokesman, his voice is not the author’s voice: in fact, even if the prologue were spoken by the author himself, his character could only be a special prosopon acting within the stage fiction. In this sense we can say that the prologue follows the basic rule of the theatrical genre throughout antiquity and the Middle Ages: nusquam poeta loquitur (“nowhere does the poet speak”). It is not the author himself who says ‘I’, but rather someone who is ‘representing’ him (in every sense). Thus his way of saying ‘I’16 does not define his individuality in relation to the other characters of the play, but in relation to the whole audience.17 As Renato Raffaelli pointed out, when the Prologus speaks he is at the same time inside and outside of the main performance.18 The stage he occupies does not include the other actors, who share the time/space in which the fabula is set, as the same actor who recites the prologue will do from the beginning of the first scene. For that very reason the exclusive stage presence of the actor who delivers the prologue makes him the ideal messenger of the author. In short, the Prologus carries out on the stage what Gérard Genette called “l’instance préfacielle” in the book he devoted to Paratexts.19 In such a context of interaction, even the messages sent to the audience by the author help build up the frame within which the conversation among the characters will develop, from the first scene. They allow the listeners to appreciate the options relating to poetic choices that confronted the author when he composed the comedy. At the end of his speech, the Prologus is not supposed to call upon the actors (by way of a performative utterance) to start the performance, although his real function implicitly ends up being exactly that. He gets through the preliminary stages leading to the actual beginning of the performance. That is well illustrated by the last lines of the prologue of Adelphoe (22–25):

15  See Segre 1980 45–6. 16  Or ‘we’, when the actor speaks on behalf of the whole troupe: see for example Eu. 19–20 and Ad. 12. 17  Cf. Gilula 1989 98–101. Gilula also suggests that in such a context, when the deictic hic refers to the poeta it means “the poet who is now present here in the theatre.” 18  Raffaelli 2009 13. 19  I cannot find an appropriate English translation for this expression. “The prefatorial situation of communication” is Jane E. Lewin’s awkward translation of the title of the relevant chapter in the English version of Genette’s Seuils (Genette 1997 161).

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Dehinc ne exspectetis argumentum fabulae, senes qui primi venient, ii partem aperient, in agendo partem ostendent. Facite aequanimitas poetae ad scribendum augeat industriam. After this don’t expect an outline of the plot. The old men who come on first will in part explain it and in part reveal it in the course of the action. See that you give the play a fair hearing and encourage the author to continue with the task of writing. (transl. J. Barsby) Ornatu prologi Let us go back to the first line of the second prologue to Hecyra (9): Orator ad vos venio ornatu prologi. I come to you as an advocate in the guise of a prologue. How would the Prologus have looked when entering the stage?20 As I have said, no ancient evidence is available, since no mention of this appears even in the commentaries of Donatus and Eugraphius. Only the prologue of the Heautontimorumenos seems to suggest that such a role was usually entrusted to younger actors (partis . . . adulescentium; Hau. 1–2).21 Towards the end of the ninteenth century Philippe Fabia proposed an interesting hypothesis.22 On the basis of the miniatures of the famous Carolingian manuscripts C, P, and F, he imagined that originally the role of the Prologus ought to have been attributed to the mask of an adulescens. In his opinion, the character, wearing a chlamys, could be easily recognised by a specific identifying symbol: an olive branch covered with ribbons, which was typical of a suppliant. Fabia was well aware that he was going beyond the evidence. Actually, among the five figures of a Prologus found in Carolingian

20  For the meaning of ornatus cf. Plaut. Amph. 116–17, 119: Nunc ne hunc ornatum vos meum admiremini,/ quod ego huc processi sic cum servili schema . . . propterea ornatus in novom incessi modum; As. 69: nauclerico . . . ornatu (cf. also Miles 1177 and 1282); Cas. 932: hoc ornatu quo vides (cf. also 974); Poen. 123: Ego ibo, ornabor; vos aequo animo noscite (the prologus is leaving the stage, and is supposed to come back later on, wearing a different costume). See Fabia 1888 156–7, Raffaelli 2009 53–4. 21  See Gilula 1989 97. 22  Fabia 1888 155–75.

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miniatures,23 only one (in Phormio) portrays an adulescens, and only in the Vatican manuscript C is the adulescens holding a small branch (f. 77v). As we shall see shortly, the Prologi of other comedies wear either the costume of a servus (Andria) or of a senex (Heautontimorumenos, Adelphoe, Hecyra).24 In short, Fabia’s hypothesis, while both ingenious and attractive, overinterpreted the evidence at our disposal, as many critics have pointed out.25 What, then, are the main characteristics of the pictures of the Prologus we find in Carolingian manuscripts? Let us firstly consider the images themselves. In two of these manuscripts, C and P, (in F the folios containing Andria have been lost) the Prologus to Andria wears the mask of a servus.26 P makes it clear that a slave is meant by a somewhat enigmatic caption (lirodo.servus cre) surrounding the picture (f. 3r; see Figure 22). Since the beginning of Eunuchus was damaged at some point in the course of this branch of the manuscript tradition, both the aedicula and the Prologus are missing. We must next move on to the beginning of Heautontimorumenos, whose Prologus wears the mask of a senex in the three manuscripts: the same applies to Adelphoe (whose Prologus also holds an elongated branch)27 as well as Hecyra.28 Finally, in Phormio we find the image of an adulescens, who is pictured holding a branch in his left hand only in the Vatican manuscript. It is difficult to explain the variety of these costumes. It seems clear that a specific mask had not been assigned to the Prologus in the Carolingian miniatures. For instance, in the aedicula for Andria in the Parisian manuscript P 23  The prologue to Eunuchus is missing. Fabia 1888 165 wrongly maintained that in BAV, Vat. lat. 3868 a servus appeared as a prologue at the beginning of this comedy too (the same mistake is in Saunders 1909 36). 24  See Wright 2006 217. Fabia was well aware of this (see Fabia 1888 165). 25  See Saunders 1909 30–9, Duckworth 1994 92, Beare 1964 194–5 (who assumed that the prologue entered the stage wearing “the usual tunic, pallium and slippers, but no mask”). 26  Since all the prologue characters in the miniatures of the Carolingian manuscripts of Terence are depicted in the same stance, Dutsch 2007 62–3 calls it “Prologue gesture” (“with his arm pointing to the right, stretched out and almost horizontal: the index and middle fingers [. . .] stretched out and the thumb [. . .] folded”). 27  Beare 1964 195 maintained that it had to be a cypress branch (“since the play had been produced [. . .] at the funeral games for L. Aemilius Paulus”), following an old suggestion by Mme. Dacier (cf. Fabia 1888 164 n. 2 and Saunders 1909 35). 28  According to Wright 2006 217 only the Prologus for Adelphoe is dressed as the character of a senex: “For Heautontimorumenos and for Hecyra the speaker is Lucius Ambivius, who produced Terence’s plays; he is depicted as a senex with his cloak draped tightly [. . .] in the dignified manner of the Herculaneum Aeschines and the Lateran Sophocles.” In any case, each figure is labelled as Prologus.

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(f. 2v), where an abbreviated identification has been added above each mask, there is no specific mask for the Prologus. Nor is it possible to identify with certainty the picture of the Prologus on f. 3r with any of the masks for the slaves.29 It is not even possible to identify the Prologus’ mask on the basis of the first appearances of the various characters on stage. None of the characters illustrated in the miniatures immediately following the prologue shows the features of the actor who recites the prologue. We cannot therefore conclude that the mask given to the Prologus corresponds to that of one of the actors due to enter the stage first. Finally, there is no correspondence between the Prologus’s mask and the mask of the actor to whom, according to Donatus, the primae partes (“the chief role”) were assigned. In short, we can only say that on the basis of Carolingian illuminations, the Prologus wore different masks, assigned on the basis of unknown criteria.30 In some later traditions, depictions of the Prologus appear to have been considered unnecessary. In the beautiful illuminations of the Parisian manuscript BnF lat. 7907A (presented by Martin Gouge to the Duke Jean de Berry at the beginning of 1408), which re-interpret the illustrative tradition of Terence, or in the famous ‘Terence des Ducs’ (Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 664), there are no depictions of the Prologus. The vignettes found in the Carolingian manuscripts at the beginning of each comedy (both the aediculae and the Prologus images) have been discarded.

29  It must be remembered that the way in which characters of the Andria are identified in the aedicula of P is not correct, as we can argue on the basis of the rule by which the disposition of the masks follows their order of appearance on stage. In any case, since the number of masks represented and sigla used is the same, we can exclude the presence of a specific mask for the Prologus. A mask for the Prologus is absent also from the aedicula of Andria in the Vatican manuscript C: see Wright 2006 8, 11, and colour plates 2 and 3. In the aediculae of the other manuscripts a mask of the Prologus does never appear. 30  In the manuscript BnF lat. 7900 (Y) (middle ninth century) the beginnings of Andria and Eunuchus are missing, but a blank space was left, presumably for the representation of the Prologus, at the incipit of the other four comedies (f. 16r, Heautontimorumenos.; 25r, Adelphoe; 39v, Hecyra; 40v, Phormio), although as it happens all illustrations cease at f. 11v. In the manuscript BnF lat. 7903 (eleventh century) the spaces left blank could have included a picture of the prologue only at f. 50r (Adelphoe) and 74r (Phormio). An isolated representation of the prologue is in BAV, Vat. lat. 3305 (end of eleventh century), at f. 9r (Andria), wearing a costume that could still be that of a slave, but with no mask. The character is represented in the typical gesture of the crossed arms (see Jones and Morey 1931 2.167). On the miniatures of this manuscript see Wright 1993, in particular 193.

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Nevertheless, it is very interesting that we do find pictures of the Prologus reproduced in the edition of Terence by Jodocus Badius Ascensius, published in Lyon by Johannes Trechsel in 1493. The artist who produced the important woodcuts for this volume illustrated the theatrical action in a strongly modernizing light. In this context not only does the Prologus reappear, but it is also ‘mirrored’ by an Epilogue figure who addresses the audience, asking for their applause and saying “Farewell.” By such a contrivance, the illustrator grasped an important enunciative side of ancient performances. In fact, the final address to the listeners reiterates the same enunciative situation as at the beginning of the comedy, when the Prologus addressed the audience directly, outside the fictional dimension of theatrical interaction. Each Prologus of the Lyon edition (as well as the Epilogues) has now also received a permanent name: Calliopius (see Figure 23).31 In this case too, the Prologus enters the stage in the attire of a particular character or, rather, of a particular role. In most cases (Andria, Eunuchus, Adelphoe, and Hecyra) he is represented as an adulescens, each time in different attire, but always easily recognizable as such. In Heautontimorumenos, however, he is pictured as an old man, and in Phormio, in all likelihood, as a slave. Notwithstanding the new name of Calliopius, the Prologus remains a changing figure, represented as if interpreting different roles on the stage. Unfortunately, the reason for the choice of the different costumes remains unknown.

After Antiquity

The forms of classical drama came to life again only towards the end of the fifteenth century, after various experimental phases during which many stage conventions from ancient Roman plays had to be adapted to the new literary and theatrical taste. At an early stage, between the eleventh and the thirteenth century, comical plots resurfaced in different kinds of literary productions intended for literary readers only (especially in the so called elegiac comedy). But from the beginning of the fourteenth century, a gradual rediscovery of classical plays led to new forms of composition. This happened in some literary texts imitating the style of writers such as Seneca or Plautus. Later on, various theatrical experiments led to a true revival of the ancient texts, either in an academic-antiquarian form (and therefore in Latin), in Rome, or in a new

31  We find a character specifically named Calliopius delivering the epilogue in other contexts too: for example in Ariosto’s Isis, staged in 1444 (see below, n. 49).

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courtly and modernizing fashion (and therefore in vernacular), in Ferrara at first and subsequently all around the Po Valley.32 What happened to the prologue during the prolonged gestation of the new forms of modern theatre? It is not possible to present a comprehensive answer to such a question here. I shall just suggest a general outline of the development of this particular element, in contexts that usually mixed the functions of the argumentum (the short prefatory text in which the main features of the plot are usually exposed) and those of the prologus. The prologue could not easily adjust to the forms of literary compositions that simply imitated the dynamics of performance on a written page. Therefore it is hardly surprising that addresses to the spectatores, like the one delivered in the sermo poeticus of the comedy Querolus in the fifth century,33 are totally absent from the production of elegiac comedies. Accordingly, the prologue is almost always missing as well. What is sometimes called prologus in manuscripts and by modern editors is in many cases just a sort of additional argumentum, which like a ‘preface’ (in Genette’s sense) contains various details about the author’s poetics.34 This happens, for example, in Geta (ca. 1150) by Vitalis of Blois, where the Prologus makes some remarks about human greed—which prevented the poet’s carmina from being well-received—although ‘Terentian’ themes35 are never inserted in the form of an address of the actor to the audience.36 The way in which the Prologus refers to the poeta or scriptor in the third person singular might be derivative of Terence, but the absence of second person singular or plural forms in the actor’s speech shows that he was not considered to be the author’s spokesman or his advocate before an audience of potential judges. Likewise, in Alda (ante 1169) by William of Blois, after an initial exposition of the argumentum, the author, in a similar ‘prologue,’ tells the story of his investiture as a comic poet, and only refers to his lector in the third person singular; 32  For a comprehensive overview of this revival of ancient plays see Guastella 2007 82–116. 33  Pacem quietemque a vobis, spectatores, noster sermo poeticus rogat, qui Graecorum disciplinas ore narrat barbaro et Latinorum vetusta vestro recolit tempore. Praeterea precatur et sperat non inhumana voce, ut qui vobis laborem indulsit, vestram referat gratiam. Aululariam hodie sumus acturi, non veterem at rudem, investigatam et inventam Plauti per vestigia. Fabella haec est eqs. (Querol. 7–8 [p. 5 Jacquemard-Le Saos]). 34  Another, somewhat innovative, form of introduction can be found in Donisius’s Comedia Pamphile (twelfth century), which begins with an Epistula loco prologi (a dedication in verse, which includes the traditional description of a poetic investiture), followed by an Argumentum (see Langosch 1979 41–3). 35  Discussed by Pittaluga 2002 101–6. 36  See Bertini 1980 184.

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but at one point he uses the vocative when trying to excuse the unavoidable lasciva verba of his pages (ll. 26–27).37 More complex is the beginning of Lidia, a short poem (late twelfth century), possibly attributable to Arnulf of Orléans. In this case, we also find two different prefatory sections, called Argumentum and Prologus respectively in one of the two main manuscripts (F). This time the story of the poetic inspiration is told in the first section, while the second appears as a bitter attack against an envious rival (mainly referred to in the second person singular).38 Humanistic comedy drew decidedly closer to the forms of performed drama, and in this context the prologue regained many of its ancient characteristics.39 Already in his Paulus (ca. 1390), Pietro Paolo Vergerio had restored the three roles of author, prologue-speaker and audience upon which the communication mechanism hinged in Terence’s prologues:40 Hanc dum poeta michi verecundus fabulam tradidit recensendam, “Iuvenis”, ait, “hec lusi, iam plenior dabit sensum maturum etas” When the shamefaced poet handed me this play to be performed, he said: “When I was a young man I dallied in such things. Now that I’m older, age has given me a richer sense of what is appropriate” (transl. G.R. Grund). In the very first lines the speaker describes himself as an actor who has received a specific message from the poeta.41 A few lines further we find the traditional address to the audience (ll. 10–13):

37  See Bertini 1998 48–50. An address to the lector in the second person singular can be found only in the first line of De more medicorum (thirteenth century): Si cupias, lector, medicorum noscere morem/ carminibus variis notificabo tibi (quoted from Gatti 1998 398) Cf. also the beginning of Babio (twelfth century): Ut manifestius intelligatur quid isti versus volunt dicere, quandam notitiam legentibus prepono, in primis ostendendo quid velint agere et de quo et qualiter (quoted from Dessì Fulgheri 1980 242). 38  See Gualandri and Orlandi 1998 206–8. 39  Oddly enough, goliardic comedies such as Janus sacerdos, which were written for the stage, do not have direct addresses to the audience at their beginning. See the texts collected in Pandolfi and Artese 1965. 40  Quoted from Grund 2005 2. 41  About the meaning of recensere see Stäuble 1968 189–91, Rizzo 1973 277–9, Raffaelli 2002 93.

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Date commodum aures michi atque animum intendite quam comentus siet poeta fabulam, dum non lugentium, sed negligentium mores novos ratione corrigit veteri. So lend an ear to me and pay attention to the play that the poet has composed, in the course of which he uses an ancient genre of writing to condemn modern morals—not the moral of tragic figures, but of heedless ones (transl. G.R. Grund) This is a decidedly ‘humanistic’ return to a typically Terentian approach, which involves a recovery of the traditional roles of ancient Roman Comedy.42 An analogous attitude can be found in a prose text such as Antonio Barzizza’s Cauteriaria (1420–1425), whose initial argumentum is followed by a prologue, in which the author himself addresses his audience (either readers or listeners) using the second person plural, and calling for their bonitas, patientia, aequanimitas, to excuse his choice of writing in prose and in haste.43 Even more elaborate is the beginning of Leon Battista Alberti’s Philodoxeos fabula (1424, revised in 1432). After the dedication to Leonello d’Este and a quite long commentarium, which serves as a preface, the play begins with the Lepidi comici philodoxios fabule prologus, which was added to the second edition of the comedy.44 Here the self-styled playwright introduces himself, using the second person plural to address the audience (nunc auscultate et iudicium date; Datisne admodum hoc gratie? Et datis, video etc.); he says his name is Lepidus and concludes his speech on a vaguely mocking note (Ha, ha, he, et vos lepidi estis!). Alberti’s prologue is then followed by an argumentum for the play. An even greater awareness and correctness in reviving the ancient forms of drama is manifest in the prologues of the comedies by Tito Livio de’ Frulovisi. A native of Ferrara and active as a teacher in Venice between 1430 and 1435, the schoolmaster Frulovisi, an extraordinary yet isolated figure, might have used his comedies as exercises for his pupils. His six plays begin with a didascalia, an argumentum and a strongly apologetic prologus in the Terentian style,

42  Suffice it to consider the last line of Paulus’s prologue, where servi infidi, sodales devii, parentes creduli are mentioned. 43  See the text in Beutler 1927, reproduced in Pandolfi and Artese 1965 446–8. 44  Cesarini Martinelli 1977 144–9. See also Pittaluga 2002 209–10.

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which would have been recited by one of his pupils. Let us consider the opening speech of Corallaria:45 Ne cui vestrum mirum sit, qui sim et cur venerim paucis dabo, et simul eloquar nomen meum. Praeceptor huc me misit meus. Oratorem voluit esse, non prologum. Nomen Hieronymus est mihi. Nunc attendite aequo animo. Neque vos moveat oratio malevolum, qui ita dictitant: non licere novas dare fabulas: satis esse graece scriptitatas et conversas latine. Sint fuerintque graecae et latinae multae. Qua gratia ab studio et industria hominem student reicere? In case you wonder who I am and why I came here, I will explain it in few words, and at the same time I will tell you my name. My schoolmaster sent me here. He wanted me to be his spokesman, not a Prologue. My name is Hieronymus. Now pay attention with an impartial mind. Do not listen to the arguments of malicious people who claim that he is not allowed to stage new plays, since so many have already been written in Greek and translated into Latin. It’s true, many Greek and Latin plays already exist and have existed, but why do they want to turn a man away from zealous effort? Quoting line 11 of Heautontimorumenos,46 the young Girolamo Da Ponte tells the audience that his praeceptor told him to be his defender, rather than to recite an actual prologue. He goes on to explain why Frulovisi offers a ludus scenicus, in place of the usual programme of sports, dancing and refreshments staged during the Venetian holidays, which are called Ludi Romani in the didascalia. The prologue ends with the traditional appeal to the benevolence of the audience,47 and is followed by a long argumentum. In the context of the theatrical productions of the time, Frulovisi’s adherence to the Terentian models is quite remarkable.48 Nonetheless, even other contemporary playwrights compose ‘Terentian’ prologues.49 45  Previté-Orton 1932 5. 46  See supra, n. 14. 47  Nunc virtutem et aequanimitatem expeto vestram, vosque quaeso et obtestor: aequo animo attendite dum huiusce fabulae argumentum eloquor. 48  See especially the prologue of Oratoria, a downright collage of Terentian motifs and wordings, which goes through the various moments of the controversy between Frulovisi and his detractors (Cocco 2010 6–8). 49  Particularly interesting, in its redundancy, is the beginning of Isis, a dramatic elegy staged by Francesco Ariosto Peregrino for Leonello d’Este on 20th January 1444 (Stendardo 1936 114–22). In the prologue, opened by a deferential greeting to Leonello as well as to the

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Finally, let us focus on the twenty-five year period between 1485 and 1510, during which both modern versions of ancient tragedies and comedies and original Greek and Roman fabulae themselves were staged in the ‘classical’ forms of vernacular drama. All the plays produced during this period include a prologue,50 with its traditional request for silence, attention and benevolence. It is delivered either personally by the poet,51 or by a god,52 or even by a classical author.53 It is important to emphasize that the distinction between tragic and comic prologues starts to blur in this period. In the prologues of tragedies we can usually find addresses to the audience, which in ancient texts were unheard of for that genre; on the other hand, ghosts, typical of Senecan tragedies, may also appear in comic prologues.54 The prologue became a distinctive feature for plays in any dramatic genre.55 In this cultural climate, the events that initiated the rebirth of modern comic theatre were the theatrical performances organized in Ferrara by Ercole spectatores optimi, the speaker introduces himself as ‘Caliopius’, and explains why the author asked him to stage the play (about the character of Calliopius, see Stäuble 1968 189–91 and Raffaelli 2002 93 and 95–8). A final appeal to the audience’s attention and benevolence is also included. The prologue is followed by an argumentum, which ends with an analogous request and a final call to the praeco Misenus, invited to command silence. With a clear allusion to Plaut. Asin. 4–5 Ariosto also lets the crier recite his cue: Spectatores elingues vos omnis paulisper: auritos / vero maxime, atque oculatos iubet esse Caliopius. 50  Sometimes it is called ‘Argumentum.’ Nonetheless, the distinguishing features of these opening passages are clearly typical of prologues. In such plays the usual sequence of prologue and argumentum is often found as well. 51  E.g. in Baldassare Taccone’s Comedia di Danae (1496) or in Galeotto del Carretto’s Timone (1497). 52  E.g. Mercury ‘Annunziatore della festa’ in Poliziano’s Orfeo (ca. 1481). Cf. also the Prologue of Galeotto del Carretto’s Noze di Psiche e Cupidine—ca. 1502—who introduces himself as a ‘nunzio’ (messenger) and Auxilium, who recites the epilogue of Boiardo’s Timone (ca. 1490). 53  E.g. Lucian in Boiardo’s Timone, ‘moral’ Seneca in Cammelli’s tragedy Panfila (1499); see also the appearance of Caecilius Statius in Gasparo Visconti’s Pasitea (ca. 1495). 54  E.g. Caecilius Statius’s ghost in Gasparo Visconti’s Pasitea. 55  The most interesting theme of these prologues is the discussion of the genre of the performed plays (‘favola’, ‘tragedia’, ‘comedia’), as was natural in the strongly experimental stage of such productions. See e.g. the end of the Argumento of Niccolò da Correggio’s Fabula de Cefalo (1487): “Non vi do questa già per comedìa,/ ché in tuto non se observa il modo loro,/ né voglio la credati tragedìa,/ se ben de ninfe ge vedreti il coro: / fabula o istoria, quale ella se sia,/ io vi la dono, e non per precio d’oro” (ll. 49–56 in Tissoni Benvenuti and Mussini Sacchi 1983 210).

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of Este, first on January 25th 1486, in which vernacular versions of Plautine and Terentian comedies were staged. As is well known, this revival soon led to the development of the original production of Italian comedies (beginning with Ariosto’s Cassaria, staged in Ferrara on March 6th 1508). In all the texts written for these theatrical productions there are prologues with traditional requests for silence and attention. In the vernacular versions, the original text of Plautus’s comedies often underwent considerable revisions, aimed at making the prologue’s informative and conative functions more effective. Pandolfo Collenuccio’s vernacular adaptation of Plautus’s Amphitruo, for example, has a prologue56 delivered by Mercury, as it was in the original; but the long and complex speech of the Roman god (152 lines) has been reduced to one third of its original length, and the elaborate, ironical remarks made by Mercury about the nature of comedy and tragedy have been abandoned in favour of a speech which is predominantly concerned with providing background information.57 Likewise, the prologue of the anonymous version of Menaechmi (Menechini, in vernacular Italian),58 spoken by a ‘Caliopio annunciatore’ (announcer),59 has been revised considerably, although it remains quite close to the original,60 in both length61 and content.

56  It is called ‘Argumento’ in the 1530 edition (Venezia: Zoppino). The text of this edition is almost certainly the same as that performed on the occasion of the wedding of Lucrezia d’Este and Annibale Bentivoglio, on 25th January 1487. 57  In the prose text of the vernacular version of Plautus’s Poenulus (Penolo, Venezia: Francesco di Alessandro Bindoni and Mapheo Pasini, 1526), the long prologue of the original (128 lines) is simply reduced to a very short ‘Argomento.’ An analogous reduction (22 lines as opposed to the 88 of the original) can be found in Girolamo Berardo’s vernacular version of Casina (Cassina, Venezia, Zoppino 1530: possibly the same text staged on February 8th 1502, on the occasion of the wedding of Alfonso d’Este and Lucrezia Borgia). 58  Almost certainly this is the same text performed during the first Plautine performance staged by Ercole d’Este, on 25th January 1486. 59  “Caliopio annunciatore proferisse l’argumento” according to the text of the manuscript Modena, Biblioteca Estense Universitaria, It. 836 (α.H.6.1), f. 85r (see also Tissoni Benvenuti and Mussini Sacchi 1983 88); “Caliopio anuntia la Comedia in questo modo [. . .]” according to the text of the manuscript Roma, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale, Sessoriano 413, f. 34r (see also the edition of Menechini in Uberti 1985 75). See also the contribution of Torello-Hill in this volume. 60  See Guastella 2007 119–21. A very close translation can be found only in the vernacular version of Asinaria (Venezia: Girolamo Pentio 1528). 61  A shorter version is in the manuscript Roma, BNC, Sessoriano 413, whose text seems to be the result of various cuts, if compared to the text of both the manuscript Modena,

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Whenever the Plautine text featured prologues that provided limited background information, the translators made even more drastic revisions and composed speeches that would adequately carry out the introductory functions deemed essential for the success of a theatrical performance. In time the prologue developed highly distinctive features.62 For example, in Girolamo Berardo’s translation of Mostellaria (Mustellaria)63 we find a substantial prologue, whereas the model play has none at all;64 likewise, the anonymous vernacular version of Pseudolus (Pseudolo),65 staged on 8 February 1512 at the Morosini Palace in Venice, has 33 lines of ‘Terentian’ prologue, delivered by the Poet (‘El Poeta’),66 while the original has an enigmatic fragment of just two lines. In these prologues both Plautine and Terentian elements are commonly mixed together, within the usual frame of appeals for the audience’s attention. Usually this kind of theatrical performance did not leave much room for a general discussion of poetics, which is almost always replaced by remarks of a more encomiastic tone, such as on the novelty of the revival. A good example of this is the prologue to an anonymous Ferrarese vernacular version of Terence’s Phormio (Formione), ascribed with no compelling argument to Ludovico Ariosto by Guido Mazzoni in 1906.67 In this case the original Terentian text Biblioteca Estense Universitaria, It. 836 (α.H.6.1) and the manuscript Venezia, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, It. IX 368 (7170). 62  See for example the prologue of Giraldi Cinzio’s Orbecche (1541), delivered by a character who acts as a spokesman of the tragic Poet (ll. 1–9): “Essere non vi dee di maraviglia,/ Spettatori, che qui venut’i’ sia/ Prima d’ognun, col prologo diviso/ Da le parti che son ne la Tragedia,/ A ragionar con voi, fuor del costume/ De le Tragedie e de’ Poeti antichi:/ Perché non altro che pietà di voi/ Mi ha fatto, fuor del consueto stile,/ Qui comparir, di maraviglia pieno” (quoted from the edition of Cremante 1988 289–92). 63  Venezia: Zoppino 1530 (possibly the same text that was staged in Ferrara on 21th February 1503). 64  Also at the beginning of the vernacular version of Plautus’s Stichus in the manuscript Venezia, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, It. IX 368 (7170) is a long ‘Argumento’ (actually a prologue), in stanzas of seven syllable lines (settenari) and of five (quinari) (see the edition of Rossetto 1996 151–53), whereas the original has no prologue. 65  Venezia, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, ms. It. IX 368 (7170), cc. 150r–182r. 66  See Rossetto 1996 91–2. 67  Mazzoni 1906 (from the manuscript Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana 1616, f. 37r–38v). At the beginning of the vernacular versions included in the printed edition of all the comedies of Terence (Venezia: Iacob da Borgo Franco 1538) the characteristics of the original text have completely been transformed, and the prologues have been reduced to short introductions. See for example the prologue to Hecyra (116r–v): “Questa Comedia, quale havete hoggi à vedere, si chiama ECIRA: il che tanto significa, quanto Socera: percioche

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has been totally replaced by a long prologue that explains Ercole d’ Este’s aim in bringing the ancient plays back to the stage, before revealing the comedy’s plot: Hercul(e) per questo al presente si move, comme quel che, amator del viver recto, vol che l’usanza antiqua se rinove: [. . .] E queste tradur fa in stil vulgare, a ciò i dotti et indocti e tucte genti possin gli antiqui exempli qui imparare. Però a le commedie state atenti, ché n’averete tal consolatione e de qui partirete al fin contenti. Therefore Hercules now acts like someone who, fond of a righteous way of life, wants to revive ancient customs [. . .]. He has these plays translated, so that learned and ignorant men alike, and everyone may learn here the ancient examples. Therefore pay attention to the comedies, so that you will gain such solace from them, and in the end you will leave happy from here. In the guise of a Terentian prologue the specific remarks of the African playwright about poetics have been totally replaced by the praise of novelty brought about by the Ferrarese performances. What represented the main focus of Terence’s prologues, as well as the characterisation of the Prologue we observed in the Terentian manuscripts, underwent all manner of transformation. Not so the prologue’s enunciative structure, which, although subject to a long series of modifications, kept its communicative function largely intact. tratta di due Socere, come hor hora intenderete. Essendomi data facultà di rappresentarla, et à voi di ornare i giuochi scenici, fate che vostra authorita mi sia fautrice et adiutrice, tale ch’io la possi far con silentio: ond’io reputo di guadagnar’assai, quand’io mi faccia cosa, che di piacere vi sia. Fate silentio adunque tutti.” In two cases only (Andria and Heautontimorumenos) a weak trace of the original Terentian contents has been preserved. See for example the prologue to Andria (2r): “Qui siamo per farvi spettatori d’una Comedia chiamata ANDRIA, quale gia compose il Poeta ad imitatione di Menandro, tratta buona parte dalla Perinthia di quello, onde fu da malevoli molto et indegnamente calon­ niato: ma accusando lui, accusano Nevio, Plauto, Ennio, i quali ha questo nostro Poeta per authori. Stati adunque attenti, prestandoci benigna udienza: et intenderete apertamente quanto si contiene in quella: et quanto si habbia à sperar dall’altre sue Comedie.”

CHAPTER 9

The Revival of Classical Roman Comedy in Renaissance Ferrara: From the Scriptorium to the Stage Giulia Torello-Hill* On the 3rd February 1501 Isabella d’Este Gonzaga reports to her husband Francesco Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, details of the performance of Eunucho, a vernacular adaptation of Terence’s Eunuchus, in Ferrara: Et questa sira hano facto lo Eunucho, le quale se ben sono state piene de parole vane et de qualche erubescentia, per chi la timesse, tuttavia sono state multo dilectevole et de riso et piacere assai, maxime per le voce accomodate et optimi gesti.1 And tonight they staged Eunucho which, although it was full of pompous words and of some moments of embarrassment, as some might have feared, nevertheless, it was very delectable, humorous and enjoyable, particularly thanks to the well modulated voices and the superb gestures.2 Isabella praises the performance of Eunucho, acknowledging in particular the excellence of diction (voce accomodate) and gestures (optimi gesti). The importance of gestures in ancient comic performances is well known. What appears to be a systematic code of gestures survives in a cycle of illuminated Carolingian manuscripts of Terence, which have been studied extensively in this volume.3 The first printed editions of Terence’s plays at the end of the *  I wish to thank Andrew Turner and Bernard Muir who read earlier drafts of this paper, providing invaluable criticism. I also owe thanks to Grazia Maria Fachechi who personally provided me with a copy of her 2002 work on Plautus’ illustrated manuscripts, Silvia Castelli (Biblioteca Riccardiana) and Susy Marcon (Biblioteca Marciana) for their assistance. Lastly, I wholeheartedly thank my father Franco Torello and Claudio Risso at the Biblioteca Universitaria of Genoa for providing me with copies of several Italian articles and monographs. 1  This letter is preserved by the Archivio di Stato di Modena (F.II.9, b 2993 lib. 13). Stefani 1979; Bertini 1991 1627. 2  All translations are my own. 3  See, in particular, Demetriou’s contribution to this volume.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���5 | doi ��.��63/9789004289499_010

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fifteenth century made the illustrative tradition of Terence more accessible. Among these editions of Terence’s plays, that of Jodocus Badius Ascensius, published by Trechsel in Lyon in 1493, is of particular interest as he was closely associated with the Ferrarese intellectual circles. Badius resided at the court of Ercole I d’Este in Ferrara for an extended period of time in the 1480s or early 1490s and must have been at least aware of the 1491 performance of the vernacular adaptation of Terence’s Andria.4 The innovative nature of the revival of ancient comedy at the court of Ercole I lies in the production of stage-scripts in vernacular Italian that modernise the ancient plays of Plautus and Terence to suit their contemporary audience. The novelty of this approach is encapsulated in the prologue to Menechini, an adaptation of Plautus’ Menaechmi that inaugurated the season of revival in 1486. The audience is invited to pay attention “with eyes, ears and mind” (cum l’occhio, cum l’orecchie e cum la mente). The vernacular text expands the call for the audience’s attention of the original text,5 specifically defining the fruition of theatre performances as a combination of viewing and listening. An attentive listening will spur reflections on the content of the play, thus fulfilling the didactic purpose of the Ferrarese revival.6 This paper traces the phases of this process of adaptation of the plays of Terence and Plautus, mapping out the transition of classical Roman comedy from the scriptorium to the stage. Text Some of the adaptations of Plautus and Terence in vernacular Italian survive in the form of manuscripts and sixteenth-century printed editions. Plautus’ Asinaria, Menechini (Menaechmi), Miles Gloriosus, Pseudolo, and Sticho have been preserved in a sixteenth-century manuscript Venice, Biblioteca Marciana

4  Herrmann 1954 24 mentions a visit of Badius to Ferrara in 1491–2, but does not acknowledge his sources. Lebel 1988 3 talks about Badius’ extended permanence in Ferrara from 1480 to 1488. White 2013 15–16 mentions his studying in Ferrara in the 1480s, and confirms this by citing a prefatory dedication to Antonio Clava, who according to Badius prompted him to enrol at the University of Ferrara. 5  Animum advortite, “pay attention”; Plaut. Men. 5. 6  Ercole d’Este is presented as the educator of this people in the introductory chapter of Pellegrino Prisciani’s Spectacula and in the encomiastic prologue to Terence’s Formione preserved in manuscript Ricc. 1616 in Florence (see below). See Torello-Hill 2015.

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It. IX 368 (7170), in part the autograph of Marin Sanudo.7 It. IX 368 (7170) records the dates of the performances of Asinaria (12 August 1512 [f. 3r]), Pseudolo (8 February 1512 [f. 150r, repeated at f. 185r]) and Miles Gloriosus (carnival of 1514 [f. 193r]).8 The text of Menechini is preserved also in two other manuscripts, in Modena, Biblioteca Estense, it. 836 (α H 6, 1) and in Rome, BNC, Sessoriano 413. These anonymous scripts may relate to performances staged in Ferrara and will be discussed in detail. As well, between 1520 and 1532 there was a proliferation of vernacular printed editions of Plautus.9 This popularity was, however, short-lived and destined to succumb to the development of Renaissance vernacular theatre in Italy. The situation with Terence is more problematic. Although his works enjoyed an uninterrupted popularity throughout the Middle Ages and well into the Renaissance, vernacular versions of his plays first appeared in print in the 1530s, when the season of revival had already phased out. The edition of Eunucho was published in 1532, while the first documented full edition of Terence’s comedies appeared in 1533, perhaps preceded two or three years earlier by an edition which is now lost.10 Anonymous vernacular adaptations of Andria (second and fourth acts) and Eunuchus, which were previously unknown, have recently been identified and published by Matteo Favaretto.11 7  Rossetto 1996 15 dates the manuscript more specifically to the second or third decade of the sixteenth century. On Sanudo and performance of classical drama in Venice in the early Renaissance see Padoan 1978. 8  Rossetto 1996 11. On the 1512 Venetian performance of Asinaria see also Bertini 1991. 9  For an overview of vernacular editions of Plautus and Terence in the Cinquecento see Orlando 1940. Orlando does not include the editions of Sticho, Pseudolo, and Penolo (the latter is the only extant vernacular adaptation in prose). Asinaria was the first text to be printed in Venice (1514). Sticho and Pseudolo were printed by Zoppino in 1520 and again in 1530 and 1532, and by Francesco di Alessandro Bindoni and Mapheo Pasini in 1526. Menechini was printed by Girolamo Penco da Lecco in 1528 and appeared in the more comprehensive 1530 edition by Zoppino. This edition included Amphitriona, Cassina, and Mustellaria, along with Asinaria, Penolo, Menechini, Sticho and Pseudolo. Plautus’ Menechini is available in two modern editions by Tissoni Benvenuti 1983 and Uberti 1985. Sticho and Pseudolo have been edited by Rossetto 1996. 10  Orlando 1940 578. 11  A critical analysis of the two extant acts of Andria, which is preserved in Venice, Biblioteca Marciana, It. ix 453 (6498), ff. 90r–112v, is in Favaretto 2010; the actual text was edited in Favaretto 2011a. The text of Eunucho, preserved in a single manuscript, Florence BNC, Magliabechiano VII 1304 (=Med. Pal. 377) appears in an annotated critical edition (Favaretto 2011b). Tissoni Benvenuti 1983 77 n. 2 mentions in passing that lost translations of Terence’s Andria and Eunuchus were attributed to Ariosto by the sixteenth-century dramatist Giraldi Cinthio.

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After an exhaustive linguistic analysis, he concluded that both texts are of North Italian provenance and should be located in the second or third decade of the sixteenth century, and thus postdate the revival in Ferrara.12 There is no evidence that these texts were ever performed. That Eunucho departs from the original Latin in providing a different ending to the play and in adding comic scenes may, however, indicate that it was written for the stage.13 An ownership note at f. 1r certifies that this text was acquired by the Medicean court library, thus attesting to the circulation of vernacular texts from the Northern court to Florence.14 Lastly, the Formione, an adaptation of Terence’s Phormio, whose staging is not documented anywhere in Italy in the Early Renaissance, follows Poliziano’s Fabula de Orfeo in the manuscript Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana 1616.15 This paper focuses on the genesis of the first vernacular adaptations staged at the Ferrarese court. The epistolary exchanges between the duke and the court intellectuals involved in these adaptations offer us an insight into the process of elaboration of vernacular stage-scripts. We know that the first step towards the production of theatrical texts was the creation of a vernacular translation in prose, which subsequently was used as a blueprint for the stagescripts. The duke’s commissioning of translations in prose is already documented in 1479, seven years before the premiere of Menechini. In that year, under Ercole’s instructions, Battista Guarini was translating Plautus’ Aulularia and Curculio into prose.16 These plays were to be staged only once, in 1503 and 1490 respectively. We have no evidence to suggest that these early translations had been commissioned by the duke with an eye to their future staging. Given the large scale of the duke’s project, however, it would not be surprising if a long period of preparation was needed before the 1486 premiere of Menechini. This is corroborated by the fact that the practice of translating dramatic texts 12  Favaretto 2010 82. Pietro Zorzanello in a descriptive card compiled in the early 1950s at the Marciana library, catalogued the manuscript as fifteenth or sixteenth century. 13  According to Favaretto 2011b: xxxvii–xli. 14  Favaretto 2011b: xvi. The ownership note reads ‘Dato/Al Magnifico Lore(n)zo/ De medicj.’ Favaretto identifies this person with the grandson of Lorenzo il Magnifico, Lorenzo di Piero de’ Medici (1492–1519), since the death of Lorenzo il Magnifico in 1492 predates the first performance of Eunucho in Ferrara (1499). I must argue that this does not necessarily exclude that vernacular texts were exchanged between the Ferrarese and the Medicean courts prior to the revival in Ferrara. 15  Florence, Ms Ricc. 1616 f. 37r–90v. For a detailed description see Castelli 1998 16. I owe my thanks to Silvia Castelli for providing me with details of this manuscript. The prologue of Formione is discussed in Guastella 2007 87–8. 16  Guastella 2007 99.

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into vernacular prose, before turning them into poetry, continued throughout the revival and beyond.17 A letter written by Duke Ercole I to his son-in-law Francesco Gonzaga on 5 February 149618 in response to his request for some of the vernacular stagescripts indicates that texts written for the stage were disposed of at the end of each performance. It also confirms the existence of this official translation into prose.19 In the letter, Ercole apologised to his son-in-law for being unable to satisfy his request. The actors involved in the production had retained their parts and it would have been impossible to get them back. He instead offered to send some of the translations in prose: Havemo ricevuto la lettera della S.V. per la quale la ne adimanda, che vogliamo mandarle quelle Comedie vulgare che Nui già facessemo recitare. Et in risposta gli dicemo che’l ne rencresce non poter satisfare al desiderio suo: per che volemo che la sapia che quando Nui facessemo recitare dicte Comedie, il fu dato la parte sua a cadauno de quelli che li havevano ad intervenire, acciò che imparasseno li versi a mente; et dopoi che furon recitate, Nui non havessemo cura de farle ridure altramente insieme nì tenirne copia alcuna . . . Se la S.V. desiderarà mo de havere alcuna de dicte comedie in prosa, et ne advisi quale, Nui subito la faremo cavare dal libro nostro voluntieri, et la mandaremo a la V.S. We have received the letter from Your Excellency in which he requests that we kindly send him those vernacular comedies that we have already staged. And in reply, we regret to inform him that we are not able to satisfy his request. We want him to know that when we performed those comedies, we distributed their part to each of the participants so that they could learn them by heart. After they were performed we did not take any care to gather the parts back together or to keep a copy of it . . . if Your Excellency now wants to have some of those comedies in prose, he 17  Favaretto 2010 86 has demonstrated that the two acts of the vernacular adaptation of Terence’s Andria share many linguistic and stylistic features with an anonymous prose version, which was printed by Bernardino Vidale in 1533. 18  Modena, Archivio di Stato, Fondo Cancelleria Ducale, Carteggio Principi Estensi, cassetta 1501/12, mazzo XI, c. 38. Quoted in Guastella 2007 99–100. 19  A catalogue of the ducal library compiled in 1495, lists a vernacular edition of Plautus, presumably in prose, which could have served as the official model for the composition of stage-scripts (Bertoni 1903 249 n. 400: ‘Plauto in vulgare coperto de brasilio rosso stampato’). See also Guastella 2007 102.

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should let us know which ones, and we will be pleased to take it immediately from our book and send them to Your Excellency. As some of the plays of Plautus and Terence were staged repeatedly on various festival occasions both in and outside Ferrara, it would seem a logical inference that it was uneconomical for the producers to dispose of the scripts and produce new ones each time. Duke Ercole’s remarks become less surprising, however, given the ephemeral nature of these stage productions. At the end of each performance the temporary wooden bleachers and stage designs were dismantled and disposed of, and so too was the stage-script. Documentary sources indicate that various neighbouring courts showed great interest in these performances. In 1493 a series of Plautine plays were staged in Pavia upon the invitation of Lodovico il Moro. In Mantua, private correspondence between Isabella d’Este Gonzaga and various intellectuals of the Ferrarese court reveals her repeated requests for vernacular stage-scripts. At the court of Mantua, vernacular performances of Roman comedy were inaugurated in 1496 with a staging of Plautus’ Captivi; the stage-script had been obtained from the Ferrarese court.20 In 1508, three years after the death of Ercole I, Menechini was staged in Venice.21 The stage manager and director of this performance was Francesco de’ Nobili, an actor from Lucca who had participated in the Ferrarese revival. De’ Nobili used the stage-scripts taken from the court of Ferrara to present them for the first time to an enthusiastic Venetian audience.22 The fact that vernacular editions of Plautus were being printed in Venice in the first half of the sixteenth century indicates that adaptations of classical plays had gained the status of independent texts.23 We have no evidence to ascertain whether or not at some stage an official stage-script was adopted for subsequent performances. There is a possibility that ad hoc adaptations continued to be written throughout the period of the revival. The story of the importation of the Ferrarese vernacular scripts to Venice by Francesco

20  Bregoli-Russo 1997 50. 21  Details of the Venetian performances are reported in the Diarii by Marin Sanudo (1879–1902). 22  On the staging of Plautus in Venice in the early sixteenth century, see Padoan 1982: 35–40. 23  To obtain a sense of how the vernacular texts depart from the original, see for instance Rositi 1968; Tissoni Benvenuti 1983; Rossetto 1996; and Guastella 2007 116–23.

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de’Nobili seems to indicate that an official copy was deposited in the ducal archives, at some stage, perhaps towards the end of the revival.24 Among the scripts imported to Venice, there must have been several plays of Plautus and, most likely, Terence’s Eunuchus, since de’Nobili earned the nickname ‘Chaerea’ from his performance of the Terentian character. That multiple copies of the vernacular texts were produced over time is corroborated by the unique case of Menechini.25 Menechini survives in three manuscripts and two printed editions. Two of the extant manuscripts, Modena, Biblioteca Estense It. 836 (α.H.6.1), at ff. 85r–118r and Venice, Biblioteca Marciana It. IX 368 (7170), ff. 48–147, preserve texts that agree in most of their readings. The third manuscript, Rome, BNC, Sessoriano 413 ff. 34r–57v (henceforth the Codex Sessorianus), contains an abridged version of the play, which shortens the text and even omits certain scenes. Both Tissoni Benvenuti and Uberti identified the Estense and the Marcianus manuscripts as deriving from a common archetype, and based their editions on these two witnesses.26 Tissoni Benvenuti also integrated into her edition the stage directions that are unique to the Codex Sessorianus. Uberti takes the Codex Sessorianus as an early adaptation of the text, which was later integrated and extended in order to provide a closer translation to the Latin original.27 However, the absence of concrete evidence hampers any attempt to ascribe the texts surviving in the manuscripts to any particular performance of Menechini. For the present discussion, which focuses on the performativity of the extant vernacular adaptations, the Codex Sessorianus is of particular interest. Although it contains an abridged version of the text, its stage directions make this manuscript the witness that more closely resembles a stage-script.28 The names of the speakers always appear centered to make them clearly visible to a reader (or an actor). The prologue (ff. 34r–v), which is spoken by Calliopius, is divided into stanzas singled out by the word segue (“there follows”), possibly to mark the pauses of the actor who is ‘singing’ the lines.29 This 24  The vernacular adaptations have been preserved, for instance, in the transcriptions that Sanudo made for his own library. See Uberti 1985 30 n. 11 and Padoan 1978 68–93. 25  The play was performed five times at the Ferrara court: in 1486, 1491, 1493, 1501 and 1503. 26  Tissoni Benvenuti 1983 87; Uberti 1985 23. 27  Uberti 1985 26. 28  Uberti 1985 44. There is insufficient evidence to support Uberti’s view that the Codex Sessorianus was the stage-script of the 1486 inaugural performance of Menechini. The Sessorianus could just as well relate to a later performance of the play. 29  Contemporary chronicler Caleffini comments on the performance of Menechini in 1486 “in rima vulgariter in canto disseno tuti li versi de la dicta comedia” (“in verse, that is

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arrangement continues after the exit of Calliopius, signalled half-way through f. 34v by the words “finisse Caliopio” (“Caliopius ended”) and during the monologue of Penicolo (ff. 34v–35r), until the entrance of Menechino. The speaker-names sometimes appear in extended format, e.g. “la mogliera”30 (“the wife”) at f. 35r, but more often are abbreviated, e.g. “Me. Sy.” for “Menechino Syracusano,” “Pe.” for “Penicolo”, “Mes.” for “Meseno”. The spelling of character names is not always consistent; for example, the protagonist appears at times as “Menechin” and at other times as “Menaechmo.”31 Whenever more than two characters are on stage, scene headings specify the name of the character addressed by the speaker, e.g. “Yrotia a Menichino” (‘Yrotia to Menechino [f. 37r]), “Yrotia al Cocho” (“Yrotia to the cook” [f. 38r]). Occasionally, these stage directions appear in more elaborate forms, e.g. “Pe(nicolo) a Me(nichino) risponde” (“Penicolo replies to Menechino,” [f. 38r]), “Menechino si volze a Mese(no) e dice . . .” (“Menechino turns to Meseno and says . . .”, [f. 42r]), “medico parla al socero,” (“the doctor speaks to the father-in-law”, [f. 52r]), “la moglie di Men. Epi. parla a Men. Sy. credendolo suo marito in tal modo . . .” (“The wife of Menechino from Epidamnus believing Menechino the Syracusan to be her husband, speaks to him in this way . . .” [f. 48v]). Scene headings also announce the entrance of a new character: e.g. “hora zonzeno insieme M. e Pe.” (“Now Menechino and Penicolo arrive together”) or “Hora esce Yrotia fuora della porta” (“Now Yrotia comes out of the door”). More extensive stage directions indicate the act or scene division. For example, at f. 38r “finita la prima scena comincia la seconda. Hora zonze Me(nechino) Siracusano insieme con Messeno in nave . . .” (“at the end of the first scene starts the second. Now Syracusan Menechmus arrives with Misenus on board a ship . . .).” At f. 48v “comincia la quarta scena. Men(echino) Syracusano va cercando il schiavo Meseno e seco parla in questo modo” (“the fourth scene begins. The Syracusan Menechino is looking for the slave Meseno and talks to himself in this way”). Unlike in the fifteenth-century manuscript of Plautus, BAV, Vat. lat. 11469, in which glosses suggest the appropriate tone of the voice to reflect the emotional state of a character,32 in the Codex Sessorianus such glosses are rare. by singing, they spoke all the lines of the already mentioned comedy”). See Ventrone 2007 380. 30  Mogliera is a typically North Italian spelling. Cf. Favaretto 2010 85 n. 1. 31  Other spelling inconsistencies are the names of Irotium, which is spelt mostly as Yrotia, but appears as Irotia at 48r–v, that of the wife, which appears as mogliera at 35r, but in the modern form moglie from 46r onwards. 32  As discussed in Tontini 1999.

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There are only two such instances, both in the first act. At the play’s opening, Menechino’s wife enters the stage and, having spotted her husband in the act of concealing something under his cloak, addresses him indignantly. The presence of Menechino’s wife on stage is a departure from the Plautine original and reflects her different characterisation in the vernacular stage-script. A note at f. 35v which introduces Menechino’s reply reads “Menichino adirato,” (“angered Menechino”). At f. 37r when Peniculo and Menechino are in front of Yrotia’s door, Menechino instructs Penicolo to “knock gently” (“batti piano”) on her door. Penicolo replies “laughing” (“ridendo”). To sum up, the Codex Sessorianus provides fundamental insights into the mise-en-scene of the Ferrarese vernacular adaptations of ancient plays. The extensive stage directions indicate beyond doubt that this text served as a stage-script for one of the many performances of the play at the court of Ercole d’Este. Given the limited use of the apparatus set up for each performance, I am reluctant to agree with Uberti that the actual stage-script was refashioned over time to reflect better the Latin original. It seems more likely that different stage-scripts of various lengths were written to suit individual performances. Illustration In the last quarter of the fifteenth century, the first printed editions of Terence with illustrations were produced. A German translation of Terence’s Eunuchus was published in Ulm in 1486, while complete Latin editions of Terence’s plays were published in Lyon by Trechsel in 1493 and by Grüninger in Strassburg in 1496.33 The 1493 Trechsel edition is of particular interest in relation to the Ferrarese revival of Terence; this is because its editor, Jodocus Badius Ascensius, was in Ferrara at the very time of the staging of classical Roman comedy at the court of Ercole I d’Este. Like the miniatures in manuscripts of Terence, the woodcut illustrations of the Trechsel Terence show a deep understanding of theatrical performance. Badius’ understanding of theatre practice is apparent in the depiction of stage entrances. Characters entering the stage are depicted pulling the door’s curtain aside and taking their first step onto the stage (see Figure 25).34

33  For the German translation of Eunuchus, see the contribution of Chong-Gossard in this volume. For the Trechsel/Badius and Grüninger editions, see also Herrmann 1954 23–55. 34  E.g. Parmeno’s entrance in Eunuchus 2.1; Chaerea in 3.5; Pythias in 5.4 and 5.6; Chaerea just peeping through the curtain in 5.8.

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In some instances, two scenes are presented simultaneously in the same woodcut illustration.35 This happens with monologue scenes: a character, such as Chaerea (Eunuchus 2.3) or Pythias (Eunuchus 5.4) is shown on centre stage, and the same character is depicted again speaking to another character, who has entered the stage at the end of the monologue. In the ensuing scene, most usually a dialogue, the characters are depicted at the back of the stage; their positioning temporally separates them from the earlier monologue. The simultaneous illustration of scenes adds a further dimension to the woodcuts, one which is essentially theatrical and which depicts sequentiality and motion.36 In the depiction of these scenes, Badius is very attentive to gestures; he not only reproduces gestures already known from earlier manuscripts, but also introduces new ones of his own. This practice is particularly evident when illustrating what I call ‘paratragic’ scenes in monologues, as happens at the start of the second scene of the third act of Eunuchus, in which Chaerea is consumed with love, or towards the end of the play (Eunuchus 5.4) when he soliloquizes on stage with Pythias in the background. In both scenes the position of the arms raised to the sky with the hands joined almost in prayer is an overtly tragic gesture. Whether or not the woodcuts of Badius’ edition reflect contemporary theatre practices and, more specifically the stage performances in Ferrara, they are certainly a repository of the long-standing illustrative tradition of Terence.37 Nancy E. Carrick already remarked that the illustrations of Badius’ edition “reflect certain idiosyncrasies of the Γ family of illustrated Terence manuscripts,”38 noting in particular that in twenty-two out of twenty-six cases in which Terence’s manuscripts disagree about scene division, the illustrations follow the γ tradition, to which the illustrated manuscripts of Terence belong. In order to understand the influence of Terence’s miniatures on the humanist exegesis and performances of classical theatre, the production in 35  The practice of illustrating simultaneously more than one scene can be traced back to some of the illustrated Carolingian witnesses of Terence, as indicated by Muir and Turner in their contributions to this volume. 36  This technique is also adopted in later editions of Terence, such as that published in 1568 in Frankfurt. In the Frankfurt Terence, illustrations depict more than two scenes simultaneously. The interaction among characters is represented through vectors. As Peters 2000 181 remarks, the illustration at the opening of Terence’s Andria represent “at once a structure of status relationships, narrative events, and scenic interactions, the vectors seem also to be attempting to represent the motion of the drama in the still image.” 37  For the argument that this is all they are, see Lawrenson and Purkis 1965, who denied any relation between the illustrations in Badius’ edition and contemporary theatre practice. 38  Carrick 1980 89 (unpublished doctoral dissertation).

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Renaissance Italy of illustrated manuscripts of Plautus is particularly helpful. Unlike Terence, whose illustrative tradition dates back to the Carolingian age, there is no evidence for an illustrative tradition for Plautus before the Renaissance.39 Grazia Maria Fachechi has identified a set of six manuscripts, which were produced in a short period between the first and the third quarter of the fifteenth century.40 Four of these illustrated witnesses were produced in Italian Renaissance courts: BAV, Ottob. lat. 2005 comes from Ferrara,41 Madrid, BNE, Vitr. 22.5 from the neighbouring Mantua, BML, Plut. 36.41 from Florence, while the witness London, BL Burney 227 is also believed to be of North Italian provenance.42 The other illustrated manuscripts of Plautus from this period, BnF, lat. 7890 and BnF, lat. 16234, were produced in France. The illustrations of the manuscripts of Italian provenance are very simple; some merely present an initial illustration that depicts the play’s subject matter. This is the case of the BAV, Ottob. lat. 2005, which contains the eight plays of Plautus known already before 1429 and was written in Ferrara in 1468, as indicated in the colophon at f. 107v.43 On the title page of each play there appears an explanatory image, from the simple depiction of two donkeys to illustrate Asinaria to the more narrative image of Euclio in the act of burying the pot of gold in Aulularia.44 Madrid, BNE, Vitr. 22.5, decorated by the Ferrarese artist Guglielmo Giraldi, and London, BL Burney 227, do not include decorative elements and historiated initials; instead they present illustrations that can be related to the plot of the play, but do not strictly represent any particular scene.45

39  Fachechi 2000 22. Fachechi 2002 has provided a catalogue of six manuscripts. The manuscripts are BAV, Ottob. lat. 2005; Florence, BML Plut. 36.41; London, BL Burney 227; Madrid, BN Vitr. 22.5; Paris, BnF, lat. 7890 and BnF, lat. 16234. 40  Fachechi 2000 23. 41  A detailed description of BAV, Ottob. lat. 2005 is in Tontini 2002 337–32. See also Danese and Fachechi 1996 427. 42  De la Mere suggested that it could have been written in Padua due to the correspondences between one of the two scribes and the hand of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS. Canon. Misc. 554, as specified in the detailed description of the manuscript available from the British Library website (British Library 2005). See also Fachechi 2000 23. 43  Scriptum Ferrarie anno domini nostri ihesu Christi MCCCC sexagesimo octavo. Fachechi 2002 181 argues that the manuscript was written by two hands, but within a short chronological span, and that folios 61–107 were written in 1468, as indicated by the colophon. See also Tontini 2002. 44  Fachechi 2002 179–84. 45  Fachechi 2002 188–91. On Giraldi see Mariani Canova 1995.

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The production of the Italian illustrated manuscripts of Plautus, which is limited to a geographically restricted area and occurs within a short chronological span, is concurrent with the staging of Plautine plays in the courts of Ferrara and Mantua. This appears to be a clear attempt at emulating the far richer illustrations of the manuscript tradition of Terence. The influence of this illustrative tradition over the newly-created illustrations to Plautus’ manuscripts becomes evident when one turns to the French witnesses, BnF, lat. 7890 (see Figure 26)46 and BnF, lat. 16234. They are enriched by illuminations that illustrate particular scenes of Amphitruo and Asinaria (which is illustrated only in the latter). In BnF, lat. 7890 the illustration on f. 1r is divided into a three-part frontispiece depicting scenes from the play: the Thebans besieging the city of the Teleboans, their surrendering to Amphitruo, Alcmena sitting on a throne with a figure, perhaps Mercury, standing next to her, and Juppiter and Alcmena embracing each other while Hercules in the cradle strangles the snakes sent by Hera. The illustrated scenes in BnF, lat. 16234 are similar, except that the scenes are presented in the same quadrant in a clockwise order starting from the top left. The narrative nature of these images, which are more than merely decorative, set them apart from those of the Italian illustrated manuscripts of Plautus. Both manuscripts were written in the fifteenth century at Bourges, where Jean de Montreuil was particularly influential and proactive in reviving the glory of classical theatre. De Montreuil was closely associated with Laurent de Premierfait, who probably had an important role in advising the artists of the Terence Parisian manuscript BnF, lat. 7907A.47 The long-standing illustrative tradition of Terence, which became more widely known through the first printed editions at the end of the fifteenth century, seems to have had a major impact on the humanist understanding of ancient performance. More importantly, it must have provided guidelines for the contemporary mise-en-scene; the production of illustrated Plautine manuscripts reflects this trend. Indeed, in France, where Terence’s illustrative tradition was reinterpreted to suit a contemporary audience, as in the illuminated BnF, lat. 7907A and Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal 664, Plautus’ illustrated manuscripts acquired a more sophisticated format.48

46  See Avril 1996 96, 404. 47  On the role of Jean de Montreuil in the rediscovery of classical theatre see Avril 1996 87–98. On the correspondence between de Montreuil and Laurent de Premierfait see Bozzolo 1984 112–14 [=2004 164–5]; Hedeman 2011 28 with n. 5. 48  On this process of reviving the past, with particular reference to BnF, 7907A see Hedeman 2011.

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Performance Calliopius Recitator In a discussion of Renaissance stage practice, the question of whether or not Renaissance performances featured an individual recitator, with the other actors miming their part, is one that must be addressed. The belief that in ancient Rome it was the playwrights themselves (poetae comoedi et tragoedi) who ‘sang’ the texts (canentes), while mute actors acted them out through gestures and masks, originated from the Late-Antique grammarian Isidore of Seville.49 This notion became widespread throughout the Middle Ages and well into the Early Renaissance; it can be found, for instance, in Nicholas Trevet’s influential commentary on Seneca, which was written between 1314 and 1317.50 A recitator features also in some illuminated manuscripts of Terence and Seneca.51 In a twelfth-century manuscript of Terence’s plays, Tours, BM 924 (f. 13v, see Figure 24), the recitator could possibly be identified with Terence himself. He is also represented in the frontispiece of a slightly earlier witness, BAV, Vat. lat. 3305 (f. 8v).52 In this manuscript the figures stand within an architectural frame and are identified by name tags. Terence sits on the far left while Terence’s adversarii (“detractors”) are represented by two characters, one of whom is identified as Luscius Lanuvinus.53 The figure in the middle is Calliopius, who reads from a book on a lectern. As Wright remarks,54 the frontispiece presents an entirely original iconography, independent of the illustrative tradition found in other early manuscripts of Terence. This illustration seems likely to reflect a Medieval understanding of ancient performances.55 The notion of a recitator is also present in Angelo Decembrio’s De politia litteraria.56 This work was written in Ferrara under the patronage of Leonello 49  Isid. etym. 18.44. See Kelly 1993 36–50. 50  For Trevet’s commentary on Seneca see Kelly 1993 133. 51  For the depiction of a recitator in manuscripts of Terence, see the contribution of Radden Keefe in this volume (nos. 3, 24, 34, 37, 45). A recitator is also depicted in the fourteenthcentury illustrated manuscript of Seneca’ Hercules furens, BAV Urb. lat. 355 at f. 1v, as noted by Kelly 1997 18 n. 41. 52  A detailed study of this manuscript is in Wright 1993. 53  Ter. An. 6–7; Eu. 2–24; Hau. 22. Luscius Lanuvinus is identified by Donatus as the anonymous malevolus vetus poeta to whom Terence refers in various contexts. 54  Wright 1993 190. 55  As argued in Raffaelli 2002. 56  De politia litteraria first appeared in print in 1540. This printed edition (A) was reprinted in 1562 (B); both editions were based on a Vatican manuscript now stolen. A second extant Vatican manuscript, BAV Vat. Lat. 1794 (V), probably belongs to a different branch

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d’Este, brother and predecessor of Ercole I. Under Leonello d’Este, and with the guidance of Guarino of Verona, ancient comedy and in particular the plays of Terence became an essential part of the school curriculum.57 Decembrio’s brief discussion of the ancient staging of dramatic plays is pivotal, as it reflects the understanding of his contemporaries. Decembrio remarks that Terence was the first one to introduce the recitator as a character (persona) in its own rights.58 He clearly sets apart the recitator from the histriones. The recitator introduces the audience to the play and invites their attention and benevolence: proinde recitator in Terentii persona, cum bonas polliceretur se daturum comoedias [Witten fabulas],59 ad hanc primam Andriam diligenter inspectandam populum invitat (De politia litteraria 2.21=V f. 50r). Therefore the recitator is in the guise of Terence, when he promises that he will put on stage good comedies. He invites the people to watch diligently this first play Andria. The function of the recitator as presented in De politia litteraria seems to coincide exactly with that of the personified Prologus, which has been extensively discussed in this volume by Gianni Guastella. The recitator appears as a character in his own right at the opening and at the conclusion of the play, mediating between the fictional world onstage and the real world, negotiating the attention and sympathy of the audience, and introducing them to of the tradition. Currently the only full edition, with translation in German, is that of Witten 2002. An excerpted edition of De politia literaria, edited by Anthony Grafton and Christopher Celenza, is due to appear as part of I Tatti Renaissance Library. Celenza kindly informed me that the forthcoming edition would not include chapter 21. 57  For an excellent overview of the importance of classical Roman comedy in the Ferrarese school curriculum and the opposition of religious authority to its alleged immorality see Villoresi 1994. 58  For a discussion of the Prologus as a character in its own right already in some of Plautus’ plays see Guastella’s contribution to this volume. 59  I have printed here the variant comoedias preserved by the Vatican manuscript (V). Witten prefers the reading fabulas that appears in the printed editions. However, fabula may be referred to both tragedies and comedies and it seems to me that Decembrio is fully aware of the features of different genres. Indeed, earlier in this chapter he paraphrases a passage from Cicero’s De officiis 1.114 in which the author comments on the fact that actors would choose to impersonate characters that suit their talents. He concludes by saying that this applies only to tragic roles (eae autem sunt tragoediae, “but these are tragedies.”).

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the play. Whether this became an established practice in Early Renaissance performances of ancient drama is hard to tell; documentary evidence, however, indicates that this was the case in Ferrara. An element of particular interest in part of the vernacular manuscript tradition of Plautus is the identification of the recitator with Calliopius. Calliopius seems to have been a Late-Antique grammarian who edited Terence’s plays some time around the fifth century. The manuscripts in both the γ and δ traditions of Terence were copied from the Late-Antique original containing his name in the subscriptions to each play, and they are therefore referred to as “Calliopian manuscripts.”60 The occurrence of Calliopius’ name both in Latin and vernacular manuscripts of Plautus prompted Ritschl to suggest a Calliopian recensio for the Plautine tradition as well.61 In reality, this is a rather localised phenomenon, limited to witnesses of North Italian provenance produced in the fifteenth century.62 The vernacular manuscripts that likewise refer to the role of Calliopius as the “annunciatore,” the one who introduces the play, are those that were probably written for stage performance. Two out of the three witnesses that have preserved the text of Menechini, Modena, Biblioteca Estense, it. 836 and Rome, BNC, Sessoriano 413, have ‘Calliopius’ as the person who introduces the play to the audience; the Estense manuscript reads at f. 85r: “Calliopio annunciatore proferisse largumentum” (“Calliopius the announcer spoke the argument”).63 In the Codex Sessorianus the prologue of Menechini is reduced to a brief summary of the plotline preceded by the stage direction: “Calyopio anuntia la Comedia in questo modo como segue di sotto” (“Calliopius introduces the comedy in this way as follows below”, f. 34r). Once again, the conflation of Terentian and Plautine traditions occurs when Plautus’ plays are brought back to the stage. The Recitator on the Ferrarese Stage The presence of Calliopius as the “announcer” of the vernacular plays of Plautus and Terence raises the question of whether this role coincided fully with that of the Medieval recitator. We must turn once again to the scattered documentary evidence. 60  See Grant 1986 4. 61  Ritschl as quoted by Tontini 2002 338. But see the counterarguments in Questa 1982 42 n. 70. 62  In BAV, Ottob. lat. 2005, Casina and Cistellaria both end with the mention of Calliopius. For Casina cf. f. 79v (“Calliopius”); for Cistellaria f. 97r (“recitator Calliopus” [sic]), as noted in Tontini 2002 338. 63  Uberti 1985 13.

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In 1502 on the occasion of the lavish celebrations for the wedding of Alfonso d’Este, son of Duke Ercole, to Lucrezia Borgia, Niccolò Cagnolo, who was part of the retinue of the Ambassador of Milan, reports as follows: E circa alle 24 furono rappresentate cinque comedie con tutte le sue persone larvate accomodate alla recitazione delle comedie. Et ivi avanti li Illustrissimi Signori Oratori e Gentiluomini fu da uno di loro nomato Plauto recitato lo argomento solo di dette comedie.64 Around midnight five comic plays were staged with all of their masked characters set to perform the plays. And there in front of illustrious ambassadors and gentlemen one of them named Plautus spoke the argumenta only of these plays. This excerpt provides us with a rare insight into the staging of classical plays in Ferrara. Cagnolo remarks that only one actor spoke, introducing the argumentum, the plot, of five Plautine comedies. A letter of Isabella d’Este confirms that this introduction to the Plautine plays was spoken by an actor in the guise of Plautus (“da uno in persona de Plauto”).65 It is tempting to present the hypothesis that the plays were spoken by a recitator and mimed by the other actors; but later in the letter Nicolò reported that when a full play was performed, that is Plautus’ Epidico, the characters appeared to be engaged in a dialogue (“tra loro parlando.”)66 The fact that each character spoke his or her own part is in any case incontestably proven by a letter of Francesco Bagnacavallo to Sigismondo d’Este relating the performance of Eunucho in 1499. The premiere of 1499 did not attract the same enthusiastic reviews; apparently the performance was not a success due to the fact that some of the actors had forgotten their lines.67 These testimonies uncontestably prove that the role of the recitator is limited to introducing the play, presenting the argumentum to the audience. Certainly this must have been a practical and necessary provision in Ferrara where the staging of classical drama was accompanied by intermezzi that acted as dividers between acts, segmenting the dramatic action and bringing the duration of each performance to a staggering four to five hours. In Renaissance Ferrara, Calliopius becomes the embodiment of the Prologue itself—he is the one who introduces the play to the audience. This process of assimilation stems from 64  Cagnolo 1867 48. 65  Bregoli-Russo 1997 11. 66  Cagnolo 1867 49. 67  See Coppo 1968 55.

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Terence’s illustrative tradition and from original visual representations of the role of Calliopius by Medieval illustrators, like that of BAV, Vat. lat. 3305, which were later incorporated in the woodcuts of Badius’ 1493 edition of Terence. Conclusion Early but influential scholarly views have branded the vernacular adaptations of Roman comedy at the court of Ercole I in Ferrara as mediocre products of the humanists’ painstaking attempt to emulate the classical world.68 But when the Ferrarese intellectuals engaged in turning the plays of Plautus and Terence into vernacular verse, they specifically attempted to produce adaptations that would suit a Ferrarese contemporary readership and audience. In a letter of 18 February 1479 Battista Guarino addresses the Duke Ercole’s criticism of his too liberal translations of classical plays. Guarino defended his adaptation of Plautus’ Aulularia stating: . . . ma parevami molto melgiore translatione . . . ridure la cosa ad la moderna, che volendo esprimere parolla in parolla fare una translatione obscura et puocho saporita.69 . . . it seemed to me a much better translation . . . by giving the text a modern take, rather than produce a translation that is obscure and without wit by trying to translate word for word. The scant information that can be gleaned from contemporary chronicles and epistolary correspondence allows us to reconstruct only a fragmentary picture. These sparse references nevertheless are a testimony to the importance accorded by Ferrarese intellectuals to the mise-en-scene. In the attempt to revive these classical texts for the stage, the rich illustrative tradition of Terence, made more accessible through the printed editions, must have become an important point of reference, as the North Italian production of illustrated manuscripts of Plautus seems to indicate. Noteworthy also is the progressive importance accorded to the vernacular text which is at first an ad hoc product disposable after each performance but eventually becomes a play in its own right. This gradual independence from the Latin original no doubt represents a fundamental stepping-stone towards the development of modern theatre. 68  See, in particular, the highly negative judgment of Sanesi, Rossi and D’Amico mentioned by Rossetto 1996 7 n. 2. 69  Modena, Biblioteca Estense, cod. It. 834.

part 4 Readerships

⸪

CHAPTER 10

Terence’s Audience and Readership in the Ninth to Eleventh Centuries Claudia Villa In his introduction to a very recent collection of essays, The Classics in the Medieval and Renaissance Classroom, which bears the very significant subtitle The Role of Ancient Texts in the Arts Curriculum as Revealed by Surviving Manuscripts and Early Printed Books, John Ward has addressed some fundamental questions about the role of glosses. He describes the proliferation of commentaries and reportationes (student reports on the teaching of a magister), then remarks: “Glosses are harder to explain. Were they added to a private copy of the text as the master lectured, or were they copied into a private copy of the text, from a reportatio, or authoritative version, away from the classroom?”1 The number of classical manuscripts that contain glosses and notes and the quantity and quality of comments indeed beg the questions: ‘who wrote these texts?’, ‘where?’, and ‘why?’ I wish to contribute to this enquiry with some thoughts that may raise further questions on the role of the reading of secular classical texts in Medieval societies. I shall also make some suggestions on the implications of the presence amongst these of an author such as Terence, to whom exactly thirty years ago I dedicated a study that surveyed his extensive manuscript tradition. The catalogue of the manuscripts of his plays and commentaries vouches first of all for Terence’s extraordinary popularity since the distant Carolingian period, which is almost comparable to that of Vergil and Horace. It confirms that his plays had an important iconographical tradition, were repeatedly commented upon and, in some passages, were even annotated with neumes. The lectura Terentii poses problems that I could not resolve with a pioneering survey of manuscript materials, of which my study was the first catalogue. But I can now add some further remarks on the rich and important tradition of this ancient playwright between the ninth and the eleventh centuries amongst an audience that it is necessary to acknowledge. Study of glosses and exegetical works leads in broader terms to reflection on the conspicuous fortune and diffusion of secular authors. A combined study of the characteristics of the 1  Ward 2013 5.

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manuscripts that preserve their works and then the commissioners of these books and their owners, whenever that may be established with relative certainty, allows one to identify book collections and cultural centres. The extremely high standards of production of the illuminated manuscripts of Terence that have survived immediately compel one to identify an audience which was the beneficiary and user of them. Drawing some initial conclusions about an author whose conspicuous presence in Medieval libraries is unquestionable,2 we can consider how the comic playwright offered to his readership six comedies of secular content, originally written for the Roman stage, according to criteria that Medieval readers knew very well. The accessus and commentaries provided accurate information about theatrical representation in the ancient period, to the point of specifying the models for the actors’ costumes, or the custom of setting up on stage two altars for the gods.3 In contrast to a common scholarly assumption, the Medieval era was not unaware of the intrinsic purpose of theatrical texts and continued to maintain the custom of staging dramatic scenes during festivals (ludi) in which a recitator read aloud the verses while actors mimed them. We are able to identify the readership of Terence since, as it is well known, the first explicit mention of his plays in the early Carolingian period can be found in the book catalogue contained in manuscript Berlin, Staatsbibl. Diez B 66 (end of the eighth century), which has long been considered a product of Charlemagne’s library.4 The codex, which is written in part by an Italian copyist, includes many and diverse materials, including a grammar book that uses for its examples Italian geographical names, as well as the poetic correspondence between Charlemagne and Peter of Pisa, an exchange that occurred when the old grammar teacher resided in Italy. Other elements, such as the inclusion of a eulogy for the victory of King Pepin over the Avars, and similarities with various traditions which can be linked to Bobbio and Verona, seem to indicate that the entire manuscript was written and used in Northern Italy, possibly within the itinerant court (moving between Pavia and Verona) of Pepin, the son of Charlemagne whose death in 810 antedated that of his father.5 The Terence listed in that book catalogue was most likely a Late-Antique codex, without 2  See my catalogue of Terentian manuscripts in Villa 1984. 3  Villa 1984 138 with n. 2 and 149. 4  Despite many uncertainties I tentatively accepted Bischoff’s suggestion in Villa 1984 1–3. 5  I have presented all the elements which together confirm the North Italian origin of the traditions contained in the Codex Diez in Villa 1995. Further consideration of the relationship between the Magnificat reproduced there and the Veronese Psalter can be found in Licht 2001 21. In my opinion some of the variants can be explained if one considers that the copyist

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running titles and apparently with Terence’s plays presented in a sequence not documented elsewhere.6 It is therefore worth noting that Terence’s plays continued to circulate in the Carolingian courts, as is vouched by the magnificent Vaticanus Latinus 3868, an illustrated copy of an Antique model. This manuscript was long attributed to Corbie since the names of both the copyist and the artist of the miniatures appear on a list of monks who moved from Corbie to the newly founded Corvey in Saxony in 822.7 The manuscript, however, was probably written by two laymen (as the absence of a title that relates them to any ecclesiastic hierarchy or monastic order indicates), the copyist Hrodgarius (‘Hrodgarius scripsit’, f. 92r) and the artist Aldericus (‘Adelricus me fecit’, f. 3r).8 The quality of the illustrations has led scholars to associate this manuscript with the court of Aachen in the third decade of the ninth century, following the authoritative views of Bernhard Bischoff and Florentine Mütherich. From my part, I can only add that the names of an Aldricus comes and that of a Hrotgarius vassallus appear in documents that relate to the chancery of Emperor Lothair around the middle of the century.9 Some doubts could in fact be raised about an attribution of the manuscript to the royal library of the elderly Louis the Pious. The emperor, according to his biographer Thegan, soon abandoned the reading of classical texts that he had enthusiastically embraced in his youth: Poetica carmina gentilia, que in iuventute didicerat, respuit, nec legere, nec audire, nec docere voluit (“He despised the poetic verses of the pagans, which he had studied in his youth, and wished neither to read them, nor hear them, nor teach them”).10 In any case, his other biographer Astronomus opened his Vita Hludowici with the quote ne quid nimis from Terence’s Andria (Nam id arbitror adprime in vita esse utile, ut nequid nimis, “I believe that the best principle in life is nothing in excess”, An. 60–1 [trans. J. Barsby]). The saying that was available in the Vat. Lat. 3868 must have been very familiar to the emperor as it described the lifestyle that he had imposed on himself:  of the Codex Diez transcribed under dictation, while the text was read aloud with a modern Greek pronunciation. 6  The reconstruction of the order of the plays in this lost manuscript (Andria, Eunuchus, Hecyra, Heautontimorumenos) is discussed at Villa 1984 1. For discussion of the order of the plays in the earliest codices, see also the contribution of Monda in this volume. 7  As argued in Jones and Morey 1931 1.33–5. 8  For the illustrations I refer the reader to the accounts of Wright 1996c and Wright 2006. For a more recent bibliography see Pellegrin et al. 1975–2010 3.2 340–3. 9  Schieffer 1966 234 and 291. 10  Tremp 1995 200 and 265.

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Quid enim eius sobrietate sobrius que alio nomine frugalitas sive temperantia nominantur. Ita enim ea usus est, ut illud vetustissimum proverbium et ad coelum usque celebratum ei fuerit familiarissimum, quo dicitur ‘Ne quid nimis.’11 What, indeed, was more sober than his sobriety, which is otherwise called thriftiness or moderation. Indeed he was accustomed to it, as he was very familiar with that very old and widely celebrated proverb that says: ‘nothing in excess.’ To understand how a Late-Antique archetype was retrieved and faithfully copied within the environment of the court of Aachen, I believe one has to think about the frequent travel to Italy of the emperor Lothair, son of Louis the Pious, and especially the active role of his cousin Wala of Corbie, who was also the Abbey of Bobbio, where he apparently died in 836. The Vatican manuscript or its model were utilised in the production of manuscripts Paris, BnF, lat. 7900 (Corbie, middle or third quarter of the ninth century), BnF, lat. 7899 (produced at Rheims for an anonymous patron in the third quarter of the ninth century) and Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, H 75 inf. [formerly S.P.4 bis] (dated to the tenth century and produced in the area of Rheims).12 It is important to note that these manuscripts of Terence, enriched with illustrations from a LateAntique archetype probably prepared in the fifth century, were all produced within few decades in a geographically restricted area. This area includes the most vibrant centres of Carolingian courts, in that part of the Frankish kingdom where the ancient illustrated manuscripts of Vergil were diligently preserved,13 and where, conceivably, the archetype of the illuminated manuscripts of Terence could have been kept as well. In general terms these Carolingian copies faithfully reproduced the visual characteristics of the Late-Antique model, and they required explanatory glosses concerning theatrical conventions for the benefit of the readership— for example, the masks worn by the actors of the palliata—and about ancient stage performances, according to a classicising approach which is shared across several generations between the ninth and the tenth centuries. It is also worth remarking that BnF, lat. 7899 was produced in a period contemporary to the attempts by Loup of Ferrières, a high-ranked officer linked to Charles the Bald, 11  Tremp 1995 282. 12  The most recent description of the manuscript is Ravasi 1996. 13  The Vergilian codex which is now BAV, Vat. lat. 3867 was previously held at Saint-Denis, while BAV, Vat. lat. 3225 was in Tours in the ninth century: see Wright 1996a and 1996b.

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to retrieve in Rome a complete copy of Donatus’ commentary on Terence.14 BnF, lat. 7899 was soon amended by someone who showed familiarity with juridical customs; indeed, the corrector used Tironian notes, the shorthand system of Carolingian chanceries. The apparatus of glosses added towards the end of the century, which contains Donatian scholia (as has long been noted), attests to the fact that these deluxe manuscripts rapidly became educational tools, presumably in the same milieu for which they were produced. Other information can be gleaned from the history of the well-known manuscript Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, ms H75 inf., which has often been reproduced, including in a complete photographic edition.15 This manuscript was produced in the area of Rheims, the historical site of the chancery and the imperial archives: its most recent dating to the mid tenth century, proposed by Bernhard Bischoff,16 prompts us to assess carefully the presence in it of portions of Eugraphius’ commentary, which was transcribed on inserted folios at the end of the tenth century. Eugraphius’ commentary was well known to Gerbert of Aurillac, a teacher at Rheims where, according to the testimony of his biographer, he read Terence in his school and introduced his pupils to the stylistic features of the comic genre.17 It was in Rheims that Gerbert of Aurillac asked the scholar Airaldus to copy Eugraphius’ commentary.18 Considering these coincidences, it seems reasonable to correlate the beautiful Ambrosian manuscript to the teaching activities of Gerbert at a time when, according to Helgaud of Fleury, there was being educated at his school the son of Hugh Capet, the future scholar-prince Robert the Pious, a man whose learning was acknowledged even in private documents that bear the subscription regnante Rotberto rege theosopho (“in the reign of King Robert, the theosophus”).19 Gerbert, who was secretary to Charles of Lorraine, the last representative of the Carolingian line, was involved at Rheims in all the complex dynastic and familial affairs of the 1080s that favoured the rise of the Capetians. Due to his 14  For the scholia, see Wessner 1921. The letter written by Loup of Ferrières to Pope Benedict III requesting various works, including Donatus’ commentary, is dated between 855 and 858 and is reproduced in Levillain 1964 2.120–5. 15  Bethe 1903. 16  Bischoff 2004 156 does not ascribe it to a specifically identified scriptorium and remarks: “Wohl unter Reimser Einfluss, X. Jh., gegen Mitte.” 17  Hoffmann 2000 194. On Gerbert’s innovative approach towards the reading of classical authors see Villa 2000 161–2, and now Villa 2009 17–37. 18  Gerbert’s seventh letter and his knowledge of Eugraphius were already noted by Lesne 1938 260. I have studied the Milanese manuscript and advanced the hypothesis that the Ambrosian Terence could be related to the school of Gerbert in Villa and Petoletti 2007. 19  The folio that bears the subscription rege theosopho is quoted in Bezzola 1958 308 n. 2.

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close connection with the reigning dynasties and the high offices that he held in the chanceries, he was said by his detractors to ‘make and unmake kings.’20 The copying of the codex with Eugraphius’ supplement can be placed in the crucial decades in which the need to provide commentaries for the classical texts which were destined for the school curriculum became more pressing. This led to a re-elaboration and re-utilisation of materials from these ancient traditions, to make them more current and to put forward a different exegetical approach that focused on the stylistic and standard features of literary works.21 And not only did Gerbert renew the school curriculum at Rheims, where a member of the Frankish high aristocracy was educated, namely the future king Robert the Pious, but the Vergil Paris, BnF, lat. 8069, a codex produced in the area of Rheims with materials that can be related to the local school, has preserved a text of unique relevance to the tradition of Terence. This manuscript contains an important dialogue known as Terentius et Delusor. Terence and Delusor are engaged in a discussion over the quality and the reading of Terence’s plays. This dispute is undeniably an exercise of great interest; it appears to be tailored for an audience who can appreciate the many elements of criticism that the Delusor raises against Terence, who has been characterised as an old man. The Delusor criticises the complexity of Terence’s metre and the idleness of his comedies, which are tiresome and therefore unable to provide enjoyment. The Delusor freely uses the categories of delectatio and utilitas;22 one must insist on the idea that Terence’s plays were meant to entertain the audience. Indeed the scholia to Terence’s comedies reaffirm these very qualities when stating, Utilitas est delectatio, nullum enim genus carminis adeo delectabile. Sed cum comicis scriptoribus morum utilitatem velitis assignare, iterum recurrite ad modum superius assignatum de materia agenda et ibi quasi

20  A rich series of anecdotes is related in Havet 1889 xix; for the commissioning of Eugraphius’ commentary, see idem 5–6. 21  For some observations concerning manuscripts originally produced as luxury commodities and subsequently adopted to school teaching with the insertion of glosses, as well as the ‘modern’ teachers’ desire to bring the exegetic apparatus up to date, see Villa 2003 70–2. 22  I studied the Parisian Vergil, BnF, lat. 8069 and its interrelations with the area of Rheims, where the dialogue Terentius et Delusor could have possibly be written, in Villa 1984 67–98. The dialogue has been recently edited with a translation and a commentary by Giovini 2007.

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in speculo et forma vitae communis, quid vitari, quid teneri debeat, invenietis.23 Usefulness is enjoyment, indeed no other poetic genre is so enjoyable. But when you want to ascribe to comic playwrights a moral utility, run back again to the method of handling material assigned to you previously, and there, almost as if in the mirror and in the image of everyday life, you will find what must be avoided and what must be preserved. I do not believe that the dialogue Terentius et Delusor was intended for an audience of monks within a school that catered for their education, as it is too easily argued. In a cultural environment which it is possible to redefine, as far as Terence’s fortune between the ninth and tenth centuries is concerned, it is difficult to locate this scholastic exercise, preoccupied as it is with the formal features of ancient plays, in a monastic environment. The Parisian codex of Terentius et Delusor contains a list of books owned by a certain ‘Domnus F.’ and which were well known to Fulbert of Chartres, a pupil of Gerbert d’Aurillac. This codex is also linked through a series of texts to the Parisian manuscript of Vergil, BnF, lat. 7930, which mentions the name of Gerbert in the formula Gerberti laudem replicat liber iste per orbem, quem solus nostriis contulit armariis (“That book repeats the praises of Gerbert throughout the world, which he himself presented to our library”) and preserves the anonymous Altercatio nani et leporis, which is considered an epic parody with an animal featuring as the protagonist.24 I have suggested that the school of Gerbert and the Delusor dialogue could be related. To complete the analysis that I have presented and on the basis of the work’s rhetoric of contrast and its different levels of comicality, I advance the hypothesis that its audience should be identified with the secular high aristocracy which was keen to entrust the education of its offspring to officials and intellectuals like Gerbert so that they could receive a thorough education in the liberal arts. During the same decades as a branch of the Terentian tradition complete with illustrations was being utilised in Rheims, the comic playwright also enjoyed extraordinary popularity across the Rhine among the members of the 23  Villa 1984 89. 24  A recent publication examines the Altercatio along with the poems Within piscator and De lombardo et lumaca; see Cardelle de Hartmann and Stotz 2012 508. I believe, however, that since parodic texts must always be related to the their targets, the Altercatio should be studied by scrutinising the political circumstances and the locations where the Vergilian manuscript in which this work happened to be transcribed was circulated.

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Ottonian court. This brings us to the manuscript Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 6. 27, in which one can find the subscriptions of three adulescentule curiales who bear the family names of the women of the Saxon imperial house. The Oxford manuscript, which preserves the rare alter exitus to Andria, is a testament to the cultural level of these aristocratic girls, their interests and their literary skills, but it also casts a new light on the activities of Canoness Hrotsvitha, who set about to write her own plays with the determination to counter the frivolous attitude of the court, which was indulging in them. Amongst this aristocratic family the Chancellor of the empire, Archbishop Bruno of Cologne, dedicated himself to the subject, focusing attention not so much on topic and content as on formal and stylistic matters. This approach was considered exemplary by his pupil and biographer Ruotger, who openly emphasized this in a famous passage: Scurrilia et mimica, quae in comediis et tragediis a personis variis edita quidam concrepantes risu se infinito concutiunt, ipse semper serio lectitabat; materiam pro minimo, auctoritatem in verborum compositionibus pro maximo reputabat.25 Those scurrilous and farcical jokes which are told in comedies and tragedies by various characters, which some people would shout out, bending over with unrestrained laughter, he himself always read aloud with a serious composure; he had very little consideration for the subject matter, but a lot for the authority of the literary composition. The interest in stylistic features seems to have been predominant in this period and to have had a specific pedagogic aim, if Ruotger and Richer, who were so attentive to the lessons of their teachers, deemed it important to mention it in their respective biographies. The chancellor Bruno, according to Ruotger, used always to take his library with him; and it is also interesting to note that in the tenth century ‘saddlebag’ manuscripts of Terence were characterised by a reduced format and the absence of commentaries.26 In documenting the reading of Terence within these aristocratic circles, I would like to point out how family relations can also explain cultural affinity and even circulation of books and ideas. Bruno of Cologne not only was the chancellor of the empire and the brother of the Emperor Otto I of Saxony. 25  I have discussed in detail this manuscript and its female audience in Villa 1984 99–118; see also Giovini 2003. 26  For example, the Terence manuscript from Oxford, Brasenose College MS 18, which is a travel book, easy to handle and suited for a gentleman’s leisurely reading. Villa 1984 389–90.

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He was also Duke of Lorraine, and took part in the complex French dynastic quarrels; he was related by marriage to both Carolingians and Capetians on his sisters’ side. One of them, Edwig, was the mother of Hugh Capet, who was in turn the father of Robert the Pious, one of Gerbert’s pupils. Bruno died in Rheims in 965, after achieving reconciliation between his nephews Lothair, King of France, and Hugh Capet in the treaty of Compiègne.27 The rhetorical-stylistic readings of Terence, so often practised in the tenth century, certainly focused attention on the ‘comic’ stylistic register, within which one could include erotic subject matter. This observation is corroborated by Servius’ commentary on Vergil’s Aeneid, where the grammarian states that the fourth book of the poem is in comic style because it deals with the love that blossoms between Aeneas and Dido: Totus in consiliis et subtilitatibus est; nam paene comicus stilus est: nec mirum, ubi de amore tractatur (“The whole [book] is about plans and subtleties; indeed it is in almost comic style, which is hardly surprising since it deals with love”; Serv. Aen. 4.1); the dramatic ending to this love story, with the queen of Carthage committing suicide and cursing Aeneas, does not seem to affect this concise statement. Thus the Terence manuscript Valenciennes, BM 448 (eleventh century), owned by the library of Saint-Amand Abbey, includes the lover’s lament from Eunuchus 292–7 as an adventitious text with neumatic notation (f. 116v).28 We can ascribe the manuscript London, BL, Harley 2750 (eleventh century) to a courtly environment with a higher degree of certainty. In this witness the love declaration from Andria 694–7 (f. 13r) is accompanied by neumatic notation, exactly as in the manuscript Wien, Österreichisches Nationalbibliothek 85, f. 68, a South German witness complete with High German glosses that are characterised by a Bavarian or South German dialect patina.29 The copyist of the Harleian codex might have been a chancery officer, since he shows himself to be conversant with the principles of cryptography, which was sometimes used in the writing of secret correspondence. Indeed he expresses his labour in the writing of the manuscript using the key learnt from Martin of Laon: Quk pbtfr fs cpsmk lbus skt tkbk m brgknf lkbrk, or Qui pater es cosmi laus sit tibi margine libri (“to you who are the father of the cosmos may be praise in this book’s margins”). It is also worth noting that the Harleian Terence, which is related to other manuscripts of German origin,30 preserves among the adventitious texts on folio 94v, the line “Las, qui n(on) sun sparuir astur” (“Oh to be a 27  The biography of Bruno of Cologne was written by his collaborator Ruotger. It was edited by Ott 1951. 28  Villa 1984 423. 29  Villa 1984 441. 30  Villa 1984 4, 29–31.

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sparrow-hawk, a goshawk”), which is an early (middle or third quarter of the eleventh century) and remarkable testimony of a quintessentially Romance love theme.31 Given the presence of Terentian manuscripts in German aristocratic settings, it is very plausible to suggest an interrelation between the Francophone and the Germanic worlds, bearing in mind the wedding between Emperor Henry III of the house of Franconia to Agnes of Poitou, daughter of William, Duke of Aquitaine, who, following the death of her husband, was involved politically in a difficult regency on behalf of her son.32 The tradition of Terence, even during the ninth and tenth centuries, requires us to reconsider with more attention the use of his plays within aristocratic circles, and in the secular chanceries where the officers destined for civic power were educated. But more generally, we must conclude that the problem of the circulation and use of many secular authors—vacillating between delectatio and scholastic utilitas—is far from solved. Whenever one examines the origin of classical manuscripts prior to the twelfth century, as observed by Birger Munk Olsen, it is surprising to learn that in a large number of cases the provenance, as indicated by the ownership notice inserted when a manuscript entered in a monastic library, does not correspond to the place of origin of the codex, which is often unknown. The same observation can be made concerning the origin of the earliest manuscripts of classical authors, kept at the Vatican Library and described in a series of catalogues established by Elisabeth Pellegrin. It is clear that numerous manuscripts of ancient authors were acquired by donation or bequest by the monastic libraries that were happy to receive and preserve them. Those who commissioned them and their readers, the aristocrats and intellectuals employed in secular chanceries and courts, on the other hand, have inadvertently concealed from us the real reasons for the production of these manuscripts, which were sometimes extremely costly, as in the case of the illuminated Terence manuscripts. I believe it is important to revisit some preconceptions and to identify audiences and readership outside the monastic profession. This would enable us to gain a deeper understanding of the role played by the surviving ancient texts in the development of political and literary models within the new Medieval Latin and Romance cultures. 31  These lines have been edited by Bischoff 1984 266–8. This short text suddenly became part of the canon of the first examples of the ‘new literature’; see Asperti 2006 234–5 and 258–60, Di Girolamo 2010 7–44 (with earlier bibliography). 32  Meneghetti 1997 189–93; Lazzerini 2010 30.

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Addendum to the Catalogue of Terentian Manuscripts

The catalogue of Terentian manuscripts that accompanies La “lectura Terentii.” Da Ildemaro a Francesco Petrarca (Padua, 1984), contained 732 manuscripts. Since its publication, other witnesses have been located. These additional manuscripts, which are mostly fragmentary, are summarily listed here.

733. Ancona, Biblioteca Comunale Luciano Benincasa 312: 15th century. Sergio Sconocchia made me aware of the existence of this manuscript, which is not recorded in a printed catalogue. 734.

Brescia, Biblioteca Queriniana Q V 29: 13th century; Eu. 914–1021. This bifolium from the Paolo Guerrini fund, was identified and dated by the staff at the Biblioteca Queriniana.

735. Düsseldorf, Universitätsbibliothek, K04:021: 10th century; An. 157–235; 708–745; 830–865; Hau. 120–163; Eu. 673–713; 976–1012. Prete, S. 1986. “I codici umanistici delle commedie di Terenzio. Osservazioni preliminari.” In Commemoratio. Studi di filologia in ricordo di Riccardo Ribuoli. Ed. S. Prete. Sassoferrato: Istituto Internazionale di Studi Piceni. 125–33. 736. Köln, Historisches Archiv der Stadtbibliothek, Kasten A N 3: 13th century; An. 333–373; 643–688; Ad. 442–500; 542–749. 737. Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional de España 4225: 15th century; Andria. Rubio Fernández, L. 1984. Catálogo de los manuscritos clásicos latinos existentes en España. Madrid: Editorial de la Universidad Complutense. 317 (no. 367). 738. Padova, Biblioteca del Capitolo dei canonici del Duomo di Padova C 30: 12th century; An. 584–636; 833–878. Bifolium used as flyleaf. Bernardinello, S. 1991. “Terenzio nell’umanesimo padovano: nuovo frammento capitolare.” In Ethos e cultura. Studi in onore di E. Riondato. Vol. 2. Padua: Antenore. 1209–20.

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Index of Papyri and Manuscripts 1 Papyri

P.Bodmer 26 P.Oxy 2401 P.Vindob. inv. L 103

124 n.96 1, 17, 18 n.8, 110 n.25 110 n.25

2 Manuscripts NB Selected sigla for Terence manuscripts are given in curved brackets following the shelf mark; e.g. Plut. 38.24 (D). When a siglum is given for another authorial tradition, this is indicated in full; e.g. Vat. lat. 3313 (Priscian Z). Numbers in square brackets following the page references indicate entry numbers in the catalogues of Radden Keefe and Villa contained in this volume. Ancona, Biblioteca Comunale Luciano Benincasa MS 312 249 [733]

Copenhagen, Kongelige Bibliotek Gl. Kgl.S 1994 4˚ 39–40 [3] Gl. Kgl.S 1995 4˚ 156 n.68, 169 n.105

Berlin, Staatsbibliothek Diez 66 Phillips 1800 Hamilton 620

Düsseldorf, Universitätsbibliothek K04:021 249 [735]

114 n.51, 240 37 n.12, 38–9 [1] 39 [2]

Bern, Burgerbibliothek Cod. 109 (Priscian D) 133 Cod. 411 156 n.68, 165, 169 n.105

Escorial, Real Biblioteca del Monasterio de San Lorenzo de El Escorial D IV 4 37 n.12, 40 [4] E III 2 41 [5] N II 12 41 [6] S III 23–1 (Es) 25

Brescia, Biblioteca Queriniana Q V 29 249 [734]

Einsiedeln, Stiftsbibliothek MS 362-II (η) 131

Brussels, Koninklijke Bibliotheek van België MS 5328–29 156 n.68, 158 n.70

Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana Conv. Soppr. 510 (Fl) 131 n.139, 155–6 Plut. 24 sin. 2 37 n.12, 42 [7] Plut. 36.41 229 Plut. 38.24 (D) 8, 131 Plut. 38.34 37 n.12, 42–3 [8] San Marco 244 145 n.23, 155–6 and n.67

Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 231 131 n.140 Cambridge, Trinity College R.17.1 18 n.9 Carpentras, Bibliothèque municipale MS 367 38 n.14 Cologne, Historisches Archiv der Stadtbibliothek Kasten A N 3 249 [736]

Florence, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale Magliabechiano VII 221 n.11  1304

277

Index Of Papyri And Manuscripts Florence, Biblioteca Riccardiana MS 528 (E) 131 MS 1616 217 n.67, 220 n.6, 222 and n.15 Leiden, Universiteitsbibliotheek BPL 109 161 LIP 26 (Ld) 5, 25, 43 [9], 139 n.5, 143, 148 n.36, 153 n.62 VLQ 38 (N) 15 n.2, 25 n.29, 28–9, 43–4 [10], 153 n.62 London, British Library Burney 227 Burney 266 Cotton Claudius B.iv Egerton 2909 Harley 603 Harley 2563 Harley 2656 Harley 2717 Harley 2750 Harley 2751 Royal 15.A.xii Royal 15. B. viii

229 and n.39 38 n.14 23 n.24 44–5 [11] 18 n.9 45 [12] 162 n.85 45 [13] 247–8 46 [14] 162 and n.84 38 n.14

Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional de España MS 4225 249 [737] Vitr. 22.5 229 and n.39 Messina, Biblioteca Regionale Universitaria Giacomo Longo F.V. 15 38 n.13 Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana A 33 inf. 46 [15] A 51/a sup. (formerly 48 [18]  S.P. 55 bis) H 75 inf. (formerly 25, 47–8 [17], 153  S.P. 4 bis: F) n.62, 162 n.86, 164 n.92, 188 n.35, 190 n.46, 242–4 and n.18 R 80 sup. 47 [16]

Modena, Archivio di Stato F.II.9, b 2993 lib. 13 219 n.1 Fondo Cancelleria  Ducale, Carteggio Principi Estensi, cassetta 1501/12, mazzo XI, c. 38   223 n.18 Modena, Biblioteca Estense Universitaria It. 834 235 It. 836 (α.H.6.1) 216 nn.59 and 61, 221, 225 Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek clm 21275 74 and n.20 clm 14420 131 n.139, 166 n.100, 168 n.103 Naples, Biblioteca Nazionale IV A 3 p. 117 n.65 New Haven, Yale University Beinecke Library Marston 229 48–9 [19] Nice, Bibliothèque municipale MS 84 38 n.14 Oldenburg, Landesbibliothek MS 9 38 n.12 Oxford, Balliol College MS 2

23

Oxford, Bodleian Library Auct. F. 2. 13 (O) 8–9, 12, 15–17, 20–32, 49–50 [20], 79, 91–5, 147–8, 151–2, 153 n.62, 186 n.30, 188 n.35, 189 n.40, 190 nn.42 and 46, 191 n.47 Auct. F. 6. 27 246 Canon. Class. Lat. 100 50 [21] Canon. Misc. 554 229 n.42 Junius 11 27 n.36, 31 n.46 Laud Lat. 76 38 n.14 Rawl. G. 135 50–1 [22]

278 Oxford, Brasenose College MS 18 246 n.26 Oxford, Magdalen College lat. 23 51 [23] Padova, Biblioteca del Capitolo dei canonici del Duomo di Padova C 30 249 [738] Pamplona, Biblioteca de la Catedral s.n. 250 [739] Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal MS 664 10, 27–8, 30–4, 37 n.12, 51–2 [24], 79, 87 n.38, 89–95, 150–4, 165, 172–7, 209, 230 MS 1135 37 n.12, 52 [25] Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France lat. 2109 20 n.13 lat. 7496 (Priscian R) 133 lat. 7530 (Priscian P) 133 lat. 7890 229 lat. 7899 (P) 8, 10, 12, 15 and n.2, 20–7, 29, 32, 53–4 [27], 79, 92, 94, 96, 112 n.40, 138–43, 145–177, 185 n.23, 186 n.30, 187 n.32, 188 n.35, 189 n.40, 190 nn.42, 43, and 46, 191 n.47, 207–9, 242–3 lat. 7900 (Y) 54 [28], 153 n.62, 209 n.30, 242 lat. 7902 78 n.27, 154–60 lat. 7903 (Z) 5, 54–5 [29], 139 n.5, 153 n.62, 164, 166, 209 n.30 lat. 7907 151–2, 154, 156 n.68, 162 lat. 7907A 10, 29, 33–4, 37 n.12, 52, 55–6 [30], 89, 91 n.50, 150–4, 162, 165, 172–7, 209, 230

Index Of Papyri And Manuscripts

lat. 7917 165–6, 169 n.105 lat. 7930 245 lat. 8069 244–5 lat. 8191 56 [31] lat. 8193 23 n.23, 37 n.12, 56–7 [32], 151 lat. 8846 18 n.9 lat. 12244 57–8 [33] lat. 12322 57–8 [33] lat. 16234 229–30 lat. 16235 25–6, 32, 58 [34] lat. 18544 9, 58 [35] nouv. acq. lat. 458 37 n.12, 52–3 [26]

Pistoia, Biblioteca Leoniana MS 86 250 [740] Princeton, Firestone Library MS 28 58–9 [36] Rome, Biblioteca Nazionale Centrale Sessoriano 413 216 nn.59 and 61, 221, 225–7, 233 St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek Cod. Sang. 912 19, 110 Cod. Sang. 1394-VIIIb (η) 131 Todi, Biblioteca Comunale MS 243 250 [741] Tours, Bibliothèque municipale lat. 924 (Tur) 25, 33, 59–60 [37], 79, 92–8, 153 n.62, 154, 187 n.30, 231 Utrecht, Universiteitsbibliotheek MS 32 18 and n.9 Valenciennes, Bibliothèque municipale MS 448 (v) 139 n.5, 161, 164, 166, 247 Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana Archivio di San Pietro, 36 n.2, 60 [38], 153  H 19 (B) n.62 Barb. lat. 82 60–1 [39] Barb. lat. 133 61 [40] Ottob. lat. 1365 61–2 [41]

279

Index Of Papyri And Manuscripts

Ottob. lat. 1368 62 [42] Ottob. lat. 2005 229, 233 n.62 Ross. 445 62–3 [43] Urb. lat. 355 231 n.51 Urb. lat. 653 63 [44] Vat. lat. 1471 110 n.27 Vat. lat. 1640 (G) 131 Vat. lat. 1794 231 n.56 Vat. lat. 3225 17, 242 n.13 Vat. lat. 3226 (A) 1, 17–18, 110, 162 Vat. lat. 3305 (S) 34, 63–4 [45], 152 n.62, 154, 209 n.30, 231, 235 Vat. lat. 3313 131, 133, 134 nn.153  (Priscian Z) and 154, 135 nn.157 and 159 Vat. lat. 3867 17, 242 n.13 Vat. lat. 3868 (C) 2–5 and n.21, 15 and n.2, 19–21, 24–30, 32, 36, 64–5



Vat. lat. 6728 Vat. lat. 8743 Vat. lat. 11469

[46], 73 n.18, 139 n.5, 153 nn.60 and 62, 164 n.92, 186 n.30, 188 n.35, 189 n.40, 190 nn.42 and 46, 191 nn.47 and 48, 207–8, 241 65 [47] 156–60 226

Venice, Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana It. IX 368 (7170) 216–7 nn.61, 64, and 65, 220–1, 225 It. ix 453 (6498) 221 n.11 Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek MS 85 247 MS 309 65–6 [48]

Index of Ancient Sources Acro [Pseudo] (Schol.)

Charisius

Commentary on Horace’s Odes (Hor. carm.) 2.14.20 82

Ars grammatica p. 42 [Barwick] pp. 61–143 [Barwick] p. 92 [Barwick] p. 197 [Barwick] p. 315 [Barwick] p. 347–9 [Barwick]

Apollodorus [Pseudo] (Apollod.) Bibliotheca 3.5.7 3.5.8

145 n.25 144 n.17, 158 n.70

Arusianus Messius Exempla elocutionum p. 41 Di Stefano

127 n.114

Aristotle Rhetorica 1414b 1415a

202 202–3 n.4

Augustine (Aug.) Confessiones (Conf.) 1.16

117 n.69

De civitate Dei (Civ.) 18.13

145

Ausonius (Auson.)

8.58–60

117 n.69

Cassiodorus Institutiones (Inst.) 1.15.7

129

127 n.115 124 127 n.115 127 n.115 123 123 and n.91

Cicero (Cic.) Ad Atticum (Att.) 7.3.10

109–10

De finibus ( fin.) 3.63

116 n.64

De inventione (Inv.) 1.20–3

203 n.6

De legibus (leg.) 1.33

116 n.64

De officiis (off.) 1.30 1.114

116 n.64 232 n.59

De Oratore (de Orat.) 2.323–5 3.220

203 n.6 197 n.84

In Catilinam (Catil.) 1.21

122

Pro Caelio 5

122

Pro S. Roscio Amerino (S. Rosc.) 1 122 21 122, 123

281

Index Of Ancient Sources Cledonius Ars grammatica GL 5.72

127 n.114

Diodorus Siculus (D.S.)

4.64.3 4.64.4

158 n.70 144 n.17

Diomedes Ars grammatica GL 1.311 GL 1.391 GL 1.393 GL 1.395 GL 1.388–91 GL 1.406

127 n.114 123 n.91 123 n.90 123 n.90 122 123 n.90

Donatus (Don.) Ars maior pp. 658–73 [Holtz]

126 n.110

Commentary on Adelphoe (Ter. Ad.) praef. 3.1 163 n.90 praef. 3.3 163 n.90 97.2 186 377.1 187 567.2 185 Commentary on Andria (Ter. An.) 88.3 188 110 189, 194 n.63 183.1 185 184.4 185 186 193 194.2–5 138–9 265.3 193 n.60 333.2–3 187 415 191 506.2 188 n.37 716 193 and nn.59 and 62

855.2 890.3

188 n.37 188 n.37

Commentary on Eunuchus (Ter. Eu.) praef. 1.6 77 praef. 2.1 72, 84 praef. 3.1–5 72 46.1 79 167.6 78 232.3 193 274.3 193 274.5 185 384.1–2 75 n.23 403.3 188 426 77–8 585.1 84–5 777.1 78 971 76 n.24 1085.1, 2, and 3 81 Commentary on Hecyra (Ter. Hec.) 75 188 n.37 267 193 386 108 Commentary on Phormio (Ter. Ph.) 52.4 190 145.1 188 n.37 Life of Terence (Vita Ter.) p. 3 [Wessner] 109 n.19 Dositheus Ars grammatica GL 7.395 GL 7.419–20 GL 7.426

127 127 n.116 127

Eugraphius Commentum Terentii pp. 3–4 [Wessner]

205 n.14

282

Index Of Ancient Sources Jerome (Hier.)

Euripides (E.) Danae fr. 324

86 n.37

Adversus Rufinum (Adv. Rufin.) 1.16 117 n.69

Phoenissae (Ph.) 1504–7

144 n.19

In Ecclesiasten (In Eccles.) 9.10 117 n.69 Lactantius Placidius (Schol.)

Evanthius (Evanth.) On Comedy (de com.) v.1

72

Fronto

p. 115,23 [v.d.H.²] p. 175,7 [v.d.H.²]

117 n.67 117 n.67

Fulgentius (Fulg.) Mythologiae (Myth.) 2.2 [74]

168 n.104

Gellius Noctes Atticae 6.7.4 15.24

134 116

De Saltatione (Salt.) 36 62 64 65 67

195 195, 197 195 197 195

Saturnalia (Sat.) 1.5.4 2.1.4

117 n.68 117 n.68

Mythographi Vaticani (Mythogr.) 144 146 n.25

Isidore of Seville (Isid.) Libri diffentiarum (Diff.) 1.398 166 Origines (orig.) 18.42.2 18.44

Lucian

Macrobius (Macr.)

Hyginus (Hyg.) Fabulae (Fab.) 57.5 66.1

Commentary on Statius’ Thebaid (Theb.) 1.61 158 n.72 1.64 158 n.73 2.382 159 n.77 6.290 159 n.76

33 n.50 231 and n.49



1.154 1.166 2.133 2.166

86 nn.35 and 37 145 n.23 86 n.35 145 n.23

Nonius Marcellus De compendiosa doctrina p. 168 [L.] 105 p. 209 [L.] 106

283

Index Of Ancient Sources

p. 687 [L.] p. 719 [L.]

106, 107 n.10 107 n.11

Ovid (Ov.) Fasti (Fast.) 6.746

169

Metamorphoses (Met.) 1.639 15.624

122 169

Paul the Deacon (Paul.) Epitome of Pompeius Festus (Fest.) p. 208 [Mueller] 79 n.28 Philodemus De pietate B 6736 [Obbink]

169 n.106

Plautus (Pl.) Amphitruo (Amph.) 116–17, 119

207 n.20

Asinaria (As.) 1–3 14–15 69

204 n.8 204 n.8 207 n.20

Casina (Cas.) 932

207 n.20

Menaechmi (Men.) 5

220 n.5

Mercator (Merc.) 10

107 n.9

Miles Gloriosus (Mil.) 200–15 1177 1282

190 n.42 207 n.20 207 n.20

Poenulus (Poen.) 123 443–4

207 n.20 138 n.1

Rudens (Rud.) 1156

127 n.115

Pomponius Porphyrio (Porph.) Commentary on Horace’s Satires (Hor. Serm.) 2.2.77 119 n.80 2.3.262 119 n.80 Commentary on Horace’s Odes (Hor. carm.) 3.18.6–7 119 n.80 Priscian De metris Terentii p. 19 [Passalacqua] p. 24 [Passalacqua] pp. 25–6  [Passalacqua]

129 n.128 128 n.123 123 n.90, 126 n.108

Institutio de nomine et pronomine et uerbo p. 18 [Passalacqua] 128 n.121 p. 38 [Passalacqua] 128 n.120 Institutiones (Inst.) GL 2.188 GL 2.574 GL 3.26 GL 3.81 GL 3.93–105 GL 3.107 GL 3.109 GL 3.119 GL 3.217 GL 3.226 GL 3.293 GL 3.331

108 135 133 126 n.108 126 and n.108 133 133, 134 128 n.123 127 n.114 135 127 n.114 128 n.123

Partitiones xii uersuum Aeneidos principalium (Part. Aen.) p. 90 [Passalacqua] 127 n.114 p. 111 [Passalacqua] 128 n.123 p. 116 [Passalacqua] 127 n.114 p. 127 [Passalacqua] 133

284

Index Of Ancient Sources

Probus [Pseudo]

Sacerdos

Instituta artium (Inst. art) GL 4.142 127 n.114

Artes grammaticae GL 6.444–6 GL 6.523, 545

Querolus (Querol.) 7–8 16

211 n.33 107

Quintilian (Quint.) Institutiones (Inst.) 1.4.2 1.6.39–45 1.11.12–14 1.11.15–19 1.11.18 1.12.14 3.8.6–10 4.1.1–5 10.1.99 11.3 11.3.66 11.3.83 11.3.88–9 11.3.89 11.3.94 11.3.98–99 11.3.103 11.3.184

108 115 n.58 184 197 n.83 193 n.60 197 n.83 203 n.6 203 n.6 109 n.19 183 193 n.60, 196 185 197 184 186 187 190 197 n.83

Sallust (Sall.) Catilina (Cat.) 52.5

128 n.120

Iugurtha (Iug.) 10.8

128 n.120

Scholia to Euripides (Schol. E.) Ph. 26

144 n.19

Seneca Episulae (epist.) 95.53

116

Oedipus (Oed.) 107–8 809

145 n.20 142 n.12

Phoenissae (Phoen.) 138

145 n.20

Servius (Serv.)

Rhetorica ad Herennium 1.6 1.7–8

125–6 and n.108 128

203 203 n.6

Rufinus Commentarii in metra Terentiana p. 12 [D’Alessandro] 123 n.90, 126 n.108, 128 n.123

Commentary on Vergil’s Eclogues (Ecl.) 9.6 83 Commentary on Vergil’s Georgics (G.) 1.19 159 n.77 Commentary on Vergil’s Aeneid (A.) 4.1 247 4.472 142 7.372 85–6

285

Index Of Ancient Sources Tacitus (Tac.)

Sidonius (Sidon.) Epistulae (Epist.) 2.2.2

117 n.69

Terence (Ter.)

Sophocles (S.) Oedipus Tyrannus (OT) 1026 1171–3

142 n.12 145 n.25

Statius (Stat.) Thebaid (Theb.) 1.49–51 2.516–18 11.490

Dialogus de oratoribus (dial.) 1.1 107 n.9

158 n.71 144 n.20 144 n.20

Suetonius De grammaticis (gramm.) 24 112 n.36 Sulpicius Apollinaris (Sulp. Apoll.) Periocha to Terence’s Adelphoe (perioch. Ter. Ad.) 10 162 n.87 12 162 n.87 Periocha to Terence’s Hecyra (perioch. Ter. Hec.) 7 162 n.86 8 162 n.87 12 162 n.87 Periocha to Terence’s Phormio (perioch. Ter. Ph.) 3 162 n.87

Adelphoe (Ad.) 12 15–21 22–5 75 96–7 102 111 117 127 144–5 185 291–2 331 377–8 380 537 584 608 635 811–12 896–7

206 n.16 109 n.19 206–7 115 n.59 186 116 123 115 n.59, 116 123 122 126 n.110 32 117 n.67 188 29 126 n.110 115 n.59, 127 135 122 122 122

Andria (An.) 6–7 28 42 175–6 194 205 206 218 249 287 333 370 387 388 693 710

231 n.53 128 134 122 138 117 n.68 126 n.108 126 n.110 126 n.108 131 187 166 122 122 126 n.108 115 n.59

286 804–53 912 922 933

Index Of Ancient Sources 20 131 133 126 n.110

Eunuchus (Eu.) 2–24 231 n.53 19–20 206 n.16 46 79 46–9 119 n.80 65–6 123 84 123 114–15 109 207 122 237 76 290 80 292–7 247 379 75 383–4 75 390 82 392–3 80 415 76 426 77 455 166 476 117 n.67 479 76 506 128 n.120 539 109 589 86 696 126 n.108 732 81, 119 n.80, 126 n.110 779 78 783–4 30, 80 829 126 n.108 997–1001 74 1027 80, 167 1085 81 Heauton timorumenos (Hau.) 1–2 207 11–12 205 n.14 22 231 n.53 53 126 n.108 77 116 161–99 165 n.94 287 117 n.66 514–15 126 n.108

614 614–15 765

126 n.108 167 122

Hecyra (Hec.) 9 9–13 141 195–6 198 307–9 338 570–1 719–20 733 765 767 775

205 n.14 200 122 122 126 n.108 166 168 127 n.116 124 126 n.108 127 n.116 127 n.116 127 n.116

Phormio (Ph.) 62 77 88–9 89–90 95 101 166 172 210 342 405 470 549–50 611 623 758–9 768 841–2

126 n.108 126 n.110 117 n.66, 133 122 124 126 n.110 122 117 n.66 128 n.120 119 n.80 126 n.108 117 n.67 128 n.120 124 127 134–5 160 n.79 105

Varro Bimarcus fr. 59 [Ast.] = 52 [Cèbe] De lingua Latina 6.96 7.84

107

105 n.2 116

287

Index Of Ancient Sources Volcacius Sedigitus

Vergil (Verg.) Aeneid (A.) 2.12 2.705–6 3.621 7.372 10.421

122, 123 122 128 85 127

Vitruvius (Vitr.) 1.7.1 5.3–6

33 34



fr. 1 [Blänsdorf]

116

Vulgate Bible (Vulg.) Ezech. 16.4

168 n.104

Index of Names and Subjects Aachen 15 n.2, 64, 241–2 Abel 31 n.46 Accius 117 Achilles 83–4 Acro (see also Helenius) Acro, Pseudo- 82 Adam 31 n.46 ‘Adelphoe Master’ 52 Adelricus 64, 241 Aediculae 20, 161, 208–9 Aegina 81–2 Ælfric 23 Aelius (see also Donatus) Aelius Stilo 117 Aemilius Asper 112, 119, 128 Aemilius Paulus 208 n.27 Aeneas 85, 247 Aesculapius 168–9 Africa 21, 118 Agincourt, Séroux d’ 182 n.11 Agnes of Poitou 248 Agroecius 121, 137 Ajax 82–4, 99 Alberti, Leon Battista 213 Alcmena 230 Alcuin of York 19, 121 Alexandria 117 Alfonso of Calabria 66 Amata 86 Amerbach, Johann 97 Amphio 142–3  Amphitriona (Italian adaptation) 216, 221  n.9 Antigone 157 Apollo 169 Apollodorus of Carystus 114 Apollodorus, Pseudo- 143, 145 n.25, 158 n.70 Archaizing movement 117–18 Ariosto, Ludovico 216, 217, 221 n.11 Ariosto, Francesco (known as Peregrino) 210 n.31, 214–15 n.49 Aristophanes 3 Aristotle 202–3, 204 Arnulf of Orléans 212

Arrangement of the plays 114–15, 118–19,   125 and n.103 Arruntius Celsus 119, 123 n.94, 124 and n.100 Arusianus Messius 1, 120–1, 129–30 Ascensius (see Badius) Asinaria (Italian adaptation) 216 n.60,  220–1 Astronomus 241 Atilius 116 Atticus 109–10 ‘Auctor ad Caelestinum’ 121, 128 Audax 126 Augsburg 67 n.2 Augustine, St 145, 196 nn.79 and 80 Augustus 144 n.18 Aurillac (see also Gerbert) Bacchus 33, 81 Badius Ascensius, Jodocus 2, 4–6, 33–4,  97–8, 100, 210, 220, 227–8, 235 Bagnacavallo, Francesco 234 Barzizza, Antonio 213 Basel 67 n.2, 68, 97 Bayard, Terrail de 48 Bede 121  ‘Bedford Master’ 52 Bembo, Bernardo 110 Bembo, Pietro 110 Benedict III, Pope 243 n.14 Bentivoglio, Annibale 216 n.56 Berardo, Girolamo 216 n.57, 217 Bergognini, Edoardo di Giacomo 44 Bindoni, Francesco di Alessandro 216 n.57,  221 n.9 Birago, Giovanni Pietro da 52 Bobbio 240, 242 Boccaccio, Giovanni 69 Boeotia 142–4 Boethius 75 Boiardo, Matteo Maria 215 nn.52 and 53 Borgia, Lucrezia 216 n.57, 234 Bourges 230 Brandt, Sebastian 97 Bruno of Cologne 246–7

Index Of Names And Subjects Cadmus 142–3 Caecilius Statius 109, 116, 215 n. 53 Caesius Bassus 128 Cagnolo, Niccolò 234 Cain 31 n.46 Caleffini, Ugo 225–6 n.29 Calliopiana recensio 111 Calliopius 11, 33–4, 58, 63, 110, 112 and n.41,  113, 154, 205, 210 and n.31, 214–15 n.49,  225–6, 231, 233–5 Cambridge 2 Cammelli, Antonio 215 n.53 Candour, Thomas 51 Canterbury 21 n.21 Caper, Flavius 123–4, 127 Capetians 244, 247 Carolingian period and manuscripts 1, 4–5,  7–8, 15 n.2, 16, 18–20, 24, 26, 29, 31 n.46,  96, 110, 139, 141, 147, 152–4, 158, 164, 171,  186–7 n.30, 200, 207–9, 219, 228 n.35,  229, 239–43, 247 Carretto, Galeotto del 215 nn.51 and 52 Casina (Italian adaptation) 216 n.57 Cassiodorus 129 ‘Catholica Probi’ 127 Cato the Elder 142 Ceres 81, 159 n.77 Cesariano, Cesare 6, 34 and n.52 Charisius 120–4, 128 Charlemagne 19, 240 Charles IX of France 146 Charles of Lorraine 243 Charles the Bald 242 Chierico, Francesco di Antonio del 66 Cicero 1, 3, 72, 75, 109–10, 115 and n.57,  116 n.64, 120, 123, 125, 186, 192 n.56,  197 n.84 Cinesias 169 n.106 ‘Cité des Dames Master’ 52 Cledonius 121, 126 Clodius Quintipor 105, 107 and nn.9 and 10 Collenuccio, Pandolfo 216 Cominianus 123 n.93 Commentaries (see also Donatus, Scholia, Servius) Commentarius Antiquior 5, 164 n.92, 205 n.12

289 Commentarius Recentior 5 and n.21, 155, 165 Commentum Brunsianum 4–5, 25–6, 79, 91, 139 and n.5, 148, 155, 164–71 Commentum Laurentii 152 n.57 Commentum Monacense 5, 139 n.5, 164–70 Compiègne 247 Consentius 126 Constantinople 122, 193–4 n.62 Corbie 54, 60, 241–2 Correggio, Niccolò da 215 n.55 Coronides 169 Coronis 169 Corvey 241 Costumes 33, 35, 49, 53, 72, 87–9, 91 n.50, 93, 95, 98, 101, 182 n.12, 183 n.13, 196 n.81, 200, 207 n.20, 208, 209 n.30, 210, 240 Cursive script 140, 146–8 Dacier, Anne 182 n.11, 208 n.27 dal Pozzo, Cassiano 36 Danae 84–6, 99, 143 da Ponte, Girolamo 214 David 19, 23 Decembrio, Angelo Camillo 231–2 Decembrio, Uberto 50 De politia litteraria 231–2 and n.56 Delivery 10, 128, 181–2, 184, 187 des Salins, Jean 58 Didascaliae 33, 48, 49, 112, 213–14  Dido 247 Diodorus Siculus 143, 158 n.70 Diomedes (the grammarian) 120–4,  127 n.114, 128 Dionysius 109 Donatus, Aelius 1, 4, 7, 10, 71 and n.15, 72–4,  75 n.23, 76–81, 83–4, 86 n.35, 88, 108  and n.14, 114 n.51, 119, 121, 125–7, 130–1,  138, 139 n.3, 140–1, 143 and n.15, 145–6,  148, 154–5, 159–60, 162–4, 169–70,  181–94, 196–9, 207, 209, 231 n.53, 243 Donatus commentary 71 n.15 Donisius 211 n.34 Dositheus 121, 126–7 Dürer, Albrecht 97–8, 101

290 Education 5, 122, 143, 183–4, 198, 243–5, 248 Edwig 247 Ennius 107, 116, 123 Epidico (Italian adaptation) 234 Epitaphium Terentii 39, 41, 45, 65 Ercole I (see d’Este, Ercole I) Erinys 144 Este, Alfonso d’ 216 n.57, 234 Este, Ercole I d’ 2, 6, 11, 215, 216 n.58, 218,  220 and n.6, 222–4, 227, 232, 234–5 Este, Isabella d’ 219, 224, 234 Este, Leonello d’ 213, 214 n.49, 231–2 Este, Lucrezia d’ 216 n.56 Este, Niccolò III d’ 6 Este, Sigismondo d’ 234 Eteocles 141–3, 157 Euanthius (Evanthius) 1, 72, 119, 128 Eugraphius 1, 4, 26 n.31, 108 and n.14,  114 n.51, 205 n.14, 207, 243–4 Eunucho (Italian adaptation) 219, 221,  221 n.11, 222, 234 Eunuchs 76–8, 82, 84, 89, 91, 93–4, 183 n.13 Euripides 86 nn. 35 and 37, 144 Eutyches 121 Eve 27 n.36, 31 n.46 Fabri, Felix 68 Ferrara 2, 6, 11, 40, 50, 87–8, 211, 213, 215–16,  217 n.63, 219–22, 224, 225 n.25, 227–31,  233–5 Festus, Sextus Pompeius 79 n.28, 117 and  n.65 Fichet, Guillaume 149–50 Flanders 2, 161 Fleury 28, 43, 154, 243 Florence 2, 6, 42, 48, 65, 82, 222, 229 Formione (Italian adaptation) 217, 220 n.6,  222 Franconia 248 Freiburg im Breisgau 67 n.2, 68–9 Fronto, Marcus Cornelius 117, 142 Frulovisi, Tito Livio de’ 213–14 Fufius 105 Fulbert of Chartres 245 Fulgentius 106 n.8, 168 Galin, Pietro (Petrus Garinus) 58 Garbet, Nicole 165

Index Of Names And Subjects Gellius, Aulus 116–17, 118 n.70 Genoa 61 Gerbert of Aurillac 243–5, 247 Gestures 4, 10, 20–1 and n.16, 28, 30, 39–40,  47, 49, 53–5, 57, 59, 64, 77, 88, 91–8, 100,  181–99, 208 n.26, 209 n.30, 219, 228, 231 Ghent 43, 148 n.36 Giraldi, Giovanni Battista (Cinzio, Cinthio) 217 n.62, 221 n.11 Giraldi, Guglielmo 229 and n.45 Gonzaga, Francesco 219, 223–4 Grammarians 1, 8, 10, 79 n.28, 105–36, 161,  231, 233, 247 Grammatical traditions 120–1, 125–6,  128–9 Grüninger, Johannes 10, 34–5, 97–100, 227 Guarino, Battista 235 Hector 82–4, 99 Hecuba 204–5 n.10 Helenius Acro 119, 123 n.94 Helgaud of Fleury 243 Hellanicus 78 Henry III, Emperor 248 Hera 230 Hercules 167–8, 204–5 n.10, 218, 230 Hesione 83–4 Hippolytus 169, 204–5 n.10 Holle, Lienhart 90 Horace 82, 119, 171, 239 Hrodgarius 64, 241 Hugh Capet 243, 247 Hyginus, Gaius Julius 86 n.35, 144, 145 n.25 ‘Illustrator from Ulm’ 72 n.17, 73 n.18, 79,  87–90, 93–6, 98–100 Incunabula 7, 67–9, 72, 82, 100 Isidore of Seville 33 n.50, 166, 231 Ismene 157, 159 Iterius 60 Jean, Duc de Berry 29, 33, 89, 150, 154, 209 Jocaste (Iocasta) 141–2, 145 n.25, 155–7 Johannes (copyist) 39 Julius (Iulius) Romanus 123 and n.95,  124 nn.96 and 97 Juno (Iuno) 204–5 n.10 Jupiter 81–2, 84–6, 169

Index Of Names And Subjects Labels 22, 25, 27 and n.35, 28, 31–3, 55, 57–8, 73–4, 81, 88, 93, 147–8, 150–2, 154, 160–1, 163, 170, 172–7, 208 Lactantius Placidus 143, 158–60, 169 Laelius, Gaius 109 Laetus, Julius Pomponius 2 Laius 141, 143–4, 145 n.25, 155–7, 158 n.73 Lamy, Peronet 62 Lecco, Girolamo (Penco) da 216 n.60,  221 n.9 Leoncavallo, Ruggero 201 Leuven 2 Lexicographers 105–6, 107 n.11, 116 n.64,  117, 135 Licinius 116 Liminality 89, 201, 205 Lirer, Thomas 68, 72 London 2, 69 Lorraine 243, 247 Lothair, Emperor 241–2 Lothair, King of France 247 Louis, Duc d’Orléans 165 Louis the Pious 15 n.2, 138 n.2, 241–2 Lucian 195, 196 nn.79 and 80, 197, 215 n.53 ‘Luçon Master’ 52 Lupus (Loup) of Ferrières 242, 243 n.14 Luscius Lanuvinus 116, 231 and n.53 Lyon (Lyons) 2, 57, 97–8, 210, 220, 227 Macrobius 117 n.68, 121 Mainz 77 Majuscules 17, 147, 151, 161, 162 n.86 Mantua 2, 219, 224, 229–30 Manuscript illustrations 4, 20, 33, 88, 92,  182 nn.8 and 11, 183 n.15, 185, 187–8,  190–2, 193 n.58 Masks 20, 26–8, 33, 36, 47, 49, 53–4, 60, 64,  88, 101, 193 n.58, 195, 196 n.81, 207–9,  231, 242 ‘Master of Flavius Josephus’ 55 ‘Master of the Apocrypha Drawings’ 49 ‘Master of the Vitae Imperatorum’ 46–7, 61 Medea 204–5 n.10 Medici, Lorenzo de’ 2, 222 n.14 Menander 77, 114, 140, 165, 204 Menechini (Italian adaptation) 2, 216,  220–2, 224–5, 233 Mentelin, Johannes 98 n.61

291 Mercury 215 n.52, 216, 230 Metrical treatises 128 n.123 Milan 2, 46, 52–3, 77, 82, 234 Mime 10, 183 n.13, 192–3, 193–4 n.62, 195–6,  198 Minuscules 17, 24, 26–7, 110, 147–8, 151 n.51,  155, 161  Misquotations 133, 135 Monaco, Lorenzo 42 Monfaut, J. 56 Montecassino 133 Montreuil, Jean de 230 and n.47 Moses 23 Naevius 116, 123 Neidhart, Hans 9–10, 67–88, 90–101 Nero 112 Neumatic annotation 239, 247 Nicias of Cos 109 Nobili, Francesco de’ 2, 224–5 Nonius Marcellus 105–7, 114 n.51, 118 and  n.70, 119, 124, 130, 132 Nuremberg 97 Octavia 204–5 n.10 Oedipus 59, 138–46, 149–50, 154–60, 167,  169, 204–5 n.10 Omphale 80, 167–9 ‘Orosius Master’ 52, 55 Orsini, Fulvio 36 Otto I of Saxony 246 Ovid 75, 82, 84, 169 Oxford 2, 7 Oxyrhynchus papyri 1, 17, 19 Padua 229 n.42 Palimpsests 17, 19, 20 n.13, 110 Pantomime 192, 192–3 n.57, 194–7 Papyrus 1, 9, 17–19, 34, 110, 115, 123, 124 n.96,  140 Paris 3, 7, 51–2, 55–6, 150 and n.44, 153, 170 Pasini, Mapheo 216 n.57, 221 n.9 Paul the Deacon 79 n.28, 117 n.65 Pavia 50, 58, 224, 240 Pentheus 142 Pepin (son of Charlemagne) 240 Performances 2, 4, 6, 10–11, 20, 36, 39, 63,  67, 77, 88, 101, 107, 113, 128, 182–4,

292  185 n.21, 190 n.45, 192–9, 201, 205–6,  210–11, 215, 216 n.58, 217–18, 219–21,  223–5, 227–8, 230–1, 233–5, 242 Periochae 112 Perseus 85–6, 99, 143 Peter of Pisa 240 Petrarch 69 Philodemus 169 n.106

Phoebus (see Apollo) Piccolomini, Aeneas Silvius (Pius II) 69 Piraeus 80, 95, 109–10 Plautus (see also Vernacular adaptations)   2–3, 11, 106 n.8, 115 n.58, 116–17, 119, 121,  123, 138 n.1, 190 n.42, 203–4, 210 Plautus, illustrative traditions 229–30, 235 Plautus, manuscripts 47, 112, 124 n.96 Plautus, revival performances 87–8 and  n.42, 220, 224 and n.22, 233–4 Pliny the Elder 127 Po Valley 211 Poliziano, Angelo 215 n.52, 222 Polybus 141, 155, 157–8 Polynices 141–3, 157 Pompeii 20 and n.14, 185 Porphyrio 119 Praefatio Monacensis 42, 48, 63 Praetextatus 117 n.68 Premierfait, Laurent de 152 nn.54 and 57,  153–4 n.63, 156 n.68, 171, 230 and n.47 Priscian 1, 108, 118 n.70, 120–2, 124–5,  127–35 Probus 111–12, 119 Prologues 10–11, 18 n.7, 20, 44, 58–9, 61–2,  65, 72, 99, 112, 161, 187 n.32, 200 and n.1,  201–18, 220 and n.6, 222 n.15, 225, 232–4 Prompts 21–3, 147 Ptolemy (geographer) 90 Punctuation 18, 23, 74 Pyrrhus 80 Querolus 107, 211 Quintilian 10, 20 n.15, 95, 108, 115 and n.58,  182 nn.6 and 8, 183–8, 190–1, 192 nn.52  and 56, 194–5, 196 n.79, 197, 199 Rape 82, 84 Recitation 154, 194, 197 Recitator 194 n.63, 196, 231–4, 240 Remmius Palaemon 125

Index Of Names And Subjects Reportationes 239 Rheims (Reims) 15 n.2, 47, 53, 242–5, 247 Rhetoric 20 n.15, 30, 67, 84–5, 138, 140, 181–2  n.5, 183–4, 186, 192 n.56, 197–8, 203,  205 n.14, 247 Rochester 21 n.21 Robert the Pious 243–4, 247 Rojas, Fernando de 99 Roman Comedy 6, 11, 204, 213, 220, 224, 227,  232 n.57, 235 ‘Roman Texts Master’ 57 Rome 2, 6, 64, 82, 85, 194, 210, 231, 243 Rufinus Antiochensis 1, 128 and n.126 Ruotgar 246, 247 n.27 Rustic capitals 17–20, 22, 24, 26–7, 141 Sacerdos, Marius Plotius 120–1, 125 and n.106, 126–8 Saint Amand 20 n.13, 247 Saint-Denis 148, 153 and n.63, 242 n.13 Saint Gall 19, 20 n.13, 110  Saint Peter’s (Ghent) 43, 148 n.36 Sallust 1, 3, 120, 125–6, 128 Sanudo, Marin 221 and n.7, 224 n.21,  225 n.24 Saturn (Saturnus) 85 Saxony 241, 246 Scholia (see also Commentaries, Donatus, Servius)  Euripides 144 n.19 Hellenistic 75 Statius 143, 158–9 Terence 4–5, 10–11, 16–17, 21, 24–6, 37, 74–5, 77, 78 n.27, 79 n.29, 108, 119, 138–9 and n.5, 140–3, 145 n.25, 146–8, 149 n.40, 154–5, 158 n.70, 159–60, 162–3, 164 n.92, 165 n.94, 169–71, 181 n.5, 182, 184–5, 193, 196, 198, 243–4 Scholia Bembina 1, 4, 108 and n.14 Scholia Terentiana 4–5, 108 n.14 Schools 1–2, 6, 10, 71, 82–3 n.34, 101, 107, 109,  119–20, 125, 130, 181, 184, 194, 196–7,  213–14, 232, 243–5 Scribal errors 17, 22, 135 Seneca the Younger 3, 68, 116, 142, 144–5  n.20, 197 n.82, 204 n.10, 210, 215, 231 Seriphos 86 n.35 Servius 10, 82–3, 85, 86 n.35, 106 n.8, 119 and  n.78, 120, 130, 143, 159, 247

293

Index Of Names And Subjects Servius Auctus (Danielis) 119 n.78, 130,  142–3, 159, 169 Sforza, Lodovico (Il Moro) 224 Silius Italicus 142  Sisyphus 81–2, 99 Sophocles 84, 145 n.25, 157 Sphinx 138–9, 141–5, 155–8, 169 Statius, Papinius 142–3, 144 n.20, 158–9 Steinhöwel, Heinrich 69 Strassburg 10, 33, 67 n.2, 98, 227 Stuttgart 67 n.2 Subscriptions 110, 112–13, 233, 243, 246 Sulpicius Apollinaris 39, 41–2, 44–6, 48, 50,  65, 112, 161–2, 170 Sunium 109–10 Taccone, Baldassare 215 n.51 Tantalus 204–5 n.10 Telestes 169 n.106 Terence traditions (see also Vernacular adaptations) commentary 1, 5 and n.21, 7, 78, 139 n.5, 142, 156, 160, 164, 170–1 illustrative 3–4, 9, 11, 20–22, 25 n.29, 27–9, 31–2, 34, 37–8, 58, 63, 73, 88–91, 94, 95 n.56, 98, 152, 153 n.62, 154, 188, 207–209, 220, 228–31, 235, 239 indirect 107, 112, 115, 124, 129–31,  135–6 manuscript 7, 9, 11, 16, 26, 29 n.43, 67, 73, 97, 110 and n.28, 111–12, 114–15, 130–3, 135, 162, 208, 228, 230, 233, 239, 244–5, 248 Terence portraits 26 n.31, 32, 33 n.49,  38–42, 44, 46–8, 50, 60–3, 65 Terentius Lucanus 33 Teumessos 144 n.19 Theatrical traditions (ancient) 198–9, 202 Thebes 143, 144–5 n.20, 157 Thegan 241 Thubursicum 118 n.70  Trabea 116 Translations (see Vernacular adaptations) Trechsel, Johannes 2, 98, 210, 220, 227 Trevet, Nicholas 231 Troy 83, 85 Tübingen 67 n.2, 68  Turri, Francesco de 47 Turnus 85–6

Turpilius 116 Turpio, Ambivius 200 Ulm (see also Illustrator from Ulm) 2, 9,  67–8, 74, 90, 98, 227 Universities 2, 68 and n.3, 220 n.4 Varro, Marcus Terentius 105–8, 115–17, 128 Velius Longus 121 Venice 2 and n.6, 6 n.24, 77, 213, 217,  221 n.7, 224–5 Venus 81 Vergerio, Pietro Paolo 212 Veronese, Guarino Vernacular adaptations Donatus 76–81 Plautus 2, 69, 216–17, 220–1 and n.9, 222, 223 n.19, 224–7, 233, 235 Terence 2, 7, 9–11, 67–74, 88, 100–1, 217, 219–21 and n.11, 222, 225, 235 Vitruvius 6, 34 Vernacular printed editions 221, 224 Verrius Flaccus 117 Vespucci, Giorgio Antonio 2 Victorinus 121 Virgil (Vergil) 1, 3, 17–18, 57, 68, 82–3, 85, 99,  112 n.36, 119–20, 125–8, 142–3, 171, 239,  242, 244–5, 247 Visconti, Gasparo 215 nn. 53 and 54 Vitalis of Blois 211 Vitruvius, Marcus Pollio 6, 9, 33–4 Volcacius Sedigitus 116 von Berger, Christoph 36–7 von Eyb, Albrecht 69 von Speyer, Wendelin 77 von Wyle, Niklas 69 Wala of Corbie 242 Wichard 43 William, Duke of Aquitaine 248 William of Blois 211 Wolffgang, F. G. 36 Woodblocks 16, 32, 72–4, 87–90, 95 n.56,  97 Zaroto, Antonio 82 Zethus 142–3 Zoppino (Nicolò di Aristotile de’ Rossi)   221 n.9

Figures

⸪

Figure 1

Collection of Christchurch Art Gallery Te Puna o Waiwhetu. Woodcut 72/100 (Eu. 5.7).

Figure 2

Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13, ff. 4v–5r (An. 1.1).

Figure 3

Paris, BnF, lat. 7899, f. 6r (An. 1.1).

Figure 4

Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, ms 664, f. 1v.

Figure 5

Copenhagen, Kongelige Bibliotek, Gl.Kgl.S 1994 4°, f. 1r.

Figure 6

Paris, BnF, lat. 18544, f. 34v (Hec. 1.1).

Figure 7 Tours, BM, ms 924, f. 1r (An. prol.).

Figure 8

Neidhard, Ulm 1486; Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, inc-iii-10, ff. bi v & bij r (Eu. 1.1).

Figure 9

Paris, BnF lat. 7907a, f. 83r (Ad. 3.3).

Figure 10 Trechsel/Badius, Lyon 1493; BSB 4 Inc.c.a. 1040 m (Ad. 3.3).

Figure 11 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, ms 664, f. 47r (Eu. 1.1).

Figure 12 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13, f. 45v (Eu. 3.1).

Figure 13 Tours, BM, ms 924, f. 18v (Eu. 3.1).

Figure 14 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, ms 664, f. 57v (Eu. 3.1).

Figure 15 Neidhard, Ulm 1486; Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, inc-iii-10, f. 26v [F 70] (Eu. 3.1).

Figure 16 Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Auct. F. 2. 13, f. 47r (Eu. 3.2).

Figure 17 Tours, BM, ms 924, f. 19r (Eu. 3.2).

Figure 18 Neidhard, Ulm 1486; Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, inc-iii-10, f. 31r [F 79] (Eu. 3.2).

Figure 19 Paris, BnF, lat. 7899, f. 56v (Eu. 4.7).

Figure 20 Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, ms 664, f. 73v (Eu. 4.7).

Figure 21 Neidhard, Ulm 1486; Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, inc-iv-79, f. 61v [F 140] (Eu. 4.7).

Figure 22 Paris, BnF, lat. 7899, f. 3r (An. prol.).

Figure 23 Trechsel/Badius, Lyon 1493; BSB 4 Inc.c.a. 1040 m (An. prol.).

Figure 24 Tours, BM, ms 924, f. 13v (Eu. prol.).

Figure 25 Trechsel/Badius, Lyon 1493; BSB 4 Inc.c.a. 1040 m (Eu. 5.4).

Figure 26 Paris, BnF, lat. 7890 f. 1r (Pl. Am. prol.).