The Homeric Centos: Homer and the Bible Interwoven (OXFORD STUDIES IN LATE ANTIQUITY SERIES) 0197666558, 9780197666555

Citation preview

The Homeric Centos

OXF OR D STU DI E S I N L ATE AN T IQUIT Y

Series Editor Ralph Mathisen Late Antiquity has unified what in the past were disparate disciplinary, chronological, and geographical areas of study. Welcoming a wide array of methodological approaches, this book series provides a venue for the finest new scholarship on the period, ranging from the later Roman Empire to the Byzantine, Sassanid, early Islamic, and early Carolingian worlds. The Arabic Hermes From Pagan Sage to Prophet of Science Kevin van Bladel Two Romes Rome and Constantinople in Late Antiquity Edited by Lucy Grig and Gavin Kelly Disciplining Christians Correction and Community in Augustine’s Letters Jennifer V. Ebbeler History and Identity in the Late Antique Near East Edited by Philip Wood Explaining the Cosmos Creation and Cultural Interaction in Late-​Antique Gaza Michael W. Champion Universal Salvation in Late Antiquity Porphyry of Tyre and the Pagan-​Christian Debate in Late Antiquity Michael Bland Simmons The Poetics of Late Antique Literature Edited by Jaś Elsner and Jesus Hernandez-​Lobato Rome’s Holy Mountain The Capitoline Hill in Late Antiquity Jason Moralee The Homeric Centos Homer and the Bible Interwoven Anna Lefteratou

The Homeric Centos Homer and the Bible Interwoven A N NA L E F T E R AT OU

Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2023 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Lefteratou, Anna, 1980– author. Title: The Homeric centos : Homer and the Bible interwoven / Anna Lefteratou. Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, [2023] | Series: Oxford studies in late antiquity series | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022060579 (print) | LCCN 2022060580 (ebook) | ISBN 9780197666555 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780197666579 (epub) | ISBN 9780197666586 Subjects: LCSH: Eudocia, Empress, consort of Theodosius II, Emperor of the East, –460. Homerocentones. | Classical literature—Influence. | Homer—Influence. | Christian literature—Influence. | LCGFT: Literary criticism. Classification: LCC PA3972.E86 L44 2022 (print) | LCC PA3972.E86 (ebook) | DDC 883/.01—dc23/eng/20230320 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022060579 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022060580 DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197666555.001.0001 Printed by Integrated Books International, United States of America

Contents Acknowledgments  Abbreviations  Unweaving Crossweave Poems  Patchwork Poetry The Approach of this Book 

vii ix

1 1 4

1. Homerocentones biblici  1.1 Ancient Centos  1.2 Homeric Centos  1.3 Biblical Centos  1.4 Summary 

7 8 17 37 50

Mulierum virtutes 

53 54 57 70 96 102

3. De fructu lignorum  3.1 Contexts  3.2 Creation and Fall  3.3 Beginnings  3.4 Summary 

105 107 114 128 134

2.

4.

2.1 Contexts  2.2 Virgin Motherhood  2.3 Female Witnesses  2.4 The Empress and the Others  2.5 Summary 

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis 

4.1 Contexts  4.2 Pilate  4.3 Crucifixion  4.4 Descent  4.5 Summary 

137 139 145 153 162 179

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web  Classicizing Poetry  Biblical Poetry  Eudocia’s Biblical Homeric Cento 

184 185 188 194

Notes  Bibliography  Index of Locorum  Index of Rerum 

197 273 303 309

Acknowledgments This book-​length project was generously funded by the German Research Foundation, DFG/​Temporary Positions for Primary Investigators and warmly hosted by the Classics Department at Heidelberg University from 2016 to 2019. What began as an investigation of the “Classical Past and the Christian Future of Late Antique Christian Poetry, GZ: LE 3709/​1–​1” led to a much-​needed monograph on the Homeric Centos. Michele Cutino and the GIRPAM group at the Faculté de Théologie Catholique/​Strasbourg provided a stimulating environment for the final phase of the project. Like all journeys, this one was full of detours, hardships, surprises, separations, and reunions. Some people I must thank individually as this project would not have been possible without them. I am extremely indebted to Gianfranco Agosti, who has been enormously supportive of this project from its conception to the end, and who provided me—​a newcomer to Late Antiquity in 2010—​with a warm welcome. The study follows in his footsteps and would never have come to fruition without his year-​long work on the poetry of the same era. I am also deeply thankful to Ewen Bowie, a teacher, mentor, friend, and meticulous reader of one of the earlier drafts of this book. I can merely hope that this one is an improvement over the first manuscript on the novels. I am also enormously grateful to Fotini Hadjittofi, Eftychia Stavrianopoulou, Helen van Noorden, Athanassios Vergados, and Anke Walter for their useful feedback, advice, and encouragement during various phases of the project. The completion of the manuscript would not have been possible without the support and proficiency of Irina Oryshkevich, who patiently “unpicked” my non-​native prose and “rewove” it into idiomatic English while challenging me to think deeper about my argument. Needless to say, all remaining inaccuracies are my own. I have also had the pleasure to discuss Eudocia with Fran Middleton, who kindly shared with me a draft of her own excellent forthcoming monograph. My gratitude also extends to the engaged audiences at the Heidelberg Forschungskolloquium, the Cambridge Classics, and PWiP Seminars, and in Strasbourg, particularly to Claire Jackson, Thomas Kuhn-​ Treichel, Lea Nicolai, and Arianna Rotondo. Last but not least, I would like to thank Stefan Vranka, the editor of this series, for his support and patience during difficult times as well as the OUP reviewers for their helpful and extremely constructive feedback. Parts of Chapters 1, 2, and 3 have been published previously as separate shorter articles: “Stitching with Homer. Contextualizing the Homeric Centos

viii Acknowledgments within the Quotation Habit in the Imperial and Later Periods,” Byzantion 2019, 89: 331–​58; “The Lament of the Virgin in the I Homeric Centos: An Early Threnos,” in The Genres of Late Antique Christian Poetry, ed. F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020), 275–​ 92; “Deux chemins d’apprentissage: le didactisme dans les Centons homériques,” in Poésie, bible et théologie de l’Antiquité tardive au Moyen Âge (IVème-​XVème s.), ed. M. Cutino (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2020), 201–​20. Meanwhile, three new books on Eudocia have appeared: an Italian translation of the centos with commentary by Rocco Schembra, Centoni Omerici: il Vangelo secondo Eudocia (Alessandria: dell’Orso, 2020); Brian Sower, In Her Own Words: The Life and Poetry of Aelia Eudocia (Cambridge, MA: Centre of Hellenic Studies/​ HUP, 2020); and Karl Olav Sandnes’ Jesus the Epic Hero (Plymouth: Lexington Books, 2022) that tackles the poem from a theological perspective. Although library closures during the pandemic made it difficult to consult the first in a timely manner, I did have access to B. Sower’s book, which is almost identical to his 2008 dissertation without updated materials. I saw K. O. Sandnes’ manuscript too late in the editing process. While the research for this project was conducted mainly in Heidelberg, the manuscript was completed several years later, 871 km to its northwest, across the channel, in post-​Brexit Cambridge. The text was polished between two residential moves and many hours of home-​schooling in a third language. I dedicate this book on our tenth (plus one) anniversary to my partner Oleg Brandt, who has spent the past couple of years helping with parenting, listening patiently to all I had to say about Late Antiquity and Eudocia, and learning how to bake a lemon drizzle cake.

Abbreviations For classical authors, see Oxford Classical Dictionary (OCD4); for biblical authors, see mainly The SBL Handbook of Style2 by the Society of Biblical Literature and G. W. H. Lampe, occasionally adapted; for repeated authors, editions, and translations, see below. The translations of the Homerocentones is mine; other translations unless otherwise stated are also mine. Apocrypha Acta Pilati recensio A and B; Tischendorf, C. ed. 19872. Evangelia Apokrypha. Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag; English translation by Schneemelcher, W. New Testament Apocrypha: Gospels and Related Writings, vol. 1. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press; French translation by Bovon, F. & Geoltrain, P. 1997. Écrits apocryphes chrétiens, vol. 1. Paris: Gallimard. ACO Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum; Schwartz, E. & Straub, J. ed. 1914. Acta Conciliorum Oecumenicorum, Berlin, Leipzig: de Gruyter. ad Il. [Scholia, commentaries, etc.] on the Iliad. ad Od. [Scholia, commentaries, etc.] on the Odyssey. AP Anthologia Palatina. Bas. Hex. Basilii Caesariensi Homiliae in Hexaemeron; Giet, S. ed. 1968. Basile de Césarée, Homélies sur l’Hexaéméron (SC 26). Paris: du Cerf. C. Contra. CCSG Corpus Christianorum Series Graeca. Chr. Pat. Christus Patiens; Tuilier, A. ed. 1969. Grégoire de Nazianze. La passion du Christ (SC 149), Paris: du Cerf. CN Ausonii Cento/​Carmen nuptialis; Green, R. ed. 1991. Ausonius. The Works of Ausonius. Oxford: Clarendon. Comm. Commentary. CPr Cento Probae; text and English translation by Schottenius-​Cullhed, S. 2016. Proba the Prophet. The Christian Virgilian Cento of Faltonia Betitia Proba. Leiden: Brill. CSCO Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium. Cypr. Eudociae Augustae, De Sancto Cypriano, Ludwich, A. ed. 1897. Eudociae Augustae, Procli Lycii, Claudiani carminum Graecorum reliquiae, Leipzig: Teubner; see also the Italian translation by Bevegni, C. 2006. Eudocia Augusta: Storia di San Cipriano. Milano: Adelphi (with the additional verses). Cyr. Alex. In Jo Commentary in John’s Gospel; Pusey, P. E. ed. 1872. Sancti Patris Nostri Cyrilli Archiepiscopi Alexandrini, in S. Joannis Evangelium. Oxford: Clarendon; English translation by Maxwell, D. R. & Elowsky, J. C. 2013. Cyril of Alexandria: Commentary on John. Downers Grove, IL: IVP. AAPil.

x Abbreviations De Imperatoribus Romanis (online) https://​roman-​emper​ors.sites.luc. edu /​Leiden: Brill. DJG Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels; Green, J. B., Brown, J. K. & Perrin N. ed. 2013. Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, Downers Grove, IL: IVP. ELQ Iuvenci Evangeliorum Libri Quattor; Marold, K. ed. 1866. C. Vettii Aquilini Iuvenci libre evangeliorum IIII. Leipzig: Teunber. Ephr. Syr. Ephraem Syrus (in the CSCO series). Eustath. ad Il. Eustathius ad Iliadem; van der Valk, M. ed. 1971–​1987. Eustathii archiepiscopi Thessalonicensis commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem pertinentes, vols. 1–​4, Leiden: Brill. Eustath. ad Od. Eustathius ad Odysseam; Stallbaum G. ed. 1970. Eustathii archiepiscopi Thessalonicensis commentarii ad Homeri Odysseam, 2 vols. Leipzig: Weigel /​Hildesheim: Olms. GNO Gregorii Nysseni Opera, https://​brill.com/​view/​db/​gnoo?langu​age=​en. Leiden: Brill. Greg. Naz. Arc. Gregorii Nazianzeni, Poemata Arcana; text, commentary, and English translation by Moreschini, C. & Sykes, D. ed. 1997. Poemata Arcana by St. Gregory of Nazianzus. Oxford: Clarendon. h (Mythological and Christian) hymns. HC Homerocentones; Schembra, R. ed. 2007. Homerocentones (CCSG) 62. Turnhout: Brepols. I HC the first edition of Homeric Centos in Schembra 2007. See also the Italian translation and commentary by Schembra, R. ed. 2006. La prima redazione dei centoni omerici: traduzione e commento. Alessandria: dell’ Orso; Usher, M. D. ed. 1999. Homerocentones Eudociae Augustae. Lipsia: Teubner. II HC the second edition of Homeric Centos in Schembra 2007. See also the Italian translation and commentary by Schembra, R. 2007b. La seconda redazione dei centoni omerici: traduzione e commento. Alessandria: dell’ Orso; cf. also the French edition, translation, and commentary by Rey, A.-​L. ed. 1998. Centons homériques. Paris: du Cerf. HC a, HC b, HC c the three shorter editions of Homeric Centos in Schembra 2007. HE Historia Ecclesiastica. Hes. Op. Hesiodi Opera et Dies; West, M. L. ed. 1976. Hesiod Works and Days. Edited with prolegomena and commentary. Oxford: Clarendon. Hes. Theog. Hesiodi Theogonia; West, M. L. ed. 1966. Hesiod. Theogony. Edited with prolegomena and commentary. Oxford: Clarendon. Hom. Homiliae (homiletic works). Hom. Il. Homer, Iliad; Allen, T. W. ed. 1931. Homeri Ilias, vols. 2–​3, Oxford: Clarendon; English translation by Lattimore, R. 20113. The Iliad of Homer. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Hom. Od. Homer, Odyssey; von der Mühll, P. ed. 1962. Homeri Odyssea, Basel: Helbing & Lichtenhahn; English translation by Lattimore, R. 20072. The Odyssey of Homer2. New York: Harper. DIR

Abbreviations  xi Lampe, G. W. H. 1961. A Patristic Greek Lexicon. Oxford: Clarendon. Liddell, H. F. & Scott, R. 19969. A Greek–​English Lexicon. Revised and augmented throughout by H. S. Jones. Edited with Revised Supplement. Oxford: Clarendon. Met. Pss. Ps.-​Apollinarii, Metaphrasis Psalmorum; Faulkner, A. ed. 2020b. Metaphrasis Psalmorum. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nonn. Par. Nonnus’ Paraphrasis; Scheindler, A. ed. 1881. Nonni Panopolitani Paraphrasis S. Evangelii Ioannei. Lipsia: Teubner; English translation by Hadjittofi, F. forthcoming. ‘Nonnus of Panopolis: Paraphrase of the Gospel According to John’ in Collected Imperial Greek Epics, vol. 3, Kneebone E. & Avlamis P. ed. Berkeley, LA: University of California Press. NT New Testament; Nestle, E. & Aland, K. 196328. Novum Testamentum Graece. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft; English translation follows NRSV =​New Revised Standard Version English translation of the Old and New Testaments (Mt =​Matthew, Mk =​Mark, Lk =​Luke, Jo =​John). OCD4 Hornblower, S., Spawforth, A., & Eidinow, E. 2012. Oxford Classical Dictionary Fourth Edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Or. Sib. Oracula Sibyllina. For Books 1–​2 see Lightfoot, J. L. ed. 2007. The Sibylline oracles: with introduction, translation, and commentary of the First and Second Books. Oxford: Oxford University Press; for Books 3–​14 see Geffcken, J. ed. 1902. Die Oracula Sibyllina. Leipzig, Berlin: De Gruyter. Orig. C. Cels. Origenes, Contra Celsum; Borret, M. ed. 1967–​1976. Origène Contre Celse. 4 vols (SC 132, 136, 147, 150, 227). Paris: du Cerf. PG Patrologia Graeca Cursus Completus. Series Graeca, 162 vols., Minge, J. P. ed. Paris 1857–​1886. Procl. Proclus Diadochus. Procl. Const. Proclus’ of Constantinople, homilies, text and English translation by Constas, N. 2003. Proclus of Constantinople and the cult of the Virgin in Late Antiquity. Leiden: Brill. Ps Psalms; Rahlfs, A. ed. 19712 (19351). Septuaginta, vol. 2, 9th edition. Stuttgart: Württemberg Bible Society. Ps.-​ Pseudo (pseudepigraphic texts). SC Sources Chrétiennes, Turnout: Brepols. SEG Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum, 1923–​present, online: https://​ www.uni​vers​itei​tlei​den.nl/​en/​resea​rch/​resea​rch-​proje​cts/​hum​anit​ies/​ suppl​emen​tum-​epigr​aphi​cum-​grae​cum. Leiden: Brill. TLG Thesaurus Linguae Graecae, online http://​stepha​nus.tlg.uci.edu/​. Irvine, CA. Vis.D. Visio Dorothei in Bodmer Papyrus 29; Kessels, A. H. M. & Van Der Horst, P. W. ed. 1987. “The Vision of Dorotheus (Pap. Bodmer 29): edited with introduction”. Vigiliae Christianae 41 (4): 313–​59. Lampe LSJ

Unweaving Crossweave Poems Patchwork Poetry One of the best known “centos” of modern poetry lies undoubtedly at the end of T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, 1922. At the work’s majestic apocalyptic closure, we read “What the Thunder said” followed by a series of literary fragments from which Eliot’s own poetry and aesthetics are crafted: What the thunder said: I sat upon the shore (423) Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down Poi s’ ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam uti chelidon—​O swallow swallow Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie These fragments I have shored against my ruins (430) Why then I’ll fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe. Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih shantih

—​ J. Weston, From Ritual to Romance, p. 38 ibid. ch. “The Fisher King” Is 38:1: “Thus saith the Lord, set thine house in order: for thou shalt die, and not live” Children’s nursery rhyme, My Fair Lady Dante, Purgatorio 26, 148 Pervigilium Veneris, 90 G. de Nerval, El Desdichado, 2 —​ T. Kyd, The Spanish tragedie, Act 4 Brihadaranyaka Upanishad ibid.

The modern term for this kind of composition is “collage,” that is, a poem that composes from lines drawn from other poems, with or without interpolations, to make one’s “own.”1 Ultimately, both one’s “own” and the “borrowed” lines matter. Eliot’s command of his models, for example, is as important as the program of The Waste Land’s “interpolated” line 430, which summarizes the literary and aesthetic agenda of this allusive and highly reflexive work constructed out of fragments and ruins. These are expressed in the revelatory tone of the Upanishad, which, fused with both Isaiah and Dante’s Purgatorio, grant the poem its overarching sacred and apocalyptic character, while merging it with secular narratives, such as those of Nerval and Kyd, and even a child’s nursery rhyme. Deconstructed here is traditional religion, but not the quest for the spiritual. The poem reuses lines of texts that are emblematic of their mytho-​religious and apocalyptic potential and plays with the reader’s intertextual and cultural expectations. Although not all of the poem’s parallel texts are immediately recognizable, the apocalyptic and prophetic tone The Homeric Centos. Anna Lefteratou, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197666555.003.0001

2  The Homeric Centos is nonetheless stark, not least because the quotes from the Bible and Dante’s Purgatorio belong to the classics of Western apocalyptic imagery and literature. Additionally, the lines drawn from Nerval and Kyd, even if not instantly discernible to all readers, nonetheless align the narrator of the poem (430) with legendary medieval figures and are bound together by the poem’s well-​known nursery rhyme (426). However, such cut-​up techniques are used not only to recall grand themes. Excerption and reuse have usually thrived in parody. Compare, for example, the pastiche technique of T. S. Eliot’s finale to Thunder in the following short poem What the Camel Said, 1948 entitled Pastitsio by Giorgos Seferis, the influential translator of The Waste Land into Modern Greek: Τί είπε η γκαμήλα (Τετράδιο Γυμνασμάτων Β´, 1948, Παστίτσιο) . . . Κάθισα σ’ ένα πάγκο χαζεύοντας Τάχα θα ’ρθει κανείς για πασατέμπο Τα κόκκινα μήλα, τα πράσινα φύλλα μ’ αρέσουν πολύ, μ’ αρέσουν πολύ «Κάθε φορά που πέφτουν τα μεσάνυχτα το λύνω» Πότε θα πιάσω το κοτσύφι—​Ώ κότσυφα, κότσυφα (5) «Ενθάδε κείται ο Ταρσεύς μη γήμας» Με τα στραγάλια αυτά πέρασα τ’ απόγεμά μου. «Έχω ακατάλυτα μαλλιά και δόντια». Πάλι μαλακίζεται ο μπαγάσας. Evlendirelim. Nerede bulalim. Suradam buradan bulalim. Tamam Tamam Tamam (10)

(contra, i.e., revisiting Eliot’s: shore) —​ (echoes of erotic poetry—​cf. apple) N. Lapathiotis, Τα Σαββατόβραδα 1922 (contra: swallow—​both birds are black) Anthologia Palatina 7.309 —​ A. Melachrinos, Έξαρση ΙΙ. —​ I. Venezis, Aιολική γη, (Turkish) (Turkish “all is fine”; contra: Shantih)

By stitching together lines from other works, Seferis’ poem not only imitates Eliot’s technique in The Waste Land, but also parodies the poem by transposing it into a lighter, humorous register. Here Thunder does not speak; we no longer encounter a shore and a fallen Fisher King, but rather, in the Turkish refrain, a lazy camel driver in the aftermath of the 1922 catastrophe in Asia Minor. Seferis’ manner of appropriating the text resembles Eliot’s, but he uses it to parodic effect: subverting the lines of Lapathiotis’ elegy (which hint at the “loosening” of heartache) he endows them with sharp sexual connotations. At the same time, however, he relies on the line in Venezis’ novel to deepen the poem’s tone of the poem and allude to a popular theme in Greek literature, that of “lost homelands.”2 This nostalgia for a greater past combined with the pettiness of the present echo the stylistic differences not only between Seferis and his Greek models, but also between his Pastitsio and Eliot’s finale. These two poems serve as examples of the ways in which authoritative religious and secular narratives are revisited and intertextual appropriations—​ at the level of thematic or literal quotation—​ prompts specific audience responses. On the one hand, Eliot’s poem shows that a detailed knowledge of

Unweaving Crossweave Poems  3 all intertexts is not a prerequisite for comprehending his poem’s medieval and apocalyptic under-​and overtones. Lines from the Bible or Dante undoubtedly reveal something of The Waste Land’s poetic vision and serve as an overarching umbrella for the lesser known echoes in the poem. By contrast, the exoticism of the citations in Romance languages (427–​429, Italian, Latin, French), the English archaisms (431), and the oracular tone of Sanskrit contribute to the revelatory texture of the base hypotexts.3 On the other hand, Seferis’ subversion of Eliot’s finale shows that the technique of verbatim quotation or “pastiche” can also be used to parodic ends. It also implies that intertextual appropriation differs from verbatim quotation. In his poem, Seferis does not quote a single line from The Waste Land. Instead, he transfers the text to another tonality,4 though The Waste Land remains the reader’s chief hypotext. The two poems prove that the technique can be used either in a part of a larger composition, as in the case of Eliot, or in a shorter work whose entirety it, as in that of Seferis, thereby indicating that the margin between technique and genre is narrower than commonly thought. They also reveal that the reader plays a crucial rule in identifying and generating meaning in poems constructed out of poetic fragments. Most importantly, the reclamation of key, culturally loaded hypertexts, such as the Bible, the Upanishads, or Dante by Eliot, and of Eliot along with Ilias Venezis by Seferis, are of primary importance to our understanding of both the religious/​spiritual and worldly concerns of these poems. What traditional religion cannot offer to Eliot’s deconstructed and increasingly secularized world, Eliot’s poetry cannot offer to Seferis’ description either of the universe after the 1922 Destruction of Smyrna in the Greco-​Turkish War (1919–​1922) and the Second World War. The intertextual appropriation of culturally and religiously loaded texts, verbatim quotation, intergeneric dialogue, and audience response are all features important to the literary analysis presented in this book, which, in fact, is an unprecedented attempt to contextualize the First Edition of Homeric Centos (hereafter, I HC), a biblical epic in Homeric hexameter, within the cultural milieu of Late Antiquity and with a regard for its intellectual, literary, and religious aspects. Today, what today we call centos—​κέντρωνες, or κέντρα—​are poems, typically, though not exclusively Christian in content, which are composed with a technique that flourished from the third to the seventeenth century that evoked stitching, weaving, and needlework.5 Their authors draw lines chiefly from Virgil (in the Latin-​speaking world) or from Homer (in the Greek-​speaking world) to compose new poems, both secular and Christian, which are known as Virgilian and Homeric centos, respectively. Homeric Centos, the focus of this analysis, “are poems made up entirely of verses lifted verbatim, with, occasionally, only slight modification, from the Iliad and Odyssey.”6 Virgilian centos are ones with lines copied verbatim from the Aeneid, Georgics or Eclogues. Homeric

4  The Homeric Centos Cento refers to multilayered poems that are woven together with at least two interlinked strands: the “wrap,” the biblical theme of the poem, and the “weft,” the Homeric material reused to centonize the Bible, produce a composite textus, a Homerokentron.

The Approach of this Book Today, more than thirty-​three years since the publication of Michael Roberts’s magisterial 1989 Jeweled Style, the number of studies on late antique poetry, both Christian and secular, has exploded. Although most of these have focused primarily on the Latin authors,7 some have also been devoted to the Greek ones, especially their chief representative, Nonnus of Panopolis.8 The time is thus ripe for re-​contextualizing the first edition of Homeric Centos within the framework of Late Antiquity and re-​evaluating it with an eye for the biblical poetry of that period.9 The present study aspires to examine the first and longest edition of the Homeric centos, which date roughly to the first half of the fifth century, to peel back the layers of its thick textual fabric and contextualize it within the literary and religious milieu of Late Antiquity. By unpicking and unweaving the poem’s Homeric and biblical strands,10 the present reading will show that the Homerocentones amount to a biblical poem representative of the late antique reception of Homer and biblical exegesis, and one which, intriguingly, reveals a distinct female focus. To achieve its goals, the study combines traditional philological approaches11 with intertextual and narratological methodologies,12 taking into account gender13 and historico-​ cultural dimensions,14 which have been routinely examined in studies of late antique poetry but less so in cento poetry, especially the Homerocentones. The analysis it offered opts for a holistic reading of the I HC and opens new areas of study. On the one hand, in addition to Homer, namely the Iliad, the Odyssey, the book looks at the reception of Homer in Late Antiquity, both in and outside the classroom, and considers other important non-​Homeric classical intertexts in the I HC, the most prominent of which being didactic poetry and drama. For this reason, each Homeric line is examined within its broader late antique context. On the other hand, the analysis goes beyond the biblical canon to examine the reception of the Old and the New Testaments in two consecutive chapters and surveys the impact of Christian exegesis of select passages, of the apocryphal literature, and visual/​material culture (as per Roberts’ analysis) on the poem. It thus attempts to understand the challenges of versifying the Old as opposed to the New Testament, the differences in the poetic reception of the two Testaments, and the impact of the earlier Christian and the fifth-​century dogmatic debates on the I HC.15 Moreover, the approach followed here examines the select passages with respect to Homer and the Bible not only

Unweaving Crossweave Poems  5 intertextually but also intratextually,16 thus illustrating both the poem’s seamless approach to its topic and its overarching poetic design. Finally, the present study considers from an intertextual and mainly gendered narratological perspective a selection of similar excerpts from the two major editions of the Homeric centos, the I HC and the II HC, and demonstrates the many possibilities that the Homeric text provided to those wishing to refashion biblical extracts which, in fact, is pivotal to our understanding of the exegetical and poetic aspirations of the I HC as well as its gendered focus and its possible attribution to the Empress Eudocia (401–​460 CE). Although the book draws on all the methodologies mentioned above, each of its chapters resort to those best suited to its focus on a particular topic, such as the reception of Homer, the depiction of women, or the intertextual and exegetical issues entangled in the transposition of the Old and the New Testaments into Homeric hexameter. Thus Chapter 1 (“Homerocentones Biblici”), for example, shows why the poem is no less Homeric than it is biblical, discusses the scholarship bias that has led to the I HC’s classification with Homeric rather than with biblical poetry, and scrutinizes arguments regarding its Homeric and biblical intertextuality. Shown here is how the I HC, albeit representing the conventional practice of Homeric reuse, goes beyond the classroom to echo the rhetorical and highbrow reception of the epics, but also displays a distinctive taste for particular books that were not part of the canon. Insofar as biblical is concerned, this chapter contextualizes one of the poem’s prefaces, the so-​called Apologia by Eudocia, within the context of both late antique biblical verse—​above and beyond the short-​lived Edict of Julian17—​and the gradual Christianization of pagan culture.18 In doing so, it argues that unlike other stark programmatic statements that expand on Christian motivation, the Apologia balances between Homeric style with biblical themes. Chapter 2 (“Mulierum virtutes”) discusses the female perspective of the poem by comparing the I HC to the II HC and providing in-​ depth studies of their eminent female characters. Women, both idealized and not, it argues, are part of a re-​oriented late antique religious and cultural focalization. While the first part of the chapter demonstrates the importance of women in the I HC vis-​à-​vis II HC, the second part examines the influence of Marian literature in general as well as its impact on elite women in the court of Theodosius II. In its conclusion, Chapter 2 revisits the poem’s Eudocian authorship. Chapter 3 (“De fructu lignorum”) focuses on two illustrative Old Testament topics in the Book of Genesis, the Creation and the Fall, and explores the exegetic and generic stance of the poem’s opening. The argument here is that that the poem begins in the didactic revelatory tone of the kind found in other hexametric revisions of Genesis, such as the Sibylline Oracles and Gregory’s dogmatic poems, that are part of a longer didactic Christian reception of Genesis. The didactic tone Old Testament subsides but is typologically revisited in the prelude to the Savior’s

6  The Homeric Centos incarnation, which, at the Homeric level is marked by a programmatic reuse of the two now interlaced Homeric proems: that of the Iliad’s for the Fall, and of the Odyssey’s for Christ’s soteriological agenda. Chapter 4 (“Crucifixus pro nobis”) tackles a New Testament theme, the narration of Christ’s passion. Its aim is to show how Homer was reworked to take into account the new Christian meaning of κλέος (“renown”) and heroism, as well as to illustrate the Christological stance of the I HC in a period marked by heated conflicts over dogma. Select allusions to Nonnus’ Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel, wherever relevant, indicate the difference in the I HC’s exegetical and aesthetic agenda and probably reveal a slight inclination toward a two-​natures Christology.19 Finally, the study’s substantial conclusion (“Reweaving”) ravels together the various strands of the Homerocentones analyzed in the book and evaluates the poem within the cultural milieu of the first half of the fifth century.

1

Homerocentones biblici centones apud grammaticos vocari solent, qui de carminibus Homer seu Vergilii, ad propria opera more centonario ex multis hinc inde compositis in unum sarciunt corpus, ad facultatem cuiusque materiae. According to the grammarians, centos should be called [the poems] that in cento manner borrow [lines] from the poems of Homer or Virgil into their own and from many they stich them together into a single body, depending on the aptitude of the material. Isidore, Etymologies, 1.39 Ἐν τῷ περὶ μεθόδου σοι δεινότητος διδάσκει ὁ Ἑρμογένης κόλλησιν ὁμοῦ καὶ παρῳδίαν, λέγων ὡς καὶ ἀμφότερα γλυκαίνουσι τοὺς λόγους Μάθε δὲ τί ἡ κόλλησις καὶ τί ἡ παρῳδία. Ἂν άλλαχόθεν λάβῃς τι καὶ μίξῃς τοῖς σοῖς λόγοις, εἴτε πεζὸν ἢ μετρικὸν κόλλησιν κάλει τοῦτο . . . Καὶ τὸ εἰς Ὁμηρόκεντρα ῥηθὲν εὐφυεστάτως, “σκαιῇ Παῦλον ἔχεν· ἑτέρηφι δὲ λάζετο Πέτρον” With The Method of Eloquence Hermogenes instructs you, | what is collage and simultaneously what parody looks like | and states that both of these make orations sweeter. | Learn then what is a collage and also what is parody. | If you draw something from elsewhere and mix it in your speeches, | whether in prose, whether in verse, you should call this a collage. . . . As is the ingenious verse in Homeric Centos, | “he [Jesus] took on his left-​hand Paul; and Peter [stone, ἑτέρηφι δὲ λάζετο πέτρον, Ιl. 16.734] on his right” Tzetzes, Chiliades 8.196, 94–​100, 110–​111.

In the sixth century, Isidore of Seville was acquainted with the definition of cento as a poetic patchwork of various strands from Homer or Virgil into a single poetic work (ex multis . . . in unum sarciunt) in the manner of cento (more centonario). In the twelfth century the erudite Ioannes Tzetzes could even distinguish The Homeric Centos. Anna Lefteratou, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197666555.003.0002

8  The Homeric Centos between collage and parody:1 parody he says is about tweaking the content, pastiche is about reuse. Although both are about reclaiming, the content, the effect is different. This is also what we observed in the earlier reuse of prior models in Eliot’s The Waste Land and Seferis’ revision in his Pastitsio. In paraphrasing the Hermogenic corpus Tzetzes uses examples from Oppian alongside the Homeric Centos, which shows his familiarity with a long tradition of reclaiming and rewriting. The definition of cento in Isidore’s sixth-​century explanation, comes long after its first specimens first appeared, and Tzetzes’ theoretical underpinning even later. With the exception of Ausonius᾽ programmatic theorization of cento in his Carmen Nuptialis that will be discussed below, ancient grammarians while aware of what more centonario /​κέντρωνος δίκη meant, they seldomly felt the need to provide a precise classification of it. Cento as a technique was part of the ancient audience’s culture of excerption, quotation, and reuse which applied both on the reception of Homer and of the Bible. It pointed to a closer yet not entirely different appropriation mode of culturally important works into new works and evolved around the same principles of imitatio, aemulatio, and variation, name creative imitation, competitive emulation, and inventive variation, of the classics.2 This chapter traces the evolution of Homeric centos into Biblical centos and examines the ancient audiences’, as opposed to that of the early modern editors’, reception of secular and Christian centos (Section 1.1), the techniques of excerpting and reusing Homer in the Empire (Section 1.2), and the apologetic motivation of the centonists within the context of classicizing Christian poetic production (Section 1.3) in Greek and Latin.

1.1  Ancient Centos Those who have been working on the Homeric Centos since the turn of the millennium are fortunate to have at their disposal a well-​established text far more complete than the earlier Teubneriana of the I HC in the Iviron 4464 manuscript used by Mark Usher and the still useful edition of the II HC in the Paris. suppl. gr. 388 manuscript edited by André-​Louis Rey.3 It was Rocco Schembra who took on the Herculean task of meticulously editing all the available versions of the Homeric Centos: a long version referred to in Schembra as the first (Conscriptio Prima, I HC, 2354 lines); and a shorter one referred to as the second (Conscriptio Secunda II HC, 1948 lines); and three very short versions: Conscriptio A (HCa, 622 lines), Conscriptio B (HCb, 653 lines), and Conscriptio Γ (HCc, 738 lines).4 He has thus made available for further study a difficult and elusive text that had hitherto been poorly edited.5 Rey published the II HC in Paris. suppl. gr. 388 with a French translation as well as useful, albeit brief notes. The 1999 Teubner edition by Usher6 is based on Stephanus’ 1578 edition as well as a single manuscript from

Homerocentones biblici  9 the monastery of Iviron from Mt. Athos (Iviron 4464) that transmits only 1455 of the 2354 lines of the I HC in Schembra.7 Our modern perception of centos as a liminal category, both as excerption technique and also genre, emerge from their fate in the Byzantine and early modern transmission. The compilers of the Byzantine manuscripts edit the centos with the help of a variety of texts, which impacted their reception as either Homeric appendices or Christian poems. In Byzantine manuscripts they are inserted among a collection of epigrams (A),8 presented on their own (C, H), or combined with other works, both Christian (e.g., Psellos, Theodoret in X), and pagan (N, Ps.-​Phocylides, Batrachomyomachia), and almost always together with the Homeric citations from which they are derived (A, M). The editio princeps of the I HC was published by Aldus Manutius in Venice between 1501 and 1504, thirty years after the first 1488 edition of Homer by Demetrius Chalcocondyles, and around the same time as the Aldine Homer of 1505. This testifies to the general humanist interest in classical antiquity, but surprisingly, as Rocco Schembra notes, Aldus Manutius published the I HC as an independent and autonomous work alongside other Christian poems, not as an appendix to the Homeric epics.9 These editions probably reflect influence of early modern Christian humanism.10 Thus, editors of the seicento printed the Homerocentones mainly alongside Christian works, such as Proba’s Cento and Nonnus’ Paraphrasis.11 In the next century, the rise of scientific reasoning, the religious debates, and philological practice especially with respect to the Homeric Question, probably contributed to the “Homericization” of the Centos.12 Accordingly, from the 1617 Jacob Stoer edition onward,13 the Homerocentones were published as appendices to Homeric epics. In modern times, the 1999 edition of the I HC, which is the current Teubner, is Usher’s revision of Henricus Stephanus’ edition of 1578. The II HC has not been in the limelight. Edited in 1897 by Arthur Ludwich after an earlier version of 1893, it included only Eudocia’s works cum testimoniis14 as well as the fragmentary Blemyomachia.15. This overview of these early editions shows just how difficult it is to classify them as either Homeric or biblical poems. By contrast, for an ancient audience, centos were a malleable material, evocative of centuries of Homeric excerption and reuse practice, or even plagiarism, still firmly embedded in late antique poetics.16

1.1.1 The Matrix of Centos The following is not an exhaustive analysis of the origins and development of cento poetry, nor does it aspire to analyze its elusive ancient or modern definitions, which have been treated excellently elsewhere.17 This concise summary focuses on the reception of centos from the ancient reader’s perspective.18

10  The Homeric Centos Rather than drawing up a history of ancient centos or offering a new definition, it will highlight their multifaceted characteristics, which, though not classified, would have been familiar to their late antique audiences, which would have reacted both positively and negatively to these experimental compositions. Ancient centos vary extremely in terms of both their themes and lengths, as well as their manner of engaging with their models. Size-​Contextualization: This can be compact, extending to a mere 131 lines, as in the case of the Carmen nuptialis, or long(er), like the I HC, which exceeds 2354 lines. Their size reflects on their contextualization. Centos may appear as stand-​alone compositions, as in the examples above, or be embedded in prose works (i.e., prosimetrum), such as Petronius’ Satyricon 132, where they are 9 lines long, or in Dio Chrysostom’s Alexandrian Oration 32.82–​84, where they are 38 lines long.19 Technique: Centos may be composed entirely out of borrowed verses or they may include interpolated verses by the author;20 they may be constructed from non-​consecutive lines but occasionally quote three or more consecutive verses from the same passage;21 they—​especially those labeled as Homeric, Virgilian, or Euripidean—​may consist of lines borrowed from a single author, or may draw on various authors, such as the cento described in Lucian’s Symposium (17), which incorporated Homeric, Pindaric, Anacreontic, and Hesiodic verses!22 If drawn from the same author they usually allude to a variety of works by this author and not a single poem. Themes-​Genre: These can be mythological or Christian—​ parodic, as in the case of Ausonius’ Carmen nuptialis, subversive but serious, as in that of Hosidius Geta’s Medea or Alcesta, but also Christian such as Proba’s Cento or the Homerocentones. Although the centos usually allude to the genre from which they derive their lines because of their theme, their generic stance is not solely epic, narrowly conceived. The source of the borrowed lines also had an impact on their generic appeal, as in the case of the didactic Georgics, for example, which “constitute a leading reminiscence” in the recasting of Genesis in Proba’s Cento.23 Similarly, the “dramatic” parts of the Aeneid and especially the tragically fashioned Dido underscore Hosidius’ dramatic and dialogic cento Medea.24 Indeed, the Aeneid was by intention an “intergeneric pyrotechnic.”25 By contrast, Homeric centos draw lines only from the archaic Homeric epic, which, at first sight, appears a less promising and versatile source. Despite the lack of versatility of the Homeric intertext, its reuse in the I HC shows that it could be adapted to a generic and multifarious reworking of epic poetry, as we shall see in the didactic and dramatic echoes in it. The surviving Christian centos are slightly more homogenous than their counterparts inspired by mythology. They tend to be poetic transpositions of biblical texts into both prose and meter rather than “invented” poems,26 while they

Homerocentones biblici  11 are not paraphraseis of specific texts either, as for example Nonnus’ Paraphrasis of St John’s Gospel or the Metaphrasis of the Psalms attributed to Apollinaris of Laodicea. Proba’s Virgilian Cento, for example, recounts Genesis and the canonical Gospels; the I HC, in turn, is comprised of translations in verse of parts of Genesis and important passages from the canonical and apocryphal gospels. Christian centos are classicizing poems that belong to the burgeoning genre of classicizing poetry that often (but not solely) drew on biblical texts.27 The content of biblical centos varies: both Proba’s Cento and the I HC include narrations of the Fall, the plan for Salvation, and the incarnation, ministry, passion, and Resurrection of Jesus, while other editions of the Homeric Centos omit Genesis and diverge significantly in the choice of and length of passages, especially with respect to Jesus’ miracles they chose to narrate. We know that by the fifth century, epic poetry—​including centos—​was composed in writing28 and performed orally.29 The lack of book sections and the emphasis on self-​contained episodes in the Homeric Centos based on Gospel pericopes, highlighted for example by typical introductory lines about the coming of dawn or the arrival of another suppliant, as we shall see in Section 1.2.1.3, also betray the late antique taste for shorter epyllion-​like sections even within larger epic compositions that could be performed in different time frames.30 Late Antiquity is famous for its penchant for variation, ποικιλία, which, prima facie, may seem antithetical to the formularity of Homeric epics, especially since the author of the I HC was probably a near contemporary of Nonnus, whose magnum opus, the Dionysiaca, is the epitome of poikilia.31 Yet as I will show below, even when reusing the standard Homeric constituents, such as Homeric verses and type scenes, these poems are not archaic but late antique poetic compositions. This is because of their peculiar relation to their source inspiration texts, Homer and the Bible. The transposition of a biblical story into cento poetry simply added to the layers of intertextuality inherent in the technique. The cento poem thus stands in dialogue with both the texts (Homer or Virgil) that offer it verses for re-​composition and their ancient reception, as well as its theme text (the Bible) and its exegesis. Albeit a transposition, the recomposed cento poem is, in fact, a new poem, endowed with its own intertextual affiliations and poetic and aesthetic aspirations.32 This complex intertextual entanglement and the interplay between tradition, imitation, and innovation lie at the core of cento poetics and are typical of late antique poetry in general, and of cento poetry in particular. In a seminal article, Klaus Thraede coined the useful terms Usurpation and Kontrastimitation to denote modes of adapting a verse into a new context. In the case of Usurpation, reused lines are adapted to fit a new Christian context without highlighting that adaptation. In that of Kontrastimitation, the “original” line or set of lines are used to emphasize the disparity between themselves and the new content, and often to suggest the superiority of the Christian vis-​à-​vis

12  The Homeric Centos the pagan reading.33 The perception of these nuances, however, required a more or less close knowledge of the original text.34 These texts were crafted from the currency of Graeco-​Roman paideia35 and addressed to those who shared it. While adaptations, deployed either as imitationes and/​or as aemulationes, are found throughout ancient literature of various periods and diverse genres, Late Antiquity provided fertile ground for the consolidation of this extreme technique of literary reuse and appropriation.36 Such self-​conscious and highlighted interchange between old and new illustrates the “cumulative aesthetic” of Late Antiquity that also dominated material culture.37 According to Jaś Elsner this cumulative aesthetic consisted of “a kind of creative syncretism of collected fragments . . . an ‘aesthetics of discontinuity’ or ‘dissonant echoing’ in which the different fragments are synthesized in a dense and textured play of repetition and variation: not only do the seams show, but they are positively advertised.”38 The Arch of Constantine is probably the most expressive imperial monument constructed out of architectural re-​semanticized spolia—​evidence either of continuity and/​or discontinuity—​in a new context. The repurposing of pagan temples and their transformation into churches is another: for example, the Temple of Aphrodite in Aphrodisias was thoroughly disassembled and all its materials reassembled to build the new Christian basilica. Similarly, with its Kontrastimitation and Usurpation of classical and biblical narratives, the late antique cento too participates in the self-​conscious adaptation of the past to new ends.39 At the intertextual level, and when seams do show, while being fully aware that more nuanced terms have been proposed to differentiate between the levels of allusive engagement,40 I have opted against inventing a new metalanguage specifically adapted to the needs centonic compositions. Certainly, lines drawn verbatim from an original have a closer intertextual relationship with their “source.” However, overemphasizing the debt of the Homerocentones to Homer risks reading the poem as a compilation of Homeric formulae and downplay the centos’ biblical and late antique context. For example, Usher wrote his 1998 monograph in a time when the Parryan paradigm was still reverberating in Homeric studies: formulae were an important ingredient of archaic oral composition and the focal point of scholarly analysis.41 Academic interest recently has moved beyond formularity and oral composition, even in Homeric studies,42 and centers instead on the conscious citation and repetition of earlier text. On the other hand, the toolkit of intertextuality, especially when applied from its application on Latin literature with its strong emulative tint, may prove less detailed for the study of centos and partially assert their mythological rather than biblical models.43 The amalgamation of a highly literary culture, the constrains of oral performance, and above all the intercultural and interreligious dialogue detected in Christian epic verse in Late Antiquity encourage holistic approaches

Homerocentones biblici  13 to this kind of poetry. Taking, for example, a departure from Ausonius’ or Proba’s centonic compositions, with their abundance of self-​reflexive material that I discuss below, may bias the expectations of a reader of Homeric centos. I have tried instead to read the Homerocentones as a classicizing Homeric-​inspired poem, similar to Quintus of Smyrna’s Posthomerica and Nonnus’ Dionysiaca. It may be that some centos invite more precise metalanguage than others, in particular when these include more nuanced para-​and meta-​textual remarks.44 However, not all centos are equally articulate about their authors or compositional technique. Furthermore, the plurality of centonic themes and excerption techniques discussed above advise against a strict categorization. Centos are a flexible category and addressing them as a specific field of late antique poetry may underplay their contribution to the larger corpus of late epic poetry. This study is based on the hypothesis that an ancient audience would have read/​heard a cento and a non-​cento poem alike, aware of the more demanding intertextual intricacies but nonetheless familiar with similar decoding inter-​ and intra-​ textual approaches. While acknowledging the more theoretical scholarly contributions, I will instead use the more standard terminology in classics for denoting intertextual relations so as not to prioritize the relationship of the hypotext (Homer) with the hypertext (I HC) to the detriment of other possible models. For exact references to specific verses and passages, I use the term “allusion”; for less concrete but still text-​based reminiscences, I use the term “intertext”; broader evocations of other texts and themes I label “echoes” or “reminiscences”; for references that allude to genre as well, I use the term “intergeneric”; for formulae-​related textual reminiscences, I use the term “interformularity”; while for allusions within the same text I use the term “intratextuality.”45 I also retain the terms Usurpation and Kontrastimitation proposed by Kurt Thraede to illustrate the relationship of the hypertext, while acknowledging the cento poem’s less than binary relation with its hypotext, as argued by Aaron Pelttari. Should a comprehensive definition of the cento technique be necessary, then the following may serve as a preliminary definition. Cento is a late antique technique for composing chiefly literary/​artistic works or poems out of phrases/​lines borrowed verbatim from one or more earlier “model” poems, sometimes with the addition of consecutive or interpolating lines of the author’s own composition. The range of possible combinations and the reuse of the cento material to serve a variety of ends (depending on length, theme, source material, and intended genre, differences in quotation practice), suggest an intertextual complexity that is characteristic of the cumulative poetics of Late Antiquity and illustrate the taste for challenging, multi-​layered and open-​ended texts among readers of the time. Christian centos adapt prose texts from the biblical canon and beyond (including apocryphal narratives and biblical prose commentaries)

14  The Homeric Centos to the cento technique by borrowing lines from earlier, non-​Christian highbrow poetry. The cultural milieu of Late Antiquity thus encouraged a reading of Christian Homeric centos through the lens of literary spoliation: these poems are full of archaic and historically and culturally loaded verses that have been detached from their original sources, which are nevertheless recognizable in the new whole, thereby reflecting the tradition of the classicizing Christian poetry of the period. As we shall see, late antique testimony on centos lays particular stress on the multi-​layered readings that cento poems enable.

1.1.2  Ancient Audiences Ancient audiences were well acquainted with the ideas of verbatim quotation, direct borrowing, and reuse. Recent scholarship on the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite shows that the poem—​formulaic as it may be—​revisits lines of the Iliad.46 Furthermore, quotation thrives in satire and comic revision: Aristophanes puts together lines that he draws from famous dramatists and mixes with his own,47 while the Satyricon includes a poem constructed out of Virgilian lines48 that are interpolated into the prose narrative. Working in a more serious vein, Chariton of Aphrodisias combines two lines describing Helen and Penelope in his own description of Callirhoe as the faithful yet fatefully beautiful heroine of his novel.49 These techniques of re-​appropriation paved the way for subsequent antique centos, though the theorization of the cento technique did not occur until much later. This early evidence of its use nonetheless illustrates the response anticipated from the audience: Aristophanes’ spectators, for example, were expected to grasp these allusions (at least in terms of style and meter), even if they were unable to pinpoint the exact source of the quote. The ability to do so would become easier from the Hellenistic era onward due to the systematization of the Graeco-​Roman educational system, which encouraged the re-​use of classical literature and poetry, in particular (e.g., excerpts from Homer, Euripides, and Menander), in the writing, arguing, performance, and discussion of complex philosophical, moral, political, or aesthetic issues. Yet though the school system encouraged the memorization, copying, and quotation of canonical poems, there was no technical term for a poetic composition of this kind. All the same, the audience’s acquaintance with the aforementioned quoting techniques indicates that ancient hearers and readers knew at least their Homer or Virgil by heart.50 The terms later used to designate the procedure of extracting a Homeric line and reusing it in another epic are κέντρον, κέντρων, or cento. The Greek noun τὸ κέντρον means anything with a pointy edge (e.g., a goad, spear, sting, instrument of torture, pin, or needle); the masculine noun ‘ὁ κέντρων᾽, used in the common Byzantine phrase κέντρωνος δίκην or in Latin “more centonario” (“composed in

Homerocentones biblici  15 the manner of a cento”), denotes something or someone bearing the marks of the κέντρον. This could be an animal, a human (slave), or a patchwork of elements, often composed of textiles, such as rags, or even a poetic compilation. The Latin cento is first used by Plautus in his Epidicus 455 as a literary metaphor for a patchwork and is part of a longer tradition that metapoetically associates weaving with poetry. Beginning with Penelope’s and Helen’s famous looms, and continuing with the Ps.-​Aristotelean Peplos, a prose work that brings together heroic epitaphs,51 and the quilt imagery of Clement’s Stromateis (“Patchwork”)52 and Optatian’s textile artwork, and even Theodoret’s dialogue Eranistes, alluding precisely to its mix-​match nature, centos have long been associated with fabric, with textus and texere, a metaphor used both by male and female poets.53 It is late in the second century that centonic poems begin to be more widely attested. Irenaeus of Lyon, for example, writes a short cento on the twelfth labor of Hercules by reusing several Homeric lines to exemplify the misunderstandings that emerge from the pastiche quotation of the Bible by—​in his view “heretical”—​ exegetes.54 Tertullian, in turn, turns to a (mythological) cento to illustrate the way in which exegetes of the Bible misinterpret its contents.55 Although Irenaeus and Tertullian seem to use the cento as an analogue for misuse and misreading,56 by the late fourth and early fifth century, Jerome appears to be disturbed by the fact that biblical misinterpretation resembles centonic pastiche and that some exegetes are interpolating Virgilian or Homeric lines to support their interpretation. Even Virgil and Homer, if deployed accordingly could be considered as evoking a Christian message. This, he claims, runs the risk, especially in the understanding of the uneducated masses who are incapable of recognizing the degree of textual reuse, manipulation, and distortion that is inevitable in this kind of literary practice.57 Jerome’s argument is more subtle than that of his predecessors in that it differentiates between technique (pastiche), content (intended Christian meaning/​exegesis), and misinterpretation (secular poetry used for exegesis).58 Another characteristic approach is that of the historian Socrates, who, in discussing Julian’s School Edict in June 362, reports that the Emperor has found worthy opponents in the two Apollinarii, father and son,59 as their work offers evidence of the reverse phenomenon, namely, the stylistic classicization of Christian poetry, and insists that training in classical paideia ought to be used for similar apologetic ends.60 Sozomen, probably writing after Socrates in the mid-​fifth century, by which time Christian poetry had already been more successfully classicized, seems more open to the form.61 Although neither author mentions cento poems in his history, both refer to revisions of biblical texts in hexameter, among other meters, while Sozomen reports that Apollinaris, emulating Homer’s rhapsodies, transposed the Ἑβραϊκὴν ἀρχαιολογίαν62 into 24 books. Socrates’ critique is in a vein similar to Jerome’s, a warning against excess. Sozomen, by contrast, betrays a fondness for these virtuoso revisions, and, interestingly, comments on the readerly

16  The Homeric Centos habitus and subsequent expectations: as he points out, people are used to reading heroic epic in hexameter, but not the Acts in the guise of Platonic dialogues.63 In sum, what all these theologians and historians seem to worry about is the danger (though, for some, like Sozomen, this means the excitement) that arises from the aesthetic reclamation and re-​or misinterpretation of earlier poetry by the average (more or less, incompetent) reader due to their limited deductive abilities.64 In fact, the complexities of such a kind of poetry, as Aaron Pelttari wonderfully highlights, are typical of the versatility and intelligence expected by late antique audiences, which were challenged by these open, fluid texts. As the cento was theorized only later, its aims and techniques in an earlier period can be deduced solely from the poems themselves, with Ausonius as the chief example. The famous passage in his Preface to Carmen nuptialis defines the cento as a ludic, witty, and unserious work, written as a pastime, and ridicules as inept the poet who draws more than two consecutive lines from the “source” poem. One may recall here Seferis’ parody-​ transposition of Eliot’s poem to a “lighter” tonality. This much-​quoted definition of the cento, elegant as it is, does not hold true for all late antique centos or even those by Ausonius, most probably because the two-​line limit was already a challenge.65 It is particularly inapplicable to Christian centos, which include programmatic prefaces and proems that, as we shall see, contain information on the style, aesthetics, and ideological motives of classicizing poetry, but show less concern for Ausonian duos. Sozomen’s testimony, however, demonstrates the popularity of classicizing poetry in the fifth century as well as its highly experimental quality, of which centos are probably among the most adventurous specimens. Certainly Christians may have known of earlier biblical hexametric poetry, such as that of the Hellenistc Jewish poets Theodotus and Philo cited in Eusebius Evangelical Preparation 9.22 nad 37. But cento was more daring. Isidore of Seville defines the cento in the seventh century and shows an awareness of the difficulties of adapting Homer and Virgil.66 In the eighth century, the grammarian Heliodorus defines the noun “ὁ κέντρων” as a song-​patchwork (ἑρραμένην ᾠδήν) associated to a wrap (περιβόλαιον) in his scholia on the first-​century Dionysius Thrax, offering as an example his own six-​line Homeric cento—​a poem on Echo’s alleged words to Pan when fleeing. According to this commentator, cento is related, but not identical to the rhapsody, which he uses as an overarching term for poetic compositions that involve making wholes out of parts.67 A later scholiast on Aristophanes’ Clouds defines “κέντρων” as a rag used for saddling donkeys, a meaning also found in the tenth-​century Suda lexicon.68 In the second half of the twelfth century, Eustathius goes so far as to formulate a fascinating anachronism; noticing the formulaic character of Homeric poetry, the erudite bishop—​perhaps to the surprise of the modern, but not ancient Homeric scholar—​concludes that it is like a textile, stitched together from various lines by talented seamstresses—​rhapsodes and centonists alike—​who have “woven” the various threads together (ῥάπτω +​ᾠδή) into a poetic whole.69

Homerocentones biblici  17 As centos were popular throughout the Middle Ages (even the sister and namesake of Eudocia, the sister of Empress Zoë Porphyrogenita, is credited with writing one) and beyond, Eustathius’ observations are important for the modern scholar, primarily for their information on the practice of Homeric centos in his time.70 Although he claims that centos did not exist in Homer’s era (τὰ ὕστερον Ὁμηρόκεντρα), he emphasizes the continuity between the archaic bard and the cento poet. Surprisingly, Eustathius does not even mention the Christian content of centos, which was presumably unproblematic in his own time, as opposed for the poem’s modern editors. For Eustathius writing in a period of early Humanism the biblical poems are part of an ongoing and seamless rhapsodic tradition with a “Homeric” touch that adds to their stylistic appeal, thus coming a long way since Irenaeus’ earlier denigration. Homer is part of the scholar’s paideia, and centos happen to be one of its seams.

1.2  Homeric Centos When a cento poet was faced with the task of transposing the Bible into Homeric hexameter, they were backed by a long tradition of Homeric reception.71 Far from randomly stitching together “relevant” Homeric lines “from memory,” the selection of suitable lines for centos required a long process of reading, painstaking memorization,72 excerption, quotation, and commentary (on) the poet, traces of which can be found in both pagan and Christian texts from the Imperial era onward.73 Although not all lines used in Homeric centos are drawn from prominent passages, most of those used to frame the re-​composed Gospel would arguably have been recognizable to the readers of the time due to the importance of Homer to the elites and their shared paideia. Studying with a grammatikos, their children would have learned to read and copy Homeric “maxims,” that is, lines with gnomic and didactic content.74 They would also have consulted a plethora of dictionaries, glossaries, anthologies, and mythographical handbooks that facilitated the reading/​teaching and memorization of the epics. Some lines, such as several gnomae,75 would also have been available in other media and used in non-​Homer-​related contexts, such as proverbs, for example. Others were granted a second life after being counted among models for rhetorical genres in the progymnasmata, demonstrating, as Rafaella Cribiore suggests, the entanglement of poetry and rhetorical prose and the importance of Homer to high and late imperial declamation.76 In short, thorough knowledge of Homeric and Homericizing language and style, shared between the poet and his/​her audience, enabled the deciphering and appreciation of the “new” cento poem. One of the most characteristic examples of this kind, undeservedly omitted from most discussions of Christian centos, is Dio’s speech to the Alexandrians,

18  The Homeric Centos Oration 32, sections 82–​85, which was recently analyzed in detail by Gilles Tronchet.77 After quoting Iliad 23.368–​372, the passage on the funeral games in honor of Patroclus, the rhetor taunts his Alexandrian audience about their fondness for spectacles.78 This is not the place to analyze in depth Dio’s passage,79 but simply to highlight the technical touches that are useful to the analysis of the Christian cento. The passage is a humoristic reworking of the chariot race in the funeral games, one that undermines the heroic Homeric context in order to accommodate the gossipy Alexandrian crowd.80 Equally parodic is the monologue of the horse, which borrows lines not only from the famous speech by one of Achilles’ horses but also from the hero’s own periautologia, a speech of self-​ praise, to Polydorus.81 The latter, which is quoted in ancient rhetorical manuals, is here reworked to comic effect as Achilles’ horse impersonates their master.82 As far as the cento technique is concerned, there are several divergences from the Ausonian aesthetic.83 The “Iliadic centos” are a blend of the Homeric and Dio’s own text in a ratio of 36:6. The cento is constructed from chariot-​related lines and other evocative verses describing battle-​scenes in which similes, formulaic lines, and gnomic verses play a vital role. Ausonian duos are likewise transgressed as three consecutive Homeric lines, quoted in 10–​12,84 while two consecutive lines are quoted elsewhere (e.g., 1–​2, 5–​6). These citations are aimed at an audience that knows the Iliad well, but the repetitive formulae and the widespread use of gnomic verses (e.g., 20) make the decipherment easier. It is in the same spirit that certain famous passages are also condensed (31–​32 ~ Il. 21.108 and 110) through the omission of one line (Il. 21.109). These are what Sean Adams calls “composite citations,”85 that is, quotations that summarize a given passage by giving the first and last lines and often omitting some in between, though with the expectation that the audience will recall the full passage. Of course, Dio would not have been aware of Ausonius’ rules on the cento but his use of earlier imperial Homeric quotation as an example is illuminating for our study of the reprise of Homer in Late Antiquity with regards to readerly expectation and compositional continuity as it shows the fluidity of the technique. It is within a similar cultural context that we need to understand the popularity of the magical use of Homer in the so-​called Homeromanteion, a collection of Iliadic and Odyssean lines that were given as answers to specific requests for consultation and assistance. The Homeric lines in the Homeromanteion are more disconnected than those in cento poems and suggest a kind of bibliomancy: a quasi-​random, tarot-​like approach to the Homeric text.86 Andromache Karanika has tried to associate the Homeromanteion technique with that of the Homeric Centos, arguing that the compositional technique and performative pragmatics (with its focus on orality) of the former recall those of the latter. The content and the theme of the Homeromanteion and the Homeric Centos, however, encourage quite different combinations,87 and Karanika’s presentation of Homer as

Homerocentones biblici  19 the Theologian in both poems is problematic especially for the Homerocentones, a point to which we shall return later. Nonetheless the excerption technique reveals the impact of the cultural and readerly expectations reflected in the reception of Homeric text.88 The following section focuses precisely on the audience’s expectations when faced with Homeric language and style within a late antique context.

1.2.1  Formulaic Composition Formulae are often spotlighted in studies of the translation of Homer into Christian centos as they are one of the basic epic ingredients which epic poets, from Hellenistic times onward, redefine in order to re-​claim and innovate hexametric poetry.89 Yet, though Mark Usher rightly observes the formularity of Homeric centos, he over-​stresses its impact on the oral composition of the poem and reads the centos according to methodological approaches used in the study of Archaic epics. Through his approach to “interformularity,” Egbert Bakker has shown that in addition to their compositional utility, formulae play an allusive role even in orally composed poetry.90 Unlike Hellenistic epic, which smooths out and occasionally subverts Homeric formularity, late antique poetry consciously revamps the “feeling” for formulae and transforms them from “a compositional method . . . into an interdiscursive stylistic feature.”91 Formulae were among the topoi of late antique engagement with Homer at the school level and were thoroughly refashioned in the epic poetry of the period. With reference to Quintus’ Posthomerica, Francis Vian, for example, observes that formularity (typical scenes, gnomic, ekphrasis, etc.) highlights the scholastic quality of the poem by making it more accessible. While this is true, neither Quintus’ epic nor the later ones by Nonnus lack sophistication as they move beyond the needs of the classroom and rhetorical training.92 Despite their archaizing style, later epics conform to the late antique aesthetic of epic composition, stressing poikilia alongside formularity and highlighting moralistic/​didactic tendencies while maintaining a poetic agenda.93 This is also the case of the I HC and its engagement with Homeric formularity in Late Antiquity.

1.2.1.1 Formulaic Characterization In general, characters in the I HC, as in Homer, tend to be introduced with stereotypical clusters or word. Here we will focus on two illustrative cases: Jesus and Judas. Presented as the subject of the poem, Christ is the being about whom the poet’s heart wishes to sing in order to help their audience “recognize” the one who is God and man alike: θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα, a Homeric rendering of the second and third chapters of the Nicene Creed.94 Already in the proem of the

20  The Homeric Centos I HC, he is presented as the Lord: ὃς πᾶσι θνητοῖσι καὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἀνάσσων, a line repeated with variations.95 He is also god-​like and a mediator to the divine, as evident from the frequent address: εἰ μὲν δὴ θεός ἐσσι, θεοῖό τε ἔκλυες αὐδῆς.96 His intercession is wonderfully illustrated in the etymological wordplay used in the epithet that typically introduces him elsewhere as: θεοκλύμενος θεοειδής. Whereas in the Odyssey, Theoclymenus is a seer with a nomen loquens, in the Christian poem the Christianization of his name probably designates him etymologically as one to whose opinion God listens.97 Judas is introduced with the Leitmotif: ὃς κακὰ πόλλ’ ἔρδεσκεν, ὅσ’ οὐ σύμπαντες οἱ ἄλλοι.98 The line, originally used for Oeneus by Phoenix, became proverbial for an individual deserving divine punishment and is patterned on and/​or inspired by the earlier instance in which the first hemistich appears, namely, the punishment of Oeneus by Artemis.99 Since Oeneus neglected the offerings due to the goddess, the verse is used not only to associate Judas with sin and hybris, but also on two occasions to introduce Satan, thus to make Judas Satan’s pawn.100 The formula thus underscores the deeper involvement of Satan in the arrest and Crucifixion of Jesus, one that is evident in apocrypha but not in the canonical sources, where Judas appears to act out of greed and takes all the blame.

1.2.1.2 Formulaic Lines If we move from characterization to lines that do not refer to character, we may observe two trends. First, the I HC sometimes draws on a non-​formulaic Homeric line and turns it into a formulaic one; and second, it sometimes recycles traditional formulae. I HC 919, for example, is a phrase that appears once in the Iliad 20.58: γαῖαν ἀπειρεσίην ὀρέων τ’ αἰπεινὰ κάρηνα; but in the Archaic epic γαῖα tends to be clustered together with the adjective ἀπείρων.101 Porphyry, a late antique reader, provides a list of adjectives for describing the vastness of the earth,102 but, for stylistic reasons, Quintus uses the rare adjective ἀπειρέσιος more often than he does its synonyms ἀπείριτος and ἀπείρων.103 It appears, therefore, that the selection of this particular line conforms to the late antique predilection for variations in the original formulaic clusters, which, in turn, become formulaic through repetition. Similarly, a line used once in Homer to describe gleaming copper weapons—​Il. 19.36: αἴγλη δ’ οὐρανὸν ἷκε, γέλασσε δὲ πᾶσα περὶ χθών—​is reclaimed in an entirely new, and this time epiphanic, context in I HC 290, where it is used for the Star of Bethlehem, and in I HC 460 for the Epiphany. The II HC recycles the verse in a similar context, but also adds the line to the scene of the Ascension, where Jesus appears seated next to his Father in resplendent glory, and thus connects the three epiphanic moments.104 In this way, the line became formulaic in the I HC and contributed to the inter-​and intratextuality generated by formulae across the editions of Homeric centos.

Homerocentones biblici  21 That said, Homeric formulae were also reused without alteration, as, for example, was the line describing the arrival of multitudes: ὅσσά τε φύλλα καὶ ἄνθεα γίγνεται ὥρῃ.105 Yet this is not merely a formulaic Homeric line, but one that also appealed to imperial writers from Lucian to Synesius and beyond.106 In other words, it was a stereotypical line that became proverbial and, from the Imperial era onward, could be used to adorn any learned reference to crowds and multitudes. The verse for describing chattering crowds—​ὧδε δέ τις εἴπεσκεν ἰδὼν ἐς πλησίον ἄλλον—​is used in Homer and the I HC more than once, and also appears frequently in Homeric dictionaries, thereby becoming part of the shared Homeric style.107 Formulaic in nature, the line was manipulated and already used three centuries prior to Eudocia, in Dio’s “Iliadic cento.”108

1.2.1.3 Typical Scenes Mark Usher argued that the centonist patterned the “typical scenes” on the matrix and logic of the Homeric ones, and that any variations that may appear are the product of this accommodation.109 Indeed, the author of the I HC was well aware of what a typical scene would be and used the Homeric material accordingly. Yet, while they did adapt the Homeric, and often unavoidably stereotypical material to the Christian theme, they did so in accordance with the late antique aesthetics of poikilia. Several type-​scenes—​a messenger scene, a congregation scene, a banquet/​feasting scene, and most commonly, a supplication scene can be found in Homeric centos.110 Here, I focus on the supplication scene, both because it is the most recurrent type as the ministry of Jesus includes ten miracles of healing. I break the supplication scene down to four thematic kernels: the opening/​ arrival of Jesus at the place of healing, the suppliant’s appeal, Jesus’ reply and the cure he effects, and the closure.111 There are three possible “introductions” to these supplication scenes: one that stresses the coming of light, another that underscores the midday context, and yet another that is based on the arrival of an Odysseus-​like beggar. Other, unsystematic introductions are possible as well. For example, as Jesus arrives at dawn in Capernaum, a beggar approaches him at I HC 635, 637 ~ Od. 2.1, 18.1: ἦμος δ’ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος ἠώς. The healing of the paralytic at the Portico of Solomon likewise takes place early in the morning at I HC 702 ~ Od. 19.433: ἠέλιος μὲν ἔπειτα νέον προσέβαλλεν ἀρούρας. The resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter also takes place at dawn I HC 735 ~ Il. 9.707: αὐτὰρ ἐπεί κε φανῇ καλὴ ῥοδοδάκτυλος ἠώς; similarly, Lazarus’ resurrection at I HC 1237~ Il. 11.735: εὖτε δὲ ἠέλιος φαέθων ὑπερέσχεθε γαίης. In this last case, dawn is explicitly set in contrast to the darkness surrounding the dead Lazarus.112 Midday is represented by Christ’s meeting with the Samaritan woman, I HC 1053 ~ Il. 8.68: ἦμος δ’ ἠέλιος μέσον οὐρανὸν ἀμφιβεβήκει. The settings of these events at dawn and midday highlight the epiphanic symbolism

22  The Homeric Centos of these passages.113 Five out of ten narratives begin with a reference to the course of the sun and light. This is not a mere reprise of possible Homeric openings for the action that follows,114 but a tendency that can also be observed in the practice of imperial and later quotation.115 Aside from its function as a temporal marker, the light of the sun is also important to the symbolic interpretation of these miracles. Dawn and midday both allude figuratively to the arrival of the Messiah,116 which is why, on the day of the Crucifixion, the poet describes Dawn as the first woman to mourn—​a wonderful personification or prosopopoeia—​ yet another feature typical of late antique poetry.117 When these episodes are introduced with different lines, we should attribute this to the poet’s conscious attempt to achieve poikilia through formularity. A second typical opening for supplication scenes is the intertextual recollection of Odysseus’ arrival at his palace in Ithaca disguised as a beggar that is alluded to in several places across the poem, and which evokes the soul’s Platonizing quest before its reunion with/​return to Christ, the heavenly haven.118 It is within this context that the paralytic at Capernaum is introduced as a common mendicant, at I HC 637 ~ Od. 18.1: ἦλθε δ’ ἐπὶ πτωχὸς πανδήμιος, ὃς κατὰ ἄστυ;119 the blind Bartimaeus as yet another lamenting beggar at I HC 852 ~ Od. 21.327: ἀλλος δ’ αὖτις πτωχὸς ἀνὴρ ἀλαλήμενος ἐλθών, and the demoniac from Gerasa as a vagabond, I HC 859 and 931 ~ Od. 21.327: ἀλλ’ ἄλλος τις πτωχὸς ἀνὴρ ἀλαλήμενος ἐλθών.120 All these suppliants are described as addressing Jesus in a state of grief, but their lamentations, though clearly possessing a formulaic core based on the repetition of the imperative κλῦθι, are characterized by poikilia. The paralytic at Capernaum cries out in I HC 659: κλῦθί μοι, ὃς χθιζὸς θεὸς ἤλυθες; addressing Jesus in I HC 833, the man with the withered hand states: κλῦθι, ἄναξ, ὅτις ἐσσί· πολύλλιστον δέ σ’ ἱκάνω; yet another variant is in the imperative as the blind man’s utterance in Ι HC 868: κέκλυ⸣θι ⸢νῦν καὶ ἐμεῖο⸣, ⸤μάλιστα γὰρ ἄλγος ἱκάνει.121 In addition, some of these beggars and suffering outcasts seem subtly to “recognize” Jesus as a god through the recurrent formula for Christ—​εἰ μὲν δὴ θεός ἐσσι, θεοῖό τε ἔκλυες αὐδῆς—​that is often used in the poem so as to highlight a person’s implicit testimony that Jesus is the Lord.122 As in the allusions to Homeric descriptions of dawn above, these slight variations indicate that despite the formularity of the supplication scene, it is still subject to the aesthetics of poikilia. Christ’s response and the closure of these episodes present a similar stylistic variation. To draw merely one example from the three Odyssean figures above—​ as soon as the paralytic stops speaking, Jesus takes his right hand, delivers a monologue,123 and the two spend the remaining time until evening in prayer.124 A reference to time—​sunset—​closes some of these miracles as well; the Wedding at Cana, for example, ends with the participants falling asleep, as does the story of the feeding of the multitude.125 Elsewhere, the blind man and the attending

Homerocentones biblici  23 crowds spend the entire day praising God.126 In the case of the paralytic, the scene ends with an account of the astonished crowds and their comments, as in the case of the Gerasene demoniac or the resurrection of Lazarus.127 That said, there are also exceptions that seemingly confirm the canon. Most characteristically, the resurrection of the daughter of Jaïrus ends with a close-​ up of the joy of the parents, an intimate and empathetic indoor scene,128 one that stands in strong contrast to the outdoor, crowd-​filled scenes of the other miracles. Accordingly, the passage describing the healing of the Haimorrhoousa ends with a snapshot of her weaving inside her chambers, which I shall discuss in detail below.129

1.2.2 Gnomae Another important and recognizable category of Homeric centos are lines that are loaded with gnomic content and that fit the moralizing/​didactic quality of late antique epic and the reuse of Homer in particular as a paraenetic text.130 A characteristic instance of this type is the line describing the power of the divine and the inability of mortals to “grasp” it: ἀργαλέος γάρ τ’ ἐστὶ θεὸς βροτῷ ἀνδρὶ δαμῆναι.131 In the Odyssey, Menelaus ponders how he, a mortal, can subdue the divine shape-​shifter Proteus. Nonetheless, the passage has a long afterlife in Platonic works, in which Socrates often associates his interlocutors to Proteus and habitually compares the quest for truth to the capture of the polymorphous Man of the Sea.132 In addition wise holy men in imperial literature are often associated with Proteus,133 so that by the time the I HC was composed, a the(i)os aner could be unproblematically likened to a seer. The line appears twice in the I HC, first to describe Herod’s failure to seize and kill baby Jesus, and afterward in the tirade of Pontius Pilate, who implicitly recognizes Jesus as God,134 contrasting the two powerful statesmen. In both cases, the line amounts to a description of the human inability to comprehend a divine epiphany and seemingly conforms to the Platonic use of the passage to describe someone who becomes a victim of the limitations of mortal knowledge. Another famous gnomic phrase is the one uttered by the Samaritan Woman, who asks Jesus about his origins by means of the periphrase, namely whether he makes his descent from an oak or a stone: οὐ γὰρ ἀπὸ δρυός ἐσσι παλαιφάτου οὐδ’ ἀπὸ πέτρης.135 The line is well known not only in its Homeric form—​it appears in the dialogue between the disguised beggar Odysseus and Penelope—​ but also in its adaptation by Plato.136 It is a line, in other words, of proverbial and metaphoric import, and was reclaimed as such by imperial writers such as Plutarch.137 However, due to its reuse by Plato, the line had greater allegorical appeal to Christian writers. So, for example, Clement of Alexandria used it to

24  The Homeric Centos describe the implausibility of the pagan belief that mankind originated in oak trees and stones, and thus inaugurated a tradition that continued throughout Late Antiquity.138

1.2.3  Jeweled Style 1.2.3.1 Ekphrasis Likewise, typical of later epic is the poem’s predilection for jeweled ekphraseis.139 Although ekphraseis already appear in Homer, ekphrastic passages became the aesthetic beacons of Hellenistic and subsequent poetry. The description of a boat in I HC 735–​745 is an intriguing example of a meticulously crafted digression that elaborates on a very brief passage in the Gospel,140 which is also inspired from rhetorical manuals but with an interesting late tinge: αὐτὰρ ἐπεί κε φανῇ καλὴ ῥοδοδάκτυλος ἠώς, ἄκρον ἐπὶ ῥηγμῖνος ἁλὸς πολιοῖο θέεσκεν. τόφρα δὲ καρπαλίμως ἐξίκετο νηῦς εὐεργὴς σπερχομένη· τοίων γὰρ ἐπείγετο χέρσ’ ἐρετάων ἐν δ’ ἄνεμος πρῆσεν μέσον ἱστίον, ἀμφὶ δὲ κῦμα στείρῃ πορφύρεον μεγάλ’ ἴαχε νηὸς ἰούσης. ἡ δ’ ἔθεεν κατὰ κῦμα διαπρήσσουσα κέλευθον, τώς κε μάλ’ ἀσφαλέως θέεν ἔμπεδον· οὐδέ κεν ἴρηξ κίρκος ὁμαρτήσειεν, ἐλαφρότατος πετεηνῶν. ὣς ἡ ῥίμφα θέουσα θαλάσσης κύματ’ ἔτεμνεν, ἄνδρα φέρουσα θεῷ ἐναλίγκια μήδε’ ἔχοντα.

735 ~ Il. 9.707, from Diomedes’ exhortation 736 ~ Il. 20.229, Dardanus’ filly foals 737 ~ Od. 12.166, Odysseus’ ship passing the Sirens 738 ~ Od. 13.115, the Phaeacian ship, Odysseus asleep 739 ~ Il. 1.481, Odysseus’ boat returns from Chrysa 740 ~ Il. 1.482, ibid.; return of Chryseis to Chryses 741 ~ Il. 1.483, ibid. 742 ~ Od. 13.86, the Phaeacian ship, Odysseus asleep 743 ~ Od. 13.87, ibid. 744 ~ Od. 13.88, ibid. 745 ~ Od. 13.89, ibid.

Thus, when the beautiful rosy-​fingered Dawn appeared, | he ran along the seaside of the surging sea, | when swiftly a beautifully crafted ship was sailing in, rapidly; | so much in haste the hands of the rowers in haste; | the wind was blowing the middle sail, and from both sides |the stem the purple wave was roaring as the boat went by. | And the boat was running against the waves making its way, | and thus was sailing very safely indeed; not even a falcon | could keep up with it, the lightest of birds. | Thus, it was sailing across the waves of the sea swiftly, | carrying a man with a god-​like mind.

The first line introduces the pending miracle of the resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter with the symbolic image of Dawn; next, it associates the young dead woman with Chryseïs, who, like the resurrected daughter, is soon to be returned to her parents, and Jesus with Odysseus, as a man of woes. On a structural level, the passage is conspicuously packed with boat-​related centos, inspired especially from Odyssey 13, Odysseus’ return on board the Phaeacian ship. This is a popular passage in the Progymnasmata, as a model on how to compose a propemptikos logos (a farewell speech to someone being escorted away).141 The corresponding passage from Odyssey begins with a four-​line simile of the horse chariot,142 which is here replaced with one line 736, Dardanus foals, an image praised for its ekphrastic power.143 The war–​peace imagery in Homer are evoked by the chariot versus the boat and allude to Odysseus’ war and sea woes, all now forgotten as

Homerocentones biblici  25 he sleeps blissfully on his way home. By contrast, the cento ekphrasis elaborates on the description of the boat and gives details that increase the vividness of the image by combining two sailing scenes together, Chryseïs’ and Odysseus’: the rowers, the keel, the blown sail, the alliteration of rho to allude to the sea water at I HC 740–​742,144 add to the image of the speedy boat from the Odyssey,145 that now resembles more a late antique description of the Christian ship, the symbol of the cross.146 Another innovative touch is found in the symbolic description of the River Jordan in I HC 447–​452, which develops as follows: ὣς εἰπὼν ὁ μὲν ἦρχ’, ὁ δ’ ἅμ’ ἕσπετο ἰσόθεος φώς. ἐς ποταμὸν δ’ εἰλεῦντο βαθύρροον ἀργυροδίνην, ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ πόρον ἷξεν ἐϋρρεῖος ποταμοῖο, ὃς πολὺ κάλλιστος ποταμῶν ἐπὶ γαῖαν ἵησι, καί μιν⸥ ⸤ἀπο πρὸ φέρων λοῦσεν ποταμοῖο ῥοῇσι, κρύπτων ἐν δίνῃσι βαθείῃσιν μεγάλῃσιν.

447 ~ Il. 11.472, Menelaus and Ajax 448 ~ Il. 21.8, Achilles steps into the Scamander 449 ~ Il. 14.433, Hector next to the Scamander 450 ~ Od. 11.239, Enipeus in Thessaly 451 ~ Il. 16.679, Apollo rinses Sarpedon’s body 452 ~ Il. 21.239, Scamander hides the Trojans

So he (John the Baptist) started to speak and behind him followed the God(like) Man. | And they stepped down into the deep crossing of the silver-​streamed river; | but when He arrived at the ford of the broad river, | which is the fairest river upon Earth | John brought Him forth and baptized him in the river’s streams | submerging Him entirely in the deep whirlpools of the river.

The lines evoked here also appear in lists in the Scholia and rhetorical treatises; their grouping suggests that they may have been used by readers as mnemonic aids for improving their understanding of the Homeric text.147 The carefully balanced passage (2:1:2) consists of a short ring-​composition built around the kathodos-​anodos theme of Achilles’ battle in the Scamander.148 In lines 448–​449, both the hero’s descent into the river and his bloodthirstiness touch on the topos of death through Kontrastimitation, since Jesus, unlike Achilles, accepts death willingly for the sake of humanity. In contrast, Xanthus’ efforts to salvage some of Achilles’ victims, as recounted in lines 451–​452, resonate throughout Usurpation along with the Christian baptismal imagery of the centos. Between these themes, is line 450, which references the beauty of Enipeus, evokes the holiness of the River Jordan and links it to Olympus. The selection of particular lines reveals the poem’s conscious reclamation of Homer rather than other more popular options. Eustathius, reports that some Christian centonists used a less famous river in Elis, called Iardanos, due to the name’s similarity to that of the River Jordan, Ἰορδάνης ποταμός.149

1.2.4 Similes For late antique poets and audiences, similes were a means of achieving vividness, energeia and variation, poikilia.150 Homeric similes in the I HC are reworked

26  The Homeric Centos with an eye toward variation but also toward their contemporary appropriation. A typical example is the reuse of the simile of the wasp in Iliad 16 in the scene of the Crucifixion below: αὐτίκα δὲ σφήκεσσιν ἐοικότες ἐξεχέοντο εἰνοδίοις, οὓς παῖδες ἐριδμαίνουσιν ἔθοντες, αἰεὶ κερτομέοντες, ὁδῷ ἔπι οἰκί’ ἔχοντες. νηπίαχοι· ξυνὸν δὲ κακὸν πολέεσσι τιθεῖσιν.

1830 ~ Il. 16.259, Myrmidons’ attack 1831~ Il. 16.260, ibid. 1832 ~ Il. 16.261, ibid. 1833 ~ Il. 16.262, ibid.

They surged out at once like wasps | at the roadside, which children tend to provoke, | always stirring them up, as they take the road home. | Senseless ones; who committed a sin shared by many.

The Christian poem describes the assault on Jesus and compares the crowds with Patroclus’ Myrmidons, who, after a long break, are deployed to fight with Patroclus in command. The simile shows the Myrmidons swarming like wasps trying to protect their offspring, fierce in their attack and fury.151 While bees and wasps are used interchangeably elsewhere in Homer’s text to denote swarms of armies, the imperial Life of Homer praises the poet for having depicted wrath and a vengeful spirit at this particular moment through the image of wasps.152 Quintus of Smyrna too uses it no fewer than three times to describe fierce and vindictive battles in the Posthomerica, thereby highlighting the simile’s ekphrastic potential.153 The wasp is also the animal representing Archilochus’ iambic invective to Gregory of Nazianzus,154 in which the Pharisees’ attack on Jesus, as we shall see in Chapter 4,155 resembles his persecution by the High Priests. By revisiting and quoting the full simile at length, then, the cento poem establishes a link between the Homeric simile and its contemporary use in the invective. A different kind of simile compares Judas to the solitary mountain lion, one of the many beast similes used for the traitor. Comparisons with wild animals highlight the resemblance of man’s and beast’s savagery. In our case, Jesus, as the Lamb of God, is the herbivore victim of his carnivorous assailant. It is Achilles’ cruelty that is used to foil Judas, who is portrayed by Jesus as the raw-​flesh-​eating lion (I HC 1475 ~ Il. 24.207: ὠμηστής) or seeking to devour his blood (I HC 1474 ~ Il. 22.70: ὅς κ’ ἐμὸν αἷμα πιών). These lines are drawn from Priam’s monologue from the wall of Troy: as he watches Hector’s murder by Achilles, he foretells the sack of Troy and imagines his cadaver being devoured by his hounds. Another line used to describe Judas’ swiftness in malice is a typical adjective used for Achilles and his negative Iliadic foil, Dolon I HC 1487 ~ Il.10.316: ποδώκης.156 Judas then is a valiant opponent, ominous in his wrath like Achilles and dangerous in his wickedness like the spy Dolon. Intratextually, the latter model, the reader is reminded, was also used to describe the machinations of Juda’s instigator, Satan, who like Dolon carries the very name of deceit, δόλος.157 Thus Judas’ treason is introduced with lines that draw heavily on Achillean characteristics that are perceived as negative, fierce, swift, and savage.

Homerocentones biblici  27 These comparisons prepare the ground for two longer lion similes in the scene of the Last Supper. To describe Judas’ entry the poem uses a block of lines, originally belonging to Sarpedon’s aristeia. Juda arrives as a famished solitary mountain lion: I HC 1527-​1528 ~ Il. 12.299-​300: βῆ ῥ’ ἴμεν ὥς τε λέων ὀρεσίτροφος, ὅς τ’ ἐπιδευὴς | δηρὸν ἔῃ κρειῶν, κέλεται δέ ἑ θυμὸς ἀγήνωρ | μήλων πειρήσοντα καὶ ἐς πυκινὸν δόμον ἐλθεῖ (“he went onward like some hill-​kept lion, | who for a long time has gone lacking meat, and the proud heart is urgent upon him, | to get inside of a close steading and go for the sheepflocks”). This simile was popular in antiquity and deemed worthy of a hero,158 but in the Christian poem the lion’s might is Csubverted. Here it is reclaimed to describe Judas’ treason and wickedness since the reader knows that he has already plotted with the Pharisees (I HC 1493). The negative connotations are furthered through allusions from the Odyssey that give these lines its ominous tonality: both Menelaus and Agamemnon compare the latter’s treacherous murder by Aegisthus upon his homecoming to the slaughter of an ox in the safety of the stable. The victorious king, the shepherd of people par excellence (Od. 4.532: ποιμὴν λαῶν), becomes the prey—​the shepherd becomes cattle (Od. 5.535, 11.118: ὣς . . . βοῦν ἐπὶ φάτνῃ). The simile had a long tradition in the quotation practice of the Empire as it encapsulated the untimely and treacherous death of a valiant hero in the safety of his home.159 Though this line originally does not refer to any lions, the centonist revises and relays it to the series of lion-​related imagery used for Judas above: instead of τίς (Od. 5.35) the I HC 1537 has λίς (“lion”). αὐτὰρ ἐπεὶ δείπνησε καὶ ἤραρε θυμὸν ἐδωδῇ,  1536 ~ Od. 5.95 (Hermes) or 14.11 (Odysseus in disguise) δειπνήσας ὡς λίς τε κατέκτανε βοῦν ἐπὶ φάτνῃ.     1537 ~ Od. 4.535 Agamemnon (nostoi) and 11.411 (Nekyia) So when he dined and gladdened his heart with food | he killed him after feasting, like the lion the ox in the manger.

This creative adaptation of the Homeric verse shows how important the lion analogy is for the characterization of Judas. It also demonstrates the technique through which the poet scans the Homeric material and collects lists of lion-​ related lines, even “inventing” ones if these fit the scope aim: through Usurpation, Judas appears cruel, like Achilles, ferocious, yet shrewd, like Dolon, and, above all murderer, like Aegisthus. An additional deviation from the use of the simile in the heroic context, where it underlines heroic valiance par excellence, is the Christian reconceptualization of the theme of devouring: unlike the beast that feasts on flesh and blood (αἷμα πιών . . . ὠμηστής) the blood Jesus’ especially in the Last Supper scene is eucharistic. Thus, the banquet-​related terminology (δειπνήσε . . . δειπνήσας) in these lines would have stressed the paradox of Judas’ crime beyond his cruelty: even though he dined with Christ and communicated his salvific flesh and blood, he nonetheless betrayed him, a crime greater than

28  The Homeric Centos that of Aegisthus. Still, the blood Judas sheds would become salvific for mankind irrespective, or even because of, Judas’ betrayal. Through Kontrastimitation, much unlike the heroic universe, in the Christianized lion simile the wild beast does not prevail but the ox, the carnivore’s fierceness is overcome by the sacrificial Lamb of God.160

1.2.5  Ὀδυσσείας B’ The examples above show that the I HC is not a “Homeric” poem in the sense of being an archaic epic, but a late antique revision of Homer transposed into a classicizing Christian register. Homeric epics were part of the school curriculum, but the practice of quoting them extended beyond the classroom. Below I will expand on the reception of Book 2 of the Odyssey that shows that the centonist was revisiting themes and books familiar beyond the classroom, but certainly within the parameters of composing a Christian poem. Book 2, which does not seem to have been popular in the papyri, provides ample material both as quotation of specific lines and thematically for banquets and assemblies in the Christian poem and, above all, the background for discussing the themes of Jesus’ Sonship,161 his nostos, and the matter of human sin, vividly embodied by Telemachus, Odysseus and the suitors. The I HC offers far more evidence on Homer’s late antique readers than on the state of the Homeric text in its reader’s time. As Raffaella Cribiore has shown with the help of evidence drawn chiefly from papyri, the most popular books among ancient readers were Iliad 1–​6, especially Books 1 and 2, followed by Books 5 and 6, and finally Book 11. Although the Odyssey is less frequently represented in papyri as it was not a major focus of standard education, Cribiore’s findings reveal a predilection for the Iliadic sequels in the Odyssey, namely, Books 4 and 11.162 If we compare the number of lines drawn from each book of the Iliad and/​ or the Odyssey, for example, we can observe that at least 95 of the lines reused in all editions of the Homeric Centos are in Book 1 of the Iliad and that some of these are reused more than once. Second place goes to Books 2 and 24, with 89 and 91 centos, respectively, third goes to Books 5 and 9 with 72 and 77, respectively, and fourth to Books 6, 8, 10, and 16, each of which provides the I HC with between 60 and 70 centos, some more than once. The least popular Iliadic book in the I HC is Book 12, which supplies material for only 18 centos. As for the Odyssey, Book 4 is the most admired with 120 centos to its credit. Indeed, it is quoted even more often than is the popular Iliadic Book 1. Second place falls to Book 2 with 81 quotations, while third goes to Books 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 19, each of which is cited between 60 and 70 times. The least popular is Book 21, which is the source of fewer than 20 citations. While these numbers indicate the lines used at least once in the

Homerocentones biblici  29 course of a total of 6,315 lines, namely in all the editions of Homeric Centos, the difference in the lines selected by individual editions is not massive.163 Despite their schematic and abstract nature, these figures more or less chime with the popularity of the Homeric poems and specific books in the Imperial period.164 Thus, the popularity of the first six and especially the first two books of the Iliad and the popularity of Book 4 of the Odyssey are confirmed, though it may come as a surprise that the second most popular Odyssean book is not Book 11, a sequel to the Iliad, but rather Book 2, which is part of the Telemachy. The discrepancy between Cribiore’s findings and Schembra’s observations makes this a good case study of the approach used to analyze numerical information, but what needs to be stressed is that these numbers should not be treated as precise, since given the kind of composition that this is, it would be easy for lines to drop out during their transmission. The close examination of the re-​cycling of the Odyssey’s Book 2 below further illustrates that numbers are only one part of the story. It also shows that specific narratives and their readership invited a more “personalized” reading and excerption of Homer’s text that differs from that of the classroom.165 Noteworthy too is that 81 lines of the Odyssey’s Book 2 are quoted at least once in all 6,315 lines of the Homeric Centos in Schembra’s edition. Of these, 66 are reused at least once in the 2,354 lines of the I HC.166 Table 1.1  Odyssey Book 2 in the Centos Citations

Od. I HC

Context

Notes

1.

1

635

Ἦμος δ’ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς

form./​day–​night

2.

5

636

βῆ δ’ ἴμεν ἐκ θαλάμοιο θεῷ ἐναλίγκιος ἄντην

form./​movement

3.

6

688

αἶψα δὲ κηρύκεσσι λιγυφθόγγοισι κέλευσε

form./​congregation

4.

9

2,259

αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥ’ ἤγερθεν ὁμηγερέες τ’ ἐγένοντο

form./​congregation

5.

13

538

τὸν δ’ ἄρα πάντες λαοὶ ἐπερχόμενον θηεῦντο.

form./​congregation

6.

36

1,363

οὐδ’ ἄρ’ ἔτι δὴν ἧστο, μενοίνησεν δ’ ἀγορεύειν

form./​congregation

7.

37

383

στῆ δὲ μέσῃ ἀγορῇ· σκῆπτρον δέ οἱ ἔμβαλε χειρὶ

8.

38

228

κῆρυξ Πεισήνωρ, πεπνυμένα μήδεα εἰδώς

9.

264

10.

368

form./​angels—​ prophets, Christianization

11.

40

1,792

ὦ γέρον, οὐχ ἑκὰς οὗτος ἀνήρ, τάχα δ’ εἴσεαι αὐτός time/​prolepsis

12.

56

107

βοῦς ἱερεύοντες καὶ ὄϊς καὶ πίονας αἶγας

13.

62

2,133

εἴ μοι δύναμίς γε παρείη

14.

63

2,134

15.

64

2,135

form./​banquet

Telemachus about the suitors/​Hades οὐ γὰρ ἔτ’ ἀνσχετὰ ἔργα τετεύχαται, οὐδ’ ἔτι καλῶς about demons οἶκος ἐμὸς διόλωλε· νεμεσσήθητε καὶ αὐτοί

(continued)

30  The Homeric Centos Table 1.1 Continued Citations

Od. I HC

Context

Notes

16.

81

δάκρυ’ ἀναπρήσας· οἶκτος δ’ ἕλε λαὸν ἅπαντα

form./​supplication

17.

107 1,392 prt. καὶ ἐπήλυθον ὧραι

form./​time passing

18.

108 1,241

καὶ τότε δή τις ἔειπε γυναικῶν, ἣ σάφα ᾔδη

19.

1,783

καὶ τότε δή τις ἔειπε γυναικῶν, ἣ σάφα ᾔδη

The treacherous handmaiden/​the Gate keeper

710

20.

112 195

αὐτὸς σῷ θυμῷ, εἰδῶσι δὲ πάντες Ἀχαιοί

mor./​admonition

21.

118 1,002

κέρδεά θ’, οἷ’ οὔ πώ τιν’ ἀκούομεν οὐδὲ παλαιῶν

Penelope/​ Haimorrhoousa

22.

150 1,276

ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ μέσσην ἀγορὴν πολύφημον ἱκέσθην

form./​congregation

23.

157 1,767

τοῖσι δὲ καὶ μετέειπε γέρων ἥρως Ἁλιθέρσης

Christianization

24.

170 476

οὐ γὰρ ἀπείρητος μαντεύομαι, ἀλλ’ ἐῢ εἰδώς

prophecy: Odysseus and Jesus’ return

25.

171 404

καὶ γὰρ κείνῳ φημὶ τελευτηθῆναι ἅπαντα

prophecy: Jesus’/​ Odysseus’ arrival

26.

230 1,788

μή τις ἔτι πρόφρων ἀγανὸς καὶ ἤπιος ἔστω

27.

230 110

28.

231 111

μή τις ἔτι πρόφρων ἀγανὸς καὶ ἤπιος ἔστω σκηπτοῦχος βασιλεύς, μηδὲ φρεσὶν αἴσιμα εἰδώς ἀλλ’ αἰεὶ χαλεπός τ’ εἴη καὶ αἴσυλα ῥέζοι

moral. Regarding the sinners

29.

232 112

30.

236 1,641

ἕρδειν ἔργα βίαια κακορραφίῃσι νόοιο

Suitors/​Pharisees

31.

1,784

ἕρδειν ἔργα βίαια κακορραφίῃσι νόοιο

The gatekeeper to Peter

32.

254 1,793

οἵ τέ οἱ ἐξ ἀρχῆς πατρώϊοί εἰσιν ἑταῖροι

Odysseus’ supporters/​neutral

33.

258 2,037

οἱ μὲν ἄρ’ ἐσκίδναντο ἑὰ πρὸς δώμαθ’ ἕκαστος

form./​congregation

34.

262 659 prt

κλῦθί μευ, ὃ χθιζὸς θεὸς ἤλυθες ἡμέτερον δῶ

form./​supplication

35.

271 1,957

36.

272 1,958

εἰ δή τοι σοῦ πατρὸς ἐνέστακται μένος ἠΰ, οἷος κεῖνος ἔην τελέσαι ἔργον τε ἔπος τε,

Telemachus’/​Jesus’ Sonship

37.

273 772

οὔ τοι ἔπειθ’ ἁλίη ὁδὸς ἔσσεται οὐδ’ ἀτέλεστος

prolepsis, Athena’s prophecy/​positive

38.

279 1,723

οὐδέ σε πάγχυ γε μῆτις Ὀδυσσῆος προλέλοιπεν

neutral

39.

283 130

οὐδέ τι ἴσασιν θάνατον καὶ κῆρα μέλαιναν

The suitors/​the sinners

40.

298 535 prt

βῆ δ’ ἴμεναι

41.

778 prt

βῆ δ’ ἴμεναι

form./​movement for Peter

42.

303 698

43.

304 699

44.

305 1,436

Τηλέμαχ’ ὑψαγόρη, μένος ἄσχετε, μή τί τοι ἄλλο ἐν στήθεσσι κακὸν μελέτω ἔργον τε ἔπος τε

Charact. Antinous/​ The paralytic

ἀλλὰ μάλ’ ἐσθιέμεν καὶ πινέμεν, ὡς τὸ πάρος περ form./​banquet

Homerocentones biblici  31 Table 1.1 Continued Citations

Od. I HC

Context

Notes

45. 46.

310 1,415 prt Ἀντίνο’, οὔ πως ἔστιν ὑπερφιάλοισι μεθ’ ὑμῖν δαίνυσθαί τ’ ἀκέοντα καὶ εὐφραίνεσθαι ἕκηλον 311 1,416

Charact. Antinous/​ Judas

47.

323 1,746

οἱ δ’ ἐπελώβευον καὶ ἐκερτόμεον ἐπέεσσιν

48.

1,896

οἱ δ’ ἐπελώβευον καὶ ἐκερτόμεον ἐπέεσσιν

form./​The suitors/​ the assailants

49.

324 1,752

50.

1,901

51.

2,097

52.

ὧδε δέ τις εἴπεσκε νέων ὑπερηνορεόντων

form./​The suitor/​ the assailants

331 1,949

ἄλλος δ’ αὖτ’ εἴπεσκε νέων ὑπερηνορεόντων

form./​ ibid.

53.

344 2,284

κληϊσταὶ δ’ ἔπεσαν σανίδες πυκινῶς ἀραρυῖαι

Odysseus’ return/​ Jesus’ Resurrection

54.

353 616

δώδεκα δ’ ἔμπλησον καὶ πώμασιν ἄρσον ἅπαντας The Cana Jars

55.

367 145

οἱ δέ τοι αὐτίκ’ ἰόντι κακὰ φράσσονται ὀπίσσω

prolepsis

56.

372 267

θάρσει, μαῖ’, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ ἥδε γε βουλή

form./​supplication

θάρσει, μαῖ’, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ ἥδε γε βουλή

Ibid.

57.

1,329

58.

376 2,208

ὡς ἂν μὴ κλαίουσα κατὰ χρόα καλὸν ἰάπτῃ

Penelope/​Magdalene

59.

379 619

αὐτίκ’ ἔπειτά οἱ οἶνον ἐν ἀμφιφορεῦσιν ἄφυσσεν

The Cana Wedding

60.

384 2,236

καί ῥα ἑκάστῳ φωτὶ παρισταμένη φάτο μῦθον

form./​speech

61.

388 633

δύσετό τ’ ἠέλιος σκιόωντό τε πᾶσαι ἀγυιαί

form./​day-​time

62.

397 1,607

οἱ δ’ εὕδειν ὤρνυντο κατὰ πτόλιν, οὐδ’ ἄρ’ ἔτι δἠν form./​sleep

63.

398 2,608

εἵατ’, ἐπεί σφισιν ὕπνος ἐπὶ βλεφάροισιν ἔπιπτεν

form./​banquet-​ sleep/​at the Garden of Gethsemane

64.

404 1,771

ἀλλ’ ἴομεν, μὴ δηθὰ διατρίβωμεν ὁδοῖο

form./​movement

65.

406 1,009

καρπαλίμως· ὁ δ’ ἔπειτα μετ’ ἴχνια βαῖνε θεοῖο

Epiphany: Telemachus/​ Blind

66.

1,291

καρπαλίμως· ὁ δ’ ἔπειτα μετ’ ἴχνια βαῖνε θεοῖο

Ibid. Lazarus

Aside from attesting to the popularity of this particular book in all editions of the Homeric Centos, this does not tell us much about the use to which it was put, but a closer look at the kind of lines recycled may help explain the predilection for it across all editions. Book 2 contains useful formulaic lines for describing the passage of time, for the time frame within which an action must be concluded, and particularly for prolepsis in the form of prophecies. It also offers basic thematic staples such as verses for describing outdoor gatherings and indoor banquet scenes, as well as some famous moralizing lines. In addition, it provides

32  The Homeric Centos important foils for characters of the Christian narrative, such as Telemachus, Antinous, Penelope, the wicked handmaiden, or the loyal friend. Most importantly, however, Book 2 contains useful lines for describing epiphany and the relationship of Son to Father across the poem as I will discuss below.

1.2.5.1 Time and Assemblies The passage of time is often highlighted with a typical verse, I HC 1392~ Od. 2.107: καὶ ἐπήλυθον ὧραι. The arrival of night is equally stereotypical, Ι HC 633 ~ Od. 2.388: δύσετό τ᾽ ἠέλιος σκιόωντό τε πᾶσαι ἀγυιαί, while the beginning of the book offers the popular verse on Dawn (Od. 2.1), which I HC 635–​636 combines with Odyssey 1.5 (used of Telemachus) to create: ἦμος δ’ ἠριγένεια φάνη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς | βῆ δ’ ἴμεν ἐκ θαλάμοιο θεῷ ἐναλίγκιος ἄντην). This composite citation is used to describe Jesus as he sets out to heal the paralytic. Important elements revisited in the cento poems are the proleptical statements in Book 2 that foreshadow the return of Odysseus; for example, Telemachus’ disclosure to Peisenor regarding who has ordered the assembly is placed into the mouth of the female gatekeeper in her address to Peter, she intimates that the offender is nearby, I HC 1793 ~ Od. 2.40: οὐχ ἑκὰς οὗτος ἀνήρ. Eurycleia’s anticipation of the suitors’ conspiracy against Telemachus is revisited in God’s advice to his Son during their discussion of the plan of the Salvation (I HC 145 ~ Od. 2.367). Accordingly, Mentor-​Athena’s premonition of the happy outcome of Telemachus’ plan is reclaimed by Jesus to presage the resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter that describes the messenger’s path as fruitful, I HC 772 ~ Od. 2.273: οὔ τοι ἔπειθ’ ἁλίη ὁδὸς ἔσσεται οὐδ’ ἀτέλεστος. Telemachus’ undertakings in Ithaca before his departure offer much material suitable to the setting of Jesus’ public ministry. The arrival of clear-​voiced heralds is used in the orders given to those responsible for filling up the jugs at Cana, I HC 688 ~ Od. 2.5: αἶψα δὲ κηρύκεσσι λιγυφθόγγοισι κέλευσε; the description of the gathering crowds is revisited in the Baptist’s setting but also in the Last Supper and the reunion, I HC 382, 1360, 2259 ~ Od. 2.9: οἱ δ’ ἐπεὶ οὖν ἤγερθεν ὁμηγερέες τ’ ἐγένοντο. Other lines revisit the themes of public humiliation and mockery, e.g., the suitors’ mockery is used for different types of mocking crowds, young men, or assailants during the Crucifixion, I HC 368 ~ Od. 2.323–​324: οἱ δ’ ἐπελώβευον καὶ ἐκερτόμεον ἐπέεσσιν· ὧδε δέ τις εἴπεσκε νέων ὑπερηνορεόντων.167 A most characteristic case is the Christianization of the formula used for the wise herald Peisenor which is reclaimed for the angel Gabriel, I HC 228, 264 ~ Od. 2.38: κῆρυξ Πεισήνωρ, πεπνυμένα μήδεα εἰδώς. Intriguingly these are stereotypical lines that ancient commentators also collected in their discussions of Homeric formulae and reused as such in the Homeric Centos,168 demonstrating thus the sensitivity of the epics’ readers to their compositional technique.

Homerocentones biblici  33

1.2.5.2 Suitors and Sinners While the speech of Telemachus offered much material for invective,169 the behavior of the suitors could easily be related to that of sinners in the Christian world. The most characteristic transposition of the Odyssean text lies in the reuse of the offensive suitors as models for the sinners or assailants in the biblical narrative. An extensive cluster of reused lines consists of Mentor-​Athena’s words to the Ithacan assembly—​repeated later on Olympus—​on the kingly piety embodied by Odysseus. The lines describing the ideal king as wise, gentle, and kind by contrast to an impious, vicious, and godless one, would have a gnomic future Od. 2.230–​232 and Od. 5.8–​10: μή τις ἔτι πρόφρων ἀγανὸς καὶ ἤπιος ἔστω | σκηπτοῦχος βασιλεύς, μηδὲ φρεσὶν αἴσιμα εἰδώς, | ἀλλ’ αἰεὶ χαλεπός τ’ εἴη καὶ αἴσυλα ῥέζοι.170 In the I HC 110–​112, the lines are placed in the mouth of the Father during his dialogue with his Son who is the ideal role model for Christian kingship. The treacherous handmaiden of Penelope becomes the model for the evil gatekeeper, I HC 1241, 1783 ~ Od. 2.108; the scheming wickedness of the suitors is projected onto the scheming Pharisees, I HC 1641 ~ Od. 2.1641: ἕρδειν ἔργα βίαια κακορραφίῃσι νόοιο; and a general connection is made between the sinful mortals and the suitors who disrespect death and fate, I HC 130 ~ Od. 2.283: οὐδέ τι ἴσασιν θάνατον καὶ κῆρα μέλαιναν—​Antinous in particular serves as a foil for the treacherous Judas, who is among the arrogant convives, I HC 1415–​1416 ~ Od. 2.310–​311: οὔ πως ἔστιν ὑπερφιάλοισι μεθ’ ὑμῖν | δαίνυσθαί τ’ ἀκέοντα καὶ εὐφραίνεσθαι ἕκηλον. Banquets and sacrifices or related themes are also linked to the excessive behavior of the suitors whom Telemachus publicly denounces, but also to the Christian condemnation of animal sacrifice. For example, Telemachus’ complaint that the suitors are slaying his best ewes and goats—​I HC 107 ~ Od. 2.56: βοῦς ἱερεύοντες καὶ ὄϊς καὶ πίονας αἶγας—​is reused to argue against those offenders whom God and his Son attempt to save from death. In the Christian poem, animal sacrifice is the first sign of human sin in a list of depravities—​the others being wickedness, irascibility, cruelty, sacrilege, dishonesty, lack of hospitality, neglect for the divine, debauchery, war, rape and murder171—​that the Godhead attempts to eradicate through Redemption. Telemachus’ programmatic accusation of the suitors heightens the suspense around Odysseus’ incognito return and justifies their cruel punishment. Its re-​use here, on the other hand, heads a list of depravities associated with Hesiod’s list of the sins and debaucheries of the first generations of men that resulted in their extinction172 and thus offers yet another interesting subversion: unlike the God of Greek myth or of the Old Testament, the God of the New Testament saves and does not punish. Thus, the ideal depiction of the king, which is inspired by Telemachus’ speech, itself a highlight of Book 2, is precisely the model for both the Godhead and the mortal ruler.173

34  The Homeric Centos Still, Telemachus’ demegoria, and his emotional turmoil were often deemed excessive and awkward in antiquity.174 Proclus reads it closely, quotes several nonconsecutive lines from the original, and argues that on this occasion the poet creates an interesting specimen of a kingly supplication.175 Proclus’ analysis showcases the possible manipulation of the Homeric material in order to prove both its point and the difference between earlier readers of the epic and later rhetorical tastes. This kingly-​supplication version suits Hades, the ruler of the Underworld: a variation on his emotional outburst against the suitors and the blame he lays on his impotence is placed in the mouth of Hades, as we shall see Section 4.4, during his battle with the Achilles-​like Christ.176 The interlocking of Achilles’ outburst to Apollo—​Il. 22.20: τισαίμην—​and Telemachus’ feebleness—​ Od. 2.62: ἀμυναίμην in I HC 2131–​2136—​confirms a good knowledge of the Homeric text and also the ability to combine the interpretative potential of two contrasting passages—​one demonstrating Achilles’ fearlessness and the other Telemachus’ powerlessness—​into a complex characterization of Hades, who needs to appear worthy, but less mighty than his adversary, Jesus.

1.2.5.3 Fathers and Sons The quotation of Telemachus’ demegoria in the scene describing the Father’s dialogue with his Son echoes the use of Book 2 of the Odyssey as a blueprint that discusses themes of Sonship and of return-​reunion. Book 2 establishes Telemachus as Odysseus’ worthy son, who will eventually help him eradicate the suitors and who looks like him. This is a theme reworked throughout the Christian poem either by quoting verbatim or by echoing the prince’s relationship to the hero. A Homeric reader would have recalled that Athena famously encourages the youth to embark on a dangerous journey as Odysseus’ heir and display a similar fierceness in word and deed. The line enjoyed a gnomic afterlife as it explains how offspring could and should equal their parents in words and deeds, I HC 1957–​ 1958 ~ Od. 2.271–​272: εἰ δή τοι σοῦ πατρὸς ἐνέστακται μένος ἠΰ, | οἷος κεῖνος ἔην τελέσαι ἔργον τε ἔπος τε.177 In a Kontrastimitation that juxtaposes human versus divine Sonship, the lines are uttered by the bad thief, who, during the Crucifixion, challenges Jesus to prove his status as God’s Son by descending from the cross, something that the latter refuses to do precisely because he wishes to obey his Father and his plan for Salvation. Divine Sonship results in death, as opposed to Telemachus’ successful emulation of his father in the epic. Ironically, these lines intratextually hark back to the main scene with which the poem opens, namely, the Assembly of God the Father with his Son and the subsequent plan for redemption which the latter approves. In Homer’s epic, the Assembly of the gods decides the fate of Odysseus (Od. 1.78), much as the Godhead in I HC 135–​136 resolves to save humanity and agrees to the “return” of his only Son, Christ, among men, an intriguing Kontrastimitation. Besides this additional epic touch this introduction has several Christian spins: here Jesus is

Homerocentones biblici  35 the beloved Son whom God “raises,” in the Christian sense of “resurrect,” for the sake of mankind. This is expressed in the reuse of a line that is used to highlight the honor that Alcinous pays his guest by asking his son Laodamas to offer his seat to Odysseus but using instead of Laodamas the nomen loquens Laomedon, that contributed to the soteriological reading, I HC 94 ~ Od. 7.170: υἱὸν ἀναστήσας ἀγαπήνορα, λαομέδοντα.178 While Laodamas and other foils are used to explain the father–​son relationship,179 it is Telemachus who is used to best describe his likeness to the father throughout the poem: the Homeric reader knows that Eumaeus claims the boy to be like his father in body and appearance, Od. 14.177: πατρὸς ἑοῖο φίλοιο, δέμας καὶ εἶδος ἀγητόν;180 the first hemistich of this line after a “radical Christianization” is echoed in the Christian poem to express the consubstantiality of the Trinity, I HC 96: πατρὸς ἑοῖο φίλοιο φρένας τε καὶ εἶδος ὁμοῖος. The addition of φρένας τε καὶ εἶδος ὁμοῖος is an invention of the poet as in the Christian poem the Son’s likeness to the Father is on the spiritual level (φρένας) rather than the physical body (δέμας). Christians claimed that there was no way of “seeing” God the Father as an embodied entity, which is why δέμας is replaced by the more noetic, φρένας. Similarly, εἶδος may be understood in the more general sense more of form, evoking perhaps a passage from John’s Gospel about human incapacity to grasp the Father in his divine form.181 On the other hand, ὅμοιος, a problematic term in the previous century,182 in this poem is used to denote Nicene “orthodoxy.”183 Given the other echoes of the Creed in the poem,184 and the reuse of the line in subsequent editions without emendation,185 it appears that ὁμοῖος, despite its connotations in theological writings, is probably used in line with Nicaea as there was probably no better suited Homeric line. So, one may agree with Schembra that ὁμοῖος stresses equality,186 but I would also argue that it is used as a synonym for homoousios, being a near homophone and the most closely relevant epic option possible.187 Another theme of Book 2 that is reworked across the poem is the suspense of the pending return of the suffering. In the Homeric poem, old Halithersis foresees the return of a disguised Odysseus to Ithaca, Od. 2.170–​171: οὐ γὰρ ἀπείρητος μαντεύομαι, ἀλλ’ ἐῢ εἰδώς | καὶ γὰρ κείνῳ φημὶ τελευτηθῆναι. This is the line that Jesus takes up in I HC 476 to disclose his divine identity and Sonship to his disciples, who, like the suitors, are unable to grasp the truth. It is in a similar spirit that the Baptist foretells the arrival of the Messiah in I HC 404. Jesus thus combines in himself the Sonship through the foil of Telemachus, but also, and more importantly, an avatar of Odysseus himself, the Messiah who is returning to Earth and to his people, who, like the Ithacans, are incapable of fully understanding his identity. The use of Odysseus as a model for Jesus is based on variations to the famous lines alluding to the suffering hero’s return. Od. 2.343–​ 344: εἴ ποτ’ Ὀδυσσεὺς | οἴκαδε νοστήσειε καὶ ἄλγεα πολλὰ μογήσας.188 Jesus too offers to suffer for human Salvation echoing Odysseus’ woes, I HC 197 ~

36  The Homeric Centos Od. 3.232, Ιl 15.141: βουλοίμην δ’ ἂν ἐγώ γε καὶ ἄλγεα πολλὰ μογήσας | πάντων ἀνθρώπων ῥῦσθαι γενεήν τε τόκον τε. The poem maintains this Odyssean tint throughout: at I HC 1101, Jesus, like Odysseus, is a foreigner, a ξένος, even if in his own land,189 throughout his identity is an issue of repeated inquiry,190 and like the king of Ithaca, he too needs to be recognized by the scars on his human body at least by his mortal companions so that the Ascension may take place.191 While the embedded beggars find exoneration from suffering and nostos through their faith in Christ, Jesus’ return and major nostos reflects his dual nature as man and God: first his descent to Earth in order to suffer, secondly his return after the passion as the Risen Christ, and lastly is his return to his Father’s side and the Second coming. The Odyssean model based loosely on Book 2 is used for all these returns. As Logos he is expected to make His descent to earth to willingly suffer among men as man, I HC 139: οὐρανόθεν καταβάς . . . 196: ἄλγεα πολλὰ μογῆσας. As the Risen Christ, Jesus confirms his return among his disciples after his sufferings through a compressed quotation of the lines describing Odysseus’ return, I HC 2288: ἔνδον μὲν δὴ ὅδ’ αὐτὸς ἐγώ, κακὰ πολλὰ μογήσας | γινώσκω δ’ ὡς σφῶϊν ἐελδομένοισιν ἱκάνω.192 Additionally, Jesus’ nostos is to the heavenly realm to which he has already implicitly expressed the wish to return during his earthly ministry (I HC 1447~ Il. 9.42: ὥς τε νέεσθαι), but that desire becomes explicit after the Pentecost, I HC 2343: ἤδη νῦν μευ⸥ ⸤θυμὸς ἐπέσσυται ὥς τε νέεσθαι | οὐρανὸν ἐς πολύχαλκον,⸥ ⸤⸢ἵν’ ἀθανάτοισι⸣ μετείην. The theme of a return to heaven features emphatically in the poem’s final lines that vividly recall, among other passages, those describing Telemachus’ return to his father’s side in Book 22.99 and Odysseus once again assuming his seat before his wife at their reunion in Book 23, I HC 2353–​2354: βῆ δὲ θέων, μάλα δ’ ὦκα φίλον πατέρ’ εἰσαφίκανεν | ἂψ δ’ αὖτις κατ’ ἄρ’ ἕζετ’ ἐπὶ θρόνου ἔνθεν ἀνέστη. Intratextually and since God at I HC 138 requested that Jesus descends from heaven among men, this final line recalls the Assembly of the Godhead by featuring Christ’s Ascension as return.193 On the theological level this also corresponds with the fifth article of the Creed (καὶ ἀνελθόντα εἰς τοὺς οὐρανούς, καὶ καθεζόμενον ἐκ δεξιῶν τοῦ Πατρός), again reminding the poem’s confessional motivation. Regarding the reception of Book 2, it needs to be stressed that the nostos narrative is not particular to this book. The above analysis showed how the lines drawn from it contribute to the general Odyssean representation of Christ’s ascent to paradise. Furthermore, these observations show that not only the centos read the story of wandering and suffering in the Odyssey through an allegorical lens, as a metaphor for the journey of the soul in the world of the senses, but also that they do not see the Odyssean quest-​narrative solely as a didactic metaphor.194 The Telemachus–​Odysseus relationship as a model of the inseparable relation of the Son to the Father, his suffering for their sins, as well as of his journey into the world of the flesh before his final return to the heavenly realm, not only echo the

Homerocentones biblici  37 adventures of the king of Ithaca but represent the Son as the embodiment of the Odyssean ideal. In this case, Jesus qua Odysseus embodies in the flesh the travels and travails of mortals as they hope for a better afterlife. This Usurpation of the mythical hero indicates Christian readers’ fascination with the Odyssey altogether; the perilous sea journey and safe return was the Greek contribution to the interpretation of the story of Salvation on both the allegorical and eschatological level (Jesus’ eternal return), as well as to the story of His earthly suffering and return to His disciples as the Risen Christ, a story to which the mortal audiences of the cento could easily relate. To some extent, the Odysseus myth and its imperial reception made it easier to recount a tale of wandering and suffering that matched the cultural expectations of the poem’s pepaideumenoi. Apparently the carnal suffering of the immortal Son of Man, an idea that was downright vexing for Graeco-​Roman audiences as we shall see in Chapter 4, it was easier for these same audiences to relate to the (more or less human) suffering of the famously πολύτλας, albeit δῖος, Ὀδυσσεύς, making the use of this mythical exemplum for Jesus an intriguing, albeit theologically risky, case of intense anthropomorphism. Book 2 and the intratextual allusions to it then offered an important introduction to some of the epic’s main narrative techniques, such as assembly scenes and temporal foreshadowing, and also an overview of the poem’s crucial themes, such as Sonship, sin, and return.

1.3  Biblical Centos While the previous section analyzes the relation of the centos to Homer in structural and thematic terms, we now focus on their Christian motivation and ideological engagement with Christianity by discussing a selection of programmatic passages, such as prefaces and proems to biblical poems. The I HC is not paired with an unanimously accepted authorial preface but two—​one attributed to Eudocia (Apologia) one to Patricius (Hypothesis)—​nor is the manuscript tradition helpful when it comes to issues of authorship. At first glance, were we to bypass the programmatic prefaces and their transmission, the actual proem to the I HC offers only scant information on the poet-​narrator, who stands up to proclaim the glory of the God-​Man in his dual nature (6: ὡς εὖ γινώσκητ’ θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα) to the ecumene (1: κέκλυτε, μυρία φῦλα ⸢περικτιόνων⸥ ⸤ἀνθρώπων), both that in the East and that of the Western Empire (3–​4: ἠμὲν ὅσοι ναίουσι πρὸς ἠῶ τ’ ἠέλιόν τε, | ἠδ’ ὅσσοι μετόπισθε ποτὶ ζόφον).195 This minimalist snapshot does not offer any information on the poet’s gender or aim but only—​and even then schematically—​ on the poem’s subject, Christ’s redeeming incarnation, and its provisional audience.196 In Chapter 3 it will become apparent that the self-​effacement of the proem’s narrator at the beginning of the poem and in the section on Genesis plays with and against intra-​and inter-​textual didactic traditions that echo in the Cento’s

38  The Homeric Centos revision of the Creation. What is more illuminating for the purposes of this introductory chapter, however, is the understanding of the metaliterary motivation expressed in the two prefaces ascribed to the two authors centos, Patricius and Eudocia, against the programmatic claims of their predecessors, such as Juvencus and Proba, Gregory of Nazianzus, the “Dorotheus” of the Bodmer Papyrus, and the “Apollinaris” of the Metaphrasis of the Psalms. Although of these poets, only Proba composed centos, the other examples are important to our understanding of the heterogeneity of Christian verse as well as of the cultural milieu into which the Homeric Centos were launched. Traditionally, an epic poem begins with an introit that may include metaliterary highlights and assert the poet’s authority and motivation, or else it may be introduced with a preface in prose or verse (editorial or authorial) of an explicitly programmatic nature.197 Throughout antiquity heroic hexametric poems reused, deconstructed, and challenged the topos of the apostrophe to the Muse.198 Later poets who wished to begin either a mythological or Christian poem, viewed the Homeric and Virgilian introits as unquestionable models that lent themselves to imitation, subversion, or both. In Late Antiquity, a characteristic need for programmatic information and authorial self-​definition led to a rise in the number of prose or verse prefaces and/​or detailed proems, especially in the Latin-​speaking West, while the poets’ conversion to Christianity resulted in an additional requisite to set out their credo.199 The practice, however, was far from uniform. In their current transmitted state—​which implies that the assumptions here may be subjected to change if more evidence becomes available—​Greek biblical epics offer little paratextual information. With the exception of the Metaphrasis of the Psalms that I discuss in detail below, the, the Nonnian Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel that postdates the I HC has not been transmitted with a preface or a prefatory epigram,200 and is surprisingly modest in its embedded programmatic and metaliterary claims if compared to Nonnus’ two proems of Dionysiaca and their accompanying epigram in the Palatine Anthology 9.198.201 As a result, the I HC had a very divergent pool of models to draw from: the relationship with the classical past, the conversion of the Christian poet/​poetry, the soteriological and imperial motivation of Christian verse are some of the recurring programmatic considerations found in programmatic openings up to the mid-​fifth century.

1.3.1  Salvation and Paideia 1.3.1.1 Juvencus Standing at the beginning of a Christian classicizing tradition, Juvencus’ Four Books of the Gospel (Evageliorum Libri Quattuor) were written in around 329 during the reign of Constantine.202 His 27-​line praefatio is exceptional not least

Homerocentones biblici  39 because it is composed in hexameter, but also because it highlights in detail the work’s poetic and ideological agenda.203 As Green has already analyzed this passage in depth,204 I will draw attention only to what is important in the tradition of prefaces to biblical epics in which the I HC stands. Juvencus’ foreword begins by remarking on the futility of the material world, but quickly moves from the ephemeral to the eternal. Taking inspiration from the tales of the old epic heroes praised by Homer or Virgil, who by now had been elevated to the rank of inspired poets/​prophets (11: nec minor . . . gloria vatum) as opposed to that of simple poets (8: famam laudasque poetae),205 Juvencus attempts to redefine the concept of a Christian poem now that he is inspired no longer by the Muse, but the Holy Spirit and the purifying power of the river Jordan.206 Interestingly, he describes the act of composing poetry with the metaphor of weaving, while at the same time insisting on poetry’s woven falsehood (15–​16: meruerunt carmina famam . . . mendacia nectunt).207 The content of epic poetry had been dismissed as a lie as far back as Hesiod’s Theogony (27: ψεύδεα πολλὰ λέγειν ἐτύμοισιν ὁμοῖα) and the tradition of such critiques proved useful to the Christian polemic. As Carruba rightly observes, the preface makes a clear division between the old and the new tradition, using antithesis (5: quod si; 6: sed tamen) to signal the contrast.208 Yet Juvencus does not dwell on this as much as Sedulius or Paulinus of Nola do later on.209 For him, Homer and Virgil as poets and vates serve as points of reference against which to contrast the theme of his own Christian poem on the gesta of Jesus (19: Christi vitalia gesta), a much-​debated term in Juvencan scholarship, as it is uncommon to epic. Whereas gesta have been understood as encompassing “historical/​truthful facts” or “soteriological deeds,”210 scholars seem to downplay the importance of the Greek term πράξεις,211 translated as either acta or gesta in Latin, which was used for a variety of Christian prose narratives in the historiographic mode. For Juvencus, the veracity of the gesta bore extra-​textual meaning as they contributed to the salvation of both the reader and the poet.212 It is this hands-​on soteriological approach that is also evident in the description of the poem’s ecumenical purpose as a gift to nations (20: divinum populis donum), which coincides with the ecumenical imperial vision of Constantine that is presented later (4.80: terrae regnator apertae). In such a context the Christian bard becomes the epic poet of the new Christian kingdom.213 The preamble, therefore, designates the poem’s content as a new kind of heroic epic poetry with a soteriological dimension that affects both its author and his audience in the Christian ecumene.214

1.3.1.2 Proba By now it scholarly accepted that the late fourth-​century praefatio in verse was appended to Proba’s Cento215 by a later scribe who edited or copied the

40  The Homeric Centos text between 395 and 397.216 Despite its similarity to Juvencus’ quest for a Christian aesthetic and motivation, this text’s agenda appears to be more polemic. Composed as a dedication to Theodosius I and the young Arcadius, the praefatio is particularly illuminating with regard to the kind of reading that the poem inspired. The dedication famously highlights the didactic objective of the poem, but as Sigrid Schottenius Cullhed accurately detects, the didacticism in this case is overstressed by Proba’s critics due precisely to her gender.217 Schottenius-​Cullhed further shows that her Cento aims as much to docere (to instruct) as to delectare (to please), much as does Juvencus’ praefatio, discussed above.218 More important are the sort of classicizing Christian readings that the dedication invites—​ones based on a re-​evaluation (3–​4: dignare agnoscere) and re-​reading (13: relegas) of the classical models. Such an approach underscores the prominence of the audience in deciphering this kind of poetry as well as the importance of books and their physical transmission (14: tradasque) for late antique audiences.219 In terms of the reception of Virgil implied in the dedication, the divine poet is presented not simply as a distinguished forerunner, as he is in Juvencus, but as a model requiring “amelioratation” (4: mutatum in melius). This is an evaluation by the scribe who regards a cento steeped in a Christian mystical sense as an enriched classic. Such a statement sets up an immediate competition with Virgil on the level of content, now imbued with a sense of Christian revelation (5: sensu divino), but above all advises at least some readers to make a painstaking effort to read Virgil (4: agnoscere) with an explicit Christian agenda aligned with the trend of times to read Virgil allegorically.220 In contrast to the dedication, the proem of the Cento discusses the poem’s debt to classicizing literature in less polemical terms. After acknowledging that she too has written poems in the heroic epic style, that she now apologetically reconsiders,221 Proba’s poetic persona announces that she will now move away from such unholy topics and sing the feats of Christ. The traditional epic theme inspired by the Muses (14: nec ducere Musas) is here rejected for a baptismal theme, meant as a kind of inspiration for the poem’s Christian audience (20: Castalio sed fonte madens imitata beatos). That said, this new poetic initiation takes place in Castalia, the sacred spring of Apollo, and not in the River Jordan, as it does in Juvencus. Hence pagan prophecy is amalgamated with Christian baptismal ritual as source of poetic inspiration.222 Yet the baptized bard is not a mere vessel; Proba notes that Virgil—​perhaps allegorically or perhaps not—​did indeed sing of the feats of Christ, but she does so in a line in which the ‘I’ of the cento poet/​narrator can be perceived as entirely intertwined with Virgil (the subject of the infinitive) (23: Vergilium cecinisse loquar pia munera Christi).223 Taking on the role of the mystic vates, Proba eventually reveals in her song the truth (content) disclosed to her by the Holy Spirit (26: spiritus) through the words of Virgil (form), thereby presenting an interesting amalgam. Through

Homerocentones biblici  41 her employment of the technique of recusatio, the poet turns against one genre to favor another.224 As a result, the extreme reading of Proba’s Cento as proposed by the scribe and embodied in the claim that Virgil had been transformed in melius, should be taken with a grain of salt since for all its polemical appraisal of classicizing poetry the Cento relies heavily on it. At this point it is interesting to see whether in the Greek-​speaking East, the other poet, Homer, was treated and reclaimed in a different manner.

1.3.1.3 “Dorotheus” The poet of the Vision of Dorotheus, a text found in Bodmer Papyrus 29, was probably writing in Upper Egypt in the fourth century for a monastic audience. His work is thus a good case study for examining classicizing poetry from the bottom up, due especially to the interesting metaliterary reflections that emerge at various points within it. As far as Homer is concerned, Gianfranco Agosti, who has scrutinized several cases of Homeric Usurpation and allegorical interpretation, concludes that the combination of Homeric and Christian content in this poem is neither problematic nor in need of justification.225 Still, and while, adapting Homeric language and style the poem also alludes to the rest of the epic tradition, Hesiod in particular. This joint reception is particularly interesting for the echoes of Hesiod we will discuss in Section 3 in the I HC and how Christian verse alternates between these two registers. The narrator of the Vision introduces himself subtly but assertively with a dativus commodi (1: ἦ μάλα μοι τῷ ἀλιτρῷ), and exhibits self-​awareness of his poetic skill as he describes the desire “for a graceful path of song” (3: χαρίεσσαν ἐπ’ οἴμην) in an archaizing didactic Hesiodic manner.226 The poem’s references to light and divine illumination (2: Χρηστόν, ἄγαλμα ἑοῖο, δῖον φάος ὤπασε κόσμῳ) are a recurrent Christian topos and allude to the understanding they bring to the convert or penitent.227 The didactic mode returns again in the poem’s sphragis, where the now neophôtistos Dorotheus presents himself as a Christian bard inspired by the Angel-​ Christ,228 who puts all kinds of songs into his heart (339–​340: καὶ ἐν στήθεσσιν ἀοιδὴν | παντοίην ἐνέηκε παρεστάμεναι καὶ ἀείδειν).229 The poem maintains its personal and confessional tone without any of the imperial ecumenical visions found in the works of Juvencus or Proba, though the poet here too betrays an interest in the evangelical mission of his composition (310: ἄνδρας ἐπ᾽ ἀλλοδαπούς) using classicizing verse as its vehicle.230 This unapologetic attitude is important for understanding the engagement with the epic tradition: “Dorotheus” the poet sets out to preach Christianity in Homeric guise with Hesiodean undertones without feeling that he needs to compromise one for the sake of the other. 1.3.1.4 Gregory of Nazianzus Unlike “Dorotheus,” Gregory of Nazianzus is probably the most self-​conscious and polemical of all Christian poets. In On his own verse (Carm. 2.1.39), he

42  The Homeric Centos reflects on the reasons for composing Christian verse and attributes his decision to do so to the mixture of his personal and a missionary goal to please, instruct, rival (the gentiles), and bring solace to himself.231 In another poem in which he speaks of his self-​imposed silence, Gregory fashions himself as an instrument of God, as another David, who composes hymns (70: ὕμνον φέρω).232 Gregory consciously fashions his theme in opposition to pagan poetry. In a list of nugatory, and thus programmatically important, topics, he claims he will not sing of “Troy, like someone did [sc. Homer], of the fair-​sailing Argo [sc. Apollonius of Rhodes] or of the boar’s head [Homer?], or of mighty Heracles [Peisander? Panyassis?], or of how the earth’s wide circles are fitted to the seas [Diogenes Periegetes], or of the gleams of stones [Lithica?], or of the course of heavenly bodies [Aratus]; . . . or the beauty of young men [Theognis].”233 Instead, he sets out to sing of God and the Trinity (77), of the glory of the passion of Christ (83) and of the incarnation from a soteriological perspective (83: οἷς μ’ ἐθέωσεν). At a metaliterary level, the entanglement of the divine and human nature in Christ and man (85: μίξιν ἐμήν), may refer to the mixture of genres and meters in the poem itself, thus adding a poetological dimension to its theological agenda.234 Gregory’s self-​conscious thematization of his poem reveals his militant transformation of classicizing poetry, which he adapts to a Christian register and thus betrays both his deep knowledge and articulate intent to subvert his classical models irrespective of the shared stylistic features. Simultaneously and whilst feeling apologetic about retaining the classicizing style as means to converse with the gentiles, the overall tone of his poetry is marked by a stark Christian and theological agenda. Being an ordained bishop and an ascetic may have contributed to Gregory’s more apologetic and competitive approach to classical antiquity.235 His poetry however stands to the opposite of the output of “Dorotheus’ ” monastic community or the Metaphrasis of the Psalms, that is attributed to another bishop, Apollinaris.

1.3.1.5 “Apollinaris” This kind of self-​conscious attitude toward classicizing poetry is also evident in the preface attributed to the bishop of Laodicea, the much-​debated poet of the hexametric paraphrasis of Davidic Psalms.236 Irrespective of the issues pertaining of the poem’s knotty authorship the appropriation of the classical past and engagement with Homer is unproblematic. The Metaphrasis, written under Constantine (cf. proth. 42) in the fourth century, is the only biblical poem in Greek to have been transmitted together with a programmatic paratextual 110-​ hexameter-​long agenda, the protheoria. In it the poet “armed with the song of immortal God” (proth. 1), a detail that alludes to Christian armory found in the Pauline corpus (Eph 7:10: τὴν πανοπλίαν τοῦ θεοῦ), claims to bring a different kind of light (proth. 3: φάος ἄλλο) through his song despite his blindness. The

Homerocentones biblici  43 theme of spiritual blindness alludes to Apollinaris’ engagement with Homer,237 this time the poet’s legendary blindness associated with but not contrasted to the theme of Christian illumination: in a fine case of Usurpation the Christian armory safeguards the poet who sings of a different, though not necessarily competing theme, φάος ἄλλο. Elsewhere he also compares his didactic motivation to Hesiod’s advice to Perses and poses as a kind of “Davidic Hesiod.”238 The poet of the Metaphrasis is intensely inclined to defend his metrical choice but not so much in terms of appropriation of classical verse as with respect to the transposition this entails. After all, he was rearranging into verse a lyric text (proth. 15: μέτροις Ἑβραίοις) that had already been translated into Septuagint and supposedly faithful prose (proth. 20–​21: μῦθοι δ’ ὧδε μένουσιν ἐτήτυμοι . . . ἐπέων Πτολεμαῖος ἐέλδετο). His choice, he claims, is justified by the consolidation of Christianity as the official religion across the ecumene (proth. 23–​26); the choice of meter is based on its prestige among the gentiles as opposed to the plain style of the Septuagint (proth. 22: ἔνθεν Ἀχαιοὶ | μείζονα μὲν φρονέεσκον ἐπὶ σφετέρῃσι ἀοιδαῖς), and on its originally sacred appeal (105–​106: γλῶσσαν Ἰήονα . . . ἐκ παλαχῆς θεότευκτος), and thus suitable to broadcast of the Christian message.239 By claiming hexameter to be the vehicle of Christian truth the poem deconstructs centuries-​old pagan and Christian debates about the falsehoods inhabiting verse versus prose and shows that the new topic purges the medium.240 Moreover, it proposes a seamless, albeit thematically and self-​ consciously different (φῶς ἄλλον), continuity between epic poetry, the Davidic hymns, and their new hexametric amendment: by re-​transposing the hymns to their “original” metrical format (poth. 31: ἐγείρομεν αὖτις ἀοιδήν) the Metaphrasis does not show Homer to have become Christian; instead, it implies that David (ought to have) composed “originally” in Homeric hexameters, a stylistic choice that would have guaranteed the popularity of his poem among the gentiles. As this did not happen, in a striking demonstration of the cultural and imperial reclaim of Christianity for the gentiles, the praise and the appropriation of the Christian message and the success of its dissemination are credited to the pepaideumenos poet of the hexametric Psalms. From the above it emerges that just as ancient readers attest to a versatile reception of Homer and the Bible, so too biblical poets treat both these sources of inspiration quite differently. Some overarching shared tropes can be nonetheless highlighted. All poets—​from that of the highbrow poet “Apollinaris” and Proba to the “Dorotheus” of the Bodmer collection—​affirm that the subject matter of the epic has changed, and that Christ and Salvation are henceforth the new themes that guarantee both personal (Juvencus, Proba, Gregory, “Dorotheus,” Apollinaris) and imperial salvation (Juvencus, Proba, Apollinaris). Beyond Salvation the proclaiming of the evangelical truth seems to be yet another shared motivation in composing Christian verse. Yet with respect to the re-​claim of the

44  The Homeric Centos classicizing tradition the attitudes differ. For example, unlike programmatic evidence from Latin works, the Greek poems and proems surveyed here—​with the exception of Gregory’s—​indicate a seamless and less competitive appropriation of both Homer and Hesiod.241 The very medium, as Apollinaris argues, could benefit their cause, as it addresses a similarly educated cultural milieu which made its Usurpation rather unproblematic: the Christian Muse and the Christian bard were certainly converted but they didn’t always have to be baptized in the Jordan or in Proba’s, more ambiguously pagan, Castalian source, nor did they need to broadcast their conversion in apologetic terms, as Proba’s revision of her old poetry does.

1.3.2  Homerocentones, a Biblical Poem 1.3.2.1 Patricius’ Hypothesis Likewise, the two prefaces that the manuscript tradition associates with the Homeric Centos reveal their dialogical relationship with Homer and shed light on their treatment of biblical material. As these are composed from the writers’ own rather than borrowed centos, they offer personal and unmediated as well as metaliterary reflections.242 The 38-​line-​long preamble transmitted in the Palatine Anthology 1.119 (Waltz) is usually attributed to the Patricius to whom the manuscript tradition credits a Homeric cento, and begins as follows: βίβλος Πατρικίοιο θεουδέος ἀρητῆρος, ὃς μέγα ἔργον ἔρεξεν, Ὁμηρείης ἀπὸ βίβλου κυδαλίμων ἐπέων τεύξας ἐρίτιμον ἀοιδήν, πρήξιας ἀγγέλλουσαν ἀνικήτοιο θεοῖο· This is the Biblos of the god-​like243 Patricius, the priest, | who achieved a great deed: from the glorious epics (ἐπέων) of the Homeric book | he crafted a precious song (ἀοιδή), | which preaches the deeds (πρήξιας) of the unvanquished God.

The Hypothesis likens Patricius’ physical book to his cento (1) and sets it in contrast to the book of Homeric epics (2–​3). Regarding Homer and his glorious epics (2), these too only contribute to the confession of Christ, while Patricius poses as a poet-​editor (3) in a seamless tradition from Homer to the Christian era. The word ἐπέων encompasses a plethora of meanings—​from spoken or written words in general, to hexameters, and to poetry in general. Here it summarizes the centuries-​old oral and written reception of the Homeric text (βίβλος), which has assumed a sacred character. The performative aspect of Patricius’ text is further highlighted by the reference to the precious song (ἀοιδή).244 The poetic intention appears in the self-​reflexive term (τεύξας)245 that balances in the middle of the

Homerocentones biblici  45 verse between the old Homeric model (κυδαλίμων ἐπέων) and the new poem which is presented in the jeweled fashion as a precious song (ἐρίτιμον ἀοιδήν). The participle is carefully chosen to signify the poet’s and the poem’s craft, one that in both the Homeric context and in Late Antiquity, was closely related to the painstaking creation of ekphraseis, and did not simply indicate the “editing” of the Homeric model but also the forging of a new poem. The actual contents of the new Christian poem are described as the deeds (πρήξιας) of Christ, and though not as unambiguous as Juvencus’ phrase vitalia gesta, the term does have a similar historiographic tinge: in a Christian context, the Greek word alludes to such more or less canonical Christian narratives as the Acts (πράξεις) of the Apostles. That said, the Hypothesis does not draw attention to any contrast between the poem’s classical models and its content, a detail all the more striking as he was a priest, and, as such could have been more polemical in his approach, as for example Gregory in his defense of his verses. Instead, like “Apollinaris” and “Dorotheus,” the cento poet simply lists his theme in the form of a catalogue, a popular feature of didactic poetry, meant primarily to engage readers in the text and provide them with a panoramic ekphrastic overview.246 Patricius’ catalogue stretches from the incarnation to the Resurrection,247 and ends, as in the case of Juvencus or “Dorotheus,” with the ultimate confession that the risen Lord is the Son, begotten in times of old, of the everlasting God (28): ἀνστὰς ἐν τριτάτῃ φαεσιμβρότῳ ἠριγενείῃ | ἀρχέγονον βλάστημα θεοῦ γενετῆρος ἀνάρχου.248 This profession is tantamount to a declaration of credo as it evokes the second chapter of the Nicene-​Constantinopolitan Creed.249 As such the end of the poem, which in its current version recounts the Ascension, and its Hypothesis, corresponds to a ritual performance of personal faith.

1.3.2.2 Eudocia’s Apologia The so-​called Apologia (transmitted in Vat. Suppl. Gr. 388)250 attributed to Eudocia may cast more light on the artistic program of Christian cento poetry as it explains both the purpose and the content of the poem, and also includes some self-​conscious editorial remarks. Yet for all its apologetic connotations the Apologia is rather unapologetic regarding its Christian motivation. The apology Eudocia, as it appears from the text below, offers concerns more about technical and editorial challenges she encountered: ἧδε μὲν ἱστορίη θεοτερπέος ἐστὶν ἀοιδῆς. Πατρίκιος δ’, ὃς τῆνδε σοφῶς ἀνεγράψατο βίβλον, ἔστι μὲν ἀενάοιο διαμπερὲς ἄξιος αἴνου, οὕνεκα δὴ πάμπρωτος ἐμήσατο κύδιμον ἔργον. ἀλλ’ ἔμπης οὐ πάγχυ ἐτήτυμα πάντ’ ἀγόρευεν· 5 οὐδὲ μὲν ἁρμονίην ἐπέων ἐφύλαξεν ἅπασαν,

46  The Homeric Centos οὐδὲ μόνων ἐπέων ἐμνήσατο κεῖνος ἀείδων, ὁππόσα χάλκεον ἦτορ ἀμεμφέος εἶπεν Ὁμήρου. ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ ἡμιτέλεστον ἀγακλεὲς ὡς ἴδον ἔργον Πατρικίου, σελίδας ἱερὰς μετὰ χεῖρα λαβοῦσα, 10 ὅσσα μὲν ἐν βίβλοισιν ἔπη πέλεν οὐ κατὰ κόσμον, πάντ’ ἄμυδις κείνοιο σοφῆς ἐξείρυσα βίβλου· ὅσσα δ’ ἐκεῖνος ἔλειπεν, ἐγὼ πάλιν ἐν σελίδεσσι γράψα καὶ ἁρμονίην ἱεροῖς ἐπέεσσιν ἔδωκα. εἰ δέ τις αἰτιόῳτο καὶ ἡμέας ἐς ψόγον ἕλκοι, 15 δοιάδες οὕνεκα πολλαὶ ἀρίζηλον κατὰ βίβλον εἰσὶν Ὁμηρείων τ’ ἐπέων πόλλ’ οὐ θέμις ἐστίν, ἴστω τοῦθ’, ὅτι πάντες ὑποδρηστῆρες ἀνάγκης. εἰ δέ τις ὑμνοπόλοιο σαόφρονα Τατιανοῖο μολπὴν εἰσαΐων σφετέρην τέρψειεν ἀκουήν, 20 δοιάδας οὕνεκα κεῖνος Ὁμηρείων ἀπὸ βίβλων οὔ ποτε συγχεύας σφετέρῃ ἐνεθήκατο δέλτῳ, οὐ ξένον, οὕνεκα κεῖνος Ὁμηρείης ἀπὸ μολπῆς, κείνων δ’ ἐξ ἐπέων σφετέρων ποίησεν ἀοιδήν Τρώων τ’ Ἀργείων τε κακὴν ἐνέπουσαν ἀϋτήν, 25 ὥς τε πόλιν Πριάμοιο διέπραθον υἷες Ἀχαιῶν, αὐτὴν Τροίαν ἔχουσαν, ἐν ἀργαλέῳ τε κυδοιμῷ μαρναμένους αὐτούς τε θεούς, αὐτούς τε καὶ ἄνδρας, οὕς ποτε χαλκεόφωνος ἀνὴρ ἀΰτησεν Ὅμηρος. Πατρίκιος δ’, ὃς τῆνδε σοφὴν ἀνεγράψατο δέλτον 30 ἀντὶ μὲν Ἀργείων στρατιῆς γένος εἶπεν Ἑβραίων, ἀντὶ δὲ δαιμονίης τε καὶ ἀντιθέοιο φάλαγγος ἀθανάτους ἤεισε καὶ υἱέα καὶ γενετῆρα. ἀλλ’ ἔμπης ξυνὸς μὲν ἔφυ πόνος ἀμφοτέροισι, Πατρικίῳ κἀμοί, καὶ θηλυτέρῃ περ ἐούσῃ· 35 κεῖνος δ’ ἤρατο μοῦνος ἐν ἀνθρώποις μέγα κῦδος, ὃς πάμπρωτος ἐπήξατο κλεινὸν ἕδος γε δόμοιο251 καλὴν ἐξανάγων φήμην βροτέοιο γενέθλης. This is the story of a god-​pleasing song. | Patricius, who wrote it down wisely in a book, | is, of course, obviously worthy of eternal praise, | because he first of all invented this holy work. | But still he did not preach everything fully truthfully; | nor did he keep intact the metrical harmony; | nor did he evoke only those verses that he (Homer) was singing; | all those the copper-​hearted blameless Homer was telling. | But I myself, when I saw Patricius’ praise-​worthy work unfinished, | picked up the holy pages with my two hands, and those verses in his books that seemed disorderly | I entirely discarded from that man’s wise book. | But those that remained [I copied/​wrote again in pages] | and I harmonized the sacred verses. | If now one were to blame us too | because there are many couplets in the distinguished book | from the Homeric verses against the [cento?] rules, | let this be known to him: we are all Necessity’s assistants. | If now one delights his ears by listening to the wise song of the

Homerocentones biblici  47 hymn-​singer252 Tatian | because he did not compile couplets from the Homeric books, | nor write them in his own booklet, | it comes as no surprise: for he composed his song | from the Homeric song but also from his own verses, the song, namely, that spoke about the war-​cry of the Trojans and the Argives | and how the Argives sacked the city of Priam | and how Troy resisted, and in the horrible battle the gods and men alike were battling, | those who once the copper-​voiced Homer recited aloud. | But Patricius, who wrote this wise booklet, | instead of the Argive army spoke about the Jewish kin, | and instead of the phalanx of demons and antichrists, he sang about both immortals, and Son and Father. | But truly the labor was shared for both of us, | for Patricius and myself alike, although I am a woman; |Though he alone will receive great glory among men | because first of all he fastened together the glorious foundation of the structure, | setting out the noble fame of his mortal origin.

The Apologia addresses the four following topics in this order: the gender of the poet, the poem’s cultural milieu, the poet’s editing/​compositional skills (in comparison to Patricius’), her cento technique (in comparison to Tatian’s), and her reuse of Homer. This preface clearly indicates female authorship (10: λαβοῦσα; 35: καὶ θηλυτέρῃ περ ἐούσῃ) and is rightly attributed to the Empress (Eudocia) as a famous poet of centos.253 Fascinating is the reference to the physical output of this toil in the form of a book intended for oral performance.254 The poet presents the contents of the preface as a historical account255—​ἱστορίη ἀοιδῆς—​of the composition of the song, which was meant to be performed, given the emphasis given on song in it (1: ἀοιδή; 5: ἀείδων; 33: ἤεισε). Then follows the description of the editing of Patricius’ physical book as a careful philological activity (10: σελίδας; 11: ἐν βίβλοισιν ἔπη; 13: πάλιν ἐν σελίδεσσι). The disambiguation between performed song/​ epic and its bookish layout is also stressed in the case of Tatian’s poetry256 but also Homer’s.257 This interplay between the oral/​aural and the written, and the merging of philology with performance are of primary importance to our understanding of the cultural context in which I HC appeared: because the interplay modulates between orality, philology, and a reading culture give the impression of a seamless transition from Homer to Tatian, to Patricius and finally Eudocia. The philological touch is evident in the preface’s information about the expectations raised by such compositions.258 For example, the reference to Eudocia’s painstaking co-​composition and co-​editing of Patricius’ text (34: ξυνὸς πόνος) included restoration of the poem to metrical, chiefly, “harmony” (6: ἁρμονίην), to thematic accuracy (5: ἐτήτυμα),259 for which the emendation of several, probably, non-​Homeric or Patricius’ own or other (7: οὐδὲ μόνων ἐπέων), lines was required.260 We cannot be certain whether these terms address more thematic rather than technical amendments but probably they refer to both with a focus on the first. The latter is discussed in a digression about Tatian, a poet, who may have been a poet of centos.261 A letter of Libanius of ca. 390 reports that he wrote what seems a sequel or a cento that reused Homeric lines in some kind of combination and possibly with his “own” lines: ποιήσεως συναφθείσης τῇ παρ’

48  The Homeric Centos Ὁμήρου δι’ αὐτῶν τῶν Ὁμήρου.262 Additionally, the term δοιάδας, which the Apologia mentions in relation to his virtuosity, equally is contested.263 The difficulty begins with the assumptions regarding Ausonius’ two-​line handicap, as it excludes other possibilities of cento composition, for example with interpolated lines or from different poets, from which the first is probably at Apologia 7 and 21: οὐδὲ μόνων ἐπέων . . . κείνων δ’ ἐξ ἐπέων σφετέρων ποίησεν ἀοιδὴν.264 On the other hand, more helpful in this respect than Libanius’ letter, the Byzantine paratexts tell another tale about Tatian,265 whom they present chiefly as a composer of centos as Mark Usher has convincingly argued. Both manuscripts with Schembra’s sigla N (=​Vatican Ottob. gr. 301) and m (=​Munich gr. 243) imply that Tatian wrote centos that never borrowed two consecutive lines from Homer. The scribes then were inclined to interpret δοιάδας in the way that Ausonius did, that is, as evidence of poetic virtuosity, and to see Tatian as an author of some kind of cento poetry.266 Surely cento poetry would have been a particularly good field in which to flaunt one’s poetic virtuosity—​the more challenging the feat, the greater is the one who masters it—​and this is to what Libanius’ mention of a third editing of Tatian’s poems attests. As for Eudocia, her understanding of the need for editing seems to acknowledge a middle way between the virtuosic reuse of Homer in non-​Christian poetry and the conveyance of the veracity of the Christian message, which unlike the Homeric content, may have called for a less adventurous approach as her appeal to Necessity (18) suggests.267 The other fascinating bit of information in the Apologia has to do with the poem’s debt to Homer. In the work, Homer is described as blameless (8: ἀμεμφής),268 yet his verses are said to have been dictated (8: εἶπεν) to him by his bronze (i.e., valiant) heart and not by the Muse, the traditional source of inspiration, which may seem as a downplay of the traditional topos of divine inspiration. However, Patricius too appears reciting (31: εἶπεν) a Christian poem that is to be performed as a song (33). The use of εἶπεν here reveals two manners of reciting which are not in the same register. Homer’s voice is louder, an acoustic metaphor that juxtaposes brass sounds to a war cry and relates them to the typical themes of epic, heroic wars. In other words, the performance of Homer’s epics—​at least to a late antique audience—​must have complemented their subject matter, i.e., a bombastic recitation evocative of a battle cry. By contrast, Patricius did not sing about battle cries (25: ἀϋτήν, “shout”) or themes such as the ones once recited by the brass-​speaking/​shouting Homer (29: χαλκεόφωνος . . . ἀΰτησεν). Accordingly, the subject matter of the Christian cento seems to have been performed differently—​though the poem does not reveal exactly how—​irrespective of the shared medium, the hexameter, and performative style, recitation (εἶπεν . . . ἀϋτήν/​ἀΰτησεν). The preface then suggests the same as what Patricius had written in a booklet on the Jewish genealogy

Homerocentones biblici  49 (31: δέλτον . . . γένος εἶπεν Ἑβραίων) and sung (33: ἤεισε) of the Godhead. The new theme changes the manner of recitation and its epic content from battle cry about heroic deeds to a softer timbre that implies a historicist/​didactic poem with hymnic character. Despite the highlighted tone of heroic war-​themed epic, the subversion of epic’s traditional content in the Apologia is less apologetic than Proba’s. Although we know that Eudocia the poetess composed other epic poetry, such as an epic/​ panegyric poem about her husband’s campaign against the Persians, she does not refute her previous work, as Proba does. This may imply that her non-​Christian work was not necessarily as contested as Proba thinks of her own or that she did not feel the urge to defend Christian verse like Gregory. Yet more central is the impression given in the preface that cento continues to incorporate Homer seamlessly into the Christian poem, in which Tatian’s is fused with Patricius’ theme. The Apologia is not a defense of Christian poetry in classicizing verse, but rather a metaliterary account of Eudocia’s own poetic revision of a religious song: ἱστορίη θεοτερπέος ἀοιδῆς. In the preface, the proof of veracity lies not in the actual truth of the Homeric or Christian text, but mainly in the content and style. The criticism at stake here (5: οὐ πάγχυ ἐτήτυμα) is not one directed at the original Homeric/​mythological poetry, but at the quality of her predecessor’s already biblical-​themed work. The same philological motive seems to lurk behind the references to the harmony achieved (6) through the editing, which highlights prosodic issues. However—​and ironically—​as much as Homer was often considered throughout antiquity as the fountainhead of every literary and scientific invention, credit for the “first invention” (4: πάμπρωτος) of Christian centos is bestowed upon Patricius and his half-​finished work.269 The references to Patricius imply a praiseworthy connection to valiant Homeric heroes (4: κύδιμον ἔργον; 36: μέγα κῦδος),270 and epigraphic sepulchral testimony,271 indicating, perhaps, that Patricius is no longer alive,272 which would explain the subtlety with which Eudocia revises and critiques his work and downplays her own additions. In the epilogue of the preface, Patricius is no longer merely the protos heuretes of Christian Homeric centos, but also the founder of an artistic edifice (37). This may have been done to create the illusion that the preface was a kind of sepulchral inscription to celebrate the now-​deemed monumental poetic construction of Patricius.273 At the metaliterary level, the spolia aesthetic echoes in the architectural metaphor, accentuates the amalgamation of cultures as well as the seamless reception and re-​editing of Homeric verse in a Christian poem. In such a context, the role of the poet-​editor is not necessarily downplayed, as one modern critic may have thought,274 but rather elevated as s/​he participates in a poetic production that has gone on for centuries. The Apologia is neither Eudocia’s justification of her motives to compose or edit classicizing Christian poetry, nor apologetic with

50  The Homeric Centos respect to epic’s pagan themes; rather it is primarily a confession of faith, a diary of her poetic endeavors, and a defense of her editing method, especially if this involved the revision of a half-​finished work by a man who was now dead. According to Apollinaris, hexameters are divine (proth. 17: θεσπεσίων τὸ πρόσθεν) and according the Apologia belong to a blameless poet (8: ἀμεμφέος),275 with whom one needs not compete overtly.276 In the Apologia, Homer is not necessarily “mutatus in melius” or transformed into a Christian saint and bard as Virgil is in the preface to Proba’s Cento,277 but serves instead as a vehicle for promoting the Christian message, as do the Vision of Dorotheus and the Metaphrasis of the Psalms. Notwithstanding the copyreader’s tact, Patricius falls short not only of Homer but also of his editor as the Byzantine manuscript tradition reserves the title of “most illustrious” (λαμπροτάτη) for Eudocia, the admired Theodosian empress and poetess.278

1.4 Summary Was Homer mutatus in melius when transposed into a Christian register? Programmatically, this chapter has aimed at unweaving the Homeric from the biblical threads in the I HC in order to show how they were used in the new Christian context. The analysis above demonstrated in particular the variety of secular and religious cento compositions that existed in antiquity. In terms of ancient readership, the Christian exegetes’ strong condemnation of the cento practice suggests that the laity was quite fond of this kind of poetry, which demanded that the audience play an active role in decoding its meaning. The discussion of the ancient readership of cento poetry stresses the difference in attitude based on the background of each reader: Jerome is more critical, the Church historian Socrates less so, while Sozomen writing in the heyday of cento composition may actually have been an enthusiastic reader. For later critics such as Eustathius, who was influenced by Humanism, the Homeric potential of this kind of composition far exceeded that of their Christian theme. The Christian cento was a bold experiment in late Christian classicism whose interpretation depended mainly on the reader. While some saw the Homer epic as endorsing the Christian cause, others believed that it distorted the “purity” of the Bible, and yet others were simply mesmerized by the virtuoso results. One could read more or less Homer and more or less Bible into it. The ambiguous relationship between the Homeric and biblical character of the centos was propagated in their early modern reception: whereas the earlier editions treat the Homerocentones as biblical poems and combine them with other Christian literature, later editions pair them with Homer, a practice that was eventually to contribute to their negative reception by modern critics who were unimpressed by their less-​than-​Homeric polish.

Homerocentones biblici  51 The I HC is Homeric with respect not only to its compositional units, centos, but also to other Homeric features, yet is still a late antique epic poem. The examination of the selected Homeric lines illustrates above all the debt of this kind of poetry to the centuries-​long practice of reading, memorizing, commenting on, and quoting Homer at both the school level and beyond. Homer was part of Greek cultural identity and could be used to various ends. At the rhetorical level, the Homeric Centos revise Homer to make him fit the aesthetics of Late Antiquity. Even when formulaic characterization and type scenes do appear, they obey the new rules of poikilia. Similarly, the extensive adaptation of formulaic language, typical scenes, ekphraseis and similes in the poem and its moralizing touches, all reflect the rhetorical and literary culture in which they were used than their archaic models. On the other hand, the reception of the Homeric language highlighted here moves beyond the lexical unit and rhetorical practice, and certainly far beyond school practice. Although the Homeric Centos reflect the overall reception of Homer that emerges also in the analysis by Raffaella Cribiore, it cannot be stressed enough that the popularity of particular books or passages also hinged on the particular circumstances of a Homerizing poem. Although ancient readers favored Book 4 of the Odyssey, the second most commonly referenced book in the I HC was Book 2, as its thematic constituents resonate with the content of the new poem. Book 2 then was read in a Christian manner, pillaged for outdoor-​ assembly scenes, used for reconsidering sin, and especially for discussing nostos and the Sonship of Jesus in Odyssean and Telemachean terms respectively. This kind of Homeric appropriation is important for understanding the engagement with the Homeric text. Whereas the lines we looked at may exemplify Usurpation or Kontrastimitation or “non-​referential allusions,” the kind frequently found in the poem were chiefly part of the rhetorical education. This complex reception of the poet’s work suggests the existence of a Homeric koine. By vulgate I mean not only the common Homeric Kunstsprache vivid in poetry from the Archaic era onward,279 or the Homeric koine in the edited and authorial Homeric text in circulation,280 but rather the shared use in Late Antiquity of epic style with respect to meter, formulae, and thematic, to cite one of his many contributions to this topic.281 This kind of Homeric koine must be seen not only as a literary language, but also as a cultural currency. The Second Sophistic movement in the Greek-​speaking world that followed the Roman conquest prompted the Greeks to re-​evaluate their relationship to their past in Homeric terms, among others. The Christian cento attempts the same rhetorical re-​claiming of Homer, following the linear tradition of reading, commenting, reusing, criticizing, and inventing with and/​or against Homer. In this sense, the Homeric Centos participate in the long ancient debates on Homeric criticism. As for the Bible’s reception, we saw that compared to the programmatic statements expressed in other

52  The Homeric Centos biblical poems composed in Latin, Greek Christian poetry is less homogenous in its ideological programmatic exhortations and displays various degrees of self-​reflexivity; both Juvencus and Proba emphasize their turn away from the classicizing past, and Proba in particular renounces her prior works of non-​ Christian content, an attitude we find in the polemical claims of Gregory of Nazianzus. By contrast, other Greek hexametric poems such as the Metaphrasis of the Psalms do not compete directly with the tradition. Other works such as the Vision of Dorotheus allude to the classical, Hesiodean and Homeric models, without dwelling on their pagan content. In such a variegated environment, the programmatic statements found in the Hypothesis of Patricius or the Apologia of the Homeric Centos are puzzling. The first provides a rough summary of the poem, while the second acknowledges both the technique of contemporary secular poets, such as Tatian, and the invention of Christian poets, such as Patricius. And while the author notes the change in theme—​the incarnation of the Word instead of Iliadic battles—​she does note that Homer is the cornerstone of a tradition that she too followed when composing, editing, and performing her song. The idea of Virgil singing of the Christian God, as he is characterized in Proba, or of an ameliorated Virgil, as in the scribe’s cento dedication has no parallel in the Greek cento, in which Homer, despite no longer being inspired explicitly by the Muse, is and remains ἀμεμφής. The poetess of the Apologia set out to compose a biblical poem in Homeric hexameter according to a long tradition that stretched from the Bard to the mythological-​themed epics of Tatian and the biblical centos of Patricius. The I HC is stitched with both Homeric and biblical threads in a dense composition whose craft offers insight into both the classicizing technique and the Christian message. Balancing on this dual register and cultural inheritance, we now turn to the third focus of this book: the question of the poem’s female focalization and audience.

2

Mulierum virtutes ἐπεὶ δὲ πολλὰ καὶ κοινῇ καὶ ἰδίᾳ γυναιξὶν ἄξια λόγου πέπρακται. “Since many remarkable deeds have been performed together with women or by women alone,” Plutarch, Virtues of Women, 243d Ἐμοὶ δὲ θαυμαστὸν εἶναι δοκεῖ, εἰ τοὺς ἄνδρας μὲν τοὺς καλοὺς προθύμως ἐπαινεσόμεθα, γυναῖκα δὲ ἀγαθὴν τῆς εὐφημίας οὐκ ἀξιώσομεν. “It appears astonishing to me, if we praise virtuous men eagerly, why should not deem laudable the virtuous woman,” Julian, Encomium of the Empress Eusebia, 2.2

In 830 CE, the young Emperor Theophilus was invited to choose from a group of possible brides. Among the candidates was the future hymnographer Cassia, whom the emperor teased while offering her the apple of the wedding proposal, telling her that “Woman is the source of evil (ἐκ γυναικὸς ἐρρύη τὰ φαῦλα, sc. Eve).” Modest but quick-​witted, the girl replied that “Woman too is the source of all good (διὰ γυναικὸς πηγάζει τὰ κρείττω, sc. Mary).”1 Dumbfounded, the emperor proposed to the silent Theodora instead of the articulate Cassia, who devoted herself to a monastery. This prejudice is well rooted in classical thought. Plutarch, for instance, wrote an epistolary treatise to his friend Clea, a priestess at Delphi, about the bravery of women in which he voiced his opposition to Thucydides’ exhortation of the mute woman, and proposed to praise the good woman in the Roman fashion, who, in this case was ironically dead.2 It took two more centuries before Julian could praise a living woman, the Empress Eusebia.3 This chapter deals with the representation of women in the I HC and makes a strong case for the poem’s intended female (as well as male) audience. After a brief survey of literature on ancient Christian-​learned women (2.1), it examines the poem’s allusions to Mary as a role model for the female elites (2.2). The central analysis (2.3) scrutinizes the vivid crafting of female characters in the I HC as opposed to the II HC and concludes (2.4) with a survey of the subtle comments articulated by what I argue is an embedded female narrator and that serve as The Homeric Centos. Anna Lefteratou, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197666555.003.0003

54  The Homeric Centos support for my attribution of this edition of centos to the famously learned empress, Eudocia.

2.1 Contexts 2.1.1  Mythical and Biblical Female Role Models Cassia’s reply to Theophilus demonstrates the degree to which the opposition between Eve and Mary tended to monopolize Christian perceptions about women. Classical poetry too often provided what could be seen as mutually exclusive female role models for late antique women: the submissive Andromache vs. the dangerous Medea, the chaste Penelope vs. the sensual Helen—​dichotomies no less extreme than those of the virginal Mary and the fallen Eve.4 Throughout Greek epic, women’s speech and actions are compromised and eclipsed by the deeds and words of men, and they are left expressing their feelings and stories at their looms or embroidery, if at all.5 Even genres populated by women, such as tragedy, display the weight of a patriarchal society that shapes women’s speech—​ most notably, public speech.6 Once female types falling between the extremes of Penelope and Helen emerged, women become increasingly visible and their character’s more nuanced. Virgil’s Dido is probably a good example of metaphorical characterization through allusions to a variety of positive and negative Homeric models.7 Other complex female models that combine positive and negative mythological models are the heroines of the Greek novels, where Callirhoe for example, balances between Helen and Penelope.8 Christianity revisited the social status of women and also the tales about them. In its early centuries, it granted a certain amount of prominence to women as virginity/​chastity allowed them to better control their bodies and reproduction.9 Early Christian women also played a significant role in religious life as martyrs, disciples, or ministers. Once Christianity was consolidated as the official religion of the empire,10 however, it began endorsing the existing Graeco-​Roman social norms: though some early letters stated that males and females were equals before God (Gal 3:27–​28), they did not approve of women speaking up in church.11 This is not very different from what Pericles had requested of Athenian widows in the Classical era or what Choricius over a millennium later claimed as the greatest virtue of a Christian woman.12 On the other hand, the growing popularity of role models like Thecla from the early stages of Christianity to Late Antiquity suggests a slow change. The fictional heroines of the new faith differed dramatically from their pagan counterparts; far more energetic than the latter and many even cross-​ dressed as men, they travelled, preached, and/​or opposed the existing order, even if only in fiction or only under the male guidance of an apostle.13

Mulierum virtutes  55 In the centuries separating Thecla from Eudocia, the social standing of women shifted as well.14 Already under Theodosius I, elite widows could become the legal guardians of their orphans, and childless widows could inherit their spouses.15 Ascetic practices,16 virginity, and celibacy offered aristocratic women additional means of taking control over their body and property. Women of substance could now support holy men, finance bishops, enhance the cult of relics, and contribute financially to building projects.17 The rise of the cult of the Virgin Mary after the Council of Ephesus in 431 and her new designation as the “Theotokos”18 corresponded to major changes in the representation of women at the court of Theodosius II, and also marked the rise into prominence of powerful women who used ritual virginity as a political tool. The publicly displayed virginity of Pulcheria, the sister of Theodosius II, is probably the most telling example of the period, especially her appeal to political power as a virgin Empress after her marriage to Marcian.19 Whether or not Pulcheria promoted the early Byzantine cult of the Mother of God to back her own religious and political aspirations is beyond the scope of this book.20 What is important, however, is that Mary became increasingly significant for elite women who sought a Christian model of matronly female piety, alongside other biblical models. Her virginal birth however came under scrutiny during the Christological controversies preceding the Council in 431. Nestorius, initially a protégé of Theodosius II, upon his appointment in Constantinople refused calling Mary the Theotokos, offering other options such as Theodochos or Christotokos, that underscored that the being born of the Virgin was human rather than God.21 His opponents under the lead of Cyril of Alexandria objected and eventually succeeded at condemning him at Ephesus for allegedly separating Christ’s natures when refusing the title Theotokos to the mother. The work of Nestorius’ future successor, Proclus, is intriguing in this respect as it shows the popularity of Mary at the court. A secretary of the bishop Atticus, first bishop of Cyzicus and part of Pulcheria’s inner court, Proclus delivered his first Homily on the Theotokos during the Christmas celebration, in 430, in front of Nestorius, a text that would become canonical in the Conciliar Acts.22 In his fourth Homily for Christmas, composed shortly after Ephesus, Proclus shows all the creation offering presents to the Messiah. The cast assembled around Jesus’ imaginary cot not only reference the major events of the Gospel now rewoven into a seamless exegetical narrative, but also enhance the responsiveness of the audience who are expected to empathize with a variety of male and especially female characters.23 Not surprisingly, “women offer Martha, widows offer Anna, barren women offer Elizabeth, and virgins offer Mary the Theotokos. The shepherds offer their hymns, the priests offer Symeon, and the children bring branches of palms. The persecutors bring Paul, sinners bring the Publican, and the gentiles the Cannanite woman. The woman with the flow of blood offers her faith. The harlot offers her myrrh. The trees offer Zaccheus,

56  The Homeric Centos the wood of the trees offers the cross, and the cross offers the thief.”24 Proclus assemblage of characters is gendered: the male group may allude to class differences (priests, tax-​collectors) or ethnicity (Paul) and is obviously a comment on sin and repentance (e.g., Symeon versus the thief); the list of women is more thought provoking as they are deliberately sexualized when classified as barren, virgins, harlots, suffering a progenitive disease (like the Haimorrhoousa), or gentiles. Proclus’ sermon shows that Gospel characters provided adequate foil characters and enhanced gendered reception of the narrative of Salvation, something that we will discuss below for the I HC too.

2.1.2  Christian learned Women Increasing levels of literacy amongst elite women in the High Empire suggests that some texts, including the I HC, may have been composed with a female and not just a male readership in mind. Texts such as Greek novels often cast a beautiful and chaste heroine, who despite—​and possibly due to—​her adventures is eventually transformed into an ideal Roman matrona.25 Jan Bremmer notes the similarly prominent female protagonists in secular and Christian fiction and argues that narratives of this kind were equally addressed to men and women, while offering the latter fictional role models.26 From this we can infer that Christian women, at least those of the elite, were avid readers.27 Their readings included certainly more than the canonical writings which Jerome prescribed for Paula in his famous Letter 107 and probably did not fall asleep only with the Bible in their hands as he advises Eustochium in his Letter 22. For Late Antiquity, we have some additional historical evidence: the Empress Eusebia seems to have been well educated, though she is praised for sending—​not writing—​books to Julian; Serena, the adopted daughter of Theodosius I and wife to Stilicho, was extolled by Claudian for “knowing” the classics; and Jerome’s female readers’ club included learned women, who happily read, but seldom, if ever, wrote anything other than letters.28 Elite women read not only the Bible or Christian fiction, but also theological treatises such as those sent to Pulcheria and Eudocia by Cyril of Alexandria.29 This emphasis on women intellectuals as learners is also found in the visual arts: late sarcophagi in particular, increasingly depict Christian women intellectuals, holding scrolls, as Muses, or as praying orans.30 Christianity then may have given an additional impetus for reading books, namely the Christian book, but we cannot know what this actually meant for women.31 The evidence above may point to an increased indication about female readers, even if the literacy levels remained unchanged. Less, however, is known of women as writers, and especially of women as authors of cento poems or as active intellectuals, besides Hypatia. Male

Mulierum virtutes  57 dominance of the genre throughout the Second Sophistic and Late Antiquity, as well as the poetry’s ludic nature did not portray the inherited epic female characters in a flattering light. The re-​arrangement of lines of hoch-​genres offered such material for ingenuous parodic revisions, as we also saw in Seferis’ Pastitsio; hence some centos abound in sexual jokes that were probably not to be imitated by ladies.32 Proba’s own serious engagement with cento, and the (re-​) claim of the metaphor of weaving33 to describe her skill, rooted the form in a traditional female handicraft that was likewise a form of artistic expression.34 Although Proba and her ability to weave textiles and text would serve as a model for educated women throughout the Middle Ages and the Renaissance,35 her situation in Late Antiquity was far from mainstream or uniformly accessible to elite women. Anna Wasyl, for example, has traced some feminist touches in the infantile depiction of Admetus in the fifth-​century cento Alcesta, which allegedly includes an acrostic with the name of a poetess, Siria, and otherwise presents the heroine in an idealized guise, but these are not overt. As Wasyl cautiously notes, female authorship does not always embrace a feminist point of view, in this case, for example, Proba’s ostensibly “antifeminist” criticism of Eve.36 It was difficult to adapt centuries of male-​oriented literature to a (what we now understand as) feminist perspective even in less mainstream literary forms that may have held greater appeal for women. As has been noted with regard to Cassia’s era, periods of political and cultural change occasionally see a rise in female creativity and experimentation, especially in niche forms and genres,37 and cento could have been one of such outlets. But let us turn to the religious context of the poem and the appeal of the Cult of Mary in particular.

2.2  Virgin Motherhood 2.2.1  The Virgin Annunciate Μary’s representation across the poem reflects the rise of the cult of the Theotokos in Late Antiquity.38 Gradually, the virginal girl of the earlier Protevengelium of James had turned into an idealized and elite Roman virgin. She even steadily? [n.b. gradually is above] turned into a model of female literacy, since she supposedly polished her reading skills during her stay in the Temple, an achievement often commended by the early exegetes in their attempt to align the biblical text with its contemporary female readership.39 She was further imbued with connotations of royalty that detached her and her spindle from the domestic sphere.40 The I HC attests to this transition by portraying Mary with regal and matronly motifs. Rocco Schembra demonstrates how Luke 1:26–​38 and the Protevangelium of James 10–​ 1141 served as models for the revisions of the Annunciation and the Nativity in

58  The Homeric Centos the poem. The Annunciation scene, for example, is set in a palace,42 and is reminiscent of the Virgin spinning in the Temple, where Gabriel finds her seated on a throne with a footstool, a scene that also recalls the representation of Mary on the fifth-​century mosaics at Santa Maria Maggiore (432–​440) in Rome, where she is depicted enthroned, wearing royal gowns, and spinning,43 or enthroned as the Heavenly Queen next to Christ who decorates her with a crown.44 In the I HC, Mary’s contribution to Redemption is highlighted in evocative analogies: she is compared to the sleeping virgin Nausicaa,45 the chaste δέσποινα Penelope,46 the unmolested (by Agamemnon) Briseis,47 a mother as wise as Arete,48 a mourner such as Thetis,49 the faithful slave Eurycleia,50 and even to a sacrificial, virginal (ἀδμήτη) cow.51 These models show the plurality of her roles: that of the betrothed (Calypso), the virginal maiden (Nausicaa), the mother of Jesus (Arete, Thetis, Penelope), and the handmaiden (Eurycleia, Briseis). At the same time, they also associate her with various female role models, from virgins and slaves, to queens and immortal nymphs.52 These foils are rearranged throughout the poem according to the poetic and exegetical requirements of their context, as we shall see. During the cento Virgin Annunciate, as in the apocryphal narrative, Gabriel finds Mary spinning the thread for the curtain in the temple: οὐρανόθεν καταβὰς⸥ ⸤δι’ αἰθέρος ἀτρυγέτοιο νύμφῃ ἐϋπλοκάμῳ εἰπεῖν νημερτέα βουλήν. βῆ δ’ ἴμεν ἐς θάλαμον πολυδαίδαλον, ᾧ ἔνι κούρη ἕζετ’ ἐνὶ κλισμῷ, ὑπὸ δὲ θρῆνυς ποσὶν ἦεν, ἠλάκατα στρωφῶσ’ ἁλιπόρφυρα, θαῦμα ἰδέσθαι, ἀδμήτη, τὴν οὔ πω ὑπὸ ζυγὸν ἤγαγεν ἀνήρ,

211 ~ Il. 11.184 +​17.425 212 ~ Od. 5.30, Hermes to Calypso 213 ~ Od. 6.15, Athena visits Nausicaa 214 ~ Od. 4.136, Helen spinning (formulaic) 215 ~ Od. 6.306, Arete spinning 216 ~ Il. 10.293, Diomedes on a cow sacrifice

He descended from the sky, through the unharvested air, | to tell the fair-​haired maiden the true will. | He entered her beautifully crafted chambers where the virgin, | was sitting on a couch, and a footstool was under her feet | and she was spinning the sea-​purple yarn, a marvel to admire, | virginal, whom no man had yet subjected to the yoke of marriage.

The scene is narrated immediately after the assembly of God with Christ in I HC 90–​205 which recalls epic type-​scenes of divine assemblies that often introduce the plot: Iliad 1.5 and Cypria fr.1.7 for example introduce the Plan/​ Will of Zeus as an equivalent for the epic plot: Διὸς δ’53 Likewise, in I HC 206-​ 7 Gabriel is sent to proclaim the Godhead’s agreed plan: καὶ τότ’ ἄρ’ ἄγγελον ἧκεν, ὃς ἀγγείλειε | γυναικὶ βουλήν —​with a difference: in the Christian poem it’s about salvation not about diminishing or punishing mankind but saving them, a theme we will treat in detail in Section 3.3.2. In I HC 212 the use of Calypso as a model imbues the passage with Odyssean poignant overtones: just as Zeus sends Hermes to update Calypso on Odysseus’ nostos (Od. 5.28ff.), so too God sends Gabriel to notify Mary of the “return” of his own Son. Despite

Mulierum virtutes  59 their shared proficiency in embroidery,54 the two nymphs—​the sensual enchantress and the Virgin, a νύμφη ἀδμήτη55—​embody two contrasting ideals of femininity. Thus, unlike Calypso who, despite her reclusiveness, recognizes Hermes and anticipates his message (Od. 5.78–​79), Mary does not recognize her visitor; nonetheless she willingly agrees to fulfil her role in the plan of a benevolent god, as opposed to the nymph, who grudgingly bows to Zeus’ power (Od. 5.137–​139). The opposition resonates at the intratextual and typological level as well: in the Temptation scene, Eve is easily convinced by Satan’s sweet words (67: παρέπεισεν). Mary, on the other hand, is fearful, and like Priam before an Iris-​like Gabriel, is unable to move, thereby implying her inner understanding of the epiphany.56 Thus far removed from her sensual models, both Homeric and biblical, Mary is presented as a model woman. Mary in the passage is also hailed as queen,57 a characterization for which Penelope is the main foil. Mary’s hesitation reuses the queen’s careful recognition of her husband as indication of her chastity. Like Penelope, who needs to apologize to Odysseus for not recognizing him immediately in Odyssey 23.213–​ 214, I HC 259–​263 extensively recycles the queen’s words to present Mary as a cautious and virtuous woman: her restraint, she explains, arises from her fear of deceitful messengers who may gossip, or even as Penelope says, lure her into having an affair.58 This is a theme which also brings to mind the denials of her virginal conception throughout apocryphal literature and pagan polemic.59 The virginity of the centonic Mary, however, is beyond any suspicion—​even that of her husband Joseph.60 Speaking the words of the Ithacan king from the scene of partial recognition in Odyssey 17.583–​584, the centonic Gabriel commends the queen’s decision to receive a stranger/​angel in private and praises her caution. The Odyssean-​Marian model for describing the Gabriel-​Mary encounter eloquently characterizes the Virgin as the σώφρων but also highlights the subtle eroticism that lurks in the recognition of a husband and wife. Like Penelope, who requires proof that the stranger is indeed her mortal husband, Mary needs to be convinced that her betrothed is her immortal husband, and, like Calypso, she needs to obey the divine mandate, though as a slave and not as an immortal goddess.61 Thus Penelope and Calypso constitute two aspects of Mary’s character, the chaste and the eventually quasi-​divine, potentially echoing the nascent tradition of her deification and assumption.62 Mary, however, is not simply idealized as Calypso or Penelope. The angel’s greeting highlights her future sorrow by alluding to Priam escorted by Hermes when retrieving the dead body of Hector.63 An interesting case of Kontrastimitation, it turns the mournful Iliadic episode into joyful news in I HC 230: θάρσει, ὦ γύναι χαρίεσσα, thereby replacing Luke’s greeting in 1:28: χαῖρε, κεχαριτωμένη.64 Both an exegetical and a poetic touch, it adds dramatic foreshadowing and depth to Mary’s character; like Priam, she will lose

60  The Homeric Centos a son. Even the words uttered by Iris-​Gabriel are a generous revision of those addressed to Priam, a revision that casts something of a somber shadow over the joyousness of the passage in Luke. Moreover, the sacrificial iconography surrounding I HC 216 (the unyoked cow) evokes an image of Mary as the vessel bearing Salvation and echoes Symeon’s prophecy of her future suffering, a theme popular in exegetes and later hymnographers.65 This aligns with the sacrificial symbolism of Mary spinning purple thread in the Protevangelium,66 echoed in the poem (215: ἠλάκατα στρωφῶσ’ ἁλιπόρφυρα).67 At the exegetical level this detail together with the allusions to Priam and the sacrificial imagery, evoke Mary’s role in the Salvation and focalizes the incarnation through her maternal suffering, and this as early as the Annunciation scene. It thus paves the way for her dramatic representation at the foot of the cross later in the poem.

2.2.2  Virgin Motherhood In contrast to the Annunciation, the description of the Nativity I HC 275–​289 is meagre: the cento resumes the references to Calypso as a foil and in this case shows Mary giving birth in a cave crafted out of verses that belong to the ekphrastic description of the nymph’s idyllic grotto.68 Caves as places where supernatural events could take place had a long prehistory in Greek allegorical thought: the Cave of the Nymphs on Ithaca was a gateway between the divine and the underworld,69 so is Quintus’ Nymphaion in Paphlagonia, an ἄντρον and σπέος εὐρὺ that functions as a gateway to the souls.70 There is no doubt that both Calypso’s and the Nymphs’ caves are evoked as models for the manger in Bethlehem, now upgraded into a cosmic symbol,71 where the incarnation of Christ from God to man takes place, just as souls, mortals, and immortals could communicate in ancient caves. The virgin nymph swaddles her child, in what a Christian audience would have understood as the tissue of flesh (297: εἵματά τ᾽ ἀμφιέσατο θυώδεα), especially as nice fragrance could be associated with a divine epiphany.72 The reference to Calypso’s farewell gift to Odysseus with an exegetical potential and hints at a subtle Usurpation: just as the nymph sends Odysseus off on his perilous but successful voyage home, so too does Mary bring Jesus forth into the world of the flesh, whence he will emerge victorious.73 By contrast, whereas Calypso dons the mortal Odysseus immortal clothing, reminiscent of her wish to make him god-​like—​which Odysseus then removes—​the mortal Mary swaddles God in mortal garments.74 Even more intriguing is the formula that will accompany Mary, the breastfeeding mother, that appears first at I HC 295 and evokes Anticleia in Odyssey 23.295: μήτηρ, ἥ μιν ἔτικτε καὶ ἔτρεφε τυτθὸν ἐόντα. Elsewhere in her encounter with the Magi she is called ἁγνοτόκος, a virgin-​bearer,75 alluding

Mulierum virtutes  61 to her virginal birth—​the adjective in a metrical position that could not have been replaced by θεο/​η-​τόκος.76 The lack of explicit references to Mary’s title may have been hindered by hexameter, given the lengths the poet underwent to turn Ἀλκινόιο into ἁγνοτόκοιο. The line appears only once in the Odyssey, when Odysseus summarizes his travels to Penelope and is not formulaic. In the original, it refers to Anticleia, Odysseus’ mother, whom he has met in the Underworld. But in the I HC as well as in the subsequent editions, this line becomes formulaic and is used to introduce the Virgin in her capacity as Christ’s mother.77 Another interesting way in which she is characterized is as the virgin par excellence. Yet the clusters that to do so are carefully selected: in I HC 278, she is described as παρθένος ἁγνή, while in I HC 457, she is once as παρθένος ἀδμής, a phrase alluding to Nausicaa’s virginity.78 Obviously, the cluster παρθένος ἁγνή appears throughout biblical and Christian texts,79 while the epic formula παρθένος ἀδμής,80 which is used for Mary in the I HC and the subsequent cento editions,81 seems to have already been Christianized and used toward that end by Gregory of Nazianzus.82 The epic formula that could have been used in its stead—​παρθένος αἰδοίη83—​is reserved in the I HC for mortal virgins, such as the daughter of Jaïrus.84 Therefore, the centonist uses a formulaic cluster not only suitable to his/​her Christian reclaim, but one that has also already been used and re-​semanticized in a Christian context. On the exegetical level, the analogue of Anticleia, Odysseus’ mother, serves as the leitmotif for the Virgin:85 by giving birth and milk to the Word, the Virgin has participated in the miracle of the incarnation;86 nevertheless, as both birth and death are prerequisites for redemption, Mary’s contribution to Salvation is foregrounded by her role in parturition and care (ἔτικτε, ἔτρεφεν).87 On the typological level, the association of Mary with Anticleia revisits the theme of Eve in the underworld. In the Odyssey, the hero’s mother, unlike Mary, is dead and already in the underworld. It is there that she meets her son during his descent. Like Odysseus, who makes it back alive from Hades, Jesus dies as a man, but is resurrected. Mary’s mortality associates her with Anticleia, but also with Eve, of whom she is the positive type.88 Finally, since Mary redeems the deeds of Eve, the Anticleia model foreshadows Anticleia’s/​Eve’s redemption and resurrection from the underworld. This is not necessarily a direct echo of the title Mother of God (Θεοτόκος) attributed to Mary, especially when compared to Nonnus’ late-​fifth century, and probably post-​Chalcedon, Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel where she is called both virginal mother of Christ and mother of God, in what seems to be an alignment of both positions.89 That said the cento phrasing may well have reminded a fifth-​century audience of an alleged declaration by Nestorius:90 after separating the two natures—​divine and mortal—​of Jesus, “one must not attribute to God suckling or birth from a virgin—​one must not say that God was only

62  The Homeric Centos two or three years old.”91 He also contended that “to attribute [to the Godhead] by the term ‘appropriation’ the distinguishing characteristics of the conjoined flesh, I mean birth and suffering and death, is the mark, brother, of a mind as lost as the Greeks or diseased with the insanity of Apollinarius and Arius and the other heresies, or rather something worse than them.”92 By contrast, Cyril’s party emphatically vouchsafed θεοτόκος, because of its soteriological dimension. Proclus, for example, insisted that for Salvation to take place Mary’s virginity mattered especially post parturition.93 Given Eudocia’s alleged support to Theodosius’ protégé, Nestorius, as argued by Rocco Schembra, it is intriguing to observe that the centonic formulation contains a touch of anti-​Nestorian sentiment: namely, by presenting Mary as giving birth and breastfeeding Jesus and particularly in the ekphrasis of the infant Jesus in I HC 283–​289, where the child is compared to an exceptional yet explicitly human being (283: τῷ δ’ οὔ πώ τις ὁμοῖος ἐπιχθόνιος γένετ’ ἀνήρ), a human prince (286: οἷοί τε ἀνάκτων παῖδες), and to sunshine (289: ἠλέκτωρ Ὑπερίων), the cento entangles elements of exceptional mortality and divinity. The poem then emphasizes ἁγνοτόκος, namely Mary’s procreational role, especially her post-​partum virginity, and turns her into a maternal role model by focusing on Mary and her experience of the virgin birth rather than her relation to the son. Hence it may witness to one of the other more nuanced options employed for the Mother of God before Ephesus, such as Nestorius’ Theodochos or Christotokos, while simultaneously stressing Mary’s maternal role as a breastfeeding mother. Interestingly in Eudocia’s other poem, the story of St Cyprian that is dated during the Empress’ visit in Antioch between 438 and 439, Mary is still not the Theotokos but the pure virgin as described periphrastically at 1.25 (Bevegni): παρθενικῆς δ᾽ὠδῖνα κλυτῆς γεραρῆς Μαρίης γε (“through the virgin pangs of the glorious and holy Mary”).94 Both Saint Cyprian and the I HC stress Mary’s perpetual and post-​partum virginity rather than the subject of the Incarnation. The tumultuous events following the Council, such as the split between Cyril’s followers and John of Antioch’s party, an attempt for reconciliation in 433 (“The Formula of Reunion”), and Nestorius’ exile in 435, four years after his deposition, coupled by an imperial condemnation of “Nestorianism,” indicate that the decisions of Ephesus took longer to process and cannot be simply used as a terminus post-​ or ante-​quem for the poem.95 They may even be the reason why, with this fluid backdrop in mind, the term is used neither in the (probably earlier) cento poem nor in Eudocia’s “other poem” composed in the late forties. The lack of any categorical reference to Mary as the mother/​bearer of God (Theotokos) in the cento is intriguing. However, though periphrastically, the Mary of the I HC appears in line with the growing cult of the Theotokos but does not highlight its position in the debate. Besides the metrical issue observed above, we may entertain here some other constraints. If the poem was composed under

Mulierum virtutes  63 Theodosius II, then an explicit allusion to the outcome of the Ephesus Council may be expected. But the omission may point to two different overlapping possibilities: either the poem was composed too close to the time of the Council for the title of Theotokos to find its way into the cento; or the imprecision of the Homeric formula may have been used to smooth out a very thorny debate. What the I HC shows, nonetheless, is an interest in Mary as a suckling and nurturing mother, something that Nestorius would not have supported and a description betraying an interest in her as a model of virginal motherhood more in line with the parallel Marian literature by Proclus.

2.2.3  Mary at the Jordan River The idea of Mary as womb is further illuminated in the baptism scene. Her unexpected presence at the Jordan during the epiphany is not mentioned in the extant canonical or apocryphal sources. Strikingly, the story also does not feature in other editions of the cento.96 In the I HC, however she is undoubtedly being identified with the Nausicaa-​like “unyoked virgin” (παρθένος ἀδμής)97 who procures new clothes for Jesus when he emerges from the waters: αὐτὸς δ’ ἀργύφεον φᾶρος μέγα ἕννυτο θεῖον, λεπτὸν καὶ χαρίεν, περὶ δὲ ζώνην βάλετ’ ἰξυῖ, αὐτίκ’ ἔπειθ’ ὑπὸ ποσσὶν ἐδήσατο καλὰ πέδιλα. ἦμος δ’⸥ ⸤ἄρ’ ὅ γ’ ἐλούσατο ἐν ποταμῷ⸥ ⸤βαθυδίνῃ, ἀμφὶ δὲ εἵματα ἕσσαθ’ ἅ οἱ πόρε παρθένος ἀδμής.

453 ~ Od. 5.230, Calypso coming out of bed 454 ~ Od. 5.231, ibid. 455 ~ Il. 23.340 and Od. 5.44, Hermes’ sandals 456 ~ Od. 6.210, Nausicaa’s slaves anoint 457 ~ Od. 6.228, and clothe Odysseus

He (Jesus) put on a garment, a long one, silver-​white, divine, | finely woven and beautiful, belted at His waist with a girdle | and, next, he at once tied around His feet beautiful sandals. | But when he (John) had baptized him in the deep currents of the river, | He (Jesus) dressed himself with the garments brought by the chaste Virgin.

The white (453: ἀργύφεον) linen garment98 probably alludes to late antique rituals in which the catechumens received the seal of baptism together with the albata, and in some cases were even accompanied by their parents—​mothers and fathers—​as Jesus here.99 Nonetheless, the poem invests the scene with additional symbolic and exegetic nuances that present Jesus as the eschatological bridegroom and Mary as a bride.100 I HC 453–​454, for example, refers both to Calypso rising from Odysseus’ bed and putting on her divine, shining, silver-​white robes and sash, and, en passant, to Hermes.101 The further evocation of Nausicaa here stresses the dual nature of the Virgin as both a νύμφη and a παρθένος (I HC 455–​ 456). The reference to the Phaeacian princess, however, supports and sheds new light on the erotic character of the biblical revision as the hypotext implies a certain degree of eroticism between Odysseus and the girl, who eventually wishes

64  The Homeric Centos to marry him or (at least) “someone like him”—​a line much discussed in ancient criticism.102 In addition, the Christian symbolism of the textile and cloth implies that Mary is an important presence of the incarnation. Since the baptism and the incarnation are closely related, these references would have prompted a Christian audience to associate the waters of the River Jordan with Mary’s womb; the Church exegetes, Ephrem the Syrian, and Proclus, in particular, believed that Jesus’ human body was the product of Mary’s weaving. Indeed, Ephrem makes abundant use of the weaving metaphor in his descriptions of the Virgin, conflating them with the aforementioned imagery of the water–​womb–​tomb.103 If Mary’s womb and the Jordan are viewed as akin, it does not take much for the poetic imagination to depict Mary taking part in the baptism. It is possible that the poet had access to Ephrem’s poetry in translation, but this falls beyond the scope of this analysis. That said, the poem does show affinities with the relevant imagery evoked by Proclus, and portrays Mary in strikingly vivid tones as an active agent. Hence, when the Father together with the Holy Spirit makes his presence known through his voice, not only the Trinity, but also the epiphany of the Holy Family is complete—​an epiphany that bestows additional visibility and prominence on Mary and reveals the dual nature of Christ as Son of God and Son of Mary.

2.2.4  Mary’s Lament Further support for the poem’s focus on Mary as a maternal model is the embedded lamentation of the Virgin.104 The first prose text to hint this is the fourth/​fifth-​century Apocryphal Acts of Pilate, then a homily by Ephrem, followed by the works of Romanos, Maximus the Confessor, and George of Nicomedia.105 Nowhere in the canonical sources is the Virgin depicted mourning since this would have shattered and subverted the theological understanding of Mary’s humble willingness to participate in the plan of Redemption.106 Of these, only John 19:25 presents Mary at the foot of the cross along with Mary Magdalene and Christ’s beloved disciple. But by the fifth century, time for a more touching representation of Mary was ripe. By this point, the Christian exegetes were dwelling more and more on her maternal suffering,107 often reflecting the popular bias toward women and their proneness to excessive grief.108 Awkward as they may seem, these were early steps toward the later concept of the Mater Dolorosa.109 The Greek lament in the I HC therefore bridges the gap between the fourth-​ century Acta Pilati and the sixth-​century Romanos and is also the first written in a classicizing style, as it does not appear in this richness in the subsequent abbreviated editions.110

Mulierum virtutes  65 However, it was not only a taste for apocryphal narratives111 that encouraged the centonist to invent a lament for Mary at the foot of the Cross; this was also a rhetorical practice and a gendered agenda as these were considered befitting lamenting mothers. Most characteristically Quintus’ Posthomerica stage several women lamenting their beloved ones in what seems to have been a late antique must for an epic poem for which Homer was the prime model filtered through imperial rhetoric.112 The earliest epic γόοι, “laments,” are in the Iliad, with those of Briseis for Patroclus, and of Andromache, Hecuba, and Helen for Hector being the most typical. Laments were also a popular theme in late antique declamation. Menander’s discussion of them, which associates the epic and tragic modes, is intriguing because it provides a rhetorical framework for monodies and adds an extra touch of theatricality that enhances the performativity of the Homeric lament which was by then considered a dramatic touch,113 as we can see from the cento’s lament below:114 μήτηρ δ’, ἥ μιν ἔτικτε καὶ ἔτρεφε τυτθὸν ἐόντα, ἀμφ’ αὐτῷ χυμένη λίγ’ ἐκώκυε, χερσὶ δ’ ἄμυσσε στήθεά τ’ ἠδ’ ἁπαλὴν δειρὴν ἰδὲ καλὰ πρόσωπα. ἐκπάγλως γὰρ παιδὸς ὀδύρετο οἰχομένοιο, ὀξὺ δὲ κωκύσασα κάρη λάβε παιδὸς ἑοῖο, ἀμβρόσιαι δ’ ἄρα χαῖται ἐπερρώσαντο ἄνακτος. τὴν δὲ κατ’ ὀφθαλμῶν ἐρεβεννὴ νὺξ ἐκάλυψεν, ἀλλ’ ὅτε δή ῥ’ ἄμπνυτο καὶ ἐς φρένα θυμὸς ἀγέρθη, καί ῥ’ ὀλοφυρομένη ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα· «τέκνον ἐμόν, πῶς ἦλθες ὑπὸ ζόφον ἠερόεντα ζωὸς ἐών; χαλεπὸν δὲ τόδε ζωοῖσιν ὁρᾶσθαι. οἴμοι, τέκνον ἐμόν, περὶ πάντων κάμμορε φωτῶν, πῶς ἂν ἔπειτ’ ἀπὸ σεῖο, φίλον τέκος, αὖθι λιποίμην; πῇ γὰρ ἐγώ, φίλε τέκνον, ἴω; τεῦ δώμαθ’ ἵκωμαι; πῶς ἔτλης Ἄϊδόσδε κατελθέμεν, ἔνθα τε νεκροί;» ἀμφὶ δὲ παιδὶ φίλῳ βάλε πήχεε δάκρυ χέουσα, κύσσε δέ μιν κεφαλήν τε καὶ ἄμφω φάεα καλὰ χεῖράς τ’ ἀμφοτέρας, θαλερὸν δέ οἱ ἔκπεσε δάκρυ· τέκνον,⸥ ⸤ἐμοί γε μάλιστα λελείψεται ἄλγεα λυγρά. οὐ γάρ μοι θνῄσκων λεχέων ἐκ χεῖρας ὄρεξας, οὐδέ τί μοι εἶπες πυκινὸν ἔπος, οὗ τέ κεν αἰεί μεμνῄμην νύκτας τε καὶ ἤματα δάκρυ χέουσα. ἀλλά με σός τε πόθος σά τε μήδεα, φαίδιμε υἱέ, σή τ’ ἀγανοφροσύνη μελιηδέα θυμὸν ἀπηύρα· τῶ σ’ ἄμοτον κλαίω τεθνηότα, μείλιχον αἰεί. νῦν δὲ σὺ μέν ῥ’ Ἀΐδαο δόμους ὑπὸ κεύθεσι γαίης ἔρχεαι, αὐτὰρ ἐμὲ στυγερῷ ἐνὶ πένθεϊ λείπεις».

2050 ~ Od. 23.325, Anticleia 2051 ~ Il. 19.284, Briseis 2052 ~ Il. 19.285, ibid. 2053 ~ Od. 15.355, Laertes 2054 ~ Il. 18.71, Thetis 2055 ~ Il. 1.529, Zeus (and Thetis) 2056 ~ Il. 22.466, Andromache 2057 ~ Od. 5.458, Odysseus 2058 ~ Il. 5.871 or 18.72, Thetis 2059 ~ Od. 11.155, Anticleia 2060 ~ Od. 11.156, ibid. 2061 ~ Od. 11.216, ibid. 2062 ~ Il. 9. 473, Phoenix to Achilles 2063 ~ Od. 15.509, Theoclymenos 2064 ~ Od. 11.475, Anticleia 2065 ~ Od. 17.38, Penelope 2066 ~ Od. 16.15, Eumaeus about Telemachus 2067 ~ Od. 16.16, Eumaeus 2068 ~ Il. 1.362 +​24.742, Andromache 2069 ~ Il. 24.743, ibid. 2070 ~ Il. 24.744, ibid. 2071 ~ Il. 24.745, ibid. 2072 ~ Od. 11.202, Anticleia 2073 ~ Od. 11.203, ibid. 2074 ~ Il. 19.300, Briseis 2075 ~ Il. 22.482, Andromache 2076 ~ Il. 22.483, ibid.

But his mother who gave him birth and milk when he was a baby | fell on him, lamented with shrieks, and tore with her hands | her breast, her soft skin and her beautiful face. | For she lamented violently her dying son, | and with shriek she hugged her child’s head | and then the holy locks flowed waving from the Lord’s head. | Then a dark night covered her eyes, | but when she breathed and regained her senses | lamenting she uttered these volatile words: | “My child, how did you descend into the dark mist, | you a living one? It is hard for mortals to see this spectacle! | Oh! You my child, are the most

66  The Homeric Centos wretched of men. | How, my dear child, can I stay here after your death? | Where my dear child shall I go? To whose house am I to come? | How did you bear to descent to Hades, where dead dwell?” | With both arms she hugged her son shedding big tears, | she kissed his head and both his beautiful eyes, | and his two hands, and big tears fell from her eyes. | “My child, I shall have been left in dreadful misery | for in dying you did not stretch your hands from the bed. |nor did you leave me any wise advice, nothing at all | so that I might recall it as I lamented day and night. | But my longing for you, and your counsel, my brave son,| and your gentleness, has taken away my sweet life from me. | Thus I lament you, endlessly now that you, who was always kind, are dead, | Now you are heading to Hades’ palaces, the underworld, | and you have left me behind in dreadful sorrow.”

On the level of characterization, each of the models offered for Mary contributes to her all-​encompassing image and multi-​layered relationship to her Son as virgin bride, virgin mother, and, especially, a second Eve. The two young women, Briseis and Andromache, and the immortal nymph Thetis evoke lamentation over a beloved mortal. Briseis (2041, 2044, 2051–​2052), for example, captures Mary’s immaculate relationship with Jesus; like Briseis, who is a mere girl (κούρη) and a slave, Mary is a virgin and God’s obedient handmaiden. The Andromache–​Hector analogue (2056 and esp. 2068–​2071), in turn, denotes Mary’s virginal wedding to her Son and God. The older female models, one negative and two positive, allude to tragic motherhood. Immortal Thetis as a model of motherhood (2054, 2058) and represents the tragic mother who loses her semi-​mortal and sole son. Penelope (2065–​2067), on the other hand, laments her son, whom she falsely believes to have been killed by her suitors. She is thus a positive model who, through Kontrastimitation, signals Jesus’ imminent “return” and Resurrection. The third woman is the unlucky Anticleia who dies before the return of Odysseus, and who, as we saw above, contributed to the typological association of Mary/​Eve and implied the redemption of mortal women through Mary after Jesus’/​Odysseus’ victorious descent into Hades. The tonality of this passage, however, albeit crafted out of Homeric lines, is not particularly Homeric. Whereas in Homeric epics, lamenting characters are delineated in a couple of lines,115 Mary’s suffering is described in eight lines and two snapshots116 that capture her grief-​stricken gestures (2051–​2052), the sounds of her mourning (2053–​2054), her cradling the head of Jesus as his hair flows over her hands (2054–​2055), her fainting (2056–​2057), and another round of laments (2058). This detailed description with its references to Mary’s body language suggests a kind of paratext, a didaskalia of sorts recreating the impression of the tragic stage, that enables the audience both to hear and see Mary lamenting, which would encourage a further empathetic association with this lamenting mother.117 The lament digression, then, is a jeweled, late-​ antique, rhetorical case of acute Marian ethopoeia that gives the Virgin a prominent role. The theological dimension of this passage is difficult to assess. Mary laments in the Acta Pilati B 10 on the way to the Calvary, when she first faints and tears

Mulierum virtutes  67 her breast with her nails; she laments Jesus’ beauty on the cross, remembers her immaculate breasts that fed him, taunts the cruelty of the Jews, bemoans his undeserved passion, and famously asks the cross to bend so that she can kiss her son (AAPil. 10: κλῖνον σταυρέ, ἵνα περιλαβοῦσα τὸν υἱόν μου καταφιλήσω τὸν ἐμὸν υἱόν). These exclamations of sorrow might have not befitted Mary who already during the Annunciation ought to have understood the weight of her role in the Salvation and they have been considered a later feature, when the Marian cult was better embedded in the life of the church. Before however the mimetic lamentations of the fourteenth century,118 Egeria, for example, mentions lamenting crowds during the ritual processions at Gethsemane and during Jesus’ alleged three-​hour suffering, in what could be an early mimetic recasting of the passion narrative. These lamentations were not contrary to the theological meaning of the Crucifixion since on the moment of Jesus’ death the readings aim to prove that all has been part of the divine plan.119 Again, as with Mary’s presence at the Jordan, the lamenting mother of the cento poem, is a sister of the apocryphal Mary, of Hecuba or Andromache, and also a contemporary mourning woman participating in one of the ritual Easter processions. Above all the emphasis here is on the mother’s suffering, a theme underscoring the poem’s female focus.

2.2.5  Mary’s Faith Mary’s maternal weakness during Jesus’ burial does not compromise her faith, though it does mark a moment of weakness. In the I HC, she is one of the myrrh-​ bearers who returns to witness the Resurrection and the Ascension in what seems an innovative addition to the plot, since, as noted above, the canonical Gospels never explicitly place Mary among these women.120 μήτηρ, ἥ μιν ἔτικτε καὶ ἔτρεφε τυτθὸν ἐόντα, κλαῖε μόρον οὗ παιδὸς ἀμύμονος, ὅς οἱ ἔμελλεν αὖτις ἀναστήσεσθαι ὑπὸ ζόφου ἠερόεντος παιδὸς γάρ οἱ ἄλαστον ἐνὶ φρεσὶ πένθος ἔκειτο, κεῖτ’ ἄρ’ ἄναυδος, ἄπαστος ἐδητύος ἠδὲ ποτῆτος, ὁρμαίνουσ’ εἴ οἱ θάνατον φύγοι υἱὸς ἀμύμων.

2179 ~ Od. 23.325, Anticleia in Hades 2180 ~ Il. 24.85, Thetis laments Achilles 2181 ~ Il. 21.56, Achilles kills Lycaon 2182 ~ Od. 24.423, Eupeithes, Antinous’ father 2183 ~ Od. 4.788, Penelope awaiting Telemachus 2184 ~ Od. 5.789, ibid.

And the mother who gave him birth and nurtured him when he was a baby | was lamenting the fate of her excellent son, | who would soon be resurrected from the dark mist; for an unforgettable grief for her child lay in her heart,| and thus she lay speechless, fasting from food and drink alike, | pondering whether her excellent son would avoid death.

The maternal models used for Mary here are similar to those discussed above, with Thetis, the immortal mother of Achilles, and Penelope, the mortal mother of Telemachus, contributing to the poem’s exegesis. In sharp Kontrastimitation to

68  The Homeric Centos the immortal Thetis, who, at Hector’s death, laments her son’s impending demise, but in line with the mortal Penelope, who will once again welcome Telemachus, Mary expects Jesus to rise as promised. The references to her fast (2183) should be regarded as indicative of ritual mourning. Given the strict fasting observed between Holy Friday and the Sunday of the Resurrection in Eastern Christianity, Mary here embodies those pious Christians, presumably the readers of the poem, who believe in Jesus’ Resurrection. The revision of Lycaon (2181) is particularly intriguing in that the unlucky Priamid faced Achilles on two occasions, the second time with fatal consequences. In the Homeric digression, Lycaon was captured by Achilles, sold as a slave to Lemnos, and was eventually ransomed and returned to Troy, only to be killed by Achilles soon afterward. It is to this story that the line of Achilles, who ironically calls Lycaon a ghost returning from the dead, alludes. This tragic story of Lycaon reflects Jesus’ own mortal life as slave on earth,121 but unlike Lycaon’s ends in real resurrection, and not a Scheintod. This is the miracle with which Mary is rewarded and is invited to confess as seen from the passage below: καὶ τότε μιν μύθοισιν ἀμειβομένη προσέειπεν· «ἔσσεται οὕτω, φίλε· ἕθεν δ’ ἕνεκ’ ἐνθάδ’ ἱκάνω, ὄφρα ἕ τ’ ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ἴδω καὶ μῦθον ἀκούσω. ἀλλά μοι ὧδ’ ἀνὰ θυμὸν ὀΐεται, ὡς ἔσεταί περ». ἔγνω γὰρ φᾶρός τε χιτῶνά τε εἵματ’ ἰδοῦσα.

2227 ~ Od. 19.252, Penelope 2228 ~ Od. 16.31, Telemachus to Eumaeus 2229 ~ Od. 16.32, ibid. 2230 ~ Od. 19.312, Penelope to Odysseus 2231 ~ Od. 7.234, Arete about Odysseus

Then she replied with words and addressed him as follows: | “Thus shall be it, dear one; for this reason, I am coming to this place | so that I see him with my eyes, and hear the words. | But my heart tells me that these things will happen thus, as it shall be.” | For as she looked, she recognized the robe and the tunic.

The Penelopean hypotext flanking these lines (2227–​2230) is important as it implies a recognition of sorts and introduces another textile that can be read metaphorically. In the epic, Odysseus, disguised as a “stranger,” speaks to the sorrowing Penelope about the double purple cloak that she gave him when he left for Troy.122 It is the sight of a similar pair of garments that, along with the angel’s message, convinces Mary. The careful reader may remember the ekphrasis of the infant Jesus that includes the very same adjectives for the resplendent child as those used to qualify Odysseus’ chiton—​μαλακός, λαμπρός, ἠέλιος ὥς.123 Thus Penelope and Arete jointly suggest a woman’s recognition of her own creation, whether of a child (as in I HC) or of a cloth (as in the Odyssey). Jesus has been woven from Mary’s flesh into a body, the discarded clothing of which is symbolic and visible to her on the ground.124 Thus she confesses that indeed resurrection shall take place (2228: ἔσσεται οὕτω). This telling passage intertextually connects several textile-​ related passages involving Mary from the Nativity, through the baptism, to the Resurrection, thus placing her and her faith in a very central position.

Mulierum virtutes  69 Mary, therefore, is further rewarded by seeing the Ascension together with the crouching crowd of the apostles whom Jesus addresses for the last time in I HC 2337–​2238: οἱ δ’ ἐλελίχθησαν καὶ ἐν⸢αντίοι⸣⸥ ⸤⸢ἔσταν⸣ ἅπαντες | μήτηρ θ’, ἥ μιν ἔτικτε καὶ ἔτρεφε τυτθὸν ἐόντα (“so they all moved in spires and the stood opposite, and the mother who the mother who gave him birth and nurtured him when he was a baby”). Visual representations of this scene, as opposed to the canonical sources, do include women.125 One of the earliest of these appears on the so-​called Reidersche Tafel, an early fifth-​century ivory from Milan now

Figure 2.1  Reidersche Tafel, ca 400 CE, Ivory, Milan, Photo: Andreas Praefcke. Source: https://​comm​ons.wikime​dia.org/​wiki/​File:Reider​sche​_​Taf​el_​c​_​400​_​AD.jpg

70  The Homeric Centos in Munich, merges the myrrh-​bearers with the awe-​stricken disciples in the middle, and Jesus reaching for God’s hand at the top (as shown in Figure 2.1). The three levels of the painting invite a holistic reading of the Resurrection cum Ascension and was so crafted so as to address to a variegated audience of male and female onlookers who could identify with the participants of the scene.126 While images of the Ascension that include Mary do appear in later iconography, as in the sixth-​century Rabbula Gospels, where she appears as an orant gazing at Christ flanked by angels in the heavens, the early references to her presence at the event in the I HC and the Munich ivory plaque suggest that ancient viewers and audiences wanted to see women in the scene, and that Mary was probably the leading female candidate for such a role. Like Mary’s presence on the banks of the Jordan and at the foot of the cross, so too her inclusion here implies the influence not only of canonical and apocryphal written sources, but also of the contemporary visual and ritual culture. The Mary of the I HC is therefore an interesting case study of early Marian lore and exegesis focused around her role as hailed queen, mother, weaver of Jesus’ flesh, and intercessor, as she appears in all major events of Jesus’ life. This version of Mary, in combination with the other prominent female characters which I will discuss below, are pointing to an audience that wished to see more in Mary than the virginal mother of Christ.

2.3  Female Witnesses Mary’s virginity and faith, were, of course, difficult to attain even if presented as a matronly model and as we saw in Proclus’ Christmas sermon the Gospel offered other foils. In what follows I will argue that the I HC presents a gendered approach to the female cast of the Gospel and focalizes the action through key female characters. Miracles involving male characters127—​the healing of the paralytic, the blind man, or the demoniac—​are reworked more or less consistently across all the editions of Homeric Centos, even if the length of each version fluctuates.128 The healing miracles are clustered by types and themes: paralytics, blind men, demoniacs, resurrection—​with the exception of the leper, the deaf-​ mute, and the possessed, who appear only in II HC. By contrast, the I HC and the II HC share only four miracles that involve women:129 the resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter, the healing of the woman with the issue of blood, the Samaritan Woman, and the Sinful Woman.130 Surprisingly the I HC leaves out all miracles involving widows, such as Peter’s mother in law, and the widow at Nain,

Mulierum virtutes  71 including the Canaanite woman, who seems to act on her own unencumbered by a male relative or partner. Thus, whereas miracles involving men are more or less clustered thematically featuring healings, exorcisms, and a resurrection, miracles involving women describe them at different stages of their reproductive lives: mothers and virgin daughters, a rich ailing matron, a polyamorous articulate woman, and a repenting harlot. Unless this is to be blamed on the manuscript tradition, the emphasis on women of childbearing age is eloquent for the kind of external audience intended by the poem.

Table 2.1  Miracles Involving Men I HC

Mt 9:1–​8 Mk 2:1–​12

The Paralytic at Paralytic (578–​616) Capernaum (635–​701)

Paralytic (a 265–​293, b 264–​292, c 274–​303)

Lk 5:17–​26 Jo 5

The Paralytic at Bethesda (702–​734)

Paralytic at Bethesda (617–​654)

Paralytic at Bethesda (a 294–​308, b 293–​307, c 304–​319)

Mt 12:10, Mk 3:1–​3 Lk 6:6–​8

The man with the withered hand (824–​859)

The man with the withered hand (816–​831)

Jo 9 Mt 20:29–​34 Mk 10:46–​52 Lk 18:35–​43

The Blind Man /​ Baritimaeus (859–​930)

The Man Born Blind (655–​673) Two Blinds at Jericho (674–​728)

Mt 8:1–​4, Mk 1:40–​45 Lk 5:12–​16 Mk 5:1–​20, Lk 8:26–​39

II HC

HC a b c

NT Sources

The Leper (729–​738)

The Gerasene demoniac (931–​999)

The Gerasene demoniac (781–​815)

Mk 7:31–​37 Mk 9:14–​29

The deaf-​mute of Decapolis (832–​847)

Mt 17:14–​20, Mk 9:17–​29, Lk9:37–​43

The possessed boy (861–​990)

Jo 11

Man Born Blind (c 320–​348) Blind at Jericho (a 309–​336, b 308–​336)

Lazarus (1236–​1306)

Lazarus (1157–​1221)

The Gerasene demoniac (a 338–​372, b382–​416, c 396–​431)

Lazarus (a 388–​432, b 337–​381, c349–​395)

72  The Homeric Centos Table 2.2  Miracles Involving Women NT Sources

I HC

II HC

Mk 5:21–​43 Mt 9:18–​26 Lk 8:40–​56

The resurrection of Jaïrus’ Jaïrus’ Daughter (509–​575) Daughter (735–​815)

Mk 1:29–​31 Mt 8:14–​15 Lk 4:38–​41

The healing of Peter’s Mother-​in-​Law (739–​780)

Mk 7:26 Mt 15:22

The Canaanite Woman (848–​865)

Lk 7:11

The resurrection of the Son of the Widow at Nain (866–​897)

Mt 9:20–​22 Mk 5:25–​34 Lk 8:43–​48

The healing of the Ηaimorrhoousa (1000–​1052)

The Haimorrhoousa (942–​960)

Jo 4:4–​42

The Samaritan Woman at Jacob’s Well (1053–​1160)

The Samaritan Woman (898–​940)

Mt 26:6–​13 Mk 14:3–​9 Lk 7:36–​50 Jo 12:1–​8

The Sinful Woman who anointed Jesus (1307–​1333)

The Sinful Woman (1319–​1337)

HC a b c

HCa 373–​387 HCb 418–​432 HCc 432–​446

Below I discuss all these important women through a different methodological lens in order, on the one hand, to show the different handling of them in the I HC as opposed to the II HC, and, on the other, to provide an in-​depth analysis of the poem’s gendered focus by providing a close reading of two key passages. In all cases, though, I provide the contemporary exegetical perspective that is crucial for our understanding of the context in which the cento revisions appear. In detail, in the case of the two shorter, and for this reason more suitable for parallel study miracles, Jaïrus’ daughter and the Sinful Woman, I take an intertextual approach, drawing on parallel evidence from the II HC. In the case of the other two long passages, Jesus’ encounter with the woman with the issue of blood and the Samaritan, I will tackle them intratextually, with occasional reference to the II HC;131 instead I will focus on their exegetical appeal and their contribution at the metaliterary level as shaping gendered audience responses.

Mulierum virtutes  73

2.3.1  Jaïrus’ Wife The story of Jaïrus’ daughter is one of several resurrection narratives that culminate in that of Jesus.132 The girl in the I HC is probably not the daughter of the Pharisee who is not named in the poem. Schembra, who sees the passages recounting the resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter as significant models,133 correctly observes that the titles in the manuscript tradition offer inadequate descriptions of the miracle,134 since the girl is not the daughter of a centurion, nor of a nobleman.135 Matthew, however, refers to Jaïrus not by name but simply as a member of the ruling class (Mt 9:18: ἄρχων εἷς),136 who is probably the source of the centonic inspiration of the raising of the noble girl. On the exegetical level, in all the Synoptic Gospels the healing of the woman with the issue of blood and that of the girl are tightly intertwined.137 The disentanglement of the two miracles both in the I HC and the II HC therefore seems to be a conscious poetic and cultural choice as it is too strong to dismiss and too vital to Christian exegesis. There is however a parallel in depictions of the miracles on Christian sarcophagi that classified the story as resurrection of a girl to be coupled by resurrections of boys, such as that of the widow at Nain but in more personal contexts.138 These choices reflect the commissioners of the sarcophagus that often commemorate deceased children and/​or relatives with portraits.139 It is difficult to differentiate between swaddled children in these scenes as being male or female.140 On two the two sarcophagi that Koch offers as typical examples of the complex iconography, the girl lies on a bed, her mother (presumably) kneeling beneath her, while Jesus extends his right hand as for example on a sarcophagus from Arles.141 The woman with the issue of blood, on the other hand, is not

Figure 2.2  Resurrection of Jairus’ Daughter (detail). Élément de sarcophage représentant les adieux du Christ à ses apôtres. Arles-​Musée-​Sarcophage des adieux du Christ. Photo: Rvlette. Source: https://​upl​oad.wikime​dia.org/​wikipe​dia/​comm​ons/​a/​a0/​Arles-​Mus%C3%A9e-​Sarc​opha​ge_​ d​es_​a​dieu​x_​du​_​Chr​ist.jpg

74  The Homeric Centos depicted at all. The crouching maternal figure beneath the girl’s deathbed with her hands supplicating Jesus is a new and interesting addition to the tale of the Synoptics that describe a collective lament (Mk 5:38, Lk 8:52) as it introduces the theme of the mourning mother and thus inscribes the miracle into “real” religious life. Clearly the resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter was a moving episode for members of the elite who wished to commemorate their deceased daughters and their mourning parents, the mother in particular, independently of the exegetical trend. This is the context in which the cento revisions appear.142

2.3.2  An Epic Resurrection Below I present the two versions, I HC 756–​815 and II HC 547–​563, side by side showing the shared material. The differences however are more important for understanding the context in which the I HC version was written and its intended audience. The miracle reads as follows: I HC 756–​815 Od. 4.24 βῆ δ’ ἴμεν ἀγγελέων διὰ δώματα ποιμένι λαῶν. Il. 18.17 δάκρυα θερμὰ χέων, φάτο δ’ ἀγγελίην ἀλεγεινὴν Il. 1.201 καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα· Il. 18.19 «πεύσεαι ἀγγελίης, ἣ μὴ ὤφελλε γενέσθαι· 759 Il. 2.514 +​Od. 6.18 παρθένος αἰδοίη,⸥ ⸤Χαρίτων ἄπο κάλλος ἔχουσα, Il. 13.430 ἣν περὶ κῆρι φίλησε πατὴρ καὶ πότνια μήτηρ, Od. 11.445 λίην γὰρ πινυτή τε καὶ εὖ φρεσὶ μήδεα οἶδεν, Od. 12.450 ἥ μ’ ἐφίλει τ’ ἐκόμει τε—​τί τοι τόδε μυθολογεύω; —​ Il. 13.667 νούσῳ ὑπ’ ἀργαλέῃ φθίεται οἷς ἐν μεγάροισι Od. 15.359 λευγαλέῳ θανάτῳ· ὡς μὴ θάνοι ὅς τις ἐμοί γε 765 Od. 15.369 ἐνθάδε ναιετάων φίλος εἴη καὶ φίλα ἔρδοι. Od. 7.297 ταῦτά τοι ἀχνύμενός περ ἀληθείην κατέλεξα. Od. 11.561 ἀλλ’ ἄγε δεῦρο, ἄναξ, ἵν’ ἔπος καὶ μῦθον ἀκούσῃς». Od. 15.271 τὸν δ’ αὖτε προσέειπε θεοκλύμενος θεοειδής· Il. 17.591 Il. 7.426 +​6.484 Il.1.360 +​5.690 +​ 23.430 Il. 1.201

II HC 547–​563 –​ –​ καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα· 547 «πεύσεαι ἀγγελίης, ἣ μὴ ὤφελλε γενέσθαι· παρθένος αἰδοίη,⸥ ⸤Χαρίτων ἄπο κάλλος ἔχουσα, –​ –​ –​ νούσῳ ὕπο στυγερῇ φθεῖται⸥ ⸤κακὰ πολλὰ παθοῦσα» –​ –​ –​ –​ –​ ὣς φάτο, τὸν δ’ ἄχεος νεφέλη ἐκάλυψε μέλαινα 551 δάκρυα θερμὰ χέοντα·⸥ ⸤ἄναξ δ’ ἐλέησε νοήσας καί ῥα παρήϊξεν,⸥ ⸤ὡς οὐκ ἀΐοντι ἐοικώς, καί μιν φωνήσας ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα·

I HC: So he [messenger] came through the house to announce to the shepherd of the people [Jesus]143 | pouring warm tears, and told the horrible message; and calling him with winged words he said: | “Learn now this news, that should never have happened; | a modest virgin, more beautiful than the Graces, |whom her father loved wholeheartedly and her esteemed mother, | so wise indeed and always well-​intended, | who loved me and took care of me—​but why am I recalling all these things; |—​ she is withering because of an illness in her palace | and because of baneful death; oh, let no person die | who is dear to me, dwelling in this land, and does deeds that are dear. | These things I spoke in my grief and truly spoke the truth. | But come here, Lord, so that you may hear the tale and the [full] story.” | The god-​heard and god-​like man replied to him thus . . . II HC: and calling him with volatile words he said: | “learn now this news, that should have never happened; | a modest virgin, more beautiful than the Graces, | —​having suffered much, she is

Mulierum virtutes  75 withering because of an illness.” | So he spoke, and a dark cloud of distress covered him | shedding warm tears; and the Lord pitied him as he understood and hastened past, | like someone who had not heard [his supplication], | and addressed him with winged words. . . .144

Neither version of the cento has the father come in person to beg for the girl’s life. It is probably a messenger sent from the palace (I HC 756: ἀγγελέων). Messengers appear in Mark 5:35 and Luke 8:49, but the Father is already with Jesus and learns of the girl’s death from them. The words with which Jesus is addressed (Ι HC 759 and II HC 548: πεύσεαι ἀγγελίης) are those spoken by Antilochus in the Iliad 18.19 as he informs Achilles of Patroclus’ death. The second line on the daughter (I HC 760 and II HC 549: παρθένος αἰδοίη Χαρίτων ἄπο κάλλος ἔχουσα) combines two references: one to Astyoche, the other to the beauty of Nausicaa’s companions.145 Both well-​known lines are suitable for a virgin girl, and because they reappear together in similar scenes throughout the Homeric Centos, acquire a special formulaic character.146 But that is where the similarity ends as Jesus’ reply in the two versions is remarkably different in terms of both the choice of cento and style: Od. 23.62 Il. 19.107 Od. 2.404 Od. 2.273 Od. 13.362 Il. 18.464 Il. 18.465 Od. 6.126 Il. 19.309 +​ Od. 11.385 Od. 2.298 +​ 15.109 +​ 16.734 Od. 10.225 Il. 9.586 Od. 17.28 Od. 7.135 Od. 7.95 Od. 15.134 Od. 9.103 Od. 15.494 Il. 22.408 Il. 22.409 Il. 24.166 Il. 22.79 Od.15.364 Od. 10.323 Od. 4.719 Od. 4.720 Od. 15.461 Od. 15.462 Il. 13. 658 Od. 4.716 Od. 15.271 Il. 23.154 Od. 9.282 +​10.422

«ὣς οὐκ ἔσθ’ ὅδε μῦθος ἐτήτυμος, ὡς ἀγορεύεις· 770 –​ ἀλλ’ ἴομεν, μὴ δηθὰ διατρίβωμεν ὁδοῖο, οὔ τοι ἔπειθ’ ἁλίη ὁδὸς ἔσσεται οὐδ’ ἀτέλεστος· θάρσει, μή τοι ταῦτα μετὰ φρεσὶ σῇσι μελόντων. αἲ γάρ μιν θανάτοιο δυσηχέος ὧδε δυναίμην νόσφιν ἀποκρύψαι, ὅτε μιν μόρος αἰνὸς ἱκάνει. 775 ἀλλ’ ἄγ’, ἐγὼν αὐτὸς πειρήσομαι ἠδὲ ἴδωμαι». ὣς εἰπὼν ἄλλους μὲν⸥ ⸤⸢ἀπεσκέδασ’⸣ ἄλλυδις ἄλλῃ,

–​ «ψευστήσεις, οὐδ’ αὖτε τέλος μύθῳ ἐπιθήσεις. 555 ἀλλ’ ἴομεν·⸥ ⸤τοῖός τοι ἐγὼν ἐπιτάρροθός εἰμι». –​ –​ –​ –​ –​ ὣς εἰπὼν ἄλλους⸥ ⸤⸢μὲν ἀπεσκέδασ⸣’ ἄλλυδις ἄλλῃ,

⸢β⸣ῆ δ’ ⸢ἴμεναι⸣⸥ ⸤προτέρωσ’⸥ ⸤ἑτέρηφι δὲ λάζετο Πέτρον, ⸢β⸣ῆ δ’ ⸢ἴμεναι⸣⸥ ⸤προτέρως⸥ ⸤ἑτέρηφι δὲ λάζετο Πέτρον,

ὅς οἱ κήδιστος ἑτάρων ἦν κεδνότατός τε, ἄλλους θ’, οἵ οἱ κεδνότατοι καὶ φίλτατοι ἦσαν. 780 αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥ’ ἵκανε δόμους εὖ ναιετάοντας, καρπαλίμως ὑπὲρ οὐδὸν ἐβήσατο δώματος εἴσω. ἐν δὲ θρόνοι περὶ τοῖχον ἐρηρέδατ’ ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα, ἑζέσθην τ’ ἄρ’ ἔπειτα κατὰ κλισμούς τε θρόνους τε. αἶψα δ’ οἵ γ’ εἴσβαινον καὶ ἐπὶ κληΐσι καθῖζον, 785 καδδραθέτην δ’ οὐ πολλὸν ἐπὶ χρόνον, ἀλλὰ μίνυνθα. ᾤμωξεν δ’ ἐλεεινὰ πατὴρ φίλος, ἀμφὶ δὲ λαοὶ κωκυτῷ τ’ εἴχοντο καὶ οἰμωγῇ κατὰ ἄστυ. θυγατέρες δ’ ἀνὰ δώματ’ ἰδὲ νυοὶ ὠδύροντο, μήτηρ δ’ αὖθ’ ἑτέρωθεν ὀδύρετο δάκρυ χέουσα 790 θυγατέρ’ ἰφθίμην, τὴν ὁπλοτάτην τέκε παίδων. ἡ δὲ μέγα ἰάχουσα ὑπέδραμε καὶ λάβε γούνων, οἴκτρ’ ὀλοφυρομένη· περὶ δὲ δμῳαὶ μινύριζον πᾶσαι, ὅσαι κατὰ δώματ’ ἔσαν νέαι ἠδὲ παλαιαί. τὸν μὲν ἄρ’ ἐν μεγάρῳ δμῳαὶ καὶ πότνια μήτηρ 795 χερσίν τ’ ἀμφαφόωντο καὶ ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ὁρῶντο, ἀχνύμεναι· μετὰ δέ σφι πατὴρ κίε δάκρυα λείβων, τὸν δ’ ἄχος ἀμφεχύθη θυμοφθόρον, οὐδ’ ἄρ’ ἔτ’ ἔτλη. τὸν δ’ αὖτε προσέειπε θεοκλύμενος θεοειδής· –​ –​

–​ ἄλλους θ’, οἵ κεδνότατοι καὶ φίλτατοι ἦσαν [ἑταίρων]. ἀλλ’ ὅτε δή⸥ ⸤ῥ’ ἵκανε δόμους εὖ ναιετάοντας, 560 –​ –​ –​ οἱ δ’ αἶψ’ εἴσβαινον καὶ ἐπὶ κληΐσι καθῖζον· –​ –​ _​ _​ μήτηρ δ’ αὖθ’ ἑτέρωθεν ὀδύρετο δάκρυ χέουσα, –​ –​ οἴκτρ’ ὀλοφυρομένη· περὶ δὲ δμῳαὶ μινύριζον. –​ –​ –​ ὣς δ’ αὔτως ἑτέρωθι⸥ ⸤πατὴρ κίε δάκρυα λείβων, _​ _​ καί νύ κ’ ὀδυρομένοισιν ἔδυ φάος ἠελίοιο, 565 ἀλλά μιν ἄψορρον ⸢προσέφη⸣⸥ ⸤⸢μαλακοῖς⸣ ἐπέεσσι·

76  The Homeric Centos I HC: “How untrue is the word that you are telling; | but let’s go, so as not to delay on the way | because the path you have taken is not fruitless nor will it be unfulfilled; | have courage and do not let these future things bother your mind. If only I could thus push away the ill-​sounding death | when her powerful fate arrives. | But let’s go, and I will check and see for myself.” | So speaking, he released the others [companions] to different directions, and he went ahead and took by the hand Petrus by hand, | who was the best and the most trusty of his companions | and the others [John and James] who were his trustiest and best companions. | And when he reached the beautiful house | he crossed quickly the threshold inside. | There were thrones standing along the wall here and there | and the two sat afterward on the beds and the thrones | but they did not rest for a long time, only briefly. | For the dear father wept wretchedly and around him the people | were consumed by lamentation and weeping across the city. | And the daughters and the daughters-​in-​law across the house were mourning, | and further apart the mother cried shedding tears | for her dear daughter, the youngest of her children. | And she lamented wretchedly; and around her wailed the slaves | all, those who were new at the household and the old ones. | As he came to the house the slaves and the mother | were touching him with their hands and looked at him with their eyes | in distress; then came also the father shedding tears, | and he [Jesus] was overwhelmed by sorrow, that he could no longer bear. | Thus, he addressed him the god-​heard and god-​like man . . . II HC: “You are lying, and you do not tell the full truth; but let us go, because as such a helper I have come to you.” So speaking he released the others [companions] to different directions, and he went ahead and took by the hand Petrus by hand, | who was the best and the most trusty of his companions; | and the others [John and Jacob] who were his trustiest and best companion | And when he reached the beautiful house | and they entered and sat on couches and thrones | and further apart the mother cried shedding tears | And she lamented wretchedly; and around her wailed the slaves | And as they wept the sun set | But when he [father] came back he addressed him with sweet words . . .

The text above shows that the I HC seems more inclined to present the emotional potential of the scene which might hint to the poem’s intended audience. A remarkable difference lies in the detailed description of the lamentation scene, an activity traditionally associated with the female sphere. Whereas the II HC assigns it only three lines (II HC 563–​565), the I HC starts by gradually introducing the reader to the household and its ambience so as to extract an “involved” emotional reaction. The messenger, for example, recalls the happy moments he had spent with the girl and how caring she had been towards him (I HC 759–​763). He is not only depicted collapsing in tears, as in II HC 551–​554, but is given a full ethopoeia. His sorrow is highlighted in his closing rhetorical question (I ΗC 763: τί τοι τόδε μυθολογεύω;), which contributes to the pathos of the scene. The description of the palace assumes the form of a careful ekphrastic digression (Ι ΗC 781–​786) that encourages the reader and the embedded readers (i.e., the disciples) to enter it and see its inhabitants, even if for a short time, reclining in comfortable surroundings.147 These are not simply rhetorical ornaments in the spirit of the “jeweled” late antique style, but a way of making an elite interior visible to an audience that could relate with such descriptions.

Mulierum virtutes  77 Furthermore, the presence of women and of the bereaved mother in the I HC is more central than it is in the II HC which turns the episode more about Jaïrus’ wife than about the girl. As opposed to II HC 562 that briefly shows only the mother lamenting with her servants, the I HC 787–​799 describes the individual female groups lamenting the girl in turns: the daughters, the daughters-​in-​law, the old and young servants. Similarly, a lengthy digression on the mother’s lament is given at I HC 790–​799, featuring also the father and the servants as it is the case at I HC 563, but it is much more detailed. Even the father’s grief in I HC 798 is explained through a female prism: the line describes Penelope’s despair at the news of Telemachus’ potential fate. In the I HC the lament is led by the mother, a prominent figure as she appears along with the father in a Ringkomposition in both I HC 791 and I HC 815 and the mother is the last character mentioned. The most typical of all, however, is the position of the supplicating lamenting mother as (I HC 791–​793: ἡ δὲ μέγα ἰάχουσα ὑπέδραμε καὶ λάβε γούνων, | οἴκτρ’ ὀλοφυρομένη), an image that, even if it recalls traditional epic supplication scenes, closely resembles the visual representations of the mother crouching (ὑπὸ +​ἔδραμε) beneath the child’s bed.148 The centos may therefore have evoked a visual parallel as figure 2.2 shows to the miracle that was well known to the poem’s audience and that emphasized maternal grief in a way that would have touched a female audience in particular. Equally poignant is the family-​focused ending of the I HC 815 that centers on the parents’ happiness and not on Jesus’ advice as in II HC 577 as seen from the passage below: Il. 24.518 Il. 24.181 +​Od. 7.50 Od. 7.51 Od. 7.52 Od. 4.794 Od. 4.809 Il. 2.270 Od. 17.67 Od. 8.312 +​Il. 9.199 +​ Od. 1.120. Od. 1.121 +​Il. 7.46 Il. 18.170 +​Il. 18.178 Od. 17.57 Il. 2.42 +​Il. 6.66 Od. 21.228 +​Od. 4.801 Od. 6.209 Il. 6.471

«ἆ δείλ’, ἦ δὴ πολλὰ κάκ’ ἄνσχεο σὸν κατὰ θυμόν. 800 μηκέτι τοι θάνατος μελέτω φρεσὶ⸥ ⸤⸢μηδέ τι⸣ θυμῷ τάρβει· θαρσαλέος γὰρ ἀνὴρ ἐν πᾶσιν ἀμείνων ἔργοισιν τελέθει, εἰ καί ποθεν ἄλλοθεν ἔλθοι. εὗδε δ’ ἀνακλιθεῖσα, λύθεν δέ οἱ ἅψεα πάντα, ἡδὺ μάλα κνώσσουσ’ ἐν ὀνειρείῃσι πύλῃσιν». 805 οἱ δὲ καὶ ἀχνύμενοί περ ἐπ’ αὐτῷ ἡδὺ γέλασσαν, αὐτὰρ ὁ τῶν μὲν ἔπειτα ἀλεύατο πουλὺν ὅμιλον, ἀλλὰ τοκῆε δύω⸥ ⸤προτέρω ἄγεν·⸥ ⸤ἐγγύθι δὲ στὰς

–​ «μηκέτι τοι θάνατος μελέτω φρεσὶ μηδέ τι τάρβος· –​ –​ εὗδε δ’ ἀνακλινθεῖσα, λύθεν δέ οἱ ἅψεα πάντα, ἡδὺ μάλα κνώσσουσ’ ἐν ὀνειρείῃσι πύλῃσιν». ὣς ἔφαθ’, οἱ δ’ ἄρα πάντες ἐπ’ αὐτῷ ἡδὺ γέλασσαν. 570 αὐτὰρ τῶν μὲν ἔπειτα ἀλεύατο πουλὺν ὅμιλον, ἀλλὰ τοκῆε δύω⸥ ⸤προτέρω ἄγεν·⸥ ⸤ἐγγύθι δὲ στὰς

χεῖρ’ ἕλε δεξιτερὴν⸥ ⸤⸢καί⸣ μιν πρὸς μῦθον ἔειπεν· «ὄρσεο,⸥ ⸤μηδ’ ἔτι κεῖσο· σέβας δέ σε θυμὸν ἱκέσθω». 810 ὣς ἄρ’ ἐφώνησεν, τῇ δ’ ἄπτερος ἔπλετο μῦθος. ἕζετο δ’ ὀρθωθεῖσ’,⸥ ⸤ὁ δ’ ἐκέκλετο μακρὸν ἀΰσας· «⸢παύεσ⸣θον ⸢κλαυθμοῖο γόοιό τε⸣⸥ ⸤δακρυόεντος, καί τε δότ’, ἀμφίπολοι, κούρῃ βρῶσίν τε πόσιν τε». ἐκ δὲ γέλασσε πατήρ τε φίλος καὶ πότνια μήτηρ. 815

χεῖρ’ ἕλε δεξιτερὴν⸥ ⸤⸢καί⸣ μιν πρὸς μῦθον ἔειπεν· «ὄρσεο,⸥ ⸤μηδ’ ἔτι κεῖσο· σέβας δέ σε θυμὸν ἱκέσθω». –​ ἕζετο δ’ ὀρθωθεῖσ’,⸥ ⸤ὁ δ’ ἐκέκλετο μακρὸν ἀΰσας· 575 «⸢παύεσ⸣θον ⸢κλαυθμοῖο γόοιό τε⸣⸥ ⸤δακρυόεντος, ἀλλὰ δότ’, ἀμφίπολοι, κούρῃ βρῶσίν τε πόσιν τε». –​

78  The Homeric Centos I HC: “Oh you wretched one, indeed you have suffered a lot in your heart. But let no longer death dwell in your thoughts, nor in your heart | have any fear. For the confident man is better in any deed, even if he comes from afar. | She is asleep, lying back, and all her limbs are loosened; | she is slumbering sweetly in the gates of dreams.” The others, though grieving, laughed gently at him; | but he avoided their large crowd | and went ahead only with the two parents; and he stood closely, | and grasped her right hand, and addressed her with these words: | “Wake up, no longer lie! Let your heart venerate!” | So he spoke and his wingless149 words reached her. | And she sat up and he ordered with a loud voice: | “Stop your lamentation and the mournful weeping | and give, servants, the girl food and drink.” | And her dear father and her revered mother laughed aloud. I HC: “Let no longer death dwell in your thoughts, and in your heart, | nor fear either; She is asleep, lying back, and all her limbs are loose. | She is slumbering sweetly in the gate of dreams.” The others, though grieving, laughed gently at him; | but he avoided their large crowds | and went ahead only with the two parents; and he stood closely | and grasped her right hand and addressed her with these words: | “Wake up, no longer lie! Let your heart venerate!” | And she sat up and he ordered with a loud voice: | “Stop your lamentation and the mournful weeping | and give, servants, the girl food and drink.”

The classicizing recasting of the miracle is also evident from the crafting of the father as a gentile. For while both editions describe the mourning father as a bereaved Priam (I HC 801 and II HC 567 ~ Il. 24.181), in the first edition the Iliadic resonances are downplayed in favor of an additional Odyssean characterization: line I HC 803 (εἰ καί ποθεν ἄλλοθεν ἔλθοι) evokes Athena’s proverbial words of courage to her protégé who, unlike the biblical bereaved Father, may be venturing abroad.150 As the biblical Father is modelled on Odysseus, the Jewish nature of the miracle is downplayed in favor of an epic/​Greek and ultimately gentile association. This does not seem to be only an amplification of the Gospel passage, but an important addition to the I HC’s exegetical agenda; if the identity of the homeland is blurred, the miracle became easier to reset in a gentile, Graeco-​Roman milieu, as in the case of the ekphrasis of the interior or the vaguely classicizing backgrounds featuring in the Christian visual arts.151 In sum, it appears that the cento resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter was detached from its exegesis. In the I HC in particular it was interpreted in a way that featured a gendered female scope that fitted the new soteriological interests of the Graeco-​ Roman elite by focusing on Jaïrus’ mourning wife. Certain linguistic and stylistic features of the adapted miracle, such as its toned-​down quality and the lengthy ekphrastic mourning scene encourage a gendered reading that is now set in a classicizing context. In this framework it is mostly the mother’s grief that comes into the limelight. If visual representations of the miracle are taken into consideration, then the I HC, much more than the II HC and like certain sarcophagi commissioned by women for their daughters, drew on the popular version of the miracle in order to represent the lament over the girl as well as her resurrection.

Mulierum virtutes  79

2.3.3  The Venerated The canonical Gospels do not provide a unified account of the woman who anointed Jesus shortly before his passion, nor do they identify her as Mary Magdalene.152 Both the location of the miracle and the identity of the woman vary in each retelling,153 but all make clear that this was a repenting harlot, a staple of late antique hagiographical narratives,154 and her ointment, a preparation for Jesus’ upcoming burial.155 Yet most intriguing for our poem is the Synoptic testimonies that show Jesus blessing woman: “Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her (εἰς μνημόσυνον).”156 The Christian exegetes attempted to unify the various strands of the tradition157 and saw in this sinner the embodiment of the penitent woman who reverses Eve’s sin.158 Some exegetes even gave her an imaginary ethopoeia for which they fabricated an internal monologue.159 Most importantly this woman, like the other marginalized women in the Gospels,160 embodied Jesus’ call to the Gentiles.161 The woman then was a suitable model for any female Christian woman, given that all sister of Eve besides Mary were considered more or less iniquitous,162 but the adaptation of her story by the I HC and the II HC reveals how she could be presented with a more gendered focus, depending on the selection of Homeric centos.

2.3.3.1 Encomium for a Sinner Unlike the story of Jaïrus’ daughter, the episode of the Sinful Womn differs significantly in the two editions of Homeric centos. In this case, the two texts have only four lines in common (underlined). In the II HC, the scene is set in Bethany, probably at Simon’s house,163 whereas in the I HC, the location is vague. In II HC 1326, the woman pours ointment only on Jesus’ head, whereas in I HC 1315 and 1321 she does so also on his feet (I HC 1318). The two editions, in fact, follow the Synoptic Gospels and present the anointing ritual with a line referring to Nausicaa’s gift to Odysseus, a bottle of perfume with ὑγρὸν ἔλαιον. This line (Od. 6.79), reused in I HC 1317 and II HC 1331, had already appeared in Christian verse,164 while the subsequent ones (I HC 1329, II HC 1334), which allude to the imminent epiphany of Jesus qua Mentor-​Athena, belong to the formulaic repertoire of the Homeric centos used to underscore epiphany.165 Through paretymology and parechesis the Christian audience was encouraged to link the woman’s oil (ἔλαιον) ointment to Jesus’ mercy (ἔλεος),166 a foreshadowing of Jesus’ forgiveness of her sins. In any case, the discrepancies in the treatment of the woman in the two editions further illuminates the gendered perspective of the poem’s intended audience:

Od. 17.28 Od. 7.135 Od. 8.6 Il. 9.586 Il. 17.257 +​Od. 17.96 Od. 1.334 Il. 1.500 Il. 9.570 Il. 8.371 Il. 9.591 Od. 6.79 Od. 8.68 Od. 18.71 Il. 1.333 Od. 19.348 Od. 19.107 Od. 19.108 Od. 19.109 Od. 19.110 Od. 19.111 Il. 23.647 Il. 23.648 Od. 2.372 Il. 23.650 Od. 7.67 Od. 16.211 Od. 16.212

Αὐτὰρ ἐπεί ῥ’ ἵκανε δόμους εὖ ναιετάοντας, καρπαλίμως ὑπὲρ οὐδὸν ἐβήσατο δώματος εἴσω. ἐλθόντες δὲ καθῖζον ἐπὶ ξεστοῖσι λίθοισιν οἵ οἱ κεδνότατοι καὶ φίλτατοι ἦσαν ἑταίρων. 1310 γυνὴ ⸢δ’ ἀντίον⸣ ἦλθε⸥ ⸤παρὰ σταθμὸν μεγάροιο, ἄντα παρειάων σχομένη λιπαρὰ κρήδεμνα, καί ῥα πάροιθ’ αὐτοῖο καθέζετο καὶ λάβε γούνων, πρόχνυ καθεζομένη, δεύοντο δὲ δάκρυσι κόλποι, καί οἱ γούνατ’ ἔκυσσε καὶ ἔλλαβε χερσὶ ποδοῖιν. 1315 λίσσετ’ ὀδυρομένη, καί οἱ κατέλεξεν ἅπαντα, – χεῦε δὲ χρυσέου ἐκ ληκύθου ὑγρὸν ἔλαιον αὐτοῦ ὑπὲρ κεφαλῆς καὶ ἐπέφραδε χερσὶν ἑλέσθαι. μνηστῆρες δ’ ἄρα πάντες ὑπερφιάλως ἀγάσαντο, – αὐτὰρ ὁ ἔγνω ᾗσιν ἐνὶ φρεσὶ φώνησέν τε· 1320 «τῇδε δ’ ἂν οὐ φθονέοιμι ποδῶν ἅψασθαι ἐμεῖο. – ὦ γύναι, οὐκ ἄν τίς σε βροτῶν ἐπ’ ἀπείρονα γαῖαν – νεικέοι· ἦ γάρ σευ κλέος οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἱκάνει, – ὥς τέ τευ ἢ βασιλῆος ἀμύμονος, ὅς τε θεουδὴς – ἀνδράσιν ἐν πολλοῖσι καὶ ἰφθίμοισιν ἀνάσσων 1325 – εὐδικίας ἀνέχῃσι, φέρῃσι δὲ γαῖα μέλαινα. – τοῦτο δ’ ἐγὼ πρόφρων δέχομαι, χαίρει δέ μοι ἦτορ – ὥς μευ ἀεὶ μέμνησαι ἐνηέος, οὐδέ σε λήθω. – θάρσει μοι, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ ἥδε γε βουλή. σοὶ δὲ θεὸς τοῦδ’ ἀντὶ χάριν μενοεικέα δοίη». 1330 καί μιν ἔτισ’ ὡς οὔ τις ἐπὶ χθονὶ τίεται ἄλλη. ῥηΐδιον δὲ θεῷ, ὅς γ’ οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχῃσιν, ἠμὲν κυδῆναι θνητὸν βροτὸν ἠδὲ κακῶσαι.

I HC 1307–​1333 Il. 12.251 Il. 9.586 Od. 8.6 Od. 14.291 +​4.79 Od. 3.495 Od. 2.57 Il. 19.286 Od. 19.362 Od. 6.79 Od. 8.68 Il. 1.333

Od. 2.372 Od. 7.67 Od. 7.68 Od. 7.69

ὣς ἄρα φωνήσας ἡγήσατο, τοὶ δ’ ἅμ’ ἕποντο, οἵ οἱ κεδνότατοι καὶ φίλτατοι ἦσαν ἑταίρων. ἐλθόντες δὲ καθῖζον ἐπὶ ξεστοῖσι λίθοισι· 1325 Βηθανίην, ὅθι ⸢τοῦ γε δόμοι καὶ κτήματ’⸣⸥ ⸤ἔασιν, ἷξον δ’, ἐς πεδίον πυρηφόρον, ἔνθα δ’ ἔπειτα εἰλαπινάζουσιν πίνουσί τε αἴθοπα οἶνον. εἶπε δ’ ἄρα κλαίουσα γυνὴ ἐϊκυῖα θεῇσιν, δάκρυα δ’ ἔκβαλε θερμά, ἔπος δ’ ὀλοφυδνὸν ἔειπεν, δῶκεν δὲ χρυσέῳ ἐν ληκύθῳ ὑγρὸν ἔλαιον 1331 αὐτοῦ ὑπὲρ κεφαλῆς καὶ ἐπέφραδε χερσὶν ἑλέσθαι. αὐτὰρ ὁ ἔγνω ᾗσιν ἐνὶ φρεσὶ φώνησέν τε·

«θάρσει μοι, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἄνευ θεοῦ ἥδε γε βουλή». καί μιν ἔτισ’ ὡς οὔ τις ἐπὶ χθονὶ τίεται ἄλλη, 1335 ὅσσαι νῦν γε γυναῖκες ὑπ’ ἀνδράσιν οἶκον ἔχουσιν. ὣς κείνη περὶ κῆρι τετίμηταί καὶ ἔστιν.

II HC 1323–​1337

80  The Homeric Centos

Mulierum virtutes  81 I HC: But when he arrived at the well-​settled manor, | he swiftly entered the room from the threshold. | And when they arrived, they sat on polished stone [seats],167 | the ones who were the most trusty and dear among his companions. | Then a woman came and stood beside the pillar of the house | shielding her face with her shiny veil | and she came and sat next to him and grasped his knees | crouching; and her bosom was wert with tears, | and she kissed his knees and clutched his knees with her hands | and begged lamenting, and told him everything. | From a golden jug she poured liquid oil | over top of his head and intended to take it in her hands. | And all the disciples were greatly appalled, | but he understood with his mind and said the following: | “I would not resent this woman for touching my feet. | Dear woman, no mortal one on the endless earth will offend you; | for truly your glory has reached the broad sky | as if you were a great god-​fearing king | who rules over many and mighty men | and upholds justice and the black earth yields him abundance. | I earnestly accept this [offering], my heart is pleased, | that you remembered me and my kindness, I shall not forget you. | Believe in me, this decision is not taken without the divine will! I wish in exchange for this God gives you all you desire.” | And so honoured her as no other woman is honoured on earth. | It is easy for God who occupies the broad sky | either to do honour the mortal man or to afflict him. ΙΙ HC: So he spoke and then he led the way, and they followed | those who were the most trusty and dear among his companions. And when they arrived, they sat on polished stone [seats]; | in Bethany, this is where the house and the property were, | and they arrived to a wheat-​bearing field, and thereupon | they dinned and drunk red wine. | The god-​like woman then said lamenting, | pouring burning tears, speaking wretched words, and gave him liquid oil from a golden jug | over top of his head and intended to take it in her hands; | but he understood with his mind and said the following: | “Believe in me, this decision is not taken without the divine will!” | And so honoured her as no other woman is honoured on earth | those who share a household under the yoke of a husband. | So greatly and wholeheartedly she has been honoured and is still.

The major differences in the two versions lie in both the stress placed on the woman and the difference in her characterization and subsequent eulogy. At the syntactical level, lines I HC 1311 (γυνὴ ⸢δ’ ἀντίον⸣ ἦλθε), 1321 (τῇδε δ’ ἂν), and 1322 (ὦ γύναι) indicate the gender of the person emphatically at the beginning of the verse; by contrast II HC 1329 (γυνὴ ἐϊκυῖα θεῇσιν) is the only verse to present the person and her gender as a Briseis analogue in IΙ HC before the short blessing (at I HC 1331 and II HC 1335 respectively) at which her gender resurfaces.168 In terms of content, whereas the II HC depicts the woman, lamenting and anointing, in three lines (1330–​1332), and devotes only one to Jesus’ address (1334), the I HC devotes seven lines to her alone (1311–​1318) and stretches Jesus’ blessing from 1321–​1330 which showcases a variegated female models: Eurycleia (I HC 1321), Penelope (I HC 1322–​1326), Arete (I HC 1331), and a general gnomic blessing for all mortals (I HC 1334).169 By contrast the II HC 1332 focuses only on Arete-​like women, and emphasizes the topos of the submission of wives to their husbands and lords found in pagan and Christian literature throughout (II HC 1336: γυναῖκες ὑπ’ ἀνδράσιν).170 The woman’s character is also differently described in each poem. II HC 1329 offer Briseis, the beautiful lamenting slave and Achilles’ prize, who was coveted by Agamemnon, as the chief model for the Sinful Woman.171 Unlike Chryseis, a virgin when seized by Agamemnon,172 Briseis was a concubine, making her literally an apt but one-​dimensional candidate for the role of the Sinful Woman.

82  The Homeric Centos The I HC 1311–​1312, on the other hand, alludes chiefly to the model of the veiled Penelope to illustrate her modesty. In late antique society, the appearance of a woman before men and her removal of her veil may not have been quite as disturbing as in Archaic and Classical times,173 and Julian for example uses this line to show Penelope’s meekness and chastity.174 As we have already seen, John Chrysostom regarded the veiling of the Sinful Woman as a sign of her repentance and transformation, something that befits her classicizing Penelopean quality. Hence, whereas the scene in II HC 1335–​1337 ends with a cited accolade of Arete from Odyssey 7, the I HC dwells on Penelope, deriving inspiration from her encounter with Odysseus in Book 19, so that the miss(ed) recognition between the spouses adds depth to the rhetorical constraint. As there is no available Homeric model for the scene of the woman anointing the feet of Jesus, I HC 1315 recalls Thetis’ plea to Zeus and Eurycleia’s washing of Odysseus (I HC 1321). Modern scholars have pondered the importance of recognition during the Niptra and weighed it against that of Penelope; the old-​woman’s recognition in the Odyssey is meant to delay the husband–​wife reunion.175 Additionally, by alluding to Eurycleia’s recognition of Odysseus alongside the Penelopean allusions, the I HC entertains the exegetical possibility of the silent recognition of Jesus as the Messiah, which comes to the fore in Christian interpretations.176 The exchange is based on the dialogue between Penelope and the disguised Odysseus in her chambers, a scene that serves as an erotic model for Jesus’ portrayal as the Bridegroom.177 Penelope then seems a conscious choice in this particular cento edition. The cited praise of Penelope and especially the comparison of the queen’s hospitality to the glory of a great king (I HC 1325), hint precisely at the imperial connotations and the matronly ideal implied in this passage and show that a woman manages her household even in the absence of her husband, unlike the married Arete (II HC 1326: γυναῖκες ὑπ’ ἀνδράσιν). After all Penelope preserved her chastity for twenty years in her husband’s absence and gained her own fame. This selection of Homeric female models is undoubtedly characteristic of late antique rhetorical practice and an ancient audience would have discerned in it allusions to contemporary praise of elite women. In composing an unusual—​because of the sex of its addressee—​panegyric Julian claims he used as a blueprint Athena’s advice to Odysseus on how to address the Phaeacian queen: her genealogy, her morals, and her marriage. Julian uses the Homeric acclaim for the queens Arete and Penelope as model for a prose eulogy of an elite educated woman178 but in the speech it is Penelope who comes into the limelight.179 Julian’s praise of Eusebia180 offers then some metaliterary reflections on how to praise a queen in a Homeric manner.181 The Homeric characters then that are reused to describe the Sinful Woman were not only intertextual and cultural models for female chastity but formal ingredients of a late antique panegyric for an Empress.182

Mulierum virtutes  83 In sum, the Sinful Woman in the I HC is no longer just the Briseis-​like concubine, the submissive wife, or harlot of the Gospels. Instead, she is now a decently dressed and composed matron. Given Penelope’s renowned sophrosyne, the allusions to her highlight the woman’s chastity and class even better than does the model of the Phaeacian queen. Such a reworking would have been appreciated by the literate matrons of Late Antiquity, as demonstrated by the similar addressees of Julian’s Encomium of Eusebia. The praise of the woman in the I HC is more forceful and eloquent than it is in the other editions: after she is forgiven, the poem exonerates all penitent women—​which, in the classicizing version, also includes those of a certain moral and social status—​irrespective of sin. It thus offers a model of repentance that a similarly educated female audience would have found pleasing.

2.3.4  The Weaver Another important female character in the poem is the woman with the issue of blood, a figure that enjoyed popularity in medieval literature. The so-​called Haimorrhoousa was widely known for her humble and her authentic faith, something especially striking as she barely says a word in the Gospel. As the subsequent editions of Homeric centos show, the miracle was present in every edition.183 In the well-​known synoptic passage we read that a woman in the crowd approaches Jesus incognita, touches the hem of his cloak, and is healed,184 but Luke 8:42 associates the twelve-​year-​long suffering of the “polluted” woman with the age of the teenage daughter of Jaïrus.185 In addition, some Christian exegetes saw in the woman’s conviction, public humiliation and repentance a true tale of faith and thus regarded her public exposure as imperative.186 Eventually the woman’s unspoken words were crystallized into a fabricated but popular medieval Christian legend associated with menstruating taboos, weaving, clothing metaphors and female agency. In it, Veronica, a later avatar of the Haimorrhoousa, wipes—​with what was to become the famous Mandylion—​the face of Jesus as he makes his way to Calvary, and his likeness imprints itself on the cloth.187 The story is also well attested in early Christian iconography detached from the parallel healing of the girl. In the visual arts, the miracle appears either in isolation from the ongoing narrative (as in the Catacomb of Petrus and Marcellinus) or as taking place before a crowd (as in the sarcophagus of Adelphia). In images, the woman is often depicted genuflecting, but also prostrate on the ground and wrapped in thick dark (grey, brown) clothing, and occasionally with covered hands (as in the Ravenna mosaics).188 The shrouded and crouching figure of the frescoes and mosaics is pregnant with meaning, one that recalls the Platonizing and Christian image of the worm’s resurrection as a butterfly.189 As we shall see,

84  The Homeric Centos these visual models were no less important to the cento poet than were the literary interpretations.

2.3.4.1 Weaving Confession In the I HC, the Haimorrhoousa is treated separately from Jaïrus’ daughter and appears after the healing of the demoniac (I HC 931–​999) and before Jesus’ encounter with yet another woman, the Samaritan at the well (I HC 1053–​1160). Unlike her brief introduction in II HC 941–​942 as a lamenting woman, her character in the I HC is elaborated upon and engages, as we shall see, a great variety of models, all of which craft her complex personality as an eroticized woman, a chaste believer, and a gifted weaver-​apostle. She is introduced as follows: Ἔσκε δὲ πατρὸς ἑοῖο γυνὴ φοίνισσ’ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ, καλή τε μεγάλη τε καὶ ἀγλαὰ ἔργ’ εἰδυῖα κέρδεά θ’, οἷ’ οὔ πώ τιν’ ἀκούομεν οὐδὲ παλαιῶν, λίην γὰρ πινυτή τε καὶ εὖ φρεσὶ μήδεα οἶδεν. ἥτις τοι⸥ ⸤νύκτας τε καὶ ἤματα συνεχὲς αἰεὶ θυμὸν ἀποπνείουσ’ ὥς τε σκώληξ ἐπὶ γαίῃ κεῖτο ταθεῖσ’· ἐκ δ’ αἷμα μέλαν ῥέε, δεῦε δὲ γαῖαν. ἠρώτα δὴ ἔπειτα τίς εἴη καὶ πόθεν ἔλθοι, ⸢ἀλλ’ ὅτε δὴ⸣ γίνωσκε θεοῦ γόνον⸥ ⸤ἐγγὺς ⸢ἐόντα⸣, καρπαλίμως δ’ ἔπειτα μετ’ ἴχνια βαῖνε θεοῖο, δάκρυα δ’ ἔκβαλε θερμά, ἔπος δ’ ὀλοφυδνὸν ἔειπε·

1000 ~ Od. 15.417, Phoenician nurse 1001 ~ Od. 15.418, ibid. 1002 ~ Od. 2.118, Penelope’s skill 1003 ~ Od. 11.445, Penelope’s wit 1004 ~ Od. 8.581 +​Od. 9.74, storm 1005 ~ Il. 13.654, Harpalion’s death 1006 ~ Il. 13.655, ibid. 1007 ~ Od. 15.423, Phoenician nurse 1008 ~ Il. 6.191 +​Od. 9.181, Bellerophon 1009 ~ Od. 2.406, Telemachus 1010 ~ Od. 19.362, Eurycleia

There lived in her paternal house a woman with an issue of blood, | tall and beautiful and skilled in handcrafts, | and knowledgeable, such as none from those of the past tales, | for she was wise and her thoughts were of wisdom only. | This woman continuously, day in and day out, | was breathing her last, and crawling on the earth like a worm | she lay flat; and blood ran down from her and soaked the ground. | Then she asked who he was and where he came from; | but when she felt that the Son of God was now coming closer | then she ran behind the god’s footsteps | and shedding hot tears, she uttered the following tale of woe:

Whereas, in Mark’s account, the woman has allegedly spent all her fortune on seeking a cure,190 in the poem, she dwells in a high-​roofed palace, possibly in reference to her alleged wealth.191 As in the Synoptics and the visual sources, the I HC 1005 explicitly compares the woman to a crawling worm referring both to her crouching position and the metaphor relating to the worm–​soul pending metamorphosis. As in the Gospel, line I HC 1032 (οὔ πω φαίνετ᾽ἐναντίη) makes clear that she does not approach him from the front and touches the edge of his garment without his permission. The touch was thought improper and considered as impure in the context of the Synoptics too. The Homeric models reused here underscore this interpretation and entertains these fears but through Kontrastimitation. The description begins with a weaving metaphor that resonates throughout the passage and is equally important for understanding the poem’s female addressees; the introductory lines (1000–​1001) tell us that the woman is very

Mulierum virtutes  85 good at handcrafts, and, like Eumaeus’ nurse, on the loom, in particular. This characterization is maintained in nearly all the editions of Homeric centos,192 but in our passage it occupies a good part of the first section. The next couplet (1002–​1003) enhances the woman’s weaving skills through a comparison to Penelope, the expert weaver. Unlike the other compilations, the I HC pays particular attention to the woman’s craftsmanship and sophrosyne, which lengthens the introduction to four lines. Of these, the first two are drawn from the description of Eumaeus’ Phoenician wet-​nurse. In the Christian context, the allusions to the ethnic epithet of the woman (Φ/​φοίνισσα) would have further enhanced her eroticized quality and the possibility that she was a deceptive evil-​doer, like the nurse who kidnapped Eumaeus and thus facilitated his being sold as a slave.193 That said, the erotic undertones of Odyssey 15.417 would not have gone unnoticed. The ancient Scholia on adjacent lines, for example, remind the reader that “even if woman is skillful and virtuous, she is (easily) corrupted through flirtation and sexual promises.”194 Equally the references to another weaver of wool, the old woman qua Aphrodite in disguise, would have heightened the erotic potential of the passage.195 Yet the following lines, drawn from Odyssey 8.168 and 11.445, are clear allusions to Penelope’s chastity, reflected in the weaving skills that allow her to maintain it. The end of the first passage (1007)—​the description of the woman seemingly questioning a passer-​by—​returns to the model of the Phoenician nurse. In Homer, this is the beginning of the woman’s plot to escape with her lover; here it again subverts the expectations of the audience regarding the positive characterization of Penelope. This carefully blurred portrayal of the woman as potentially licentious culminates with the “touching” scene. The line reclaimed (1032: χειρὶ δὲ νεκταρέου ἑανοῦ ἐτίναξε λαβοῦσα) is borrowed from yet another famous inverted encounter between a dangerous woman and a divinity: Aphrodite in disguise as a wool-​carding old nurse touches Helen’s cloth and urges her to sleep with Paris irrespective of the outcome of the duel with Menelaus.196 Consequently, the double association with both Penelope and the wanton ladies of the epic equates menorrhagia to a sexual sin. Yet, as Karla Pollmann argues on her eponymous article on Virgilian Cento, in the I HC too, the woman’s encounter with a god does not lead her to sin or sex but to Salvation. Furthermore, the cento underscores Jesus’ omniscience (1036: ὁ ἔγνω) as it does not have him ask the famous question “Who touched my clothes?’ (Mk 5:30), and focuses on the personal exchange between the two as if it were a private confession rather than a case of a woman’s public humiliation.197 This is a crucial deviation from the Gospel may reflect a late antique trend regarding ritual confession, especially of matrons,198 and allows for a different interpretation. The switch to the private exchange, cited below, may have made the story more appealing to an elite female audience and enhanced empathy with the Haimorrhoousa and her prayer:

86  The Homeric Centos «⸢κέκλυ⸣θι ⸢νῦν καὶ ἐμεῖο⸣,⸥ ⸤μάλιστα γὰρ ἄλγος ἱκάνει· οὐ γάρ πω μύσαν ὄσσε ὑπὸ βλεφάροισιν ἐμοῖσιν, ἀλλ’ αἰεὶ στενάχω τε καὶ κήδεα μυρία πέσσω. κρῆνον νῦν καὶ ἐμοὶ δειλῇ ἔπος, ὅττι κεν εἴπω· ἕλκος μὲν γὰρ ἔχω τόδε καρτερόν,⸥ ⸤οὐδέ μοι αἷμα τέρσεται,⸥ ⸤ἀλλὰ μάλ’⸥ ⸤ὦκα κατειβόμενον κελαρύζει. πολλοῖσιν δ’ ἄρ’ ἐγὼ δὴ ὀδυσσαμένη τόδ’ ἱκάνω ἀνδράσιν ἠδὲ γυναιξὶν ἀνὰ χθόνα βωτιάνειραν. ὥς μ’ ὄφελ’ ἤματι τῷ ὅτε με πρῶτον τέκε μήτηρ οἴχεσθαι προφέρουσα κακὴ ἀνέμοιο θύελλα εἰς ὄρος ἢ εἰς κῦμα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης, ἔνθα με κῦμ’ ἀπόερσε πάρος τάδε ἔργα γενέσθαι. ἕλκος δ’ ἰητὴρ ἐπιμάσσεται ἠδ’ ἐπιθήσει φάρμαχ’, ἅ κεν παύσῃσι μελαινάων ὀδυνάων. πολλάκις ἐν μεγάροισι καθημένη ἡμετέροισιν ἄλλοτε μέν τε γόῳ φρένα τέρπομαι, ἄλλοτε δ’ αὖτε παύομαι· αἰψηρὸς δὲ κόρος κρυεροῖο γόοιο. ἀλλὰ σύ πέρ μοι, ἄναξ, τόδε καρτερὸν ἕλκος ἄκεσσαι, ἔρξον ὅπερ ἐθέλεις· ἱκέτης δέ τοι⸥ ⸤⸢εὔχ⸣ομαι ⸢εἶναι⸣. ὡς σέ, ἄναξ, ἄγαμαί τε τέθηπά τε δείδιά τ’ αἰνῶς γούνων ἅψασθαι· χαλεπὸν δέ με πένθος ἱκάνει». αὐτῷ δ’ οὔ πω φαίνετ’ ἐναντίη, αἴδετο γάρ ῥα, χειρὶ δὲ νεκταρέου ἑανοῦ ἐτίναξε λαβοῦσα. αὐτίκα παῦσ’ ὀδύνας, ἀπὸ δ’ ἕλκεος ἀργαλέοιο αἷμα μέλαν τέρσηνε, μένος δέ οἱ ἔμβαλε θυμῷ. αὐτὰρ ὁ ἕγνω ᾗσι ἐνὶ φρεσὶ φώνησέν τε·

1011 ~ Il. 10.284 +​Il. 3.97, Menelaus 1012 ~ Il. 24.637, Priam to Achilles 1013 ~ Il. 24.639, ibid. 1014 ~ Od. 20.115, a woman’s prayer 1015 ~ Il. 16.517 +​Il. 16.518, Glaucus’ prayer 1016 ~ Od. 7.124 +​Il. 3.214 +​Il. 21.261 1017 ~ Od. 19.407, etym. Odysseus’ name 1018 ~ Od. 19.408, ibid. 1019 ~ Il. 6.345, Helen to Hector 1020 ~ Il. 6.346, ibid. 1021 ~ Il. 6.347, ibid. 1022 ~ Il. 6.348, ibid. 1023 ~ Il. 4.190, Talthybius heals Menelaus 1024 ~ Il. 4.191, ibid. 1025 ~ Od. 4.101, Menelaus lamenting 1026 ~ Od. 4.102, ibid. 1027 ~ Od. 4.103, ibid. 1028 ~ Il. 16.523, Glaucus’ prayer 1029 ~ Od. 16.67 +​Il. 6.211, Glaucus/​Diomedes 1030 ~ Od. 6.168, Odysseus to Nausicaa 1031 ~ Od. 6.169, ibid. 1032 ~ Od. 6.329, ibid. 1033 ~ Il. 3.385, Aphrodite and Helen 1034 ~ Il. 16.528, Glaucus’ wound 1035 ~ Il. 16.529, ibid. 1036 ~ Il. 16.529, ibid.

“Hear me now you too, for I am in tremendous pain | I have not yet closed my eyes under my eyebrows, | but I am always lamenting and enduring ten thousand torments. | Then fulfil for pitiful me now the word that I tell you. | I have this powerful disease, for my blood flow will not be staunched, | but pours down and gushes forth quickly like a stream. | And I have come here hated by many, | by men and by women alike who dwell on this life-​giving soil. | Would that on the first day my mother brought me forth, an evil hurricane had carried me off to a mountaintop or into the wave of the roaring sea | where the wave could have swept me away before these woes took place. | A doctor will put his hand to the wound, and he will put on it | medicine, in hope to rid me of those awful pains. | Often when I am sitting in my halls | I sometimes give my soul pleasure by lamentation, | and other times I cease; for swift is the satiety of icy-​cold lamentation. | But for my sake, now you Lord, heal this dreadful sickness, | do as it pleases you, and I make myself your suppliant; | for I worship, I adore you, o Lord, | and I am truly frightened to touch your knees, overwhelmed as I am by this dreadful woe.” | She did not come into his sight, for she was truly embarrassed | but only touched and shook his divine garment. | Forthwith, he stopped her pains and staunched her bad wound | from the black-​blood flow, and cast strength into her heart.

In this passage, the woman’s prominence is revised in the following verses, which show her on the road to Salvation, this time by subverting her gender. In this case, the Cento adapts two successive lines on Odysseus (I HC 1017) to claim that the woman hated by many has fallen down suppliant before Jesus’ feet, which marks a turning point in the story. These famous words, uttered in the Odyssey by Autolycus, offer the etymology of Odysseus’ name, ὀδυσσάμενος, and adjective that has preoccupied both ancient and modern

Mulierum virtutes  87 interpreters: like Odysseus, the woman is cursed and similarly hated by all.199 Placing these typically Odyssean lines in the mouth of the Haimorrhoousa empowers her, stops her oscillation between Penelope and Helen, and raises her to the male heroic ideal: the marginalized woman now becomes an epic hero(ine). If the Penelopean model is used to make readers view Jaïrus from a female emotional point of view, the Odyssean model is used to turn the woman into one version of the hero of a famous epic from which cento poets chiefly retrieved their lines. Thus, on a metaliterary level, the penitent woman becomes the Odysseus-​like protagonist of this new Christian poem, thereby reversing expectations about both the characters and the theme: like Odysseus and the Odyssey itself, the Haimorrhoousa suffers and is healed. In the Christian poem, however, it is the woman who steps into the limelight in a poem that is about her silent confession. The second half of the miracle strengthens the allusions to weaving. The next cluster (1019–​1022) derives from Helen’s monologue in Iliad 6 where Helen is featured seated at the loom surrounded by her handmaiden as she weaves a divine textile “narrating” the Trojan poem.200 It is in this context that Helen laments her fate being the cause of so much bloodshed. These are precisely the lines assigned to Haimorrhoousa as she, praying to herself, and unlike the muted woman in the Gospels, allows her voice to be heard: by speaking Helen’s lines, the woman reveals the sexual nature of her curse, but also her own regrets.201 The negative associations of women with weaving embodied by Helen and the Phoenician nurse are balanced in the poem through the mentions to Homer’s exemplarily chaste wives. In responding to the woman Jesus reclaims Andromache, a character that befits the new status of the healed/​cleansed woman as a chaste wife of the divine Bridegroom, whose death, like Hector’s, is imminent:202 αὐτὰρ ὁ ἔγνω ᾗσιν ἐνὶ φρεσὶ φώνησέν τε· «ἦ καὶ ἐμοὶ τάδε πάντα μέλει, γύναι· ἀλλὰ μάλ’ αἰνῶς θάρσει, μηδέ τί τοι θάνατος καταθύμιος ἔστω. οὕτω νῦν καὶ ἐγὼ νοέω, γύναι, ὡς σὺ ἐΐσκεις. ἐν θυμῷ, γρηῦ, χαῖρε καὶ ἴσχεο μηδ’ ὀλόλυζε, ἀλλ’ εἰς οἶκον ἰοῦσα τὰ σ’ αὐτῆς ἔργα κόμιζε, ἱστόν τ’ ἠλακάτην τε, καὶ ἀμφιπόλοισι κέλευε ὡς τὸ πάρος, πλοῦτος δὲ καὶ εἰρήνη ἅλις ἔστω». ἡ δ’ ἄρα⸥ ⸤ἔγνω ᾗσιν ἐνὶ φρεσὶ γήθησέν τε, ὅττι οἱ ὦκ’ ἤκουσε μέγας θεὸς εὐξαμένῃ κεν. ἡ δ’ ὅτε δὴ οὗ πατρὸς ἀγακλυτὰ δώμαθ’ ἵκανε, κέκλετό γ’ ἀμφιπόλοισιν ἐϋπλοκάμοις κατὰ δῶμα, ἡ δ’ εἰς ὑψόροφον θάλαμον κίε δῖα γυναικῶν καὶ δή⸥ ⸤γ’ ἱστὸν ὕφαινε μυχῷ δόμου ὑψηλοῖο δίπλακα πορφυρέην, ἐν δὲ θρόα ποικίλ’ ἔπασσεν. ἡ δ’ αὖτις δμῳῇσιν ἐϋπλοκάμοισι μετηύδα· «δεῦτε, δύω μοι ἕπεσθον, ἴδωμ’ ὅτιν’ ἔργα τέτυκται»

1036 ~ Il. 1.333, Achilles to the embassy 1037 ~ Il. 6.441, Hector to Andromache 1038 ~ Il. 10.383, Odysseus captures Dolon 1039 ~ Od. 4.148, Menelaus to Helen 1040 ~ Od. 22.411, Odysseus to Eurycleia 1041 ~ Il. 6.490, Hector to Andromache 1042 ~ Il. 6.491, ibid. 1043 ~ Od. 24.486, Zeus to Athena 1044 ~ Il. 6.302 +​Il. 16.530, Glaucus 1045 ~ Il. 16.531, Glaucus 1046 ~ Od. 7.3, Nausicaa returns to the palace 1047 ~ Il. 22.442, Andromache’s maidens 1048 ~ Il. 3.423, Helen and Paris 1049 ~ Il. 1.161 +​Il. 22.440, Andromache weaving 1050 ~ Il. 22.441, ibid. 1051 ~ Il. 22.449, ibid. 1052 ~ Il. 22.450, ibid.

88  The Homeric Centos And so spoke He who knew well of all in his mind: | “Indeed, I know everything, woman, now take courage! | Do not any longer flirt with deathly thoughts in your mind | Now I consent too, woman, to whatever your wish is. | With joy fill now your heart, abbess, stop and do not wail. | Go back to your house and take care of your own chores | your loom, your spindle, your handmaidens, just as in past days. | I wish that wealth and peace may always be with you.” | And she felt him deep in her heart and directly rejoiced. | For God heard her invocations quickly as soon as she was praying. | Then to her father’s famous palace she retuned | and into her chambers called for her fair-​haired maidens | and she herself entered her lofty bedroom | and in the secret cubicle of the palace her web she weaved | purple, double-​folded, and stitched with fine flowery needlepoint. | And again, her fair-​haired maidens she called forth | “You two, come follow me, to see the miraculous embroidery.”

Line I HC 1037 is drawn from Hector’s famous reply to his wife as she pleads with him to stay away from the battlefield, to stick to female business and leave war to men.203 These lines already had a gnomic quality that made them well known and good material for cento composition.204 It is therefore not surprising that every version of the Homeric Centos, both long and short, includes this typical image of female domesticity. Still, it is noteworthy that only the I HC 1042 reuses Iliad 6.491, with its specific reference to Andromache’s loom. The other editions contain only the first line (ἀλλ’ εἰς οἶκον ἰοῦσα τὰ σ’ αὐτῆς ἔργα κόμιζε) and end the story with the woman, amazed at the miracle, returning home.205 The I HC, in turn, not only reclaims more of Hector’s exhortation to his wife, but also develops the theme of Andromache weaving in a lengthy digression (I HC 1047–​1052) that shows the woman in her chambers faithfully following Jesus’ advice. While the biblical revision relates the passage in Iliad 6 closely to the one in Iliad 22 (e.g., I HC 1041–​1042 and 1047–​1052) the woman’s closing lines with the address to the handmaidens (I HC 1051–​1052) are more difficult to grasp. In Homer, these are precisely the lines that heighten the dramatic irony as Andromache is famously described as being νηπίη.206 When she calls on her handmaidens to go and see “what has happened,” the audience already knows that Hector is dead. Ancient readers seem to have been puzzled by the fact that she was sitting idle at the loom as the battle raged, but this could be explained by her earlier exchange with Hector. Likewise, by placing the two episodes one after the other, the I HC offers a sensitive female reading of the sequel and appears to support a unitarian interpretation by proposing that Andromache had retired inside in order to heed Hector’s words. Moreover, as the fabric Andromache weaves will never clothe the living Hector, but will instead probably serve as his shroud, the reader may guess what the woman is weaving for Jesus. These lines are important for the gendered perspective adopted in the I HC as they focalize the tale of the woman’s Salvation in her eyes and those of her handmaidens, something with no parallel in the Gospel narrative or other

Mulierum virtutes  89 versions that do not offer her point of view. Together with the allusions to Jesus’ pending death, there is, I believe, another reading of these lines. On closer analysis, it may be more correct to understand ἔργα τέτυκται, as a metaliterary signpost within the broader context of the weaving metaphor elaborated throughout this passage.207 The divine woman—​δῖα γυναικῶν—​has isolated herself, we learn, inside her private chambers, where she weaves the wonderful double-​folded cloak. The woman with the issue of blood is described as δῖα, an epithet chiefly assigned to Helen or Penelope,208 and one that in the Christian poem stresses the impact of divine healing on her. Only exceptional, ekphrastic craft-​works can be expected from such a woman. Such references might have prompted comparison with contemporary textile production too: we know that the bishops often condemned those who were adorned with clothes featuring scenes from the Gospel.209 Most famous though is a cloth piece used to cover the altar allegedly woven by Pulcheria or her entourage and which symbolized the linen shroud used for Jesus in the entombment scene.210 Such a context would have furthered the association between the idealized matron and her weaving skills with these pious Christian women expiating Eve’s sin by praising God. In sum, in the narrative of the healing of the woman with the issue of blood, the partly in first-​person perspective, her long confession, the intimate and erotic setting, and her textile, are all key to understanding the poem through a female lens. The woman, an ailing aristocrat, is a gifted craftswoman but also articulate, and though her persona is based on the models of chaste and unchaste Homeric heroines, her resemblance to Odysseus makes her the protagonist of her own tale of wandering and Salvation and subtly alludes to the cento᾽s primary model, the Odyssey. Most importantly, and contrary to Christian exegesis, the woman not only regains her health, but also begins actively participating in the dissemination of the Gospel by weaving something relevant on a textile. She thus demonstrates remarkable agency: just as women in ancient epic weave the tales into their textiles, so too the Haimorrhoousa—​ patterned both on the male and female leads of the Odyssey—​weaves the Christian message into her own fabric. The text thus arouses the reader’s desire to look on a metaliterary level by having the internal audience, the handmaidens, witness their mistress’s wonderful handiwork. Furthermore, in the I HC, the Haimorrhoousa creates a textile, a metonymic by-​product of the cento technique, through which the Homeric text is woven into a Christian poem. In doing so, she becomes an embedded alter ego of the poem’s narrator and a metonym of its technique, the weaving of the Gospel into centos. The cured matron and her exemplary epic biography, make her, a female sinner, a formidable role model for elite matrons, well educated in both the art of speech and handicrafts, or even poetry.

90  The Homeric Centos

2.3.5  The Apostle Unlike the weaver, whose eloquence is subtle, the I HC’s Samaritan Woman is extremely articulate. The theme of the maiden or stranger at the well belongs to universal folklore and appears in both Homer and the Old Testament.211 It is against this bicultural background the I HC recounts the woman’s encounter with Jesus from John 4:1–​30. In the Gospel, the encounter takes an unexpected spiritual and theological turn as Jesus breaks several gender, social, religious, and ethnic obstacles.212 The woman’s conversion stands in contrast to that of Nicodemus in John 3. Whereas the Jewish priest comes to Jesus, incognito, at night, the philandering woman,213 an outsider from Samaria, runs into Jesus in broad daylight, in which he reveals to her the mysteries of the ὕδωρ ζῶν.214 The episode ends with the conversion of the Sychemites thanks to this woman—​ proof that “a prophet has no honour in his own country” (John 4:44).215 Early Christian exegesis of John 4 focuses on several key points. The baptismal connotations are the main focus,216 and are revisited on allegorical grounds.217 Cyril, however, understands “living water” as a reference to the Holy Spirit—​a reading followed by most exegetes218—​and relates it to baptism.219 He also dwells emphatically on Jesus’ arrival in Samaria, which he sees as the expansion of his mission to the Gentiles.220 The sexual sins of the woman, a potential temptress like Eve, are equally central to the discussion. Some Christian writers, like Origen, attempt to exculpate her, seeing her as the embodiment of the pneumatiké, the spiritual woman, whose religious curiosity leads her to revelation, an early allegorical prefiguration of the wedding of Christ and the Church.221 Two spurious Chrysostomic homilies222 describe the woman’s transformation from a whore into a philosopher (πόρνης πνευματικὰ φιλοσοφούσης), a topic attested in imperial declamation.223 This eloquent woman was taken up by Ephrem the Syrian, who dwells particularly on the nuptial aspect of the encounter. His Samaritan is compared to Mary and celebrated as an apostle avant la lettre a tradition adopted by Romanos, who interprets the woman as the Church of the Gentiles in her spiritual union with Christ.224 The visual evidence supports such a reading as the fresco of a woman at the well in Dura Europos recalls Mary of the Protevangelion. The story appears often in the Roman catacombs, where it is paired with other subjects alluding to water, baptism or resurrection, such as the stories of Moses and Lazarus.225 The scene also appears on sarcophagi, in mosaics and miniatures, often with nuptial and eucharistic associations, as when the woman’s pitcher is depicted next to the six jugs of the Wedding at Cana.226 In these, Jesus is usually depicted standing, facing the woman as an equal, in a departure from the Gospel.227 Roman matrons may have identified with the missionary zeal of the Samaritan, and thus the scene may have been deemed a suitable funerary subject for the tomb of a Christian woman.228

Mulierum virtutes  91 Such interpretations would also have been conflated in pilgrim narratives of the time, in which the well was a must-​see.229 Thus the transmission of the encounter at the well was not only visual and textual, but also reflected the pragmatics of the late antique Holy Land, to which the Christian elite flocked.

2.3.5.1 The Temptress at the Well The I HC includes long monologues that contribute to a multilayered characterization of the participants and bring the woman’s agency into the limelight. In I HC (e.g., 1080, 1119), Jesus is described as a foreigner (ξεῖνος),230 which focalizes the episode from the woman’s point of view rather than his or that of his disciples.231 This also highlights the local context of the episode: rather than occurring in the Holy Land, it has been transposed into a less Judaean geographical setting so as to stress the importance of the Gentiles’ participation in the plan of Salvation. In John 4:7, Jesus simply asks the woman for some water to drink, in the I HC he begins by taunting her in a lengthy digression on her ways (I HC 1064–​1071), thus imbuing the scene with a strong erotic and moralizing quality. Moreover, and differently than in the Gospel,232 the woman seems to recognize Jesus immediately since she tells him that he is welcome. More importantly, Jesus does not identify himself as the Messiah; she recognizes him by intuition alone: she calls him God (I HC 1090, 1096, 1157: θεόν) and later a healer (I HC 1134: ἱητρόν). By v. 1089 she is eager to preach to her fellow-​citizens a line she repeats in 1122 which highlights her speech’s ring composition.233 The disciples are nowhere in this revision, of which the second part focuses on the woman’s speech in Sychem, an important break with the original as it offers a snapshot of a larger canonical whole while focusing on the conversion of one particular woman and her personal point of view, as in the case of the Haimorrhoousa. Christian exegetes saw in this woman a potential temptress, one of Eve’s sisterhood. The poem indeed links the Samaritan Woman and Eve by reusing the same line to introduce them as “girls drawing water.”234 The theme of temptation and beguilement as we saw above with Mary is central to this poem: Mary is cautious with Gabriel,235 by contrast to Eve’s blind trust in the Serpent and the Samaritan Woman’s audacity in approaching Jesus as an equal. As opposed with the easily beguiled Eve, this sinful woman will be redeemed by Jesus becoming thus a sister to Mary because of her inquisitiveness. The potential danger the woman poses to Jesus is supported by the Homeric intertext that alludes to Odysseus’ encounter with the Laestrygonian princess near the source Artakie (κούρῃ δὲ ξύμβλητο πρὸ ἄστεος ὑδρευούσῃ, Od. 19.106). The II HC further dwells on the description of the woman not only as a dangerous princess but also as a philandering witch, as Clement interprets Circe.236 In Book 10 these two episodes mirror each other as they are about dangerous beauties.237 The II HC, by quoting them

92  The Homeric Centos side-​by-​side, emphasizes the danger women pose to men, especially when met in the wilderness outside the moral constrains within the city-walls. When the Samaritan Woman is therefore presented in the II HC with lines alluding to Nausicaa,238 this characterization is overshadowed by her overall Circe-​related negative genealogy. By contrast in the I HC, Homeric intertextuality combines the themes of seduction related to the Laestrygonian princess with stark themes of sophrosyne as follows: ἔνθα καθέζετ’ ἰών, τῇ δ’ ἐξερέεινεν ἕκαστα, μειλιχίοις δ’ ἐπέεσσι καθαπτόμενος προσέειπεν· «τίφθ’ οὕτως ἀνδρὸς νοσφίζεαι, οὐδὲ παρ’ αὐτὸν ἑζομένη μύθοισιν ἀνείρεαι ἠδὲ μεταλλᾷς; καὶ δ’ ἄλλην νεμεσῶ, ἥ τις τοιαῦτά γε ῥέζοι, ἥ τ’ ἀέκητι φίλων πατρὸς καὶ μητρὸς ἐόντων ἀνδράσι μίσγηται πρίν γ’ ἀμφάδιον γάμον ἐλθεῖν. οὐ μέν κ’ ἄλλη ὧδε γυνὴ τετληότι θυμῷ ἀνδρὸς ἀποσταίη, ὅς τοι κακὰ πόλλ’ ἐμόγησε· σοὶ δ’ αἰεὶ κραδίη στερεωτέρη ἐστὶ λίθοιο». ἡ δ’ αὖ ἠρνεῖτο στυγερὸν γάμον οὔτε τελεύτα. ὣς ἔφατ’· αἴδετο γὰρ θαλερὸν γάμον ἐξονομῆναι ἀνδρὶ φίλῳ· ὁ δὲ πάντα νόει καὶ ἀμείβετο μύθῳ·

1062 ~ Od. 17.70, Telemachus 1063 ~ Od. 24.393, Odysseus to old Dolius 1064 ~ Od. 23.98, recognition by Telemachus 1065 ~ Od. 23.99, to Penelope 1066 ~Od. 6.286, Nausicaa to Odysseus 1067 ~ Od. 6.287, ibid. 1068 ~ Od. 6.288, ibid. 1069 ~ Od. 23.100, Odysseus to Penelope 1070 ~ Od. 23.101, ibid. 1071 ~ Od. 23.103, ibid. 1072 ~ Od. 24.126, Penelope’s cunning 1073 ~ Od. 6.66, Nausicaa being shy 1074 ~ Od. 6.67, ibid.

There he went and sat and asked about everything; | with sweet words he approached and spoke to her: | “Why do you forsake your man, and you do not | sit with him, engage with him and talk? | For truly I resent a woman who does such things, | who without the consent of her dear father and mother | chats with men before officially marrying. | No other woman would bear in her heart | to stay away from her husband, |who has suffered so much. | But your own heart has always been harder than a stone.” | But she was not rejecting the hateful wedding, | nor was she giving it an end. |And so she spoke; for she was ashamed to call by name the blissful marriage to a dear man. | But he who knows everything replied in return. . . .”

The encounter repeatedly refers to the meeting of Odysseus with Nausicaa in Books 6 and 8239 and the slow mutual recognition of Odysseus and Penelope in Book 23 which is unique and typical for the I HC240 and does not appear in the II HC.241 The connection between the two positive female characters, Nausicaa and Penelope, is noted by both ancient and modern commentators.242 According to modern analyses, Nausicaa exemplifies adolescent love, while Penelope mature love, while both embody the marital ideal.243 Ultimately, the I HC blends the two Odyssean passages into one line, using hemistichs from both Odyssey 23 and 6244 to imply a bond between the two women. Thus, the allusion to Nausicaa appears first in Jesus’ words about the disrespectful woman in lines 1067–​1069, where it is entangled with Odysseus’ complaint about his wife’s “stone-​like heart.”245 The Samaritan Woman is depicted as a cunning Penelope, but also as a reluctant Nausicaa, as she is unable to admit to her guilt and desires.246 Nausicaa’s

Mulierum virtutes  93 ignorance of the stranger’s identity stands in contrast to the slow and intuitive recognition inspired by Odyssey 23, which re-​emerges in I HC 1081 with Penelope’s/​the Samaritan Woman’s regret over her earlier stance. Still, like the Phaeacians or Penelope in Book 19, the woman presses Jesus to reveal his origins, his parents, and his motherland (I HC 1103–​1104). Another important theme is the allusions to the famous speech on homophrosyne in marriage, a concept that gained in popularity during the Roman Empire as it aligned with the Roman concept of concordia, being of one heart.247 This is introduced in I HC 1073–​1074 that describe Nausicaa’s reluctance to express her desire to have Odysseus as her husband. Ideal companionship crops up earlier in lines I HC 62–​65, where it is touched on by Satan, who refers to it ironically as he tries to convince Eve to eat the forbidden fruit in order to strengthen her marriage. In the case of Eve, Nausicaa is a positive epic model, while the daughter of the carnivorous king of the Laestrygonians is a negative one.248 In the case of the Samaritan woman the allusions to marital concord are further exemplified in the lines that draw heavily on Odysseus’ reunion with Penelope below: «ξεῖνε,⸥ ⸤ἐπεὶ θυμός μοι ἐνὶ στήθεσσι τέθηπεν, οὔτε τι προσφάσθαι δύναμαι ἔπος οὐδ’ ἐρέεσθαι οὐδ’ εἰς ὦπα ἰδέσθαι ἐναντίον.⸥ ⸤αἰδέομαι γάρ. ῥεῖ’ ἔγνως, ἐπεὶ οὐδὲ τά τ’ ἄλλα πέρ ἐσσ’ ἀνοήμων. ταῦτα δ’ ἅ μ’ εἰρωτᾷς καὶ λίσσεαι, οὐκ ἂν ἐγώ γε ἄλλα παρὲξ εἴποιμι παρακλιδόν, οὐδ’ ἀπατήσω· τῶν οὐδέν τοι ἐγὼ κρύψω ἔπος οὐδ’ ἐπικεύσω, πᾶσαν ἀληθείην μυθήσομαι, ὥς με κελεύεις, ἄστυ δέ τοι δείξω, ἐρέω δέ τοι οὔνομα λαῶν.

1080 ~ Od. 6.289 +​Od. 23.105, Nausicaa +​Penelope 1081 ~ Od. 23.106, Penelope to Telemachus 1082 ~ Od. 23.107 +​Od. 6.221 1083 ~ Od. 17.273, Eumaeus and Odysseus 1084 ~ Od. 4.347, Menelaus to Telemachus 1085 ~ Od. 4.348, ibid. 1086 ~ Od. 4.350, ibid. 1087 ~ Od. 11.507, Odysseus to Achilles 1088 ~ Od. 6.194, Nausicaa to Odysseus

“Stranger, since my heart is stunned, | I cannot address you to a word and I cannot ask you, | I cannot even look you straight in the eye; for I am ashamed. | You know (all this) clearly, for you are not unintelligent otherwise. | For these things you are asking me and seek to learn, | I cannot tell another tale beside the mark, I cannot deceive you. | Of these things I will hide nothing from you and I will not conceal anything. | I will tell you the full truth, as you request it; | I will show you the town, and tell you the name of its people.

The choice of Penelope in this edition must have been a conscious one, therefore, meant to enhance the nuptial symbolism of the passage and to highlight female agency; by identifying Jesus as the Messiah, the woman recognizes in him her long-​lost, suffering husband.249 Moreover, by adding a mature woman to the mix, the centonist presents the woman as both a youthful seductress and mature matron, a character that may have resonated more with the poem’s audience. The reader of the I HC is thus encouraged to read John 4 in light of the centonized Temptation and to view Jesus as the woman’s spiritual betrothed—​as do Origen and Ephrem—​in the reuse of the wedding imagery associated with

94  The Homeric Centos Penelope’s fidelity. This spiritual matrimony is further displayed in the metaphor of the gift/​dowry.250 Yet whereas it is Odysseus who utters these words in the Homeric epic, it is the woman who does so in the Christian poem.251 The other prominent woman of the poem, the Haimorrhoousa, is also characterized as strong and an Odyssean analogue. The gender reversal in both cases presents the woman as someone who plays an active role in the plan of Salvation by reversing the traditional roles ascribed by the Homeric epic to good women, such as shy virgin or chaste matron, and certainly debunking the traditionally negative roles epic and contemporary society projected on women, such as that of Circe, an Eve-​like temptress and a harlot, which is the case in the II HC. This is undoubtedly an empowered representation of the Samaritan Woman. Entangled with this matronly representation of the Samaritan Woman is her lengthy sermon in Sychem, which does not exist in the Gospel and which recalls the Haimorrhoousa’s monologue:252 αὐτίκα καὶ πᾶσιν μυθήσατο ἀνθρώποισι· «δεῦτ’ ἄγε, Σικήμων ἡγήτορες ἠδὲ μέδοντες, εἰς ἀγορὴν ἰέναι, ὄφρα ξείνοιο πύθησθε, ὅς πέρ μοι βίον εἶπε καὶ ἔργματα καὶ νόον αὐτόν, ὥς τέ που ἢ αὐτὸς παρεὼν ἢ ἄλλου ἀκούσας. τί πρῶτον, τί δ’ ἔπειτα, τί δ’ ὑστάτιον καταλέξω; ἰητρὸς δὲ ἑκάστῳ ἐπιστάμενος περὶ πάντων ἀνθρώπων· ἦ γὰρ Παιήονός ἐστι γενέθλης. [...] αὐτὸν δ’ οὐ σάφα οἶδα, πόθεν γένος εὔχεται εἶναι· νῦν δὴ κάλλιόν ἐστι μεταλλῆσαι καὶ ἐρέσθαι ὁππόθεν οὗτος ἀνήρ, ποίης ἐξ εὔχεται εἶναι γαίης, ποῦ δέ νύ οἱ γενεὴ καὶ πατρὶς ἄρουρα. οὐκ ἔσθ’ οὗτος ἀνὴρ διερὸς βροτὸς οὐδὲ γένηται· οὐ γάρ πως ἂν θνητὸς ἀνὴρ τάδε μηχανόῳτο ᾧ αὐτοῦ γε νόῳ, ὅτε μὴ θεὸς αὐτὸς ἐπελθὼν ῥηϊδίως ἐθέλων θείη νέον ἠδὲ γέροντα. ὥς τέ μοι ἀθάνατός γ’ ἰνδάλλεται εἰσοράασθαι, ἄλλῳ δ’ αὐτὸν φωτὶ κατακρύπτων ἤϊσκεν. ἀλλὰ ἴδεσθε καὶ ὔμμες· οὐ γὰρ ἔγωγε εὖ διαγινώσκω· δοκέει δέ μοι ἔμμεναι ἀνήρ».

1128 ~ Od. 8.497, Odysseus to Demodocus 1129 ~ Od. 8.11, Athena in Phaeacia 1130 ~ Od. 8.12, ibid. 1131 ~ (interpolated line) 1132 ~ Od. 8.491, ibid. 1133 ~ Od. 9.14, Apologoi 1134 ~ Od. 4.231, Helen's pharmaka 1135 ~ Od. 4.232, ibid. [...] 1141 ~ Od. 17.373 The suitors about Odysseus 1142 ~ Od. 3.69 Nestor to Telemachus 1143 ~ Od. 1.406 About Telemachus 1144 ~ Od. 1.407 ibid. 1145 ~ Od. 6.201 Nausicaa about Odysseus 1146~ Od. 16.196, Telemachus and Odysseus 1147 ~ Od. 16.197, Odysseus’ and Telemachus’ recognition 1148 ~ Od. 16.198, ibid. 1149 ~ Od. 3.246 About Mentor Athena 1150 ~ Od. 4.247, Odysseus’ disguised in Troy 1151 ~ Il. 23.469 Idomeneus 1152 ~ Il. 23.470 ibid.

Immediately she spoke to all men: | “Come here, all you leaders and councillors, | |come to the sacred forum, so that you learn about the stranger, | who told me my life and deeds and even my thoughts, | as if he himself were a witness or had heard them from another. | What shall I say first, what later, what in conclusion? |He is a healer who knows everything for all humans; | truly he is of Paeon’s (the healer of the gods) generation. [ . . . ] | I am not aware with certainty from which family he prides himself to come from; | now though it is better to ask and question (him), | from where is this man, from which land claims he to come; | where is his family and where his motherland.| Nor would a mortal man come up with such things with his own mind, | unless a god overwhelmed him, | who can easily turn the old man into a youngster. | To me, of course, he appears an immortal one, | as I look upon him,| though in disguise as a mortal man. | But come, stand up, and see for yourselves; | for I do not know clearly; he seems to me a mortal man.”

Mulierum virtutes  95 According to Christian commentators, the sermon of the Samaritan Woman in John 4:29 is problematic. Origen, for example, asks how a woman to whom the truth has been revealed can question, before her compatriots, whether this is indeed Christ. Cyril, in turn, attributes her reluctance to admit outright that Jesus is the Messiah to her need to deliver the message in a crafty manner.253 In the II HC 930–​935, the woman’s speech is five lines long and draws heavily on a rather neutral Homeric model: II HC 930–​932 and 937–​ 938 belong to Athena when in disguise encourages the Phaeacians to help Odysseus; II HC 933–​934 that correspond to I HC 1134–​1135, the description of Paieon as a healer. By contrast, in the I HC, the woman’s preaching, is in fact, a highly competent example of the woman’s ethopoeia and one intended to reveal her rhetorical skill as it is in Ephrem’s case too.254 She begins by inviting the Sychemites to learn about this man, ponders how to start, and continues by posing a rhetorical question.255 She then carefully compares him to a healer (I HC 1134: ἰητρός),256 pretends not to know his origins, and calls him a holy man or non-​mortal (I HC 1145: διερὸς βροτός; 1146: οὐ θνητὸς ἀνήρ), before confessing that he is the immortal God (I HC 1147: θεός; 1149: ἀθάνατος). Afterward she retreats once again (I HC 1151: οὐ . . . εὖ διαγινώσκω . . . δοκέει.. μοι) expressing dubitatio/​aporia257 and thus passes the matter over to her fellow citizens.258 The Samaritan in the I HC is thus a convincing orator, an erudite woman of her own time, in a way that may once again strengthen the appeal of this passage to a female (albeit not exclusively) audience. To some extent, she is also presented as a learned matron who welcomes Jesus as an Odyssean analogue, a foreigner on his way home, an image with which Jesus is associated from the very beginning of the poem. Nonetheless she manages to break away from the traditional models of Nausicaa and Penelope and move beyond the domestic sphere as she turns from a sinner into an eager and active preacher of Salvation and an early female apostle. Testimony from the visual arts shows how the Samaritan woman was empowered by being represented standing in front of a standing Jesus (contra καθέζετο John 4:6: ἐκαθέζετο, Ι ΗC 1062). We also know from the visual arts that the type of the female orans, the standing woman in prayer, became one of the most powerful images to illustrate female agency which closely resembles the poses taken in the poem by the characters, the woman standing, Jesus seated. Often the orans was placed next to a seated philosopher-​Christ figure embodying thus the intellectual woman in the role of a listener and also as inspiration. The woman’s chastity, matronly character, and eloquence in the I HC suggests accordingly that such a portrayal would have encouraged further female identification with this active and faithful role mode.

96  The Homeric Centos

2.4  The Empress and the Others 2.4.1  Eudocia the Empress Given the eminent place of women in the I HC, the matter in question is whether the poem can be attributed to the Empress Eudocia. Like Proba in the West, Eudocia, is probably the most famous female belletrist in the East. Photius later compliments her on her skill despite her gender and the fact that she was a pampered Empress.259 Information about the Empress’ life is transmitted within a century or more after the events, whereas fifth-​century historians do not include the spicy details found in these later accounts. A century and a half after her death, Malalas reported in his Chronicon 14.2.4–​35 that Eudocia had been called Athenaïs at birth and was the daughter of Leontius, a philosopher from Athens, and that Theodosius II’s sister, the regent Pulcheria, had introduced her to the emperor. She had to be baptized Eudocia in order to marry him. It was later said that she had been involved in an amorous intrigue between the emperor and his close friend Paulinus; apparently Theodosius II learned of their alleged affair through an apple that he had given the Empress, who passed it on to Paulinus, who, unaware of the apple’s owner, returned it to Theodosius. The story ended with Paulinus dead and the Augusta exiled to Jerusalem. There—​after the death of Theodosius in 450, the ascension of Marcian and Pulcheria on the throne, and the Council of Chalcedon—​she would embrace miaphysitism but would eventually repent and confess the Chalcedonian creed.260 It is not difficult to see why an apple, which had caused the Fall of Troy in the Graeco-​Roman legend, and the Fall of Man in Christian lore, may have contributed to the alleged disgrace of the Empress. Modern scholars have done much to sift legend from history in the biography of the Empress.261 From what is known, she was an educated woman who married Theodosius II in 421 and bore him three (?) children, of which only the first, Licinia Eudoxia (b. 422) survived into adulthood.262 In 423 she was proclaimed Augusta, a title shared with her sister-​in-​law, Pulcheria. In 438/​9, she had made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and brought back precious relics, an act which since Helena legitimized the Christian Empress.263 At some point in the early 440s she retired to the Holy Land for the remainder of her life (d. ca. 460). Alan Cameron assumes that Eudocia was from Athens,264 though probably born not to a pagan, but a Christian family, and that her father was a sophist rather than the pagan philosopher of legend. She would have been ensnared in a palace intrigue led by chamberlains, proteges, and eunuchs, including stories about an alleged affair, real or not, which ended with her willing or otherwise departure for the Holy Land to entertain the “dark rumours.”265 Garth Fowden concurs on her Athenian origin, which he supports with an inscription containing the names of Eudocia

Mulierum virtutes  97 and Theodosius266 that was found in the Athenian Agora before the façade of the Palace of Giants and refers to an Athenian building program. Eudocia could have been introduced to the court by her uncle Asclepiodotus and, initially, with the support of Pulcheria. She may have also played an active role in the founding of the “University” of Constantinople in 425 and she was the patron of the building program in Athens including a church at Daphni and maybe the restoration of Hadrian’s Library. As an Augusta, Eudocia followed closely the events of this turbulent Council, and would have been updated on Christological issues firsthand. As wife of Theodosius II she may have been supportive of his chosen candidate for the see, Nestorius, but the Theotokos controversy changed the equilibrium as Nestorius and Cyril fought for the support of the Emperor: in 428 Cyril of Alexandria for example dedicated a treatise jointly to her and Pulcheria.267 In Kenneth Holum’s view, the Theotokos controversy, which ended with Pulcheria’s victory in Ephesus in 431, led to a new period of female political, albeit religiously underpinned, dominance that resulted in Pulcheria’s marriage to Marcian as she becomes a virgin, albeit married, Empress. At court, Eudocia became ensnared in a political conflict between her “traditionalist” female supporters (who saw her as the embodiment of the Graeco-​Roman ideology) and those of Pulcheria, who, allegedly promoting the cult of the Theotokos, was shaping a new ideal for the Christian notion of female basileia. Equally speculative is Eudocia’s staunch miaphysitism and subsequent atonement, which earned her the title of saint a century or so later.268 The charges of miaphysitism emerge from her backing an anti-​Chalcedeonian monk, Theodosius of Jerusalem, during the violent riots (451–​453) in the Holy Land against the city’s pro-​Chalcedonian bishop Juvenal. The reason for this support might have been more politically motivated than doctrinal.269 Besides evidence for her famous conversion comes only from sixth-​ century pro-​Chalcedonian sources, whereas the actual situation might have been more complex.270 In any case, this supposed event took place much later in her life and given that the poem does not mention Mary as the Theotokos, an argument for a pre-​431 dating, it is not contributing to our understanding of the theological exegesis offered in the I HC. For this reason, the contemporary writings of Nestorius, Cyril, and especially Pulcheria’s protégé Proclus, are probably more relevant for the poem. This is a but a very brief résumé of an extremely adventure-​packed life and its even more exciting Nachleben. Although this study is chiefly a literary examination of the I HC, some of the biographical details above cannot be ignored. I do find compelling Kenneth Holum’s idea of women’s competitive appropriation of classicizing paideia and religion, especially with regard to the Marian cult, as a means of redefining their elite identity in Late Antiquity. Nonetheless, I stand by Alan Cameron and Garth Fowden on Eudocia’s Athenian origin and classical erudition,

98  The Homeric Centos which neither trespassed into pagan territory nor manifestly contradicted her Christian beliefs. The woman in question, however, was a celebrated poet too.271

2.4.2  Eudocia the Poet The above intratextual evidence favors a female perspective and endorses the argument for a female authorship. Unlike previous studies that begin with the Eudocia and continue with the poem, I have opted for an exposition of the internal arguments first before introducing the Empress. Eudocia attained fame for her encomia, metrical inscriptions, biblical paraphraseis and hexametric hagiography of Saint Cyprian.272 The Apologia discussed above is the only paratext to attest to the gender (35: θηλυτέρῃ) of its author, but also points to shared labor between male and female poets (34: ξυνὸς πόνος), albeit with slightly greater emphasis on the woman’s role in use of the concessive (καί περ).273 The absence of any direct identification and self-​disclosure on this occasion, however, may not be gender related.274 As an Augusta, Eudocia could not be self-​assertive as she was expected to act with a meekness befitting her rank.275 Thus the modest tone of the Apologia not only ensures stylistic continuity with Homer—​through Tatian and Patricius to Eudocia—​but is also keeping with the author’s unpretentious self-​disclosure (36: κεῖνος μοῦνος) and is a covert display of her talent, gender and class (Patricius the male priest vs an Empress). A good parallel lies in the inscription at the baths at Hammat Gader, where her name seems to have been later inscribed at the top.276 While present, the Empress would not have required further introduction; once gone, the addition of her name would have increased the site’s repute. Byzantine manuscripts too know her as an editor and composer of Homeric centos. Paris. suppl. gr. 388,277 the oldest manuscript of the poem, transmits a selection (ἐκλογή) of centos by Patricius, Eudocia, and Cosmas of Jerusalem. Of all these names, the most famous is that of the Empress. Of the twenty-​one surviving manuscripts of the I HC, six mention the Empress, of which only two state that she edited Patricius’ original text.278 Of the nine manuscripts of the HCa, four mention the Empress, among them, three do so alongside Patricius.279 Of the eight manuscripts that transmit HCb, two mention her by name together with Patricius, while one mentions solely him. Finally, one manuscript of the HCc refers to another Eudocia, the sister of the late tenth/​early eleventh century Empress Zoë Porphyrogenita. Thus, of a total of forty-​three manuscripts of the HC listed by Schembra, thirteen contain her name; of these six mention her alone, while another seven refer to her alongside Patricius (his name appears alone only once). Far less is known about the other individuals mentioned in Paris. suppl. gr. 388, and they do not reappear in the manuscript tradition. The

Mulierum virtutes  99 name of Patricius does crop up in the Apologia and the Hypothesis, and apparently belonged to a priest who composed biblical Homeric centos. The popularity of the Empress’ name cannot be accidental. Rocco Schembra observes that the meter of the Apologia and the Hypothesis reflects the metrical innovations of the first half of the fifth century and rightly concludes on this basis that the I HC could have been written in around the time of Patricius and Eudocia.280 Like Schembra and Usher, I am inclined to read the I HC as a version of Patricius’ edition revised by Eudocia and echoing Proba’s poem about the Fall and the incarnation of the Word.281 The representation of Mary and the portrayal of the poem’s female characters discussed above endorse the hypothesis of Eudocian authorship for the first edition of centos. On the one hand, the analysis of the Marian literature in the I HC supports a mid-​fifth century date for the poem, as the poem’s references to her nursing of Jesus revisit a crucial point in the Christological controversy. Mary’s prominence throughout the poem and her transformation into a paragon of royalty show that she was now a role model not simply for women, but for aristocratic women and even mothers in particular. If the poem was, in fact, composed by Eudocia, then it may well be that such an image of Mary accorded with her growing importance to the female members of the court of Theodosius II but adapted so as to fit a varied, and not only virgin-​intended, audience. If we accept the reports about the alleged feud between the Emperor’s virginal sister Pulcheria and the young mother Eudocia, this multi-​layered representation of Mary may well strike a cord and intend to reclaim the Virgin for the Empress as well. Accordingly, the cento Mary is in the most crucial moments in Jesus’ life and ministry and even appears together with the Trinity. All the same, the virginal aristocratic weaver of the centos is an appropriate model for matrons and queens alike, as especially the Virgin Annunciate passage evokes of early representations of her as the Heavenly Queen. Yet the poem above all stresses her supreme maternal role and suffering. The focus now falls on the acknowledgment that she is an ἁγνοτόκος, a virgin post-​partum who throughout the poem is presented as nurse and carer for baby Jesus. The elaborate depiction of Mary’s turmoil is striking as it invites emotional engagement and has a decidedly female touch.282 A description of this kind of emotion does not have to be by a woman, of course, as demonstrated by Romanos’ revision. Still, lamentation, a traditional mode of female expression, which resurfaces in the story of the daughter of Jaïrus in I HC 787–​798, would have been an ideal platform for expressing a female point of view. Such scenes were more likely to strike a chord in female readers or the poetess herself, likewise a bereaved mother. From a theological perspective the Mary of the I HC is a more carnal and (human-​like) noble, an avatar of the dead Anticleia and a kind of a New Eve that shall resurrect from the Underworld. Her characterization as a sufferer however

100  The Homeric Centos is more or less unproblematic and not the one professed by Nestorius—​after all is presented breastfeeding her newborn. As argued above, the Empress may have assumed this centrist stance around the time of the Ephesus Council and been inclined to compromise by alluding solely to Mary’s virginal birth and emphasizing instead her maternal grief and faith. This is undoubtedly a version of Mary more appealing to matrons than to virgins and may be a conscious reclaim of Mary for Theodosius’ wife-​Augusta who needed an heir to consolidate the dynasty,283 than for his ascetic sister-​Augusta. This gives an additional argument for a dating of the poem in the years following her elevation to Augusta rather than later in her life. By contrast to Eudocia’s “other poem,” Saint Cyprian, where the heroine was traditionally a Thecla-​like virginal beauty, the Gospel material allows for a greater variety of female characters, thus vesting a matronly rather than an ascetic reading.284 But it is not Mary alone who is eloquent. It is the plethora of women and their various points of view that merit attention. The encomium for the sinner and the passage about Jaïrus’ wife and her grief show the importance of complex female characters in this edition of centos. Female characters are exceptionally fleshed out in the I HC and, just as with Mary, matrons rather than virginal girls, come into the limelight as multi-​layered characters evoking a variety of and often contrasting Homeric models: the Samaritan woman who, unlike the II HC where her Circe and Laestrygonian representation overshadows that of her Nausicaa-​ like role, is one of the most complex female characters combining eroticism, fidelity, intelligence, and eloquence. This is a rather exculpatory view of women and far from the misogynist and more binary opposition between “good” and “bad” women found in the II HC for example. The portrayal of these women shows that the poem was probably written with a female audience in mind and probably by a female poet too who attempted to extoll the matronly and motherly ideal, which may even explain the stunning absence of (ascetic) widows in this edition of centos and instead focuses on the lament of Jaïrus’ wife. Most importantly, some women are even given an additional metaliterary role: among them, the Haimorrhoousa weaves a textile that invites a metaliterary association with the technique used in the poem. The result is a confession of faith. Another important character, the Samaritan Woman, is presented as an eloquent apostle and exemplary erudite matron. Both women invite comparison with Eudocia’s poem, its style and content: the poet as a weaver of centos (Haimorrhoousa) and a preacher of the message of Salvation (Samaritan). Placed in the middle of the poem and next to passages involving women summarize the aim of the Homerocentones at weaving Homeric language and Christian content. That said, from a narratological perspective, certain passages within the poem may also reveal a female narrator. There is no reference to the narrator’s gender in the poem’s opening lines (1–​5: κέκλυτε . . . ὄφρ᾽εἴπω), as there is, for example,

Mulierum virtutes  101 in the Sibylline Oracles (1: ἀρχομένη). Nonetheless, there are several cases of a diegetic “I” that interferes in the narrative, some of which may point to it.285 When discussing Eve’s involvement to the Fall the poem combines lines from Athena’s and Penelope’s judgement of women on the misogynistic theme, popular throughout antiquity: la donna è mobile.286 As we shall see in detail in Chapter 3 the lines here aim to exculpate Eve: instead of Athena’s cautionary words from Odyssey 15.130 which is reused in II HC 199, the I HC adds Penelope’s judgement of Helen’s implication in the Trojan War as the result of ate, namely “divinely inspired folly.” Moreover, as Thomas Kuhn-​Treichel observes, the pronoun ἡμέας at v. 70, is a “real” and not majestic plural. I would also argue that the first person plural here may be used to describe all fellow mortals but also represent in a mild light Eudocia and her fellow sisters of Eve, namely women.287 Some of the instances of ego-​narrative may also reveal the narrator’s gender as well. One of these lies in the description of baby Jesus in the first person singular (ἐγών).288 The lines are taken from the Teichoscopia, in which Priam asks Helen about the identity of Agamemnon, and were a staple of descriptions of imperial subjects.289 Christ’s glowing face is described through the imagery of weaving, an allusion to the woven body of Jesus in the exegetical tradition, since the hypotext refers to the shining cloth that Penelope put on Odysseus before his departure for Troy.290 The allusion to the textile and Penelope’s gift grant an erotic tone to the scene, as does the first-​person confession placed in the mouth of the narrator (ἐγὼν οὔπω ἴδον), who, by “seeing,” confesses her faith in the divine nature of Jesus. Another case is the ekphrastic digression on Crucified Christ as the Lamb of God, which is compiled from lines in Helen’s description of Odysseus, once again in Iliad Book 3 and in the first person singular (ἔγωγε ἐΐσκω).291 While I will discuss the theological implications later, here I wish to stress the importance of the female model of these verses: the lines are quoted in the first person singular and set in the mouth of the poem’s narrator, with a woman, Helen, as the primary model. This may be another subtle reference to the centonist’s gender: a woman, and a sinful one, confesses to the redemptive power of the Crucified Christ, just as earlier she confessed to the royalty of the infant Jesus. Another significant passage is the one describing Jesus’ wound, from which blood and water poured forth after his death. This is reworked into a long and eloquent eucharistic digression that reclaims material primarily from the description of Helen’s narcotic wine.292 The passage includes an address in the second person singular (1972: τοι)—​directed presumably at the centurion, but also at the audience—​which breaches the narrative illusion and introduces a confession of faith. As a result, the strong presence of Helen, as in the description of the Crucified Lamb above, may suggest the gender of the poetess, who subtly leaves her seal on the poem as she becomes one with the Gospel’s onlookers.293 Here, as above, it may be that Helen, the model for the Sinful Woman or even for Eudocia,

102  The Homeric Centos repents and provides a foil for Eve294 through the poet’s implicit confession, as in her use of Helen as model for the poem’s Weaver. The Homeric intertexts, therefore, not only add depth to the characters and enhance the exegesis, but also provide an interpretative pattern that may be revealing of the poet’s female voice.295 In discussing specific characters such as the Sinful Woman and the Haimorrhoousa I also argued for possible allusions to some contemporary events: Julian’s panegyric of Eusebia reverberates in the praise of the Gospel’s repented and glorified woman; or the skills of the woman with the issue of blood may have appealed to women of Pulcheria’s circle and all matrons who likewise “wove,” more or less metaphorically, the Logos into flesh and redeeming for Eve’s deeds. Some of the minor details in the miracles may refer to actual events in Eudocia’s life as well. For example, the vague sub-​titles (τοῦ ἐκατοντάρχου, τοῦ βασιλικοῦ) in the passage on Jaïrus’ daughter in the manuscript tradition, as well as the absence of any reference to Jaïrus, as a ruler of the Synagogue, suggest a consciously neutralized reception of the miracle: the girl is no longer strictly Jewish, but rather any young daughter and her lamenting mother (I HC 791: θυγατέρ’ ἰφθίμην, τὴν ὁπλοτάτην τέκε παίδων) and thus perhaps a reference to Eudocia’s second daughter, who died in infancy in 431. Furthermore, the focus on matrons rather than widows may support a dating in the thirties: Theodosius II died in 450, a decade after his estranged wife moved to Palestine. This could provide something of a terminus post quem for the poem, which, along with the absence of the title Theotokos for Mary, may hint at a date around the end of the twenties and the early thirties and support further Eudocian authorship.

2.5 Summary The introductory section of this chapter established the potential female audience of the I HC, without, of course, excluding the possibility of a male audience. In Late Antiquity, women mostly read, but they also wrote, and a poem like the I HC would probably have been composed with such an elite and erudite female audience in mind. The section on Mary shows that the I HC offers in a nutshell, and sometimes with great subtlety, themes that later become staples of the Marian Cult, as can be seen in apocryphal, ritual, or visual sources: the Virgin weaving in the Temple, her maternal suffering and lament on Golgotha, and her participation in the Resurrection and the Ascension. The royal title with which Gabriel hails her is of particular importance as it offers early evidence of a later trend. Mary appears in royal attire and crowned already in the mid fifth-​ century mosaics of Santa Maria Maggiore and becoming the Divine Heiress around the end of the century. The Virgin also embodies the sorrowing mother; in describing her in anti-​Nestorius language as giving birth and suckling Jesus,

Mulierum virtutes  103 the I HC seems aware of the ongoing theological debates and emphasizes Mary’s virginity post-​partum as the Virgin-​Bearer (ἁγνοτόκος). Still, the Virgin of the I HC is neither the Theotokos of Cyril, nor the Christotokos of Nestorius. By opting for a middle ground the poem seems to be an important witness of the making of the Theotokos. The analysis of the poem’s female characters reveals a predilection for a stark representation of the female point of view. A parallel study of the counter-​ versions in the I HC and the II HC shows precisely where the Homeric model was not simply recycled but consciously reworked. The Weaver is given an extensive ethopoeia, delivers a prayer, and weaves a poem-​like fabric; the Samaritan Woman preaches the Gospel as the female narrator of the poem does; while the Sinful Woman receives a form of praise reserved for royalty, as would the Empress herself. The Homeric models support Christian exegesis and allow for richer characterization. They also allow for the cultural embedding of these episodes in the elite female milieu of Late Antiquity: the Weaver is a matron, the Samaritan an eloquent philosopher, and the Sinful Woman receives praise worthy of an Empress. Like Mary of the Annunciation, these women were created for a female audience and probably serve as the porte parole of a female poet. Preachers such as Proclus in the opening section had already welcomed various classical identifications for the Gospel cast, but the revised women of the I HC are far more empowering than those of Proclus’ Christmas sermon as they not only participate in the Salvation but are active believers. Idealized for their virginity, faith, suffering or repentance, they are not relegated to their looms but are exceptionally energetic. It may therefore be that the poem displays the self-​fashioning of certain aristocratic women and the leading roles they wished to play in the new religious and cultural context developing at the Theodosian court. If Pulcheria was opting for a comparison with the Virgin Mary, then her sister-​in-​law may have opted for an association with one or more embedded biblical characters and mothers who had now achieved the status of a Roman matron. The prominence of women in such kind of literature may also show a taste for a not strictly Christian curriculum for young aristocratic ladies. The interest in apocryphal narratives and empowered female characters—​Eudocia is after all the author of another poem featuring a strong heroine, Justa in Saint Cyprian, which is based on a prose apocryphal narrative—​is indicative of the possible tastes of female aristocracy, readings that went beyond the Psalms and the canon. Having established the female scope of the poem I have presented further arguments in support of a Eudocian authorship. The manuscript tradition suggests that the Empress Eudocia was probably one of the most prolific female literata of her time, and so does the famous Apologia where the Empress needed not to reveal her name in a vert display of her gender and class. I have also argued that the first-​person intrusions of the narrator in the poem may as well hint to a

104  The Homeric Centos woman poet. The evidence above, therefore, strongly suggests that the poem as we have it now or in a similar form was intended for women (as well as men), and probably composed by a woman, as the Homeric models embedded in it offered late antique women a versatile matronly rather an ascetic ideal, one that would have fit the turbulent life of the author to whom it was attributed in the manuscript tradition, Eudocia.

3

De fructu lignorum By god, if wommen hadde writen stories As clerkes han with-​inne hir oratories, They wolde han writen of men more wikkednesse Than all the mark of Adam may redresse G. Chaucer, Wife of Bath’s Prologue, 693–​696. Canterbury Tales, 1387–​14001

While the first two chapters provide an overview of the I HC as biblical poem and propose an attribution to Eudocia, the next two deal with the reception of the Old and the New Testament in the poem, namely the Creation and Fall and Christ’s passion. Whereas discussions of Genesis in Hellenized milieux were the subject of century old Jewish, Christian, and pagan debates, the narratives of the passion played a key role in the poem’s contemporary thorny Christological arguments. The perplexities arising out of the effort of defining the Man-​God in the fifth century required different, innovative, approaches, as I will show, which are also reflected in the exegesis offered by our biblical Cento and its reuse of Homer. The issues pertaining to Genesis, by contrast, had a rich exegetical past in which a selection of Homeric themes and lines had already played an important role. The centonic revision of Genesis, as I shall argue, differs from that of the New Testament both in its exegetical agenda and also in its aesthetic approach. The choice of centos to relate Genesis reveals the old tradition of parallel Homeric and biblical cosmological thinking and mirrors the poem’s generic stance. In what follows, I will show that the predominance of the didactic mode used for casting the Creation in hexameters contrasts the adventure mode used for the revision of the New Testament but ultimately both strands are plaited into a single poem the on Salvation. Using classical authors to interpret Genesis had a rich past. Halfway through the first century CE, roughly four hundred years before the composition of the I HC, the Hellenized Jewish apostle Paul of Tarsus allegedly delivered his famous Areopagus speech to the Athenians, in which, describing the origin of humans in God, he quoted from Aratus’ Phaenomena 5: τοῦ γὰρ καὶ γένος ἐσμέν.2 This quote has provoked heated debates among New Testament scholars over Luke’s source and Paul’s actual knowledge of Stoic authors, particularly The Homeric Centos. Anna Lefteratou, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197666555.003.0004

106  The Homeric Centos Aratus and Cleanthes.3 Paul, however, is part of a longer tradition: Genesis had been used by Jewish and Christian writers, either as an apocalyptic or wisdom text4 that could be directed at a didactic cause and referenced in interfaith and intercultural debates.5 Christian readers saw in it many philosophical and theological features. Like other cosmogonies, Genesis explains the creation of the universe and man, the origin of evil and death all didactic themes par excellence.6 Above all, it is a good comparative narrative that has enjoyed status as an apocalyptic, wisdom, philosophical, or didactic text, whose context could adapt according to circumstance. From a performative point of view, Paul’s reuse of the words of Aratus before the Athenian crowd—​as Clement of Alexandria would later observe—​served as a comparative captatio benevolentiae: in order to teach something new—​the Gospel—​Paul had to begin with something old that his audience could grasp, namely, the Creation as presented by Aratus.7 Furthermore, Paul’s choice was “safe,” since, for Gentiles of the time, the most obvious parallels in Greek literature would have been Hesiod’s Theogony, Plato’s Timaeus and several epic passages drawn primarily from Homer that describe the origins of man, suffering and the universe.8 These texts were used in deliberations over the superiority of the Greek or Jewish version of the world’s beginnings. Some, such as the Theogony or Timaeus, were debated more heatedly than others.9 The Aratus quotation was then a mild touch, though one wonders how the Athenians would have reacted had Paul quoted from the Timaeus instead. Paul’s tactful quotation was important to any revision of Genesis aimed at an audience steeped in Graeco-​ Roman paideia as it demonstrates the caution with which, and the plurality of angles from which, Genesis could be approached, depending on the audience. Texts such as the Theogony and the Timaeus were often culturally contested as they formed the basis of Greek cosmogonic and philosophical thought. Other more versatile writings, however, could be used as bridges between the Biblical text and the Graeco-​Roman audience. For Paul, Aratus was one of these though the same careful selection of parallel cosmogonical models is also revealing for the I HC revision of the Creation and the Fall. The Fall, in fact, is not anticipated in the poem’s proem. Earlier we saw that the bard of the poem’s programmatic proem conceived the poem as a praise of the God-​Man (6: θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα).10 Yet although the poem focuses on the First Coming, it begins two lines later with the Creation (8: ἐν μὲν γαῖαν ἔτευξ’), hence embedding the incarnation in the larger narrative about Salvation. The centonization of Genesis is not a unique feature of the I HC: Proba’s Virgilian Centos poem, composed a century earlier, is said to have inspired Eudocia to incorporate Genesis into her Homeric Centos. Eudocia, however, is reported to have transposed other parts of the Old Testament, such as the Octateuch and the Prophets, into meter, and so did the two Apollinarii. These classicizing attempts indicate that both the Old and the New Testament could be reworked into a

De fructu lignorum  107 cento poem and even other genres. If Eudocia is indeed the author of the I HC, it is unlikely that Proba’s Cento was her sole source of inspiration,11 though the same could be said about any other author too. In the following analysis, I center on the proem and the revision of Genesis in the I HC and contextualize the text vis-à-vis the exegetical approaches to Genesis and the late antique reception of didactic hexaemeral literature in general. After summarizing the Sitz im Leben (Section 3.1), I examine how Homer and other classicizing models such as Hesiod are used to recast the Old Testament in hexameters. The cento revision of the Creation and the Fall (Section 3.2) indicates a rich intertextual background, both epic and biblical. With respect to Homer, I will elaborate on the didactic reception of his work alongside Hesiod’s and argue that the I HC, irrespective of its constituents (i.e., Homeric centos), embraces a broader definition of epic. Conversely, with respect to the Bible, the study will explain that the poem’s choice of centos depends on their chrêsis12 in Christian exegetes from Paul onward. As far as the female author is concerned (Section 3.3), I will discuss the gendered and rather positive representation of Eve in the Fall as a possible indication of Eudocian authorship. Finally, at the metaliterary level, the combination of Eve’s responsibility (οὐλομένη) and its debt to the Iliadic proem, shows the poem’s self-​conscious appropriation of the long tradition of epic beginnings.

3.1 Contexts 3.1.1  Christian Exegesis Genesis presents several inconsistencies with which Jewish and Christian exegesis wrestled for a long time. If God is omniscient, why does he not anticipate the Fall and simply not plant the tree? What is the identity of the Serpent—​is it evil or a fallen angel—​and what is its motive? Why is God envious—​if, in fact, he is—​of the protoplasts’ acquisition of the knowledge of good and evil if he expects them to be good? What is the material state of the protoplasts in Paradise, what are their bodies made of? Are they sexually active? What is the place of the Fall in the Redemption? Who is more responsible for the Fall, man or woman? These and similar questions were answered differently according to the historical moment or situation. Christian writers dealing with Genesis had to reflect on and revise the Jewish tradition. Like earlier philosophically-​inclined thinkers such as Paul,13 Christian apologists drew on and/​or twisted the arguments of the previous Jewish tradition and made analogous claims about the authority of Moses versus Homer, or the priority of Plato’s Timaeus versus Genesis and vice versa.14 Genesis was particularly important to late antique Christians on the theological

108  The Homeric Centos level as its first lines are echoed in the Nicene Creed, their confession of faith.15 The summary description of the exegetical trends of the period below does justice neither to the subtlety of the arguments or the resourcefulness of the interpreters faced with the riddles of the biblical text. Nevertheless, exegesis is a good starting point from which to survey the interpretative climate of the fifth century and its merging with the late antique literary milieu. John Martin Evans distinguishes three distinct trends in the interpretation of the book: the allegorical, the literal, and the typological, although it’s rare that an exegete will use only one of those and not in combination. Philo’s allegorical and essentially Platonizing interpretation of the Fall lies at the root of Origen’s writings and held sway until Milton’s Paradise Lost. Grounded in their belief in the dualism of matter and spirit and the opposition of body and nous (gnosis), Philo and Origen read the Fall as one from the spiritual to the material, from the immaterial body to the corporeal and perishable body.16 Augustine, in turn, revised over two centuries of Platonizing allegorical readings to interpret Paradise as the life of the blessed in ideal immaculate union before the Fall.17 It was pride, he argued,18 that had led to the Fall and the expulsion of man from his initial blessed state and became the origin of sin, an idea central in Latin but not as prominent in Greek-​speaking exegetes. Another hot issue was sin and especially female guilt over the Fall. For an ancient audience, the story of Eve had many affinities with that of Pandora, the other famous evildoer. Hesiod in Theogony 568–​569, a passage which maintained its gnomic appeal throughout antiquity, painted the first woman as an evil equal to fire.19 This portrait prompted further misogynist associations with Eve the first sinner. In the Jewish and Christian traditions, both stories came to be about female curiosity, transgression and seduction, hence aetiologies of human suffering and death.20 The female sin though seemed to have been heavier: Paul, for example, found Eve to be guiltier than Adam;21 Tertullian went so far as to call her the gateway to the Devil;22 and according to John Chrysostom, Eve had been tricked by the Serpent while Adam had been tricked by her.23 In his commentary on Genesis 31:16, Procopius claimed that the woman, though born equal to man, must be deemed unworthy due to her disobedience and thus made subordinate to man.24 On the other hand, in an allegorical reading foreshadowing the Salvation of the Church by Christ, Didymus the Blind regarded Adam as Eve’s instructor in virtue: like a good teacher, he had followed her after the Fall in order to help her recover.25 Although Didymus alleviated Eve’s guilt to some extent, other Christian exegetes did not.26 Her sin was absolved solely through her replacement by Mary in the plan of Salvation,27 so that the Second Eve (the Virgin) and the Second Adam (Jesus) could succeed where the protoplasts had failed.28 Already in Romans 5:19 and 1 Corinthians 15:21–​22, Christ’s obedience is seen as a contrast

De fructu lignorum  109 to and revocation of Adam’s disobedience. Accordingly, Eve is contrasted to Mary in Ephesians 5:31–​32. This idea was further developed later by Justin Martyr and Tertullian. While the former saw the second virgin as nullifying the evil perpetrated by the first,29 the latter saw in Eve’s creation from Adam’s rib a prefiguration of the creation of the Church from Jesus’ wound.30 Such typological analogies had a long afterlife.31 Consequently, Genesis 1–​3 was understood to mirror ex negativo the major events of the incarnation and the weight attributed to Eve or Mary, depending on the perspective, could alleviate the charges against Eve and her lapse. Besides we saw in the previous chapter how elite women saw in Mary a way for asserting their role in the plan of Salvation in the next life but also in secular affairs, shifting thus tactfully the focus from the first Eve to the second. Another line of interpretation, focused on issues of free will. According to some exegetes, man was still immature and unable to judge, and thus acted out of ignorance; as for the tree, it had been good in essence, but God had prohibited man from eating its fruit in order to test him.32 Some exegetes amplified the blessedness of Adam’s puerile state in Paradise, equating it with that of a god-​like bliss, thus magnifying the impact of the disobedience and the Serpent’s wickedness. Consequently, the Serpent was equated not only with evil, but also with the fallen envious angel, Lucifer,33 who had dragged man into an existential battle of good and evil. Pelagius, who also thought that Adam acted out of ignorance, attributed his punishment not on the act of eating the forbidden fruit but on rejecting a commandment, while acknowledging that disobedience enabled mankind to exercise, for the first time, his freedom of choice—​even of this first choice was impeded by lack of knowledge of good and evil which he acquired after eating the forbidden fruit.34 Such concerns though were less prominent in the Greek-​speaking exegetes, especially the issue of the protoplast’s culpability and transmitted sin.35 The issue of the protoplast’s ignorance was also debated: Augustine in his anti-​Pelagian writings insisted that ignorance and forgetfulness are also afflictions though not sins in the proper sense but harken back to the original sin.36 Others, more generously, pardoned sins of ignorance as opposed to repeated wickedness.37 Some aspects of the so-​called Pelagian controversy were known to the East, especially after some “Pelagians” who had been condemned by the pope sought refuge in Constantinople by Nestorius. Cyril shrewdly used these “Pelagians” in his polemic against Nestorius claiming that both believed Christ to be less than the incarnated God.38 There are several homilies and commentaries specifically focusing on Genesis in Greek,39 of which the most famous is probably Basil’s Homilies on the Hexaemeron and his brother, Gregory of Nyssa’s Apology on the Hexaemeron. Of these two Cappadocians, it is Basil who was more interested in a quasi-​poetic/​ rhetorical reworking of the Creation story in ekphrastic language,40 while Gregory focused on the philosophical ramifications of the narrative. These differences become clearer when the performative context of both works is taken

110  The Homeric Centos into consideration: Basil delivered his homilies in around 378 and before a congregation of people of various levels of literacy, whereas Gregory wrote a treatise aimed at like-​minded elite theologians with a predilection for philosophy.41 Consequently the expectations of Basil’s audience might not be very different from those listening to a classicizing poem about the cosmos. It is this combination of the rhetorical and exegetical appeal of Genesis in Basil’s homilies that is important for understanding the context of the centonized Creation. Basil showcases the exegetical, didactic, and rhetorical potential of the topic in prose, as does the I HC. His interpretation follows more or less the traditional line: humans dwelled the earth as a result of the man-​slaughtering demon, who subdue the first man, and brought forth sin and death as its result.42 This passage focuses more on Satan than man’s responsibility in the Fall, whereas later he emphasizes the importance of free will in avoiding sin and doing good.43 But Basil’s aim is equally aesthetic: like the narrator of the proem of the I HC, Basil addresses a substantial congregation.44 Because he is writing for a broader audience, he employs didactic, vivid language to illustrate his argument and drive the exegesis home. On the rhetorical level, the preacher dissimulates his wish to delight by shifting his tone from epideictic to transcendental and revelatory. His aim is not sophistic eloquence but to teach the Holy Spirit. After a brief summary of pagan cosmogonic theories, he goes into a full-​fledged commentary on Genesis punctuated by ekphrastic vividness. He is afraid—​Basil states characteristically—​ of lacking moderation, committing the error of ametria (literally “lack of metre and/​or measure” but also a metaliterary pun illustrating the preacher’s arduous ekphrastic endeavour) and of engaging in a detailed analysis of each tree instead of describing divine creation as a whole. Yet, in his description, the Creation is proof of both rhetorical and divine variatio45 and is credited to God the divine wonder-​ worker (θαυματοποιός), craftsman (τεχνίτης),46 and poet (ποιητής), whose qualities are also reflected in the earthly wonder-​worker, the ekphrasist Basil.47 Basil’s claims of modesty48 do betray a rhetorical touch, masking the ambition of a well-​ trained orator, whose Hexaemeron was much praised by his contemporaries not only for its exegesis but also for its style.49 The difference in a poetic reworking of Genesis, such as that for the I HC, lies not so much in the rhetorical means used to achieve it—​catalogues,50 variation, ekphrasis, metaphor—​or the metaliterary and theological potential of the hypotext (e.g., God as poet, versus the poet as creator), as in the medium itself: prose instead of hexameter.

3.1.2  Εxegesis in Verse Besides models like Basil’s hexaemeral homilies there were also verse forerunners of the centonized Genesis. Relating Genesis in Homeric verses is

De fructu lignorum  111 admittedly complicated due to the didactic nature of hexaemeral literature, especially its poetry, which tends to be more Hesiodic than Homeric. Nonetheless the adaptation of didactic mode to Homeric language and style does not necessarily thwart or diminish its instructive appeal. Despite the difference of their poems, Homer and Hesiod were regarded as fountainheads of cosmology throughout antiquity.51 Hellenistic authors further challenged the perception of didactic poetry in antiquity52 and Callimachus’ famous description of Aratus’ poetry as Hesiodic in tune and mode53 foreshadows the later reception of cosmogonical poetry as chiefly didactic.54 Notwithstanding scholarly controversies over the definition of terms such as “didactic” and “didacticism” when applied to hexametric poetry,55 research shows that for ancient audiences Hesiod embodied the didactic mode, irrespective of the fluctuations pertaining to the definition of didacticism over time. Theology and cosmology in Late Antiquity acquired more didactic power than did other themes in the Hellenistic and imperial periods.56 With time the poet from Ascra went from teaching farming and morality to the naïve Perses, to teaching mankind about the gods.57 Such an approach brought the two Hesiodic poems under the same didactic umbrella,58 a combination that more rigid, modern, and generic concerns have only recently begun to address.59 What remains crucial to our understanding of the context of the I HC is the ancient reception of Homer alongside Hesiod as a model of hexaemeral poetry in hexameters. Since the I HC does not include Hesiodic centos, it is intriguing to ask why, if at all, and how they engage with the previous didactic versions of Genesis. The I HC is not the first Greek hexametric take on Genesis; it belongs to an era that witnessed the production of experimental poetry. An illustrative representative of hexaemeral didactic verse is Basil’s friend, Gregory of Nazianzus. A prolific writer, Gregory composed various types of poetry in different styles and meters. Inspired by Basil’s Hexaemeron,60 he versified Genesis and crystallized the former’s account of the Creation in the Carmina Arcana 4 and Carmina Moralia (1.2.1–​7).61 These poem build firmly on the tradition of Hesiod and the Ionian philosophers, Oppian and Ps.-​Manetho now transposed onto a Christian register.62 Consequently this poetry represents the didactic, theological, and moralizing use of hexameter in Late Antiquity, while the poet retrieves the style but also images that are well-​known to his audience from epic language, both Hesiodean and Homeric. The main instructive purpose of Gregory’s poetry is doctrinal, confessional, and soteriological.63 Carmina Arcana 1.1–​2, for example, opens with an Odyssean metaphor now stressing the poem’s didactic cause: he presents the poem as a hazardous voyage on a raft and emphasizes the vanity of reaching the skies on frail wings, a theme repeated in Ringkomposition in Arcana 7.122–​127, the safe voyage of the shipwrecked soul back to God’s haven, Paradise.64 The

112  The Homeric Centos Muse is substituted by the Holy Spirit (Arc. 1.22) followed by a confession of the Trinity (Arc. 1–​3),65 all indications of the ideological reorientation of classicizing poetry, before embarking on the description of the Creation of the Universe (Arc. 4) which is explicitly opposed to the erroneous Manichean cosmologies, as one of light not darkness, yet another typical topic of the didactic plot (Arc. 4.24–​ 25).66 Like Basil, Gregory rejects pagan cosmogonies and presents God as the ultimate craftsman, referring to him alternately as a potter, a goldsmith, a sculptor, or a painter at work (Arc. 4.14–​16), a theme also encountered in Basil.67 It was the fallen Lucifer he says who taught sin to those who perished with him.68 By contrast to the angels’ human soul is a mixture (μίξιν) of the divine with the earthly,69 but like the angels he is awarded the task of praising God’s earthly marvels (Arc. 7.69–​70).70 At the exegetical level, this is a positive typological revision of the Creation as it embeds the events of Genesis in the grand plan of Salvation: just as Adam is created in God’s own image, so Adam’s offspring may hope to be saved in the flesh, as they too are in the likeness of the resurrected Son. Or as the last poem on the continuation of the Two Testaments, says “one God . . . imbued as a mortal.”71 In the treatise In praise of virginity,72 Gregory recapitulates the basic events of Genesis 1–​3. Whereas the first elements in Hesiod also reproduce through parthenogenesis, Gregory’s Christian twist has the personification of virginity participating in the task (carm. 1.2.1.58. PG 37.526: Παρθενίη . . . ἔλαμψεν), whereas it is Jesus and not God who unmixes the mixed elements of primordial Chaos.73 In this philosophical and moralzsing version of the Fall, the protoplast Adam sin (PG 37.531: ἀλλὰ καὶ ὁ πρώτιστος ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ἑῇσι) is presented in a line that would have reminded an ancient audience of the equally food-​related transgressions of Odysseus’ companions (Od. 1.7: σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν) that resulted in their death. The idea of procreation as a way of alleviating death is not strictly a biblical theme, as in Genesis Eve is punished with birth pangs. Marriage as a kind of death-​averting institution (PG 37.531: καὶ γάμος, ἀνδρομέης γενεῆς φύσις, ἄλκαρ ὀλέθρου) is backed by the metaphor of the flowing stream (PG 37.532: οἷα ῥέεθρον) that echoes Heraclitus’ famous τὰ πάντα ῥεῖ and echoes the mutability of life. Hesiod had developed the idea of procreation as a means of acquiring wealth and family stability, and even Pandora’s entrapping of Elpis in the womb-​jar might be an allusion to her procreating capacities.74 However Gregory’s version here should be understood within the late antique interpretation of the curse imposed on Eve as being reversed by the painless virgin parturition by Mary.75 Extremely intriguing to our understanding of the dialogue between the Biblical theme and its classical models is the revision of Eve as Pandora in a poem about female coquetry that draws directly on Hesiod, or rather, is a Hesiodic pastiche.76

De fructu lignorum  113 Πανδώρην ἐνέπουσι, πυρὸς μαλεροῖο κλαπέντος, 115 ποινὴν ἡμερίοις ἄντιτον ἐλθέμεναι ἀντὶ πυρὸς πῦρ ἄλλο, καλοῦ κακὸν, ὥς κε φλέγῃσι καὶ πλέον, ἀσκῆσαι κάλλεσι δαιδαλέοις δαίμονας, ἄλλο τι δ’ ἄλλον ἐπίκλοπον εἰς ἓν ἄγοντας. συμφερτὴν ἀπάτην ἀνδράσιν ἐμπελάσαι, 120 δειπνολόχην, δολόεσσαν, ἀναιδέα, μειλιχόμυθον, τερπωλὴν ὀλοὴν, δαλὸν ἀειφλεγέα. οὐ μὲν δὴ μύθοις ἐπιπείθομαι· εἰ δὲ κελεύεις, μὴ σύ γε Πανδώρη γίνεο δαιδαλέη Πανδώρης γένος εἰσὶν ἀναιδέες· ἀλλὰ σὺ Χριστοῦ 125 εἰκὼν, σωφροσύνῃ λάμπεο καὶ πραπίσιν.

115, πῦρ κλέψας, Theog. 566 116, paraphrasing Op. 82: πῆμα ἀνδράσι ἀλφηστῇσι 117, Op. 57, ἀντὶ πυρὸς . . . κακόν, Theog. 585, καλὸν κακόν ἀντ᾽ἀγαθοῖο, Ε. Hipp. 429, ἀντὶ πυρὸς γὰρ ἄλλο πῦρ; 118, δαιδαλέοις, Theog. 575, the veil Athena gives Pandora; 119, ἐπίκλοπον, Op. 67, ἦθος 121, δειπνολόχην, Op. 704, the evil wife; see also Op. 373. 125, γένος, Hes. Theog. 591, ὀλώιόν ἐστι γένος καὶ φῦλα γυναικῶν

Pandora, the tale goes, came after the glowing fire was stolen | as a requited punishment for the mortals | another fire instead of fire, another evil instead of good; and in order for it to burn | much more, the gods trained her in cunningly wrought embellishments, | and having brought into one whole, one wily thing and another | they brought to men this holistic deception | a greedy parasite, a wicked one, shameless, sweet-​talking | a wretched pleasure, an ever-​burning torch. | I do not of course believe these myths; but if this is your question, | do not become yourself a deceitful Pandora! | The kin of Pandora is shameless; be instead an icon of Christ; | shine with chastity and mindfulness.

The passage is a wonderful allegory of good and evil wrought around metaphors of beneficial and destructive fire (115, 117) that are then projected onto the glow of the fatal forbidden fruit (130: ἀνδροφόνοιο φυτοῦ εὔχροος ἀγλαΐη) based on the gnomic that woman is an evil worse than fire.77 In this case, Gregory teaches by juxtaposing one tale from the Scriptures (127–​128: θειοτάτων . . . λογίων) against another, a pagan tale, which he calls a μῦθος (127), a term associated with mendacity and fictive stories. Although the two have parallels, the poet highlights their differences by presenting Eve in a less misogynistic light by attributing the Fall to both the Serpent and her.78 The ascetic poet’s ultimate goal is to present Pandora and not Eve as the embodiment of evil,79 again interpreting the Fall within the context of the Second Coming: without Adam and Eve, there is neither Christ nor Mary. Consequently, the biblical narrative is embedded in a larger soteriological agenda. All these examples from Gregory, far from being exhaustively treated here, show how verse adaptation of Genesis could be used toward a variety of ends: the moralizing, didactic, and philosophical overtones were inherited from the classics and were now appropriated for the Christian dogmatic, paraenetic, and confessional cause. The didactic mode in this poetry is not strictly Hesiodean: certainly, chief didactic topics, such as the origin of evil and death, the need for procreation, the explanation of sin, are central; but so is what Don Paul Fowler calls “didactic plot,”80 such as the allegorical voyage of the

114  The Homeric Centos sinner’s soul, or poetry as illumination. Most importantly though there is a confessional and exegetical tinge in Gregory’s poems: unlike previous classicizing cosmogonies, Gregory confesses the Trinity, God’s superiority, and reads the Creation typologically in order to smoothen out the rough edges of disobedience by focusing on Christ’s incarnation. Such is the context in which the Homeric Genesis appears.

3.2  Creation and Fall 3.2.1  The Poet-​Preacher 3.2.1.1 Preaching to the Ecumene In strong contrast to the Vision of Dorotheus or the Metaphrasis of the Psalms, in which as we saw earlier the first-​person narrator evokes the poem’s apologetic and protreptic aspirations, the I HC does not highlight its intent. Unlike Proba’s Cento, which, in its description of the creation, explicitly establishes a didactic tone at the metaliterary level by excerpting lines from that of Virgil which an ancient audience would have understood as didactic works, the I HC has to rely on Homer alone.81 Proba’s confession of her early literary sins, her allusion to Musaeus/​Moses as her model for the Creation,82 and her appeal to crowds of mothers and men, boys and girls underscore the didactic context of her narrative: these men and women are the intended audience. As Karla Pollmann observes, the “protreptic aim places this Cento between an epic (with narrative action and a hero) and a didactic poem (with personal address to the reader and exemplary illustrating episodes,” a typical late antique “transgeneric combination.”83 What is more, the apocalyptic undertones of the opening and the allusions to Castalian waters, now turned baptismal, contribute to the self-​fashioning of the poet as a Sibyl,84 and echo again the theological cum protreptic character of the didactic mode in Late Antiquity applied both on the reception of classical models such as Hesiod and to the new hybrid Christian verse. By comparison, the simple κέκλυτε with which the I HC begins seems minimal and maybe also related to the discretion of the female narrator in the Apologia or the general self-​portrayal of the Christian preacher, who, like Basil, displays modesty. The self-​effacement of the I HC’s enunciator may be typical of heroic epic poetry, but is characteristic neither of the didactic mode,85 nor of the self-​disclosure and the “loud voice” common among late antique poets.86 So, for example, the narrator opens with the following, rather modest, address:

De fructu lignorum  115 κέκλυτε, μυρία φῦλα ⸢περικτιόνων⸥ ⸤ἀνθρώπων, ὅσσοι νῦν βροτοί εἰσιν ἐπὶ χθονὶ σῖτον ἔδοντες, ἠμὲν ὅσοι ναίουσι πρὸς ἠῶ τ’ ἠέλιόν τε, ἠδ’ ὅσσοι μετόπισθε ποτὶ ζόφον ἠερόεντα, ὄφρ’ εἴπω τά με θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι κελεύει, ὡς εὖ γινώσκητ’ θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα, ὃς πᾶσι θνητοῖσι καὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἀνάσσων

1 ~ Il. 17.220 +​Od. 2.65 2 ~ Od. 8.222 3 ~ Od. 13.240, praise of Ithaca 4 ~ Od. 13.241, ibid. 5 ~ Il. 7.68 6 ~ Il. 5.128 7 ~ Il. 12.242

Hearken you, myriad human clans who all around reside | you mortals who now dwell on the earth and feed yourselves with grain, | and those who live where is the East and where is the Sun(rise) | and all of you [who dwell] the last toward the misty darkness, | so that I tell of all those things my heart inside compels me | so that you acknowledge doubtlessly the one who is god and human | the one who governs over all, mortals and gods alike.

The opening line here is formulaic, used in Archaic epic to introduce direct speeches before a gathering,87 but not at the outset of a poem. It thus serves as an invitation to take what follows as a speech. More importantly, it is related not only to epic classicizing poetry, but also to Christian homiletic genre: the apostrophe κέκλυτε, μυρία φῦλα also appears in a sermon by Clement of Alexandria to describe Jesus’ invitation to the gentiles.88 It is no coincidence that in order to address an audience seasoned in classicizing poetry, Clement has Jesus using the same famous epic formula as the poetess employs for herself in the I HC, echoing perhaps Paul’s sermon in Athens in Acts 17. Even if the passage is not evidence that an oral method was used to compose the poem,89 it still has a strong mimetic feel and implies an oral performance. As for its subject matter—​ the recognition of the God-​Man—​it is introduced in the final clause, I HC 6, with an exhortation typical of didactic poetry.90 By confessing their devotion in Christ,91 listeners will embark on a didactic—​implied by γινώσκητε (6)92—​ journey of faith. Despite the speaker’s discretion, the poet’s voice is gradually revealed93 as her emotional involvement emerges (5). The subject and the reason for this introit thus reveal a poet who is eager to speak publicly and who is motivated by her own impulses. Christian poets drew the etymology of θυμός (thymos) from Cratylus, where it is derived θύω, and accepted its corresponding sacrificial meaning as a burning fume that rises upwards and links the earthly and the celestial realms. They also read in the Homeric noun θυμός its Platonic resemanticization.94 Old Testament passages also related θυμός with God’s πνεῦμα as source of miracles, as it is the case in the Exodus,95 creating a stronger semantic bond between the two words. Accordingly, Rocco Schembra rightly conjectures that in a Christian context such as the I HC 1, the term θυμός refers to the Holy Spirit, which is prompting the poem’s preacher-​narrator to pour out from her heart an equivalent of a confession.96

116  The Homeric Centos This poem’s audience extends to the late antique imperial oecumene, both Eastern and Western (3–​4), echoing similar universalizing tendencies found in Juvencus and Apollinaris.97 This shows that it was a poetry embedded in its imperial context that reflected the consolidation of Christianity as the Empire’s religion. At the lexical level, the centos draw on the eulogy of Ithaca that Athena, dressed as a young shepherd, delivers to Odysseus. In the Neoplatonic and Christian imagination Ithaca was regarded as the soul’s destination par excellence.98 It is conceivable that this added a particular flavor to these lines: the poem begins by extolling Ithaca, the symbolic harbor of the soul’s travels and travails, one that had accumulated a particular didactic weight as an allegory of human life throughout antiquity.99 However, the intertextual potential of these lines is not exhausted by their immediate context. Taking as audience a populace divided between the East (τ’ ἠέλιόν τε) and the West (ποτὶ ζόφον), the poet famously recalls the division of the pious Ethiopians at the opening of the Odyssey 1.24–​25, an intertext that further hints at the otherwise vague nature of the poem’s addressees by characterizing them as pious inhabitants of the known world and thus emphasizing its own ecumenical missionary appeal. On the intertextual level, line 6 contains Athena’s promise to help Diomedes distinguish between gods and humans in the fog with which Zeus has covered the battlefield as he reaches his aristeia in Book 5 of the Iliad. This was a popular passage in Antiquity, especially because it was re-​worked by Plato, who made the phrase synonymous with the possibility of distinguishing between good and evil.100 It is with this understanding in mind that the line is cited in the Etymologicum Magnum to warn mortals against (evil) sophists.101 The Christian exegetes, in turn, used the Homeric phrase as a metaphor for distinguishing between piety and sin or as a periphrasis for referring to Christ not as a mere human, but as the Son of God, the God Incarnate.102 From a broader intertextual perspective, the Homeric theme of blindness and Homer’s own alleged blindness were conjured to evoke the capacity to distinguish not only between good and evil but also between pagan lies and Christian truth, as often the didactic plot conveys.103 Thus, the cento poem begins with a well-​known citation of particular importance to Christian audiences, as it encompasses both the revelation of truth and a confession of faith. More expressive of its didactic dimension are its allusions to Athena, who has been the goddess of wisdom since Hesiod. Throughout Late Antiquity she was considered the embodiment of knowledge and an important character in the didactic genre.104 By including words spoken by Pallas in a programmatic proem, the poetess, Eudocia Athenaïs105 may be paying homage to Athens in her native city and using its patron goddess as a porte-​parole for her own poem, since Athena, like other divinities, often makes unproblematic appearances in much later Christian contexts.106 It is in this subtly constructed didactic setting that the poet embarks on the description of Paradise and Man.

De fructu lignorum  117

3.2.1.2 Heavenly Paradise The text of Genesis offered the erudite elites a unique chance to apply the aesthetics of variation to Christian didactic aims, as we have already seen in Basil. Accordingly, the author of the I HC does not follow Genesis in detail, but seizes the opportunity to compose an exemplary ekphrastic image of the Creation while employing poikilia and detailed catalogues and thus enhancing the didactic appeal of the passage, which runs as follows: ἐν μὲν γαῖαν ἔτευξ’, ἐν δ’ οὐρανόν, ἐν δὲ θάλασσαν, ἠέλιόν τ’ ἀκάμαντα σελήνην τε πλήθουσαν, ἐν δὲ τὰ τείρεα πάντα, τά τ’ οὐρανὸς ἐστεφάνωται, Πληϊάδας θ’ Ὑάδας τε τό τε σθένος Ὠρίωνος Ἄρκτον θ’, ἣν καὶ Ἄμαξαν ἐπίκλησιν καλέουσιν, ἥ τ’ αὐτοῦ στρέφεται καί τ’ Ὠρίωνα δοκεύει

8 ~ Il. 18.483, the Shield 9 ~ Il. 18.484, ibid. 10 ~ Il. 18.485, ibid. 11 ~ Il. 18.486, ibid. 12 ~ Il. 18.487, ibid. 13 ~ Il. 18.488, ibid.

ἰχθῦς ὄρνιθάς τε, φίλας ὅ τι χεῖρας ἵκοιτο εἰναλίων, τοῖσίν τε θαλάσσια ἔργα μέμηλε, δελφῖνάς τε κύνας τε καὶ εἴ ποθι μεῖζον ἔνεστι κῆτος, ἃ μυρία βόσκει ἀγάστονος Ἀμφιτρίτη, ἵππους θ’ ἡμιόνους τε βοῶν τ’ ἴφθιμα κάρηνα, ἄρκτους τ’ ἀγροτέρους τε σύας χαροπούς τε λέοντας, πάντα κεν ὅσσα τε γαῖαν ἔπι πνείει τε καὶ ἕρπει. τοῖσι δ’ ὑπὸ χθὼν δῖα φύεν νεοθηλέα ποίην,

14 ~ Od. 12.331, the starving crew 15 ~ Od. 5.67 16 ~ Od. 12.96 Skylla’s food 17 ~ Od. 12.97, ibid. 18 ~ Il. 23.260 19 ~ Od. 11.611 20 ~ Il. 17.347, Hera and Zeus 21 ~ Il. 14.347, ibid.

λωτόν θ’ ἑρσήεντα ἰδὲ κρόκον ἠδ’ ὑάκινθον, ἀμφὶ δὲ λειμῶνας μαλακοὺς ἴου ἠδὲ σελίνου, πυρούς τε ζειάς τε ἰδ’ εὐρυφυὲς κρῖ λευκόν. γίνετο δ’ ὑγρὸν ὕδωρ καὶ δένδρεα ὑψιπέτηλα ὄχναι καὶ ῥοιαὶ καὶ μηλέαι ἀγλαόκαρποι συκαῖ τε γλυκεραὶ καὶ ἐλαῖαι τηλεθόωσαι κλήθρη τ’ αἴγειρός τε καὶ εὐώδης κυπάρισσος καὶ πηγὴ ποταμῶν καὶ πείσεα ποιήεντα.

22 ~ Il. 14.348 23 ~ Od. 5.72, Calypso’s gardens 24 ~ Od. 4.604, Calypso’s cave 25 ~ Od. 4.458, ibid. 26 ~ Od. 7.115, Phaeacians 27 ~ Od. 7.116, ibid. 28 ~ Od. 5.64, Calypso’s garden 29 ~ Il. 20.9

κρῆναι δ’ ἑξείης πίσυρες ῥέον ὕδατι λευκῷ, πλησίαι ἀλλήλων τετραμμέναι ἄλλυδις ἄλλη, τῶν δέ γε πάντες μὲν ποταμοὶ πλήθουσι ῥέοντες λοῖσθος ἀνὴρ ὥριστο,⸥⸤ἔϊκτο δὲ θέσκελον αὐτῷ.

30 ~ Od. 5.70, Calypso’s gardens 31 ~ Od. 5.71, ibid. 32 ~ Il. 16.389 33 ~ Il. 23.107 +​536

He then created the earth, the sky and the ocean, | and the untiring sun and then the waxing crescent | and all the stars that crown the firmament (at night) | the Pleiades and the Hyades and the mighty Orion, | the Bear that is also known by many as the Plough | who turns around on its spot and watches over Orion | and fish and birds, a fine prey to be caught by hand | by fishermen, who know well the secrets of the briny, | dolphins and sharks and maybe also huger fish | that shepherds in multitude the groaning Amphitrite, | and horses, mules and the mighty skulls of bulls | wild bears and boars and bright-​eyed lions | and all the creatures that on earth, walk, fly or wriggle. |And there under the earth sprouted new green sprouts | and saffron crocus, hyacinth and dewy-​covered lotus, | celery all over and velvet prairies covered with lilies, | wheat and buckwheat and broad-​eared barley. | He made the water liquescent, the trees with high foliage, | pear-​pomegranate-​and apple trees with their glowing fruits | fig trees with sweet figs and blossoming fair olives; | fair-​scented cypress, alders and also [made the] poplars; | one source for rivers and then the grass-​covered meadows; | and four springs, then each of them facing against one another | from which all our rivers stream swell down [on the ground]; | and last the man was ordered and made in God’s [own] image.

118  The Homeric Centos A significant number of lines in the ekphrasis—​6 out of 35—​are devoted to Achilles’ Shield,107 while a second group is devoted to Calypso’s cave108 and the Phaeacian gardens.109 Although the Homeric verses in the ekphrasis serve a purpose similar to the one they did in their original settings, their accumulation here is indicative of the poem’s jeweled aesthetics as they are meant to amplify the stylistic and exegetical appeal of the biblical hypotext, namely, Genesis. However, because they are also part of a longer epic tradition—​pagan110 and Christian111—​that read this passage as a didactic astronomical poem the reuse of the Shield for the Christian Creation highlights the Cento’s didactic aim. These ekphrastic lines are important to the early Christian debates on Homer’s debt to Genesis. The allegorical and confessional importance of the Shield is also found in the poems of the Bodmer Papyrus, where it explicitly relates the Shield to the Creed and has a stark confessional tone.112 The allegorical potential of the Shield may, in fact, have been particularly appealing to Christian audiences since faith is the true armor of the Christian, who is expected to be a miles Christi, as in a famous passage from the Ephesians,113 an image further reworked by Christian poets.114 These specific lines found in the I HC are also cited by Clement of Alexandria thrice—​though not always the same lines of it.115 Before Aratus, he says, Homer described a cosmogony similar to the supposed Genesis of Moses.116 Ps.-​Justin, who believed that Homer imitated Moses, develops this idea further in his Exhortation to the Greeks: Ps.-​Just. Cohort. 277 b-​d (Mauke): ἵνα δείξωμεν τὸν ποιητὴν καὶ τῶν ἀπὸ τῆς θείας τῶν προφητῶν ἱστορίας πολλὰ εἰς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ μεταβαλόντα ποίησιν· καὶ πρῶτον τῆς κοσμοποιΐας ὑπὸ Μωϋσέως τὴν εἰρημένην ἀρχήν. oὕτω γὰρ Μωϋσῆς γέγραφεν· ἐν ἀρχῇ ἐποίησεν ὁ θεὸς τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ τὴν γῆν, εἶτα ἥλιον καὶ σελήνην καὶ ἀστέρας. ταῦτα γὰρ ἐν Αἰγύπτῳ μαθών, καὶ τοῖς ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ ἐν τῇ τοῦ κόσμου γενέσει γραφεῖσιν ἀρεσθείς, ἐν τῇ τοῦ Ἀχιλλέως ἀσπίδι τὸν Ἥφαιστον ὥσπερ εἰκόνα τινὰ τῆς κοσμοποιΐας κατασκευάσαι παρεσκεύασεν. οὕτω γὰρ γέγραφεν· «ἐν μὲν γαῖαν ἔτευξ’, ἐν δ’ οὐρανόν, ἐν δὲ θάλασσαν, | ἠέλιον τ’ ἀκάμαντα σελήνην τε πλήθουσαν, | ἐν δέ τε τείρεα πάντα, τά τ’ οὐρανὸς ἐστεφάνωται». καὶ τοῦ παραδείσου δὲ εἰκόνα τὸν Ἀλκινόου κῆπον σώζειν πεποίηκεν, ἀειθαλῆ τε αὐτὸν καὶ καρπῶν πλήρη διὰ τῆς εἰκόνος ἐπιδεικνύς. οὕτω γὰρ γέγραφεν· «ἔνθα δὲ δένδρεα μακρὰ πεφύκει τηλεθόωντα, | ὄγχναι καὶ ῥοιαὶ καὶ μηλέαι ἀγλαόκαρποι | συκέαι τε γλυκεραὶ καὶ ἐλαῖαι τηλεθόωσαι». [I am mentioning these] in order to show that the poet adapted in his own poems/​poetry much from the divine history of the prophets; and first the so-​called beginning of the Cosmogony by Moses. Moses wrote of course as follows: “In the beginning the God created the sky and the earth, then the sun and the moon and the stars.” Having learned these things in Egypt (Homer) and pleased by what was written by Moses in the cosmogony, he presented Hephaestus in Achilles’ Shield as creating an image of the Creation. This is why he wrote: He then created the earth, the sky and the ocean, | and the untiring sun and then the waxing crescent | and all the stars that crown the firmament ‘[Il. 18.483–​485].’ Moreover he (Homer) made the garden of Alcinous preserve the image of Paradise, and he presented it through the vivid image as evergreen and full of fruits. For he wrote as follows: there grew the trees with high foliage, | pear- pomegranate- and apple trees with their glowing fruits | fig trees with sweet figs and blossoming fair olives [Od. 7.114–​126].’  ”

Interestingly Ps.-​Justin presents Homer as if he were perpetrating literary Usurpation: εἰς τὴν ἑαυτοῦ μεταβαλόντα ποίησιν. “Metabole,” is a technical term alluding to the paraphrastic practice,117 and here maybe alluding to the

De fructu lignorum  119 appropriation cum adaptation of the Homeric text for the Christian cause. Justin places Hephaestus’ image (εἰκόνα) of the creation as poetry at a “second degree”: the god represents what Homer found in Moses, which is again placed as a digression within the Iliadic narrative. In short, even in a text with an explicit apologetic agenda, these lines maintain the ekphrastic potential of the Shield and are reused as a reliable description of Paradise. As for the description of the arboretum of Paradise, its lines derive from the description of Calypso’s cave and Nausicaa’s garden and suggest a catalogue of trees, which include fig, pomegranate, olive, apple, and cypress. Aside from their ekphrastic potential, a list such as this, serving didactic ends, typically occurs in Christian homiletic works. Above we saw how Basil, mesmerized by the myriad miracles of the Creation, proclaimed the need to restrain his ametria from unnecessary digressions and an enumeration of every animal and plant.118 The centos used in the I HC too derive from well-​known passages that typically feature in descriptions of gardens, as recommended by Libanius in his Progymnasmata.119 Julian, for example, praises Odysseus for avoiding the temptations presented by Calypso and Nausicaa, their kingdoms and wealth, including their sensual gardens, and for choosing instead to return to his faithful wife.120 As we have seen above, Ps.-​ Justin too cites Homer on the Calypso episode, showing that these verses enjoyed a pedigree among those of the latter’s Christian critics who went about describing the heavenly Paradise.

3.2.2  The Sophist-​teacher 3.2.2.1 Satan and Eve In strong contrast to this idealized Paradise is that presented by Satan to Eve in the Temptation scene, which offers a key to understanding the didactic persona of the prologue. Unlike the discreet prologue’s ego-​narrator, the embedded master, the Serpent,121 is eloquent and eager to convince his pupil, Eve, whom he meets at a spring. This idyllic context is undermined by the negative overtones of the introductory passage, which draws on Odysseus’ threatening encounter with the daughter of the Laestrygonian king: κούρῃ δὲ ξύμβλητο πρὸ ἄστεος ὑδρευούσῃ, αὐτίκα μειλίχιον καὶ κερδαλέον φάτο μῦθον φωνῇ τε βροτέῃ κατερήτυε φώνησέν τε· «ἦ ῥά νύ ⸢μοί τι πίθοιο⸣·⸥ ⸤ τό κεν πολὺ κέρδιον εἴη. ἦέ κεν ἀρνήσαιο, κοτεσσαμένη τό γε θυμῷ; ῥηΐδιόν τι ἔπος ἐρέω καὶ ἐνὶ φρεσὶ θήσω, σοὶ δ’ ἐγὼ οὐχ ἅλιος σκοπὸς ἔσσομαι οὐδ’ ἀπὸ δόξης, νημερτὲς γάρ τοι μυθήσομαι οὐδ’ ἐπικεύσω, τῇ περ ῥηΐστη βιοτὴ πέλει ἀνθρώποισιν . . .

39 ~ Od. 10.105, Laestrygonian princess 40 ~ Od. 6.148, Odysseus and Nausicaa 41 ~ Od. 19.545, Penelope’s epiphanic dream 42 ~ Il. 14.190 +​7.28, Apollo to Athena 43 ~ Il. 14.191, Hera to Aphrodite, Dios apate 44 ~ Od. 11.146, Teiresias’ prophesy 45 ~ Il. 10.324, Dolon to Hector 46 ~ Od. 19.296 Odysseus to Penelope 47 ~ Od. 4.565, Proteus about the Elysium

120  The Homeric Centos Then he met with the girl who came to draw water from the city | and immediately he told her a sweet and cunning tale. | With human voice he spoke and said: | “Would you really believe me? That would be much more profitable. | Or will you refute me with an angered heart? | For I shall tell you the very truth and I will hide nothing, | how the easiest life for mortals may be found” . . .

The ominousness of the Laestrygonian model is backed by Hera’s deception cum seduction of Zeus. Satan further introduces his instructions with an additional Odyssean appeal: his words are cunning (40: κερδαλέον) as he tells Eve that what he is proposing will be in her interest (42: κέρδιον), thereby alluding to Odysseus’ plea to Nausicaa in Odyssey 6.148 as well as to the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, in which the god repeatedly argues with guile.122 Such a reading adds a dark touch and a subtle hint of the Snake’s true nature from the outset. Satan informs Eve that he will tell her something easy to understand (44: ῥηΐδιόν τι ἔπος) and “set [sc. the message] in her head (ἐνὶ φρεσὶ θήσω).” He thus presents himself not only as an instructor, but also as someone with the communication skills to reduce information to an easy formula; the pupil will not need to struggle with the message as the teacher will simplify it for her. The Homeric line used here is uttered by Teiresias and repeated in the Homeric Hymn to Apollo, where it is spoken by the eponymous god in the context of revelation.123 Satan is thus presenting Eve with a kind of revelatory, but easily digestible truth. However, this same formula is also used by Aelius Theon to explain the precision (σαφήνεια) and clarity (ἐνάργεια) necessary to a speech124—​qualities praised by both pagans and Christians. The Christian message has not only to be convincing, but also true, and because it is true, it has to be expressed convincingly.125 Thus, revelation is coupled with a sophistic touch derived from the Progymnasmata, the rhetorical training of the elites. Such Homeric readings of the passage would have enhanced the representation of Satan as an ideal witty sophist and a threat. The rest of the passage further undermines the reader’s hopes of such an instructor. On the one hand, the fact that the verse is spoken by Teiresias in the Nekyia transposes Eve and Satan’s meeting to a metaphorical Underworld, much like the one Eve will experience after the Fall.126 At the same time, the recurrence of litotes127 (45: οὐχ᾽ ἅλιος . . . οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ δόξης) in Satan’s self-​characterization underscores the irony of his words. Moreover, while I HC 45 belongs to Dolon, a negative Iliadic character whose name embodies treachery, and I HC 46 introduces the fabricated stories that Odysseus tells his wife while he is in disguise, lines 46–​49 of I HC associate Satan with Hera’s deceptive plan and another ambiguous Homeric seer, Proteus, who too embodies treachery and mutability, and who once served as the model of sophistry par excellence.128 The incident of Dios apate also adds an eroticised touch. It may be no coincidence that in Eudocia’s other poem, the martyrdom of Saint Cyprian, the female heroine is similarly tempted by various demons: these too are snake-​like and most importantly dabble in sophistry. In one of these eroticized temptation scenes Justa, the chaste heroine of this poem, makes the sign of the cross and asks Christ to protect her from this “sinner, plotter, and devious sophist” (αἰνοσοφιστήν).129

De fructu lignorum  121 The allusions to Dolon and Proteus in the I HC enhance the negative character of Satan and challenge his attempt at a captatio benevolentiae.130 Little wonder, then, that faced with such an articulate sophist, the ingenue Eve, believing that he is speaking clearly (67: διεπέφραδε πάντα) allows herself to be so easily persuaded (παρέπεισεν), or as the careful reader would remember deceived (Gen 3:13: ὁ ὄφις ἠπάτησέ με). As we have seen before, the protoplast’s naivety was one of the interpretations offered for the disobedience both in exegetical works and in the Sibylline Oracles. On the other hand, our Cento contrasts Eve’s ingenuity with readerly knowledge. The reader aware of the reception of these Homeric lines and steeped in the sophistic paideia, is encouraged to discern in the epic hypotext the dangers lurking in Satan’s sophistry. Moreover, they are encouraged to compare the allusions to the veracity of the message found in the first-​person narrator’s paradisal modest narrative, vis-​à-​vis the Satan’s eloquence and reconsider their own faith. As with Basil’s Hexaemeron talking or listening about Genesis is in itself an act of confession of God’s omnipotence as in the Creed and, subsequently, a repudiation of Satan’s temptation.

3.2.2.2 Mortal “Paradise” To beguile Eve, Satan delivers his own ekphrasis of the will-​be “Paradise” awaiting her after the act of disobedience. His version of bliss must be read as a kind of Kontrastimitation of the first ekphrasis as well as in light of Genesis 3:14–​ 19, which lists the woes that will befall the protoplasts after the Fall: pain, illness, strife, labor and, ultimately, death. By contrast the following lines promise mild weather and abundancy of resources, riches, good health, and fruit trees: τῇ περ ῥηΐστη βιοτὴ πέλει ἀνθρώποισιν, οὐ νιφετός, οὔτ’ ἂρ χειμὼν πολὺς οὔτε ποτ’ ὄμβρος, ἀλλ’ αἰεὶ Ζεφύροιο λιγὺ πνείοντες ἀῆται παντοίην εὔπρηστον ἀϋτμὴν ἐξανιεῖσιν. οὔτε φφύουσιν χερσὶν φυτὸν οὔτ’ ἀρόωσιν ἀλλὰ τά γ’ ἄσπαρτα καὶ ἀνήροτα πάντα φύονται. πείνη δ’ οὔ ποτε δῆμον ἐσέρχεται, οὐδέ τις ἄλλη νοῦσος ἐπὶ στυγερὴ πέλεται δειλοῖσι βροτοῖσιν. ἔνθα δὲ δένδρεα καλὰ πεφύκει τηλεθόωντα, συκαῖ τε γλυκεραὶ καὶ ἐλαῖαι τηλεθόωσαι ἄλλα τε πόλλ’ ἐπὶ τοῖσι· . . .

47 ~ Od. 4.565, Proteus to Menelaus 48 ~ Od. 4.566, ibid. 49 ~ Od. 4.567, ibid. 50 ~ Il. 18.471, the Shield 51 ~ Od. 9.108, the Cyclopes 52 ~ Od. 9.109, ibid. 53 ~ Od. 15.407, the Phaeacians 54 ~ Od. 15.408, ibid. 55 ~ Od. 7.114, Calypso’s cave 56 ~ Od. 7.116, ibid. 57 ~ Il. 9.639

. . . how may be found the very best life for human mortals; | there is no snow, there is no cold, nor is there much of rain, | but always blow sweet the breezes of the Zephyr | and there they let blow loose the waft of any kind. | There the hands shall not plant trees neither shall they plough |but everything unploughed, untilled grows upon the ground. | Neither does famine visit their land nor any other illness | loathsome that (otherwise) may torment the miserable humans. | There grow such beautiful trees that blossom with flowers | Fig trees with sweet figs and luxuriant olives, |And many others as well . . . Genesis 3:17–​19: τῷ δὲ ᾿Αδὰμ εἶπεν· . . . ἐπικατάρατος ἡ γῆ ἐν τοῖς ἔργοις σου· ἐν λύπαις φαγῇ αὐτὴν πάσας τὰς ἡμέρας τῆς ζωῆς σου· 18 ἀκάνθας καὶ τριβόλους ἀνατελεῖ σοι, καὶ φαγῇ τὸν χόρτον τοῦ ἀγροῦ. 19 ἐν ἱδρῶτι τοῦ προσώπου σου φαγῇ τὸν ἄρτον σου, ἕως τοῦ ἀποστρέψαι σε εἰς τὴν γῆν, ἐξ ἧς ἐλήφθης, ὅτι γῆ εἶ καὶ εἰς γῆν ἀπελεύσῃ.

122  The Homeric Centos To Adam he said . . . “Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat food from it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.”

Proteus here describes to Menelaus a Netherworld of sorts. In this passage, often cited in imperial times,131 the Spartan king learns about his afterlife in Elysium. By juxtaposing Odysseus’ and Menelaus’ encounter with seers, the I HC associates the two passages, whose similarities have been observed by modern Homeric scholars,132 and demonstrates the literary sensitivity of the cento poet toward the Homeric text. On the other hand, this description is ironic for the well-​versed audience when compared with the Septuagint Genesis 3, as they know that God expelled the protoplasts and relocated them ἀπέναντι τοῦ παραδείσου τῆς τρυφῆς (Gen 3:24), literally “across the paradise of daintiness.” The reason for choosing these lines was not only aesthetic, as they enabled a formidable Kontrastimitation, but chiefly apologetic. The ironic tinge in fact strengthens the apologetic character of the passage. Satan’s versification of Elysium is cited in early Jewish and Christian comparisons of mythical and biblical paradises. In Against Celsus, for example, Origen defends the superiority of the Christian beyond phrased as “a better land”133 both against the pagan and the Jewish notioned utopias: against the pagans he cites those verses that we also find in I HC 47–​49 and couples them with a quotation from Plato’s Phaedo 109a:134 in Socrates’ version humans dwell in the lower sediments, while the upper earth, the better place to be, is reserved for superior blessed beings and pure souls. Celsus, Origen contends, believes Christians to mean a similar, classicizing notions of a “better land,” whereas Moses stated this ideal place to be a promised land. Origen carefully rebukes also the Jewish claims arising from allusions to the Exodus and argues that earthly Israel is not the incorporeal paradise of the Scriptures.135 These immaterial visions of the beyond opposed the notions of “orthodox” resurrection in the body,136 and coupled with the Homeric lines could have been considered “heretical” by some. Having Satan expressing such views is revealing ironically, the Serpent describes a pagan counter-​paradise centonized from lines that belonged to a heated debate both between pagans and Christians (Celsus vs Origen) but also among Christians, given Origen’s debated reception. Lines 51–​52, which are drawn from an account of the savage life of Cyclopes, too suggest a negative idyllic context. In imperial times the verses were often used to exemplify life at the margins of civilized society, where there was little toil, namely no culture.137 The line describing the effortless growth of wheat (52: ἄσπαρτα καὶ ἀνήροτα) was a particularly popular reference to an idle lifestyle.138 In classical thought, starting with Hesiod’s Works and Days work is a main characteristic of human civilization and is tightly related to justice,139 an idea repeated by Christian preachers too. Origen, for example, contrasts human toil, and the creativity that ensues, to the careless life of animals,140 a moralistic idea that is later echoed by John Chrysostom, for whom toil is the weapon against idleness (ἀργία).141 Interesting

De fructu lignorum  123 too is that in his description of the Fall and God’s curse, John too reuses the Homeric line to refer to the paradisiac bliss in a formidable case of Usurpation.142 This ethical exhortation is evoked in the I HC and recasts the earthly life of the protoplasts in a not altogether negative light. Just as the Sibylline Oracles use the Fall to introduce the genealogy of civilization so the I HC employs the theme in a positive light, especially given the Christian reuse of these lines. Another striking case of Kontrastimitation lies in Odysseus’ marital advice on like-​mindedness, homophrosyne, to Nausicaa,143 lines that became proverbial in antiquity. In the context of Genesis, however, these lines seem ironic. After all, God curses Eve, who, in consequence, will lose her eternal virginal (and ideal) state and become subject to the desires of the flesh and to her husband.144 The Nausicaa hypotext in the poem endorses the view that Eve was virgin in Eden, an exegesis supported by earlier interpreters.145 The ending of this scene with centos that recall the description of the Phaeacian gardens used in the previous ekphrasis, stresses the intratextual relation of the two passages. In particular, by omitting the full list of trees in the arboretum, and admitting that there are even more (57), the poem invites metaliterary reflections on the two versions of Paradise as it prompts the reader to recall the first catalogue of trees. Moreover, by eschewing repetition, a rhetorical trope found also in Basil, and using altogether different lines to describe Satan’s version of the Elysium, the poem highlights its own aesthetic of poikilia. More importantly, however, it invites a parallel reading of the two descriptions as reflecting a positive and a negative version of Eden.

3.2.2.3 The Preacher and the Sophist By adopting a moralistic Homeric passage that was used by both pagans and Christians to describe idleness and laziness or illustrate man’s paradisiacal state before the Fall, and by placing it in the mouth of Satan, the poem ironically subverts both its Homeric and its Christian intertexts. A Christian audience may have heard something similar during a sermon, but the modeling of Satan on a preacher of “Paradise” would have heightened the irony of the intratextual reuse within the poem. Whereas the teacher of the prologue simply reveals God’s message to her audience, Satan appears as a pressing and pushy instructor taking advantage of Eve’s naiveté. Thus, both the instructor and their audience in the opening and the embedded paradigm are strategically set in contrast to each other. This has a profound effect on the external audience’s understanding of the didactic context of the opening lines. Whereas in the first passage, a divinely inspired narrator promises to reveal the truth of the God-​Man to the audience and describes Paradise in Homeric lines, which Jewish and Christian controversies have not tainted with negative connotations, the second passage presents Satan as a mendacious sophist who uses treachery to win over Eve and describes Paradise with lines drawn from the more culturally contested tradition, which generally appears in contexts that stress the supremacy of Genesis over pagan Creation myths. At a metaliterary level, the manipulation of different Homeric

124  The Homeric Centos lines shows that the centonist’s choice is guided not only by the similarity of content, but also, and especially, by the reception of particular lines in imperial and late antique literature, as well as the Christian exegetical tradition. The two situations are analogous a contrario and invite the reader to ask who is the ideal instructor, and what is the ideal response to the Christian message. Is tenacity essential to successful preaching, and in what does the pupil’s responsibility lie? Eve’s eager and unquestioning acceptance of Satan’s invitation, examined further below, points to the dangers of a message delivered in a sophistic style, as the adjectives μείλιχος, κέρδιον, κερδαλέος suggest. Thus, through this intratextual and intertextual Kontrastimitation, the poem prompts its audience to react differently than Eve does, and to appreciate the meekness and low-​profile of the proem’s preacher. Serving as a mediator between divine inspiration and human language, the enunciator of κέκλυτε in the first line leaves the message open to the reader’s interpretation.

3.2.3  Female Transgression It is within such a context that the following centonic version of Eve’s Sin and the Fall ought to be read. As emerges from the passage below, Earth’s first woman is not depicted in a totally negative light in the I HC: ὣς εἰπὼν⸣ παρέπεισεν,⸥ ⸤ἐπεὶ διεπέφραδε πάντα. οἶσθα γὰρ οἷος θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι γυναικός· τὴν δ’ ἄτην οὐ πρόσθεν ἑῷ ἐγκάτθετο θυμῷ λυγρήν, ἐξ ἧς πρῶτα καὶ ἡμέας ἵκετο πένθος ἢ λάθετ’ ἢ οὐκ ἐνόησεν· ἀάσατο δὲ μέγα θυμῷ. αὐτίκα δ’ ἥ γ’ ἐπέεσσι πόσιν ἐρέεινεν ἕκαστα, λισσομένη δειπνῆσαι· ὁ δ’ ἠρνεῖτο στοναχίζων, ἀλλ’ ἔτι που μέμνητο ἐφετμέων, ἃς ἐπέτελλεν ὃς πᾶσι θνητοῖσι καὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἀνάσσει. ἡ δ’ αἰεὶ μαλακοῖσι καὶ αἱμυλίοισι λόγοισιν πολλῇσίν τ’ ἄτῃσι παρὲκ νόον ἤγαγεν ἀνδρὸς μεμνῆσθαι πόσιος καὶ ἐδητύος⸥ ⸤ὅττι τάχιστα, κουρίδιον κτείνασα πόσιν· στυγερὴ δέ τ’ ἀοιδὴ ἔσσετ’ ἐπ’ ἀνθρώπους, χαλεπὴν δέ τε φῆμιν ὀπάσσει θηλυτέρῃσι γυναιξί, καὶ ἥ κ’ εὐεργὸς ἔῃσι, τῶν αἳ νῦν γεγάασι καὶ αἳ μετόπισθεν ἔσονται. ὣς οὐκ αἰνότερον καὶ κύντερον ἄλλο γυναικὸς ἥ τις δὴ τοιαῦτα μετὰ φρεσὶν ἔργα βάληται, οἷον δὴ κἀκείνη ἐμήσατο ἔργον ἀεικές, ἣ μέγα ἔργον ἔρεξεν ἀϊδρείῃσι νόοιο, οὐλομένη, ἣ πολλὰ κάκ’ ἀνθρώποισιν ἔδωκε, πολλὰς δ’ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν, πᾶσι δ’ ἔθηκε πόνον, πολλοῖσι δὲ κήδε’ ἐφῆκεν.

67 ~ Il. 7.120 +​20.340 68 ~ Od. 15.20, Athena about Penelope 69 ~ Od. 23.223, Penelope about Helen 70 ~ Od. 23.224, ibid. 71 ~ Il. 9.537, Oeneus forgets to invite Artemis 72 ~ Od. 4.137, Helen to Menelaus 73 ~ Il. 19.304, the old men ask Achilles to eat 74 ~ Il. 5.818, Diomedes to Athena 75 ~ Il. 12.242, gnomic 76 ~ Od. 1.56, Calypso tempting Odysseus 77 ~ Il. 10.391, Dolon to Odysseus 78 ~ Il. 19.231 +​9.659 79 ~ Od. 24.200, Clytemnestra 80 ~ Od. 24.201, ibid. 81 ~ Od. 24.202, ibid. 82 ~ Od. 24.84, the visibility of Patroclus’ mound 83 ~ Od. 11.427, Clytemnestra 84 ~ Od. 11.428, ibid. 85 ~ Od. 11.429, ibid. 86 ~ Od. 11.272, Epicaste, Oedipus’ mother 87 ~ Od. 17.287, about the evil gaster 88 ~ Il. 1.3, Achilles’ menis 89 ~ Il. 21.524, divine menis as transgression

De fructu lignorum  125 As he spoke, he convinced her, because he said everything explicitly. | You know what kind of heart the woman has in her breast; | she did not previously conceal mischief (ate) in her heart, | the horrible, because of which first suffering came upon us (mortals); | either she chose to forget, or she did not fathom; her heart was utterly blinded. | Immediately she told her husband everything, | and asked him to consume; but he, in turn, wept, refused, | and even recalled the commandments, which he [God] ordered them, | the one who reigns over mortals and immortals alike. | Yet she with sweet and tender words | and with many a deceiving talk, she drove the mind of the man astray | so as to remember drink and food immediately| killing her wedded husband; and a wretched song | will she become among men, and she will leave horrible fame | for the women of her sex, even if one happens to be prudent, for those who live now and those who will later follow. | For there is nothing more dreadful or dangerous than the woman, | who puts in her mind such feats, | such is the unholy deed she too contrived; | she performed a terrible deed because of her ignorant mind; | the accursed, that brought upon men so many evils | and many great souls did she send down to Hades | and gave everyone suffering, and brought sorrows upon many.

This passage largely paraphrases and comments on the very short passage in Genesis 3:6, in which Eve shares the fruit with Adam, who happens to be beside her, although we never learn whether he resists in any way.146 In the poem, Eve reacts emotionally and unintentionally (68, 69, 71: θυμός and 86: ἀϊδρείῃσι νόοιο), whereas Adam takes a more balanced view (77: νόον ἀνδρός), an opposition also established in the allegorical interpretation of the Fall, in which Eve represents the sensual and Adam the rational. Still, the cento poet crafts a detailed ethopoeia, especially for Eve and her guilt over her disobedience. Eve is introduced with a popular verse on the mutability of women’s feelings (I HC 68 ~ Od. 15.20). Originally assigned to Athena as she warns Telemachus of Penelope’s possible (mis)conduct and implies the latter’s association with her cousin, Helen, it is part of a long misogynistic tradition that underscores the female tendency to undergo changes of heart.147 Like Gregory’s shameless and wicked Pandora (125: Πανδώρης γένος εἰσὶν ἀναιδέες), the bane of all women, the Eve of the I HC will grant those of her sex a terrible reputation (81–​82: χαλεπὴν δέ τε φῆμιν ὀπάσσει | θηλυτέρῃσι γυναιξί). Unlike Gregory’s compilation, the I HC is composed out of verses drawn only from Homer, a technique that does not allow for direct Hesiodic allusions. Nonetheless, it does contain subtle intertextual references to the late antique debate on Eve and Pandora through its reference to their shared characteristics, such as gluttony and deceitful rhetoric.148 None of this is exclusively Hesiodic as both vices belong to the traditional misogynistic repertoire of authors from Hesiod and Semonides onward. Yet, within the framework of Genesis, these references would prompt readers to recall the Pandora myth alongside the Homeric foils. It is telling, for example, that Gregory equips Pandora with all sorts of wickedness (121: δειπνολόχην, δολόεσσαν, ἀναιδέα, μειλιχόμυθον). Of these evils the most striking is the first, as it stresses her inordinate desire for food.149 In the cento, Eve begs Adam to eat the fruit, but initially, like the mourning Achilles in Iliad 19.304, he declines (73). Achilles is again used as a model later (78), this time through a

126  The Homeric Centos line spoken by Odysseus, who urges Achilles that, unlike the dead, warriors need food and drink.150 The association of Adam and Achilles points to the mortality about to befall the protoplast, who, like the hero, will die, but it also replaces one of the most cunning Greek heroes with Eve, who alread echoes the words of DolonSatan (77). The theme of a feast crops up later, when Eve’s sin is recognized as cursed in a line from the Odyssey (I HC 87: οὐλομένη) that speaks of the suffering caused by the belly but which has further metaliterary implications, as I will discuss shortly.151 The sin committed by Gregory’s the I HC’s Eve is gluttony but the references to the belly,152 often associated with the womb, may also echo a further reproductive imagery: the woman’s swollen stomach or womb either because of eating or because of fornication is synonymous with death. Eve’s second attribute corresponds with Gregory’s description of Pandora as μειλιχόμυθον. In Gregory the adjective is an echo of sweet-​speaking Hermes, who gifts Pandora with his own eloquence (αἱμυλίοισι λόγοισι) in a Hesiodic passage comparable to the one in the Odyssey, where Calypso engages in sweet-​talk.153 Eve is likewise deceitfully sweet-​speaking (182) in Gregory’s poem, which, nonetheless emphasizes that the trickery is Satan’s. Just as Hermes instructs Pandora to use deceptive words, so Satan teaches Eve how to persuade Adam, and thus adds sweet-​talk to gluttony (I HC 76: μαλακοῖσι καὶ αἱμυλίοισι λόγοισιν). These terms also introduce sexuality, underscored through the association of Eve and Calypso. Like the nymph, Eve attempts to convince Adam through sweet-​talking, displaying the eloquence that she has been taught by Satan.154 The association of Eve with both Helen and Calypso hints at her implicit identification with the senses, concupiscence in particular, popular among Christian allegorists. This figurative reading continues with the equally allegorical interpretation of Calypso as temptress in accordance with conventional Homeric criticism—​an interpretation particularly conspicuous in late antique Neoplatonic readings.155 Additionally, use of the model of Calypso-​Odysseus for Eve-​Adam implies that just as the nymph attempted to seduce the hero with the promise of immortality, so too the first woman attempted to persuade Adam to eat the forbidden fruit. There is irony in this inversion, a case of reverse Kontrastimitation as the pagan rather than the Christian text is privileged. Unlike Odysseus, Adam is compliant and unable to resist the woman’s seduction or offer and thus fails to behave righteously. Hence, contrary to the Stoic interpretations of Odysseus,156 the first man becomes ensnared in the material world of the senses and pleasure, which leads him to his demise, so that his weakness becomes the aetiology of death and suffering for all of mankind. Whereas Gregory presents Pandora, as opposed to Eve, as the worse of two evils, the cento is surprisingly gentle in this respect, all the more so as the topic is a staple of misogynistic rhetoric. The poem seems to mitigate Eve’s sin, or at least her own understanding of it. Her characterization begins with the lines

De fructu lignorum  127 used for Penelope’s potential misconduct in Odyssey 15.20 and is augmented by Penelope’s milder description of Helen’s infidelity in Odyssey 23.223, 68–​ 69: οἶσθα γὰρ οἷος θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι γυναικός· | τὴν δ’ ἄτην οὐ πρόσθεν ἑῷ ἐγκάτθετο θυμῷ.157 In Book 23, the recognition scene, Penelope apologizes to Odysseus for not having rejoiced immediately upon seeing him and describes the sorrows they have suffered because of Helen. All the same, she does not judge her cousin in an entirely negative light: Helen, she points out, had been egged on by a god and afflicted by moral blindness (ἄτη).158 This assessment of a notoriously lustful woman by a famously chaste woman159 helps cast Eve in a more positive light in the rest of the passage. The sophist Gorgias had tried to exonerate Helen by claiming that she may have been beguiled by Paris’ sweet-​talking and deceived.160 Like Helen, Eve is sensual, and like the mythical beauty, she too has been beguiled by Satan. Yet in submitting to him she probably acted contrary to her will. Furthermore, the use of Penelope as a foil for the narrator’s appraisal of Eve may well be another subtle hint of the female gender of the poet, who, like Penelope, passes a mild judgment on Eve. The characterization of Eve (I HC 79–​82 and 83–​85) is crafted almost exclusively from descriptions of Clytemnestra found in Odyssey 11 and 24.161 Agamemnon’s allusions to the murderous Clytemnestra in the Underworld in both the long and the short Nekyia present her as a Clytemnestra: the typical female villain.162 That the Christian poem draws on the Underworld scenes and allusions to Agamemnon’s wife points to the punishment of Eve and Adam, who, along with their offspring, must face death in the flesh.163 Nonetheless, the other foil and especially Epicaste’s inability to recognize Oedipus, her own son (I HC 86), mitigates the charges against the murderous wife, now replaced by an equally “murderous” mother. Unknowingly, Epicaste is responsible for her son’s blinding, which denotes a kind of metaphorical death in the Christian context, in which vision and blindness represent the cognitive capacities of the soul. From this perspective, mankind faces death in both the soul and the flesh. Still, the reference to Oedipus’ mother recalls Eve’s main duty, procreation, the one that will eventually beget Mary and lead to Salvation.164 Furthermore, the allusion to incest here is not surprising: in the prefiguration of the New Testament in the Old, Mary is the daughter of God, his bride, and his mother.165 In any case, even if the closing reference to Epicaste’s ate does not exculpate Eve, the poem provides additional reason for Eve’s action and exculpation: she was blinded (69: ἄτην) and acted without intent; she did not necessarily realize what she was doing (71: ἢ λάθετ’ ἢ οὐκ ἐνόησεν)166 and, like Epicaste, acted in ignorance (86: ἔρεξεν ἀϊδρείῃσι νόοιο). The Homeric scholiasts were perplexed about how deliberate Oeneus’ omission of Artemis was: in Σ ad Il. 9.537a, the interpreter understands the line meaning “he dismissed willingly; he didn’t think;

128  The Homeric Centos he didn’t take into consideration.” The scholiast quotes Zenodotus, who argued that the repetition (λάθετ’ ἢ οὐκ ἐνόησεν) may hint to different shades of guilt–​–​ namely ἐκλάθετο means that he dismissed willingly, whereas οὐκ ἐνόησεν implies that it didn’t begin to cross his mind–​–​but in both cases Oeneus is guilty for his transgression (ἀσσύγνωστον τὴν πρὸς θεοὺς παράβασιν). Eve is judged in a similar light. Offences committed in ignorance were received differently across exegetes but mitigating factors were applicable in contrast to consciously committed sins. It is this overarching idea that is probably echoed here. The I HC’s kind of mild criticism stands in contrast to the account by Proba, who censures Eve with sharper words delivered from a male perspective.167 As Sigrid Schottenius-​Cullhed shows, Proba uses Dido as a model for Eve, another woman overpowered by fate—​a situation that may prompt the reader’s mercy and thus ameliorate negative pre-​figurations as well as Adam’s own judgement of his wife168. In this respect, the I HC is better at articulating a mild exoneration of Eve as a type of Mary, something equally observable in Gregory’s use of Pandora as an even more negative version of Eve. The Epicaste model, then, comes back as the negative, Clytemnestra-​like depiction of Eve in I HC 280–​281. This is as striking a change in exegetical tone as is the woman’s anecdotal change of heart; the fact that it is not reproduced in the second edition may well suggest not only a more positive exegetical approach, but also that the poet is a woman, who, like Penelope, is criticizing another, Helen-​like woman. As this exculpation of the first woman is found only in the first edition, this may be an avatar of Cassia’s later reply to Theophilus, which opened the previous chapter,169 as well as an additional argument supporting the thesis presented in Chapter 2 regarding Eudocian authorship.

3.3 Beginnings 3.3.1  Achillean Gluttony The association of Eve with gluttony has further important metaliterary and generic ramifications especially as this is placed in the mouth of the narrator, an external assessor of her sin. The way in which the I HC conglomeration of menis-​ related lines does so is extremely self-​reflexive and recalls the beginning of the Iliadic proem: οὐλομένη, ἣ πολλὰ κάκ’ ἀνθρώποισιν ἔδωκε, πολλὰς δ’ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν, πᾶσι δ’ ἔθηκε πόνον, πολλοῖσι δὲ κήδε’ ἐφῆκεν.

87 ~ Od. 17.287, the evils of the gaster 88 ~ Il. 1.3, Achilles’ menis 89 ~ Il. 21.524, Achilles’ divine menis

[Eve] the accursed, who brought upon men so many evils | and many great souls did she sent down to Hades | and gave everyone suffering, and to the masses left behind sorrows.

De fructu lignorum  129 Lines 87–​89 rework different verses related, one way or another with menis, the opening word of the Iliad. In lines 87 and 88, οὐλομένη alludes, in fact, to Il. 1.2, while Il. 1.3 is placed strategically in the immediately following verse. This strengthens the association between the calamities of hunger/​gluttony in the Odyssey (17.286–​287: γαστέρα . . . οὐλομένην, ἣ πολλὰ κάκ᾽ ἀνθρώποισι δίδωσι) and wrath in the Iliad (1.1–​2: μῆνιν . . . οὐλομένην, ἣ μυρί᾽ Ἀχαιοῖς ἄλγε᾽ ἔθηκε), but also turn Eve’s gluttony into the aetiology of the Fall, simultaneously hinting (on a metaliterary level) at a different epic register and transposing the didactic aetiology of suffering and death into an Iliadic tone. Eve’s gluttony brings on divinely engineered disaster: the coupling of 88 with the allusion to Achilles’ murderous god-​like fury before the walls of Troy in 89 supports a deeper association between gaster and divinely provoked menis.170 In Iliad 21 Achilles’ frenzy is compared to the sack of a city because of divine wrath,171 and the pending destruction of the Trojans re-​enacts in nuce the anticipated destruction of Troy by fire at the end of the war.172 Ancient readers were aware of the programmatic weight of such lines as summarizing the theme of the poem.173 In this case the menis-​related lines would have evoked a new kind of Iliadic beginning. This is a highly sensitive reading of the Homeric introit and shows the degree of the centos’ self-​reflexiveness: biblical typology, supported by carefully chosen and programmatic Homeric intertextuality, with a conscious feeling for intergeneric associations. Gluttony shifts the didactic Genesis toward the more adventure-​ driven plot of the Iliad.

3.3.2  Odyssean Salvation The reuse of the Iliadic proem in the I HC is followed by a revision of the Odyssean proem as well in the lines that introduce the plan of Salvation, a topic not altogether unprecedented in creation-​related poems. The scene here presents a hypothetical dialogue between God and Jesus in which, after discussing the sins of mankind, they decide to save it through the incarnation and the passion. As discussed in Chapter 2.2.1 the Annunciation is the moment the Will of the Godhead, their βουλή, is revealed to Mary and to Mankind. The poem presents that as the outcome of a dialogue that seems to evoke through Kontrastimitation epic Divine Council type-​scenes, this time with a positive outcome, salvation. From a biblical perspective the cento assembly seems to be an innovative touch as it does not occur in the canonical or apocryphal sources,174 nor is found in Proba,175 where the impiety of the protoplasts’ offspring is punished with the Food by God in person.176 Yet Christian exegesis strived to make a connection between Genesis and the First Coming, as we discussed above. An interesting parallel may be founding in Gregory: Arcana 7.122–​129 close with the sea travel

130  The Homeric Centos the pious soul needs to undertake before returning to God after the sin of the Fall;177 in Arcana 8 he dedicates an entire piece to the woes of the Jews, who provoked continuously God’s menis, hence were punished by scattering, as opposed to the Gentiles who have now replaced the chosen people.178 In order to put an end the reign of impiety following the Fall, Christ decided to empty himself (Αrc. 8.39: κενώσας) and bestowed humanity the Second Testament. This again shows the importance of Genesis in the plan of Salvation and reverberates from a positive, as much as this is possible, tone. The exchange between Father and Son disregards the moralistic ending of Eve’s disobedience (suffering and death, 87–​91) and drives the subsequent plot, which this time will decide the fate of humanity, not just of a single man. The I HC moves from narrating the Fall and the cursed Eve (87–​89: οὐλομένη . . . ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν . . . κήδε’ ἐφῆκεν) to the incarnation. As a result, it sets the Iliadic introit with verses alluding to the other famous proem, the beginning of the Odyssey, side by side: ἀλλά γε οὔ τις τῶν γε τότ’ ἤρκεσε λυγρὸν ὄλεθρον, αὐτῶν γὰρ σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὄλοντο. ἀλλ’ αὐτός γ’ ἐσάωσε καὶ ἐφράσατο μέγ’ ὄνειαρ, ὃς πᾶσι θνητοῖσι καὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἀνάσσει, υἱὸν ἀναστήσας ἀγαπήνορα, λαομέδοντα, ὃς ᾔδη τά τ’ ἐόντα τά τ’ ἐσσόμενα πρό τ’ ἐόντα, πατρὸς ἑοῖο φίλοιο φρένας τε καὶ εἶδος ὁμοῖος,

90 ~ Il. 6.16, the melee 91 ~ Od. 1.7, Odysseus’ companions and the cattle 92 ~ Od. 4.444, Eidothea saves Menelaus 93 ~ Il. 12.242, gnomic 94 ~ Od. 7.170 (Λαοδάμαντα), Alcinous’ son 95 ~ Il. 1.70, gnomic 96 ~Od. 14.177 (καὶ εἶδος ἀγητόν), Telemachus

But no one of those kept off sorrowful death | for they perished because of their own outrageous acts. | But he (God) saved them himself, and gave them a great gift/​blessing | the one who rules over all mortals and gods alike | and he resurrected his beloved Son, the one who cares for mankind | the one who knew the present and the future and what happened before | in mind and in appearance same as his dear father.

The passage describes all humanity as being as doomed as the heroes in the Iliad (90) and the companions of Odysseus, who, like Eve, have committed a food-​ related transgression and willingly at that (91). Yet unlike the vengeful Zeus in the Iliad (1.5: Διὸς δ᾽ ἐτελείετο βουλή)179 or the retaliatory Helios who punishes Odysseus’ naïve companions in the Odyssey (1.8–​9: αὐτὰρ ὁ τοῖσιν ἀφείλετο νόστιμον ἦμαρ), the Christian God of this poem intends not to punish but save. The discussion of free will and the guilt of the transgressor are inherent in these lines, which have a long prehistory in Greek thought. There were two problematic passages in Homer that later ancient scholarship tried to harmonize. In Iliad 24.525–​532, Porphyry said, the poet says that Zeus distributes good and evil at whim from the two urns; by contrast in the Odyssey (1.34: οἱ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ σφῇσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὑπὲρ μόρον ἄλγε’ ἔχουσιν) humans have a share in their downfall. The reason given for this discrepancy depends on the human or divine perspective according to Porphyry: in the first case the half-​mortal yet ignorant Achilles is trying to soothe Priam; in the latter omniscient Zeus (σαφῶς ἐπιστάμενος)

De fructu lignorum  131 proclaims the truth.180 In his Evangelic Preparation, Eusebius cites Odyssey 1.7 among various quotations from the Stoics, Chrysippus, and Origen and argues for the importance of free will: even in Homer there is sufficient evidence to counter deterministic quotations.181 Using Judas as an example in 6.11.16–​17, he concludes that he was guilty of treason irrespective of God’s omniscience and that he was responsible for his own wickedness. For as otherwise the notions of punishment or reward in the afterlife would be unconceivable. Furthermore, the epic formulation of sin had already been used in biblical poetry: Gregory (cf. PG 37.531: ὁ πρώτιστος ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ἑῇσι),182 subtly underscores the responsibility of the protoplasts in the Fall and contrasts their death (ὄλοντο) with Jesus’ life-​giving plan. The focus of the poet for which the Fall provides the backstory is Salvation. The cento uses both the soteriologically imbued term “saved” (92: ἐσάωσε) and the positive hypotext of Eidothea, an immortal nymph who saves Menelaus, despite the expectations raised by the reference to Odysseus’ companions. The passage is meant to be read against the famous opening of the Odyssey (Od. 1.6: οὐδ᾽ ὣς ἑτάρους ἐρρύσατο), in which Odysseus fails to save his companions. The cento chooses instead to portray the Christian epic hero differently. As we have seen, the poem narrates Jesus’ earthly “Odyssey” as a foil for Christ’s earthly woes before his return to the Father in heaven. By alluding to the salvation of Odysseus’ companions, however, the cento undermines the philosophical interpretation of the Homeric epic: in the Odyssey, the hero alone is saved because of his virtue as we saw above in the discussion of the death of the companions. The Christian poem however is not about the Salvation of one protégé, but rather of all mankind and that irrespective of prior sins, as we saw already in the case of the women converts in the previous chapter. Divine help, ὄνειαρ,183 is required for man’s salvation—​an echo of the anti-​Pelagian argument about the need of grace—​as he alone cannot be saved on his own, just as Odysseus could not have been saved without Athena’s and Zeus’ intervention. The Christian poem however highlights the heaviness of humanity’s sins that Christ will atone with his death: in Christ’s “Odyssey” the death of one person will restore life to many and not vice versa.184 The Christian cento emphatically dwells on the idea that the incarnated Christ is the Soter. I HC 92 alludes to the help that Menelaus and his companions receive from Eidothea when trying to capture Proteus disguised in seal-​skins in Odyssey 4, an intertext important not only on the level of specific allusions, but also on that of context. The stench was horrid, Menelaus recalls, and the plan was doomed to fail had not Eidothea brought them an ointment (ὄνειαρ) to mask the smell with ambrosia (Od. 4.445), the food of the gods. Within the framework of Genesis the allusion to heavenly fare serves as a contrasts to Eve’s gluttonous appetite for the forbidden fruit that dooms her. It also strengthens the soteriological and eucharistic dimension of the Christian poem, as exemplified by Jesus’

132  The Homeric Centos Resurrection (94: ἀναστήσας),185 the sacrifice that guarantees mortals salvation qua an immortal life in Christ. The recollection of seal-​skins also alludes to the putrefaction of human flesh that Jesus will exonerate from eternal punishment by becoming human himself. It is said that after the Fall, God dressed the protoplasts in “garments of skin” (Gen 3:21); Mary, in turn, is described as having woven Jesus’ body into a mortal garment during the incarnation.186 Moreover, according to the pagan belief adopted by Christians, the human body is itself a garment of the immortal soul,187 a notion that grants a philosophical and allegorical pedigree to Christian exegesis. The stench of the skins that disguise Menelaus and his companions hence points to the corruptibility and the mortality of the human body after the Fall, though the allusion to ambrosia also conveys the promise of Resurrection and eternal life through Jesus’ own mortal body. Both the biblical narrative of the revengeful Old Testament Yahweh and the Iliadic passages on the woes suffered by the Argives due to Achilles’ wrath are subverted thanks to the merciful Christ, the theme of the poem, and thus weave the descriptions of the Creation and the Fall into a seamless textile. Finally, the female Homeric model, namely Eidothea, can be viewed as an allusion to Mary’s forthcoming role in Salvation: just as man perished because of a woman, a woman has become part of his redemption and enabled his mortal flesh to regain immortality. The I HC then embeds the discussion of free will within the philosophical and theological context of its times and reflects an eastern attitude to sin and free will, namely with an emphasis more on self-​accountability and self-​determination than grace. While the poem exonerates Eve as acting under the tutelage of an evil master it also underscores humanity’s repeated choice of evil, as seen in God’s enumeration of debaucheries below: βοῦς ἱερεύοντες καὶ ὄϊς καὶ πίονας αἶγας; οὐκέτ’ ἔπειτ’ ἐθέλουσιν ἐναίσιμα ἐργάζεσθαι. οὐ γάρ τοι γλυκύθυμος ἀνὴρ ἦν οὐδ’ ἀγανόφρων, οὔτις ἔτι πρόφρων ἀγανὸς καὶ ἤπιος ἐστὶν σκηπτοῦχος βασιλεύς, οὐδὲ φρεσὶν αἴσιμα εἰδώς, ἀλλ’ αἰεὶ χαλεπός τ’ εἴη καὶ αἴσυλα ῥέζοι. λαοὶ δ’ οὐκέτι πάμπαν ἐφ’ ἡμῖν ἦρα φέρουσιν, ψεύδοντ’, οὐδ’ ἐθέλουσιν ἀληθέα μυθήσασθαι, οὔ τινα γὰρ τίουσιν ἐπιχθονίων ἀνθρώπων, οὐ κακὸν οὐδὲ μὲν ἐσθλόν, ὅτις σφέας εἰσαφίκοιτο, οὐ γὰρ ξείνους οἵδε μάλ’ ἀνθρώπους ἀνέχονται· ... οὐδέ τι ἴσασιν θάνατον καὶ κῆρα μέλαιναν, ἠέρι καὶ νεφέλῃ κεκαλυμμένοι· οὐδέ ποτ’ αὐτοὺς εἴα ἵστασθαι, χαλεπὸς δέ τις ὤρορε δαίμων δαίμοσιν ἀρήσασθαι, ὑποσχέσθαι δ’ ἑκατόμβας. ἦ δὴ λοίγια ἔργα τάδ’ ἔσσεται οὐδ’ ἔτ’ ἀνεκτά· ἀλλὰ καὶ ὣς ἐθέλω καὶ ἔλδομαι ἤματα πάντα, πάντων ἀνθρώπων ῥῦσθαι γενεήν τε τόκον τε, ὄφρα μὴ ἄσπερμος γενεὴ καὶ ἄφαντος ὄληται.

107 ~ Od. 2.56, the suitors 108 ~ Od. 17.321, ibid. 109 ~ Il. 20.467, gnomic for Achilles 110 ~ Od. 2.230, the suitors 111 ~ Od. 2.231, ibid 112 ~ Od. 2.232, ibid 113 ~ Od. 16.375, suitors plotting 114 ~ Od. 14.125, fake messengers 115 ~ Od. 22.414, (τίεσκον), suitors 116 ~ Od. 22.415, ibid 117 ~ Od. 7.32, Athena about the Phaeacians ... 130 ~ Od. 2.283, suitors 131 ~ Od. 11.15, the Kimmerians living in darkness 132 ~ Od. 19.201, Odysseus lies 133 ~ Il. 6.115, Hector after Zeus’ decision 134 ~ Il. 1.573, Hephaestus, of gods’ arguments 135 ~ Od. 5.219, Odysseus’ wish to return, to Athena 136 ~ Il. 15.141, Athena, on the impossibility of salvation 137 ~ Il. 20.303, Aeneas’ rescue and survival

De fructu lignorum  133 They are sacrificing cows and ewes and fatty goats | and they no longer wish to practice justice. | No longer is there a [king] of mild temperament and meek | no longer is there an earnest, sweet, and kind | king holding the sceptre, not one is thinking according to measure. | Instead, the king is always violent, a doer of evils. | The people no longer hold any respect for us, | but they lie, they do not wish to speak the truth; | nor do they honour anyone among the living, | a good or evil man he may be, who will come to them; | for these people do not tolerate at all the strangers . . . and without taking into consideration death and the horrible fate, | [dwell] covered in haze and mist; and never does | he lets them straighten up, the cruel demon is rousing them | to offer sacrifices to idols, to promise hecatombs. | These deeds are truly pestilent and no longer acceptable. | But I, nevertheless, wish and hope for eternity | to save all the generation and offspring of mankind, so that their kin does not vanish without seed and disappear.

It is not surprising to find in this catalogue of sins many of the depravities associated with the suitors from Book 2, which I discussed earlier.188 Like Odysseus’ companions so the suitors were among the great villains that attracted both human and divine wrath, which resulted in their punishment. The passage also provides a wonderful case of Kontrastimitation: I HC 136 evokes Iliad (5.140–​141: ἀργαλέον δὲ | πάντων ἀνθρώπων ῥῦσθαι γενεήν τε τόκον τε, “it is a hard thing to rescue all the generation and seed of all mortals”), where Athena deters Ares from providing support to the Trojans on the grounds that they are doomed. What is difficult for the pagan gods seems to be exactly the motivation of the Father. Furthermore, whereas in the Iliad only Aeneas’ offspring is rescued from oblivion, the salvation of one righteous man is replaced in the biblical poem with the salvation of the sinful many. It is even tempting to read in these lines a subtle foretelling of the conversion to Christianity of Aeneas’ offspring, the Romans, and their Empire. The analysis above shows how the I HC manipulates the two Homeric epic proems to create a place for itself in the epic and Christian tradition. On the one hand and intertextually, the new poem alludes to the beginning of a new section in the poem by quoting the Homeric introits as programmatic models. At the level of genre, the quotation of the Homeric proems coincides with a transition from the didactic mode of its account of the Fall to the adventurous mode of its account of the incarnation. Hence, in contrast to its protreptic and kerygmatic opening, the poem now shifts to a different tonality, that of adventure epic proper. From the didactic and ekphrastic catalogue of the Creation the poem turns to the New Testament, now read through the lens of adventure rather than didacticism. At the ideological level, the allusion to the Homeric proems imbues the transposition of the tonality with a new ideological motive, thereby distinguishing its exegesis from both its Homeric hypotext and the adaptations of biblical hypotexts by its forerunners. Unlike the world of epic where human transgression is punished and where only few righteous are awarded salvation, the poem emphatically stresses God’s benevolence. The amalgamation of the two introits is thus fascinating as it signals the transition from the poem’s didactic section on the Creation and the beginning of the

134  The Homeric Centos action section on the incarnation. The negative Iliadic resonances relating to gluttony and wrath are slowly overcome by the positive models introduced by Kontrastimitation, which fashions God as a superior Zeus who saves not simply one man but all of mankind, and Christ as an Odysseus who succeeds in saving his mortal companions. With these explicit allusions to the two Homeric proems, the poem progresses from the didactic tone of the first part on the Creation and Fall, to the cosmogony and etiology of human death and suffering, to finally offering proleptic glimpses into the action that will follow. There is thus a clear generic separation between the didactic tone of the Old Testament centos and the next section, which views the New Testament plot that encompasses the birth, ministry, and Resurrection of Jesus through the lens of adventure epic.189

3.4 Summary For late antique Christians, Genesis was a didactic, ekphrastic text, with confessional connotations. Accordingly, the poet-​narrator of the I HC creates a didactic setting while posing as an inspired evangelist, eager to preach the message of the Gospel. By starting with Genesis, the poem begins in a manner similar to Paul’s speech at Areopagus, namely relating the pagan Creation with God’s as a kind of captatio benevolentiae of the now Christian elites, and also associates the centonic Genesis to contemporary homiletic literature. The cento revision of the biblical book displays further similarities to the late antique fascination with ekphrastic beginnings and cosmogonies, Christian and pagan. At the same time, by claiming God to be the creator of the universe, the I HC evokes the confessional and apologetic connotations of the first line of Genesis and the first section of the Nicene Creed. It also contains echoes of contemporary exegesis of Genesis, as in its typological reading of the Fall and Salvation. It is this positive outcome, Christ’s incarnation, that is emphatically stressed across this section. This affirmative reading is also found in the Cento’s discussion of labor not as something altogether vile but, as other interpreters saw it, paraenetically, as a way of atonement. Finally, it alludes to the allegorical interpretation that sees the senses in the woman, such as gluttony and sensuality, and the intellect in the man, who is nonetheless incapable to resist his wife. Like other exegetical approaches the I HC also debates the responsibility of the humans in the Fall as the source of evil and death. Yet while it exonerates Eve, it does not dismiss human responsibility altogether. The philosophical tinge of such passages is not far from the moralizing and paraenetic tone of Gregory’s equivalent verses. Thus, the cento of Genesis is an echo of its contemporary late antique revisions. As far as the Homeric text is concerned, this study has emphasized the different ways in which it was appropriated. Lines such as those describing the Shield were frequently employed in didactic settings and could be used to strengthen

De fructu lignorum  135 the generic aspirations of a specific passage. The I HC tends to incorporate well-​ known lines, such as the introits, but also others that were tightly linked to their original context. The audience would have known them from their education in rhetoric and study of Homer. Thus the seal-​skins, for example, would have offered readers a new typological reading related to the late antique imagery regarding clothing and the flesh. However, it is not simply pagan paideia but also the reception and chrêsis of these lines in earlier disputes that directed the choice of particular centos. In the Creation, as we have seen, some verses are more semantically loaded than others as they partook to earlier debates regarding the superiority of Genesis vis-​à-​vis Homer or Plato. Instead of heated excerpts the Shield belongs less contested passages which served as a model for various didactic creation-​ related poems both pagan and Christian. In contrast to the potential of the Shield, the description of Paradise by Satan made use of more contested liens that belong to the early debates and encounters between the Jewish Mediterrannean diaspora and Greek paideia. Seen in this light, the I HC seems aware of the prior reuse of specific Homeric verse and employs them accordingly. In addition, the I HC encourages analysis known today as interformularity, since in it intratextual relationships are fostered by a formulaic Homeric language. Μῆνις and γαστήρ related by the adjective οὐλομένην, which signifies the destructive nature of Eve’s gluttony, is probably the most striking example. The association of Odysseus’ and Menelaus’ encounter with the two seers, Teiresias and Proteus, is another. The centonist, in other words, did not choose the lines arbitrarily from memory, but according to the practice of Homeric excerption, quotation and interpretation. The analysis in this chapter has also focused on the genre of the poem and highlighted its didacticism by demonstrating its debt to both Homer and Hesiod. In Late Antiquity, Hesiod’s Theogony was read as a didactic poem on cosmogonic beginnings and served as an unavoidable parallel to Genesis, as it had at the time of Jewish and Christian debates. The I HC offers two didactic settings: a negative didactic model with the Serpent as a wicked teacher and Eve as its successful student, and a positive one employed by the preacher-​poet of the proem. The poem’s juxtaposition of these two didactic foils allows for a comparison between the two instructors of the poem, the eloquent Serpent, and the rather modest and meek narrator of the proem. This I argued may explain the discretion of the narrator who may wish to pose as a medium through which the poem of Salvation is revealed, as opposed to an authority. Such a portrayal aligns the ego narrator with the preachers of other κέκλυτε-​utterances and emphasizes the poem’s paraenetic scope. Unlike Eve, the Christian audience must not be beguiled by sophistic words but try to discern the truth. Within this explicitly didactic framework, the absence of explicitly Hesiodic quotations is unproblematic, as there are verbal echoes of the epic Kunstsprache that link Genesis with the Hesiodic cosmogony, or that link Pandora and Eve, as in Gregory’s poem. Although not explicitly cited in the I HC,

136  The Homeric Centos such texts should not be disregarded on account of the medium, that is, Homeric rather than Hesiodean cento composition. On the contrary, they are important intertexts that shape the revision of Genesis, especially the portrayal of Eve. As observed above in the I HC, the first woman is tentatively exonerated and her pivotal role in the Fall is read mainly typologically, as the aetion of the incarnation. As a result, the guilt she and Adam bear is countered by a greater positive outcome. Returning to the argument regarding the poem’s female authorship, we have observed that while the I HC is milder in its critique of Eve than is Tertullian, for example, Penelope’s implicit exoneration of Helen is probably an additional argument in defense of the first woman. The same is true of Epicaste, whose choice as a model mitigates Eve’s assimilation into the murderous Clytemnestra. The Kontrastimitation between Adam and Odysseus brings out the shortcomings of the former, thereby underscoring the culpability of the first man and compounding it with the culpability of the first woman. The Homeric intertexts, therefore, bring out a subtle exegetical reading of Genesis that seems to take account of and even assume a stance in current debates. The work seems to read the Fall in an allegorical and affirmative fashion and as a prefiguration of Mary as the Second Eve—​a reading that may in fact be related to the growing importance of the Virgin in Late Antiquity. The I HC therefore offers its own version of the Creation and the Fall, and is fairly empathetic if not sympathetic toward Eve which may point, as Cassia’s answer opening Chapter 2, a Eudocian authorship. The characterization of Eve also serves as a metaliterary vehicle for reconsidering beginnings beyond the thematic level and scrutinizing the self-​ reflectivity of the Homeric introits used in the Christian poem. Iliadic intertexts highlight the deadly outcome of the first disobedience, but the Odyssean proem, subverted as it is, introduces the soteriological agenda of the rest of the cento, which is concerned with incarnation and redemption. A Christian audience would have found these parallels particularly suggestive and illuminating. Achilles’ god-​driven menis is οὐλομένην, but Eve’s sin is not equally destructive. Pandora, like Odysseus’ companions, is gluttonous. Odysseus’ companions transgress the taboo and perish, but the Christian God comes up with a plan for Salvation that entails the willing death/​sacrifice of his own Son. From an ideological perspective, the situation could not be more inverted. The revamped introits of the Iliad and the Odyssey help create the transition in the flow of the poem both on the level of content (shifting the mode from didactic to adventure epic), but also and above all on the level of ideology. Tellingly, the new beginning is the product of the revision of older beginnings, that is, the proems—​a revision that generates continuity and reciprocity between the older genre (Homer) and themes (Old Testament) and the new classicizing (Christian) poem on Salvation. Unlike the old wine-​skins of Jesus’ parable,190 Menelaus’ seal-​skins were still useful containers for the new, classicizing Christian wine of the cento.

4

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis Στὰ μάτια ἕνα δελφίνι σύρετέ μου νά ’ναι ταχύ, κι ἑλληνικό, καὶ νά ᾽ναι ἡ ὥρα ἕντεκα! Νὰ περνᾷ καὶ νὰ σβήνει τὴν πλάκα τοῦ βωμοῦ 10 καὶ ν’ ἀλλάζει τὸ νόημα τοῦ μαρτυρίου . . . Νὰ περνᾷ καὶ νὰ λύνει τὸ σχῆμα τοῦ Σταυροῦ 15 καὶ στὰ δέντρα τὸ ξύλο νὰ ἐπιστρέφει Ὁ βαθὺς τριγμὸς νὰ μοῦ θυμίζει ἀκόμη ὅτι αὐτὸς ποὺ εἶμαι, ὑπάρχω! . . . Στὴν καρδιά τὴν Τρίαινα χτυπήσετέ μου 28 καὶ σταυρώσετέ μου τὴν μὲ τὸ δελφίνι. For my eyes draw a dolphin And let it be swift and Greek, and let it be eleven o’clock Let it pass by and wipe clean the altar stone and change the meaning of martyrdom . . . Let it pass by and unbind the Cross’s form And return its wood to the trees Let the deep creaking still remind me that he who I am exists! . . . Strike my heart with the Trident And cross it with the dolphin. O. Elytis, 1959, Axion Esti, ΙΒ᾽ 8–​11, 15–​18, 28–​291

In the aftermath of World War II, the Nobel laureate Odysseas Elytis attempted to redefine the passion in his own secular—​yet deeply indebted to classical myth and Christian ritual—​poetics: he presented it as a cross, deconstructed to its essence, namely, wood, which was transformed into as a “truer” Tree of Life (9, 15–​17) at a moment slightly before midday, as opposed to noon, the time of the Crucifixion (9). The classicizing imagery embedded in the word widely used to describe a pagan “altar” (10), and of course the “trident” (28), are revisited to generate a new cross-​shaped symbol—​excellently visualized by the lithograph used to illustrate Elytis’ published collection: a dolphin writhing around the trident, an image inspired from ancient coins and mosaics but also reemployed by Christians to symbolize the Crucifixion.2 Elytis’ struggle with the idea of a The Homeric Centos. Anna Lefteratou, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197666555.003.0005

138  The Homeric Centos suffering and crucified Savior goes back to Antiquity. Although classical mythology offers images of affixed and/​or suffering gods and mortals, such as Prometheus, Adonis, or Dionysus, nothing in Graeco-​Roman or Jewish culture comes close to the humiliation of Christ’s punishment by crucifixion, in which a god is executed by humans as if he were an abject slave.3 Early on, Paul had to defend the absurdity of the Crucifixion by emphatically declaring that Christians against expectations “proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block (σκάνδαλον) to Jews and foolishness (μωρίαν) to Gentiles (1 Cor 1:23).” By the fourth century, Constantine had upgraded the cross from an instrument of torture to a symbol of imperial triumph. Forbidding crucifixions, he launched an extensive building campaign in the Holy Land centerd around Golgotha.4 Regardless of whether Constantine’s mother Helena actually discovered the True Cross5 in around 324–​325 CE, as legend would have it, pilgrims who visited the site testified to seeing a cross. Egeria, for example, a pilgrim to the Holy Land in around 380 CE reported witnessing the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross,6 while the pious matron Paula, who traveled to Golgotha at around the same time, experienced a vision of the crucified Christ while kneeling before a cross. Another noblewoman named Melania brought relics of the True Cross to Italy in around 400 CE.7 Thus, already a generation or so before Eudocia, Augustine was able to confirm the victory of the cross that now adorned the brows of kings.8 Despite such solemn assertions, the Crucifixion remained deeply problematic, so much so, that discrepancies in the accounts in canonical sources, the vast apocryphal literature, and ongoing Christological debates prevented Jesus from being depicted in the flesh on the cross before the fifth century.9 The crucified Messiah, as now known from Byzantine iconography, replaced earlier symbols of the Crucifixion, such as the wreathed cross with the Christogram or the dolphin with the trident, by the end of the sixth century, as seen in the illuminations of the Rabula Gospels.10 This chapter examines the cento exegesis of the Jesus’ Passion and Crucifixion in Late Antiquity (Section 4.1) and provides an in-​depth analysis of Jesus’ encounter with Pilate (Section 4.2), who is presented in a positive light. The last two sections focus on the Homeric and exegetical background of the cento Crucifixion (Section 4.3) and Christ’s victorious descent in the Underworld, that vividly echo both epic-​heroic models and apocryphal narratives. In terms of the reception of the Gospel, this chapter will debunk the claim that the author’s goal was harmonization11 and will illustrate instead the reuse of non-​canonical sources and emphasize the exegetic originality of the hexametric account. Regarding the Homeric material the analysis will demonstrate how the I HC drew on Homer to achieve a subtle balance between the canonical narrative of the Crucifixion, its apocryphal variants, and its exegesis in Late Antiquity by offering an interpretation steeped in the heroic epic mode and especially the Iliad. Just as the previous chapter contextualized Genesis within the hexametric production

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  139 of its times, this chapter will—​wherever necessary—​relate select passages of the centonic passion, which are chiefly indebted to the Fourth Gospel,12 to those in the Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel by Nonnus of Panopolis, the only other Greek Christian poem to recount the Crucifixion in verse.13 For the sake of brevity, I concentrate on a crucial segment of the passion narrative summarized in the fourth Article of the Nicene Creed: “crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato passus, et sepultus est”14 and the relevant and illustrative centonic revisions of it. This Article is important because, as we will see, it allowed the embedding of the Crucifixion in the historical past and classical cultural identity of the recently converted Roman Empire.

4.1 Contexts 4.1.1  Classical and Biblical Models Classical texts offer some parallels to Jesus’ trial and crucifixion.15 For the prosecution theme, Socrates, especially as a teacher who too faced slander and execution, served as an important model in this respect but he is by no means the only such model.16 That said, he and later Apollonius of Tyana were depicted as extremely eloquent before Athenian judges and Domitian, respectively, and thus as very different from Jesus, who was famously silent before Pilate.17 Manners of execution provided interesting analogies: like Jesus, Prometheus, for example, did suffer for humans, but as his passion was inflicted by another god and was everlasting, it did not offer the possibility of an immediate soteriological analogue.18 It was the Christian image of the crucified man, in turn, that shaped the “crucifixion” of Prometheus—​pace Lucian19—​or the story of Odysseus bound to the mast, a figure that a long tradition of Homeric revisionism and centuries of Stoic and allegorical interpretation had turned into a symbol of human perseverance.20 Other mythical figures associated with Jesus, such as Dionysus, Orpheus, and other memorable sufferers, were killed in different manners, and in the case of Zagreus, he was not resurrected but reincarnated as Dionysus.21 Whether these similarities were intended by the narrators of the Gospels or were promoted by comparative interpretations later, they do indicate the possibility of substantial cross-​fertilization. Most importantly, the early reception of the Crucifixion as an episode comparable to that of Odysseus on the mast, as we see in Clement, or of Jesus as comparable to Socrates, as we see in Origen, or to Prometheus, as we see in Lucian, indicates the presence of an audience, both Christian and pagan, eager to explore these correspondences beyond the religious and soteriological issues, and to reach different conclusions within different historical settings while tapping on their shared cultural Graeco-​Roman context.

140  The Homeric Centos The Old Testament too offers some interesting forerunners both for the trial and the cross.22 Jesus’ encounter with Pilate is one of a series of confrontations between prophets and lofty rulers: in a pseudo-​Chrysostomic homily on Plasm 118, we find a list of brave faithful like Elijah, Daniel, and the Baptist, who faced murderous kings and defended their case, like later the apostles, with parrhesia, staunchly and articulately.23 However, in contrast to both his biblical and classical forerunners Jesus famously remains silent. By contrast to the hearing scene, every biblical mention of wood, for example, is a potential prefiguration of the cross,24 the most prominent being the tree in the Garden of Eden which looks ahead to the cross on which Jesus, the Second Adam, is crucified.25 Even the location of Golgotha was thought to be the burial mound of Adam, illustrating thus the continuity between the protoplast and Jesus.26 Another popular analogue in Genesis 22, is the near-​sacrifice of Isaac, who, like Jesus, has carried the “wood” to the altar for his own sacrifice, or the staff of Moses in John 3:14, later revisited by Nonnus.27 The choice is endless, and, as we shall see, Christian exegetes were particularly keen to explore and implement these comparanda. Yet the most eloquent testimony regarding the transformation of the Crucifixion into a symbol of the Empire lies in images.

4.1.2  Visual Arts Early representations of the Crucifixion appear on amulets at some point in the second or third century,28 and some of these may depict scenes not found in the Gospel.29 These amulets are made out of materials, dark or bright red, that symbolize blood and suffering, and which were popular for pagan amulets too.30 Wreathed crosses crop up in fourth-​century funerary art in a time when Pilate and the trial are the metonym for the passion.31 So, for example, a selection of episodes from Gethsemane to Pilate are depicted on the Brescia Lispanotheca.32 Similarly, the sarcophagus of Domitilla includes among its scenes Christ’s arrest, Pilate washing his hands, and a cross-​Christogram in the guise of a Roman tropaion.33 Pilate’s hand washing for example is contrasted to the rinsing of Peter’s feet, and has baptismal connotations: where Pilate achieves secular purity, Peter achieves ritual cleansing.34 These early representations also display good knowledge of typological exegesis, often contrast parallel passages from the Old and New Testaments, yet also cater to a classicizing taste, chiefly in the triumphal Roman imagery used to depict the cross.35 Other imperial echoes can be seen in the image of an enthroned Pilate who embodies Roman rule and civic justice on earth, yet whose authority is undermined by a “meek” Jesus. These scenes testify the victory of Christianity over Rome embodied in the figure of Pilate, but also show an attempt of the now Christian Empire to come to terms with its pagan past.36

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  141

Figure 4.1  Crucifixion detail from the wooden door panels, Rome, basilica of Santa Sabina all’Aventino, Rome early 5th century, ca 432. Photo: Yair Talmor/​Talmoryair Source: https://​comm​ons.wikime​dia.org/​wiki/​File:Sabina​Cruc​ify.jpg

Only at some point in the fifth century does Jesus appear crucified in the flesh, naked apart from a loincloth, as in the Maskell Passion Ivories. Yet in such cases he is shown not as suffering, but facing forward, triumphant, displaying heroic nudity, with no sign of bodily constraint.37 Another panel, from the doors of Santa Sabina in Rome and dated to the first half of the fifth century, represents him naked, en face, victorious between the two crucified wrongdoers, who are depicted on a much smaller scale. According to Choricius, such images of the passion narrative were mainstream in sixth-​century Gaza.38 However, this had not been the case earlier: when describing the cathedral at Nola, Paulinus claims that the triumphal cross and lamb serve as substitutes for the crucified.39 The origin of the suffering Christ, an image well known to modern Western and Eastern audiences, appears only later, in the sixth century, and is closely bound to the Christological debates of the later times.40

4.1.3  Canon and Apocrypha The contrasting views on and reception of the passion narrative reflect the complexity of the source material. Canonical descriptions of the Crucifixion are

142  The Homeric Centos incongruous.41 Whereas Mark emphasizes the abandonment and betrayal of Jesus in his final moments by both his disciples and God, John focuses on soteriology, Matthew presents him as a model of righteousness and a royal figure, and Luke as a prophet and model of discipleship.42 The precise day of Jesus’ execution too was heavily debated and caused issues with the Christian celebration of Easter.43 There was no consensus on the details of the trial, including the number of judges, Pilate’s washing of his hands, or even the sign attached to the cross. Moreover, the secondary characters (e.g., Mary at the foot of the cross, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus at the burial) vary in each passion narrative. Similarly, Jesus’ final words, the aftermath of his death, and the type of natural phenomena that occurred at the moment he breathed his last are not identical in each Gospel.44 These inconsistencies, in fact, were used against early Christians. In Against Celsus, the eponymous philosopher is puzzled that Jesus, a god himself, had to pray to his Father to avoid suffering (2.44), and expresses his disbelief in the supernatural phenomena (2.59) following his death; to prove his divinity, he notes, Jesus ought to have disappeared from the Cross (2.68). Celsus also mocks John’s reference to blood and water, which he compares to the Homeric “ichor,” the blood of the pagan gods, quoting the line that describes the fluid that poured forth from the wound that Diomedes inflicted on Aphrodite in Iliad 5.340 (2.36), even though John’s point is precisely that Christ’s blood is the enfleshment of the Word.45 This type of critique continued through Late Antiquity.46 The problem of homogeneity was also challenged by a plethora of apocryphal narratives circulating in prose and verse.47 Two recurrent themes found in these are the kenosis and the Jews’ role in the Crucifixion. The Gospel of Peter, probably composed in Greek in Syria in the early second century, presents the Jews as the chief culprits, but also has Jesus appealing not to God, but to the force/​strength (δύναμις) that has abandoned him. The divine Jesus levitates as a sign that his divine nature is emptying out (κένωσις) of his human nature. The text describes an apparition of Jesus accompanied by three gigantic men and a personification of the cross.48 The kenotic theme is stressed even more in the docetic Apocryphal Acts of John 97.7–​10, in which Jesus appears to the multitude as crucified in the flesh and to John, hiding in a cave, as a divine being in a vision. Another important witness to the Graeco-​Roman appropriation of the narrative is the Cycle of Pilate,49 which is also key to understanding the I HC, as seen above in the discussion of Mary’s lament. In the Gospel of Nicodemus, Pilate, unlike the Jews, attempts to exonerate Jesus due to his Roman piety.50 The Cycle is also our earliest source on the popular medieval theme of Christ’s Descent into Hades and the Harrowing of Hell, early traces of which also appear in our poem.

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  143

4.1.4 Exegesis Faced with pagan attacks and blossoming apocryphal tales, Christian thinkers tried to smooth over the irregularities. As Jesus had sent out the disciples to preach the (one) Gospel to the world (Mk 16:15), an explanation for the fourfold Gospel—​and its fourfold versions of the Crucifixion—​was imperative. The solution to the issue lay not in Tatian’s Diatessaron, a new amalgamated text, but in Eusebius’ Canons, a system of tables complied as a philological apparatus for collecting the loci paralleli.51 Canon I, for example, lists associated passages (περικοπαί) of various length based on similarities in vocabulary and theme, and covers Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. It also reduces the passion to its basic narrative irrespective of the context of the four Gospels:52 Jesus is accused by the priests, who lead him to Pilate to have him crucified; the judge sentences him to death; he is then scourged and forced to carry his cross to Golgotha, where the soldiers cast lots; an inscription is prepared as he is crucified between two thieves; Joseph of Arimathea carries his body and buries it wrapped in a linen cloth in a stone tomb. Eusebius acknowledges the difficulty of harmonizing the Gospels in his methodological preface, a Letter to Carpianus. He admits that he has tried to keep the order (τὸν τῆς ἀκολουθίας εἱρμόν) of events when collecting identical (ὁμοφώνους) or similar passages (παραπλήσια), since for Christians, maintaining the (narrative) order is tantamount to confessing the truth (φιλαλήθως εἰπεῖν).53 These attempts at harmonization show how difficult it was to create a “new” text when canonical texts were the imperative cornerstones of faith and ritual.54 On the other hand, and like the narrative sequence on the sarcophagi, Eusebius’ canons show that the passion could be stripped down to its most elementary narrative nuclei without the internal logic of the story or the faith in it being disturbed. It was Christian exegesis that combined successfully the fourfold Gospel into a holistic exegetical narrative. Most early exegetes interpreted the scandal of the cross as the colophon of God’s divine plan to bring the world to perfection through his own sacrifice. Because Jesus approached death proactively in order to bring Salvation, his death was seen as a tropaion and cosmic symbol.55 An emphatic turn toward the question of the corporeal and not only the spiritual can be seen in Christological debates from the fourth century onward. Like baptism, Jesus’ passion was considered a rite of passage, another Adamic rebirth. Alongside the soteriological aspect existed a cosmic and symbolic dimension, since the renewal of Spring and of the world corresponded with the Paschal liturgy.56 Although this is not the place for an exhaustive analysis of the Christian treatment of the Crucifixion,57 which will be discussed in detail in relation to the poem, it may be useful to highlight some important and recurrent thematic

144  The Homeric Centos kernels shared across apocrypha, exegetes, and our poem: Pilate and the Jews as culprits, divine kinship and impassibility. The mutual opposition of Pilate and the Jews was crucial and related to issues of kingship but also to the appropriation of Pilate’s persona in the East, where it served as a model for the later converted elite. Tertullian in his Apology gives the most positive representation of the judge claiming that Pilatus, et ipse iam pro sua conscientia Christianus, in a report written to Tiberius.58 Similarly Cyril of Jerusalem probably believed that in rinsing his hands the governor performed a type of baptism.59 There were also other attempts at exempting Pilate: Origen’s reply to Celsus, who inquired why Pilate had not been punished for murdering a god like Pentheus, portrays the governor as a mere instrument of the real culprits, the Jews, who, scattered across the earth, share Pentheus’ fate.60 Cyril of Alexandria presents Pilate as anxiously inquiring about the alleged crime due to his fear of Caesar.61 Explaining Jesus’ silence regarding his claims to kingship, Origen argues that he did so intentionally so that he could fulfil his mission through his death.62 The title “King of the Jews” was equally problematic, however, and had to be revised to take account of the gentile perspective and to reflect Christ’s universal kingship. Cyril of Alexandria, for example, reads John’s trilingual inscription as an early confession of the Lord across the ecumene. He also attributes Pilate’s refusal to change the inscription to miraculous agency and contrasts the Roman’s flexibility to the Jews’ total intransigence.63 This imperial imagery and allusions found in the canon is reproduced on the Pilate theme sarcophagi and shows how the Empire was gradually coming to terms with its conversion. We saw above that representing the Crucifixion in Early Christian art posed challenges. The poem’s date and the date of these visual witnesses coincide: it was when another debated issue appeared, relating to God’s “(im-​) passibility”—​ Christ’s (in-​) ability to experience emotion or suffering—​a belief tantamount to confessing his suffering in the flesh. Quoting 1 Peter 2:24 (οὗ τῷ μώλωπι ἰάθητε, “through his bruise you were healed”) and the early second century of Justin (Dialog. 32.2: τῷ γὰρ μώλωπι αὐτοῦ ἡμεῖς ἰάθημεν, “for by his bruise we were healed”), Cyril confesses his belief that the Christ bruised in the flesh is the Messiah.64 Thus, according to the allegorist Didymus, Jesus asked for water for the sake of fulfilling the Divine Economy,65 whereas Cyril of Alexandria views his request as a natural reaction arising from his corporeal nature, which of course adds to the intensity of his physical martyrdom.66 In an attempt to disentangle the man from the God, Nestorius argues that the divine part in Jesus could not be understood as suffering a mortal death; the two natures of Christ had to be distinguished in such a way that the human experience was ascribed to his human nature and the divine experience to his divine nature. Although Nestorius was not actually attempting to divide Christ, he was interpreted as

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  145 doing so by his opponents, especially after his deposition.67 Cyril’s no less ambivalent slogans such as “he suffered impassibly” (ἀπαθῶς ἔπαθεν), in turn, paved the way for the Chalcedonian Creed, but for the timeframe of our poem the question was still in its developmental stage. To generalize, literary, exegetical, and visual evidence all suggest the greater importance assigned to certain key events over others in the passion narrative. The details of these, however, were left to the discretion of the interpreter and their respective aesthetic and exegetic agenda.

4.2 Pilate When biblical poets took it upon themselves to translate the passion in hexameter, it was the order and the confessional motivation that mattered. Their works were not intended to replace or impose harmony on the canon, but like apocryphal, iconographical, and exegetical efforts, to provide new insights to their envisaged audiences. It is in this spirit that we ought to read the revision of the passion in the I HC, in which the Homeric text contributes to the predominantly Christian message.

4.2.1  Echetos against the Wasps The I HC approaches the passion narrative in snapshot-​like units. In this sense it resembles more closely the narrative sequences found on Early Christian sarcophagi, in which various excerpts from the canonical accounts are freely combined but also reflects the free combination of passages as found in Eusebius’ canons. The text yanks the audience away from the nocturnal setting of Peter’s denial to Pilate’s abode (1837: βασιλῆα) at daybreak. The trial commences with a prosopopoeia that both underscores the moment’s pathetic fallacy and highlights a new narrative beginning: the yellow-​veiled mourning Dawn (1825: Ἠὼς μὲν κροκόπεπλος . . . οἴκτρ’ ὀλοφυρομένη)68 introduces another day/​narrative unit while heightening the dramatic atmosphere. The notion of day here has dramatic ramifications since by the end of this day—​as in dramatic narratives—​Jesus-​the-​ Light will be crucified.69 The other important temporal indications are noon, when Jesus is nailed on the cross (1882–​1883: ἦμος δ᾽ ἠέλιος μέσον οὐρανὸν ἀμφεβήκει . . . τανύουσιν), and the sudden darkness that descends on the land after his death (1987: νύξ θεσπεσίη) and to which an elaborate digression is dedicated (2013–​2014). The passage, in other words, appears to be carefully structured as a one-​day unit, following the action as found in John’s Gospel and also according to the premises of tragedy.70

146  The Homeric Centos After his arrest, Jesus is mocked and humiliated, this time by the minions of the priests as in Luke 22:63–​65, before his encounter with Pilate. The I HC’s description of this attack is noteworthy in that it unfolds in no less than four consecutive verses from the elaborate wasp simile in the Iliad: ἐν πεδίῳ δ’ ἵσταντο διαρραῖσαι μεμαῶτες, χερσὶ δ’ ἔχον ῥόπαλα παγχάλκεα, αἰὲν ἀαγῆ. αὐτίκα δὲ σφήκεσσιν ἐοικότες ἐξεχέοντο εἰνοδίοις, οὓς παῖδες ἐριδμαίνουσιν ἔθοντες, αἰεὶ κερτομέοντες, ὁδῷ ἔπι οἰκί’ ἔχοντες. νηπίαχοι· ξυνὸν δὲ κακὸν πολέεσσι τιθεῖσιν. ἀζηχὴς δ’ ὀρυμαγδὸς ἐπήϊεν ἐρχομένοισι· πέπληγόν θ’ ἱμᾶσιν, ὁμόκλησάν τ’ ἐπέεσσιν. οἱ δ’ ἄρ’ ἴσαν ὡς εἴ τε πυρὶ χθὼν πᾶσα νέμοιτο

1828 ~ Il. 2.473, description of the battlefield 1829 ~ Od. 11.575, Orion in the Underworld 1830 ~ Il. 16.259, Myrmidons’ and Patroclus’ attack 1831 ~ Il. 16.260, ibid. 1832 ~ Il. 16.261, ibid. 1833 ~ Il. 16.262, ibid. 1834 ~ Il. 17.741, Patroclus’ corpse by the ships 1835 ~ Il. 23.363, whipping of horses, chariot race 1836 ~ Il. 2.780, simile of Zeus attacking the Titans

They stood in the plain eager to tear him apart, | and in their hands they had bats all of bronze, for ever unbreakable. | They rushed out at him at once like wasps by the roadsides, which children tend to irritate, | always provoking them, children who lives by the road | puerile ones; who create a shared evil for many; | and an unceasing din assaulted them as they came; | they scourged him with ropes and mocked him with words. | So, they were rushing as if fire were overwhelming the land.

The account unsurprisingly combines several important episodes in the Iliad, opening with the account of the Trojans and Achaeans’ preparation for the first (narrated) battle in Book 2. There are different options for describing the Christian scene,71 which suggests that the choice of this particular verse is of intertextual and metaliterary importance. On the intertextual level, it prompts the reader to visualize the narrative as a clash not between individual warriors, but between armies, thus magnifying its importance. On the intratextual level, its Ringkomposition (I HC 1828 ~ Il. 2.473; I HC 1836 ~ Il. 2.780) and the echoes of the Titanomachy, again from Book 2, underscore the theme of theomachy combat. The Homeric hypotext thus corroborates the connotations of the “clash of armies” image that introduces the scene, adding undertones of a cosmic battle between. On the metaliterary level, the line reveals a taste for narrative beginnings: just as the battle scene introduces the first major clash later in the Iliad 3.15, so its repetition signals the beginning of the end for Jesus, that is, his trial, which, in the visual arts served as a metonym for the passion. The popular simile of the wasps to describe aggressive crowds would undoubtedly have triggered connotations of invective and, given the setting of the trial in the Christian story, prompted further association with Aristophanes’ eponymous play.72 Wasps made for a fitting image of the slanderous Pharisees of the Gospels, here, as in the Acta Pilati B,73 represented as litigious as well.74 It is probably no coincidence that at the moment of Christ’s arrest in the Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel, the Pharisees are also likened to a dangerous swarm (ἐσμός) that has been stung to madness (οἰστρήεντα), this time through an allusion to a

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  147 sting by the gadfly.75 This, after all, was a typical phrase for describing all enemies of faith—​the Pharisees, the Jews, and even contemporary “heretics.” So, for example, the autobiographical poems of Gregory of Nazianzus, which fall into the category of invective, also resort to sting-​related imagery when describing the vindictiveness of his adversaries.76 The wasp metaphor, however, echoes another biblical typological borrowing referring to stinging insects: bees. Psalm 118:12 reads: “They compassed me about like bees the wax . . . but I defended myself against them.”77 The psalm in question was read as an allusion to the forthcoming Messianic victory achieved by Jesus’ Crucifixion through the equation of Jesus with a David faced with swarming, aggressive crowds.78 If, then, wasps and not bees are used in the I HC, this must be due to their popular connotation in imperial invective and were thus a suitable metaphor for the Pharisees’ equally popular in apocryphal literature and exegesis vituperation.79 This passage thus offers a Messianic reading of the Gospel based on Homeric and Aristophanic imagery that suits the late antique taste for “religious invective.”80 The description of Pilate and his reaction is remarkably succinct if compared to the richness of the visual renderings of the event81 or even to Nonnus’ portrayal of the judge as a wise ruler who confessed his faith in Jesus avant la lettre, thereby foreshadowing the conversion of the gentiles.82 The abridgement of this particular scene in the I HC may seem odd as it contains good material for rhetorical amplification, as it did for Nonnus. On the other hand, the lack of any direct confrontation between Pilate and Jesus may evoke the Savior’s meekness in front of the judge and also brings out the discrepancy between Pilate and the wasp-​like Jews—​two different, but not equally aggressive opponents. Like the swarms of Pharisees, Pilate is presented as a threat. The line introducing him is one used to describe one of the scariest tyrants in the Homeric epics, Echetos, king of Epirus, a kind of legendary bogeyman and allegedly the most “baneful of mortals” (1837: εἰς ἔχετον βασιλῆα, βροτῶν δηλήμονα πάντων).83 In the epic, Antinous urges the cowherd Irus to fight the beggar-​Odysseus, threatening to have him punished by Echetos if he does not.84 The portrayal of Jesus as an Irus-​like figure upholds his characterization as a low-​life individual, thereby recalling the critiques of pagans for whom crucifixion was a form of execution reserved for slaves and disreputable beings. In the Paraphrasis, Nonnus more subtly refers to him as a “betrayed/​handed-​over slave.”85 Likewise the poem evokes Irus and the whipping of Diomedes’ horses at 1835 ~ Il. 23.363 to illustrate the denigration of the God-Man to the level of a slave. The biblical intertext here is the famous lines from Philippians 2:5–​11: God was crucified as “taking the form of a slave,” an image used both by Nestorius and Cyril to prove the magnitude of the incarnation. Yet whereas the first stressed divine impassibility in the passion narrative the later emphasized God’s presence in it. The passage is

148  The Homeric Centos found in Cyril’s famous theological treatise to Eudocia and Pulcheria written in 428 and is considered pivotal for Cyril’s understanding of the appropriation of the human flesh by the Word. Nestorius by contrast argued that the subject of the kenosis is not the Word but passible form of the slave in which the word indwelled.86 The Irus foil in the cento seems to endorse a rather low Christology, or at least one emphasizing suffering in the flesh isolated from the divinity. This could sound closer to that argued by Nestorius given that nowhere in the passage is Jesus mentioned as the incarnate Word, besides a very brief mention of the insolence of his tormentors (1833: νηπίαχοι). The passage though remains focused on Pilate focusing on his alleged cruelty. It appears that Echetos’ name continues to reverberate in Late Antiquity as the embodiment of cruelty: Gregory of Nazianzus uses the king as a comparandum when describing the cruelty of the mob that tortured the martyr Mark, Bishop of Arethusa, with the blessing of the Emperor Julian.87 Thus, the biblical epic not only casts Pilate as a dangerous character, but also, as this near-​contemporary testimony by Gregory shows, reveals the difference between Pilate and Julian’s stance to Christianity: in the course of the poem, Pilate is shown to be better than the Roman emperor in terms of his attitude toward Jesus. This negative initial description then is surprising given the following more moderate characterization. The Echetos paradigm then is preponderately used to display Jesus’ Irus-​like vulnerability at the hands of a tyrant and is modelled in Philippians 2:5-​11. From a narratological perspective the Odyssean echoes increase the suspense of the scene. However, in what follows, the cento Pilate shows wisdom and turns his washing of his hands and reluctance to deliver a death penalty into an astonishing moral act that stands out against the cruelty of the Jewish mob. Consequently, the parallels to both Echetos and Irus foreshadow the grim outcome of the trial and consign the cosmic battle of the first scourging scene to a mortal context; as a mortal, Jesus is as defenseless as the beggar Irus, his only advocate being his tyrannical judge, Pilate. This kind of intertextual background makes the Homeric adaptation of Pilate an even more astonishing tour de force.

4.2.2  The Libation of a Gentile Pilate washes his hands only in Matthew 27:24–​26. According to the Christian exegetes,88 John and the other Gospels hint at this as well without necessarily exonerating the judge.89 The episode is taken up by the Apocryphal Acts of Pilate B 9.4 to cast the governor in a favorable light. The Nonnian Pilate, for example, is split between the pressure of the Pharisees and his conscience but ends up unwillingly delivering Jesus to his executioners (Par. 19.83: ἑκὼν ἀέκων). It is

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  149 through this kind of post factum reading of the trial that the biblical cento revisits Matthew. Hand washing is a common theme in epic90 and, more importantly, in banquet literature, in which can be found the same Homeric lines that the biblical cento uses to describe other ritual occasions.91 The hand-​rinsing scene is reconsidered in two lines that describe how ‘the messengers poured water on his hands | first, and then he washed [them] in the beautiful streams of the water’ (1840–​1841: αὐτίκα κήρυκες μὲν ὕδωρ ἐπὶ χεῖρας ἔχευαν | πρῶτον, ἔπειτα δ’ ἔνιψ’ ὕδατος καλῇσι ῥοῇσι).92 The first line is stereotypical and appears in libation scenes. The second, however, introduces a famous passage that is often quoted in ancient sources:93 Achilles pours a libation with his precious cup that he uses only when praying to Zeus of Dodona.94 A late antique audience would hardly have missed this point. In the cento poem, Pilate washes his hands and prays to Zeus in what through a pagan lens would seem like a divine epiphany.95 Both the judge of the Gospels and the tyrant of the I HC become a powerless friend trying to intervene on behalf of the victim, Jesus, just as Achilles does on behalf of Patroclus. The reprise of the Homeric passage suggests a further strong Kontrastimitation: the God, whom Pilate recognizes, is, like the mortal Patroclus, doomed;96 yet unlike Zeus in the Iliad, who rejects Achilles’ plea that he gives kudos to his friend, the Christian God awards a different kind of glory, not through a safe return but through death.97 A similar pagan innuendo can be found in the ritual invocation of the Sun in the Acts of Pilate B that shows Pilate’s Roman-​styled piety, to be contrasted to the Jewish impiety.98 The contrast in the water and wine imagery—​water in Matthew’s Gospel, wine in the Iliadic passage—​may have been suggestive to a Christian audience, for whom water and wine would have hinted at Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross (Jo 19:34) and foreshadowed the mysteries of baptism and the eucharist.99 Thus when Pilate re-​performs Achilles’ libation, he may be subtly described as being already on the way to conversion. Pilate’s conversion is a theme inspired by the Gospels, strongly suggested in the apocryphal sources, supported by Tertullian, hinted in the visual sources, downplayed by the Christian exegetes, and later explicitly stated in Nonnus’ Paraphrase, which describes Pilate as inscribing the titulus as a confessional engraving (19.107: μάρτυρι δέλτῳ).100 This adumbration of conversion in the I HC is projected not through the titulus, which goes unmentioned in the poem, but through a typical pagan ritual: a libation. In Eudocia’s other poem on the conversion of Saint Cyprian, the revision of pagan rituals intend to deconstruct them for the sake of the soteriological potency of Christian ritual.101 In the I HC, however, pagan rituals are used as a foil to Christian rituals, such as for example the funerary ritual cleansing of Sarpedon’s body in the Scamander that is the main intertext of Jesus’ baptism.102 Given that Pilate in the visual sources and in Cyril of Jerusalem rinses his hands ritually as if performing a type of baptism,103 I believe that the Homeric text

150  The Homeric Centos contributes to the Christian conversion of the ritual, if not of the judge himself, as we will see below. Correspondingly, Pilate’s subsequent speech reverberates with wise sayings that are closely related to pagan notions of epiphany and which in this context insinuate his near but certainly not clear recognition of Jesus as a god: ὦ φίλοι, οὐκ ἂν ἐγώ γε κατακτείνειν ἐθέλοιμι· ἀργαλέος γάρ τ’ ἐστὶ θεὸς βροτῷ ἀνδρὶ δαμῆναι, ὅς περ θνητὸς ἔῃ καὶ οὐ τόσα μήδεα οἶδεν. ἀλλὰ τίη νῦν οὗτος ἀναίτιος ἄλγεα πάσχει, μὰψ ἕνεκ’ ἀλλοτρίων ἀχέων, κεχαρισμένα δ’ αἰεὶ δῶρα θεὸς δίδωσιν, ὃς οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχῃσι; μὴ ἀγαθῷ περ ἐόντι νεμεσσηθῶμέν οἱ ἡμεῖς· ἀλλ’ ἀναχαζώμεσθα, θεοῦ δ’ ἀλεώμεθα μῆνιν· οὐ γάρ πως πάντεσσι θεὸς φαίνοιτο ἐναργής».

1843 ~ Od. 16.400, the suitors on killing Telemachus 1844 ~ Od. 4.397, Menelaus attempting to capture Proteus 1845 ~ Il. 18.363, Hera; cf. Od. 20.46 Athena to Odysseus 1846 ~ Il. 20.297, Poseidon on Aeneas 1847 ~ Il. 20.298, ibid. 1848 ~ Il. 20.299, ibid. 1849 ~ Il. 24.53, Apollo threatening Achilles 1850 ~ Il. 5.34, Athena to Ares, afraid of Zeus’ anger 1851 ~ Od. 16.161, Athena’s epiphany to Odysseus

Friends, I would not want to murder him of course; | it is hard for a mortal to capture a god | he who is a mortal and does not have many an insight. | But why is he now suffering woes without reason, randomly, because of | other people’s calamities, while God, who always graciously | gives boons, dwells in the broad sky? | Let us not be angry with a good man; | but let us drop back and let us avoid the anger of the god; | for god does not appear to everyone clearly.

The first line of this tirade goes back to a speech given by Amphinomus, who is the one mostly preferred by Penelope because of his mild character, to the conspiring suitors.104 Thus he offers a more positive model for Pilate since in this passage the suitor states that he does not want to kill Telemachus, arguing that (as he goes on to say) it is unholy to murder one of kingly lineage, a line with a gnomic appeal throughout antiquity.105 The cento thus subtly alludes Jesus’ royal, if not divine, pedigree. In this sense, Pilate’s understanding of Jesus’ epiphany is more closely modeled on the Gospel of John, in which the priests charge Jesus and his Messianic claims with blasphemy as these pose a threat to Caesar.106 This is a theme thoroughly reworked in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis, in which Pilate, the Agamemnon-​styled ὄρχαμος ἀνήρ,107 embodies earthly rule and Jesus’ divine kingship, σκηπτοῦχος or βασιλεύς.108 Still, by implicitly acknowledging Jesus’ royal lineage, the Pilate in the I HC actively confesses his faith in Jesus’ transcendent nature, in contrast to the Gospel, where his conversion is implied in the answer provided by Jesus, who virtually repeats his words.109 The next line (1844: ἀργαλέος . . . δαμῆναι) is equally remarkable in that it describes Jesus as Proteus, a versatile sophist and God.110 Earlier in the poem (328), the line is used for Herod, who cannot capture the infant Jesus (or understand his divine nature); here it is used for Pilate, who, unlike the tetrarch, is eager to read more into Jesus’ humble mortal appearance. Yet whereas the model of Proteus had already been used earlier for Satan the sophist (45: οὐχ᾽ ἅλιος . . . οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ δόξης) in his encounter with Eve, here, in his relation to Jesus, it is the divinity rather than the

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  151 versatility the Homeric text highlights Proteus’ changeability, precisely through the repetition of this famous line. That Pilate’s Roman background may have helped him understand Jesus’ divinity was not a new idea. Origen, in commenting on the vision of Pilate’s wife—​dreams being a common topos in divine epiphanies in both Jewish and Graeco-​Roman culture111—​entertains the possibility that Pilate himself may have been the addressee of the dream. He argues, however, that Jesus appeared in a dream to the wife in order to reveal his divine nature, which appeared in the flesh before the judge so that the latter would be astonished at his taciturn bravery. Had Pilate had the dream himself he may have reacted differently, however; the point here is not to release Jesus, but to save his wife, a prefiguration of the Church of the gentiles under Pilate.112 Cyril of Alexandria also toys with the likelihood that Pilate suspected a divine epiphany, but dismisses this as impossible. The Greeks, he says, are deluded by their many heroes and demi-​ heroes, which they call offspring of the gods, even more so, the Romans, who are superstitious (δεισιδαιμονέστερον) and attribute divine lineage to their kings, which is why Pilate grew fearful when inquiring about the divine identity ascribed to Jesus. Cyril seems to attribute Pilate’s contempt (διαπτύσας) for Jesus’ revelation to the fact that being a pagan, he is incapable of grasping the mystery of the incarnation.113 The chasm between the judge and the accused is vast but also cultural: in a Graeco-​Roman milieu, divine lineage was something easily attributed to mortals such as kings and was broadcast. Unlike the Caesars who took pride in their divine ancestry, Jesus was not of kingly and noble lineage. Moreover, in the Jewish context, proclaiming oneself a messianic king was blasphemous. By contrast, the I HC seems to suggest that Pilate’s Homeric—​and pagan—​cultural background may have encouraged him to think of his interlocutor as a god in disguise, as Celsus had already suggested to his Christian interlocutor by comparing him to Pentheus and Jesus to Bacchus; or that his Roman pietas, as in the Gospel of Nicodemus, encouraged his clairvoyance.114 The next important line cluster in this respect is Iliad 20.297–​299, which again revisits the subject of divine descent, a theme of apologetic character that shows how Christ died as a slave while being the Lord. The lines are a reprise of Poseidon’s words defending Aeneas’ virtue and piety, a widespread aspect of imperial propaganda in both East and West, Aeneas being the ancestor of the Empire.115 Yet the use of the Aeneas model here brings out different aspects of Jesus’ characterization and enhances Pilate’s testimony. Like Aeneas, Christ suffers unjustly (1846) due to other’s mistakes; like Aeneas he is someone whose eyes are not on kingship (earthly in Jesus’ case);116 and like Aeneas, who carried his father through the ruins of Troy, Jesus is a paragon of filial piety. Nonetheless, the gnomic line (1847~ Il 20.298: κεχαρισμένα δ’

152  The Homeric Centos αἰεί | δῶρα θεοῖσι δίδωσι) which presents Aeneas as one who observes pagan rituals, Poseidon’s main argument in defense of the Trojan’s exemplary piety, resonates awkwardly in the case of Jesus, a god not a hero like the prince of Troy. For this reason in the poem, the syntax is reversed;117 God (and Christ) are not the indirect object but the subject of the gift (δίδωσι).118 We find the participle κεχαρισμένος in a similar reuse in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis, where Jesus, in a revising of John (Par. 19:11: εἰ μὴ ἦν δεδομένον σοι ἄνωθεν), claims that the governor’s power over him is given from the heavens (Par. 19.51: εἰ μὴ ἄνωθεν ἔην κεχαρισμένον).119 Both poems understand John’s δεδομένον as a gift, a boon, and not as something simply given. For in the Christian world, it is Christ/​God who is the very gift and the cause of mankind’s Salvation, which is what Pilate here implies. From a gentile perspective, it appears that Pilate’s speech is driven by the uncertainty surrounding Jesus’ divine identity and the possibility of attracting nemesis through any condemnation of him. From a Christian perspective, Jesus’ explicit association thus with Aeneas together with the resemanticization of the meaning of divine gifts in the Christian poem placed in the mouth of the gentile governor has further imperial connotations: Pilate, a representative of Rome, speaks about Aeneas’, the founder of the Empire, famous for his pietas and thus implicitly acknowledges Jesus as a god-​sent boon. Concluding, Pilate advises against attracting divine wrath (1859: θεοῦ δ’ ἀλεώμεθα μῆνιν),120 and ends with another popular gnomē related to divine epiphany (1851: οὐ γάρ πως πάντεσσι θεὸς φαίνοιτο ἐναργής).121 Still, for all his piety and reservations, and despite his overall portrayal as a wise judge, he leaves the scene fearful of the crowd (1853 ~ Od. 16.425: δῆμον ὑποδδείσας) as does Eupeithes, the father of Antinous, who, in the Homeric hypotext, becomes Odysseus’ suppliant, and later leads the revolt against him.122 This dark shadow along with the programmatic opening by Echetos mars the positive portrayal of Pilate as a pious and educated Roman judge and shows him as a less than capable political leader.123 As in the Gospel, so here, the governor tries but cannot rise above his times; his fear of God is less than his fear of men and the barbs of the Pharisees. However, in this case, it is not Pilate who hands Jesus over to be crucified, a major difference with respect to the canon; he simply departs, leaving Jesus standing (1853: ἀπεβήσατο . . . τὸν δ᾽ἔλιπε αὐτοῦ).124 This too suggests a milder judgment by the author of the cento poem. All the same, what cannot be sufficiently stressed is that irrespective of his own beliefs, Pilate had to have Jesus crucified as this was key to his own conversion and that of the gentiles that he was often seen as embodying. From this perspective, the I HC offers a fairly positive image of Pilate, similar to that of the Eastern tradition and seem to portray the judge as a pious Roman and maybe a proto-​Christian in the making.

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  153

4.3 Crucifixion After Pilate’s monologue the poem describes in detail Jesus’ post-​trial flagellation, that complements his earlier Lukan scourging.125 The analysis below follows the events leading to Golgotha, the cosmic resonances of the Crucifixion, Jesus’ burial and heroic descent into Hades. Across the poem the references to Jesus’ earthly body and kingship and his Messianic lordship are intertwined and supported by an intelligent reuse of the Homeric hypotext: the Odyssey is the prime, but not sole model for Christ’s Crucifixion; the Iliad too is the backdrop for imagery pertaining to suffering, martyrdom, and death as heroic feats before the Crucifixion.

4.3.1 Suffering in the Flesh Before presenting the reader with the famous Christian revision of Odysseus on the mast, the cento presents the Savior’s humiliation through a collection of Homeric lines used for various lowlifes in the epics. The description of Jesus’ torture at the hands of Pilate’s minions and later on Golgotha zooms in on his physical suffering and is exegetically stunning and challenging, especially as in his earlier encounter with Pilate he is cast in the role of Irus, another lowlife. Thersites too is used to describe the scourging in the Gospels. δῆσε δ’ ὀπίσσω χεῖρας ἐϋτμήτοισιν ἱμᾶσι, πεπλήγει δ’ ἀγορῆθεν ἀεικέσσι πληγῇσι σμῶδιξ δ’ αἱματόεσσα μεταφρένου ἐξυπανέστη

1854 ~ Il. 21.30, Achilles’ captive Trojan princes 1855 ~ Il. 2.264, Thersites 1856 ~ Il. 2.267, ibid.

Τhe crowd [subject is δῆμον at 1853] fastened his hands to his back with well-​made straps | and drove him from the agora with shameful blows; | and a blood-​swelling appeared on his back.

The punishment of the ugly soldier in Book 2 recalls anti-​Christian polemic, namely, the claim that Jesus died the death of a despicable creature because, in Late Antiquity, Thersites was commonly used to train aspiring orators in the skills of epic-​inspired ethopoeia, whether eulogy or invective.126 Like the ugly and villainous Thersites, the I HC Jesus is struck and bruised (σμῶδιξ). The reader of the Iliad is prompted to remember that Odysseus hits Thersites with Agamemnon’s golden scepter—​a line omitted in this composite citation but the highlight in the Iliadic context—​then threatens to strip off his clothes.127 The passage bears strong similarities to the stripping of Jesus and alludes to the reed he is given so that he can play king, a reed with which he is then tormented (Mt 27:27–​30). Even more surprising from a Christological perspective is the detailed focus on the bloody welts on his back (1856: σμῶδιξ αἱματόεσσα),128 as these refer to a particular form of corporeal disfiguration that is not described in

154  The Homeric Centos the Gospels, which mention torture but not its physical effects on Jesus or his reaction to it.129 In this respect, the scene described here seems more aligned with the late antique taste for physical abuse and violence found in other epics such as those by Quintus and Nonnus,130 and the idea that disfigured bodies are touched with holiness—​one especially common in hagiographic narratives that stress, alongside transcendence, the body’s materiality and perishability.131 On the other hand, there is a drawback in the parallel between Jesus and Thersites as he is no ordinary monk or ascetic but the Messiah. Earlier on, the manner of Jesus’ death had been likened to an athletic competition of epic dimensions. This is an idea firmly grounded in the imagery related to martyrdom,132 which returns later in the poem, in its Christianized Homeric vocabulary (1870: δήμιοι, ἀγῶνας). The danger of overly emphasizing the suffering of the human flesh at the expense of the divine nature within it are mitigated by intertextual allusions to Peter’s first epistle which claimed the soteriological power of Jesus’ bruised body: οὗ τῷ μώλωπι ἰάθητε.133 Christian exegetes quote the Petrine letter to underscore the importance to redemption of Jesus’ suffering in the flesh,134 but others like Athanasius explicitly emphasized that Godhead did not suffer in the flesh.135 Still, the evidence from the heroic visual descriptions of the Crucifixion shows that it was still a thorny topic by the time the poem was composed in the late twenties or thirties. Although redemption required physical suffering, too great a display of it may have lent support to theopaschism, Nestorius’ main charge against Cyril, or unduly emphasized that the suffering individual was an ἄνθρωπος ψιλός, a mere man, an accusation directed at Nestorius by his adversaries.136 The line between “orthodox” and “heretical” representation of Christ’s martyrdom was thin, as seen in this cautionary letter by Faustus, bishop of Apollonias, to a certain Petrus, who apparently was not above suspicion: ACO 3.8.37: καὶ γὰρ διὰ τοῦτο πλείσταις λοιδορίαις ἐβλήθη παρὰ τῶν ἀπίστων ἡ ἐν Χαλκηδόνι τῶν χλ πατέρων ὀρθόδοξος πίστις, ὅτι εἶπον δύο φύσεις εἶναι ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ, μίαν παθητὴν θνητὴν ὁρατήν τε καὶ ἔπαφον, ἥτις ἐστὶν ἡ σὰρξ ἡμῶν, καὶ μίαν ἀπαθῆ ἀθάνατον ἀόρατον ἀψηλάφητον, ἥτις ἐστὶν ἡ τοῦ θεοῦ ἄχραντος φύσις. τὰ ἑκάτερα οὖν ἐν τῷ Χριστῷ δεῖ ἡμᾶς ὁμολογεῖν, ὧν τῇ ἑνώσει μὴ δῶις διάστασιν μηδὲ τέμῃς τὸν θεὸν ἀπὸ τῆς σαρκός, καὶ οὐ φωραθήσῃ Νεστοριανός. μηδὲ τὸ διάφορον ἀπαρνήσῃ τῶν τοῦ Χριστοῦ φύσεων, καὶ οὐχ ὑπωπτευθήσῃ Εὐτυχιανιστὴς εἶναι. καὶ μὴ συγχέῃς θεὸν σαρκὸς πάθεσι, καὶ οὐ λεχθήσῃ Ἀπολιναριαστὴς εἶναι. μηδὲ τὸν ἀπαθῆ καὶ ἀθάνατον τετράφθαι λέξῃς θεόν, καὶ οὐ προσοχθίσεις εἶναι Μανιχαῖος . . . βλέπε, ἀγαπητέ, μὴ εἰς πέρας ἄξῃς τὸ διαφημιζόμενον περὶ σοῦ, μὴ γέλως γένῃ ὡς θεοπασχίτης ἢ τετραδίτης . . . πολλοὶ γὰρ πλάνοι ἐξῆλθον εἰς τὸν κόσμον οἱ μὴ ὁμολογοῦντες Χριστὸν Ἰησοῦν ἐν σαρκὶ ἐληλυθέναι. For truly the orthodox faith of the 630 Fathers in Chalcedon was shattered by many accusations, for they proclaimed there to be two natures in Jesus, one passible, mortal, visible, and tangible, which is our own flesh, and one impassible, immortal, invisible, and intangible, which is the immaculate nature of God. We should then confess both these [natures coexisting] in Christ, through the union of which you should not allow for division, nor part god from the flesh, so that you will not be perceived as a Nestorian. Nor should you reject the difference between Christ’s natures, and thus you will not

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  155 be suspected to be an Eutychian. Plus, do not mix God with the sufferings of the flesh, and you will not be labelled Apollinarian. Nor proclaim that the impassible and immortal God is mutable, so that you will not provoke anger being [perceived as] a Manichaean . . . My dear, watch out, so that you will not fulfil what is being rumoured about you, do not become a laughingstock [being perceived] as a theopaschite or a tetratheist . . . For there are many heretics, who do no not confess that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh, out there in the world.

If theological/​philosophical prose was already slippery when it came to articulating Christological dogma, poetry may have seemed even less suitable for concrete arguments. Thus, in order to represent the scourging scene, the I HC had to achieve a difficult balance between the passible body and the impassible divinity. The echoes of epic games and athletic competition allowed then for the poem to raise the tone of the register: Jesus didn’t die a lowly death but endured a heroic martyrdom. The passage discussed above, however, is sketched in highly corporeal tones, which may betray an approach aware of the Nestorius’ perspective. In the scourging scene, for example, Nonnus includes a thoroughly allegorical interpretation of the seamless purple tunic worn by Jesus in John 19:24 (χιτὼν ἄρραφος, ἐκ τῶν ἄνωθεν ὑφαντός), a token of his kingship and a symbol of the indwelling of the eternal God in the flesh.137 Nonnus’ earthly–​heavenly imagery, repeated across the poem, could have mitigated non-​strictly mainstream descriptions. The cento tunic (1881: ἀπὸ δὲ χλαῖναν θέτο φοινικόεσσαν), by contrast, is a simple purple garment that highlights above all Jesus’ entitlement to earthly kingship, as it alludes to Telemachus’ cloak.138 In the cento poem, a way of preventing the possible spread of rumors, as in the case of Peter in the letter above, the scene is focalized not around Jesus, who is always addressed in the third person singular, but around his torturers.139 This, in turn, justifies the more corporeal description of the torture, since these men regarded Jesus as a human and a villain. The divine element is only mentioned in those few cases in which the assassins are presented as godless and committing hybris thereby attracting divine punishment, as do the suitors in the Odyssey with whom they have swapped names but not deeds (1871–​1872: νήπιοι . . . δρηστῆρες... ἐν μεγάροισιν).140 Here again it is divine punishment inflicted by the Father that is evoked, rather than punishment by Christ, who, as we shall see, forgives his nemesis.

4.3.2  The Typology of Golgotha The potential Christological dangers lurking in the description of physical suffering are further mediated through a typological reading of the cross. The poem describes Calvary with an ekphrastic cluster that alludes to heroic tombs in the

156  The Homeric Centos Iliad that are usually associated with the Archaic idea of kleos, which, revisited here in Christian terms, alludes to biblical typology:141 ἕστηκε ξύλον αὖον ὅσον τ’ ὄργυι’ ὑπὲρ αἴης, ἢ δρυὸς ἢ πεύκης· τὸ μὲν οὐ καταπύθεται ὄμβρῳ. ἀνδρὸς μὲν τόδε σῆμα πάλαι κατατεθνειῶτος

1864 ~ Il. 23.327, the turning-​post, chariot race 1865 ~ Il. 23.328, ibid. 1866 ~ Il. 7.89, Hector of his opponent’s grave +​ Il. 23.33, the chariot race

There stood a piece of dry wood, six feet up above the ground, | of an oak or a pine tree, which is not rotted by rainwater. | This is the tomb of a man long ago dead.

Both the wood and the location of the cross were important to Christian interpretation. The expression ξύλον αὖον is used in Christian contexts to describe not only xoana, but also the dried-​up souls of the dead villains. There is a canonical parallel for this Homeric image of the dried up wood: when about to be nailed to the cross in Luke, Jesus compares himself explicitly to wet wood, a remark that associates him with life and turns the cross into the Wood of life.142 Unlike the shriveled sinners, Jesus is holy, the source of eternal life.143 Within a Christian framework, therefore, the dry wood (1865) that does not rot in the rain would only have enhanced the salvific and baptismal connotations of the Crucifixion and the typological reading of the New Covenant in the light of the Old. In contrast to the dried-​up wood of Adam’s sin, the non-​decaying (1865: οὐ καταπύθεται ὄμβρῳ) wood of the cross becomes the real Tree of Life through baptism in blood. This too implies that physical suffering is essential to Salvation. Regarding the location, the poem again offers a typological explanation. Although Schembra sees Iliad 7.89 as line 1866’s sole hypotext, the line is formulaic and reappears at another crucial Iliadic moment, the turning point of the chariot race at the games for Patroclus.144 In addition, the Homeric Scholia also compile lines that allude to tombs and underscore the irony of the passage: one ancient commentator perceptively observes that in Book 7 Hector boasts of his opponent’s future tomb, which will also commemorate his fame, unaware of the fact that he is the one who will die soon.145 Nonnus uses σῆμα also to denote Jesus’ grave and also to orchestrate a kind of foot-​race between John and Peter, evoking thus the epic model.146 The heroic model here is, in my view, imperative to understanding the centonic revision not only of the cross, but also of Christian notions of kleos. Semata in Homeric epics serve as important material evidence of past heroic feats, but also of tragic fates. The reuse of this context offers an early glimpse of a Jesus based on the model of the doomed Achilles, whose imminent death runs throughout the narrative of the Crucifixion. At the exegetical level, however, the tomb (σῆμα)147 of “the man long ago dead” can be no other than the site of Adam’s skull, a beloved topos of Christian interpretation, which also appears in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis 19 with explicit references to Adam’s grave that are not in John 19:17:148

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  157 εἰσόκε χῶρον ἵκανε φατιζομένοιο Κρανείου, ‘Aδὰμ πρωτογόνοιο φερώνυμον ἄ́ντυγι κόρσης, (90) Γολγοθὰ τὸν καλέεσκε Σύρων στόμα· until He [Jesus] reached the place called “Cranium” [“Skull”], | named after the orb of first-​born Adam’s head, | and which the Syrians’ mouth called Golgotha.

Accordingly, the “man long ago dead” of the Christianized Homeric stump is the first man of creation, and the place, Golgotha, the cradle of humanity and its rebirth. Such an interpretation is also aligned with a long tradition of Christian exegesis of the Gospel of John, which identifies the site of the cross on Golgotha as the one where the first human was purportedly inhumed, as well as a vast amount of exegetical typological literature that viewed Jesus as the Second Adam. The scene of the Crucifixion expands on the anti-​Christian rhetoric, this time presenting Jesus through yet another model of a villain, that of Melanthius, the treacherous and opportunistic goatherd for whom Odysseus reserves a harsh but exemplary form of death: suspension from a pole—​a kind of improvised crucifixion—​followed by amputation (nose, ears, genitals, hands, and legs). The description of Jesus on the cross closely follows that of Melanthius’ execution, whose lines frame the scene in a Ringkomposition (1868–​1872) with the two lines on battle scenes, 1869 and 1871, set symmetrically, as can be seen in the excerpt below: σειρὴν δὲ πλεκτὴν ἐξ αὐτοῦ πειρήναντες εἴρυσαν, ἠνορέῃ πίσυνοι καὶ κάρτεϊ χειρῶν, δήμιοι, οἳ κατ’ ἀγῶνας ἐῢ πρήσσεσκον ἕκαστα, νήπιοι, οἳ ἄρα δὴ τάδε μήδεα μηχανόωντο. δρηστῆρες δ’ ἑτέρωθεν ὁμόκλεον ἐν μεγάροισιν, ἴθυσαν δὲ λύκοισιν ⸢ἐοικότες⸣⸥ ⸤ὠμοφάγοισιν. ἀρνειῷ μιν ἔγωγε ἐΐσκω πηγεσιμάλλῳ, ὅς τ’ οἰῶν μέγα πῶϋ διέρχεται ἀργεννάων· ἀρνειὸς γὰρ ἔην, μήλων ὄχ’ ἄριστος ἁπάντων.

1868 ~ Od. 22.175, Melanthius’ punishment 1869 ~ Il. 8.226, Achilles’ fleet 1870 ~ Od. 8.259, the Phaeacian judges 1871 ~ Il. 8.177, Hector about the Argives 1872 ~ Od. 22.211, Melanthius’ punishment 1873 ~ Il. 17.725 +​Il. 5.782, battle scene 1874 ~ Il. 3.197, Helen about Odysseus 1875 ~ Il. 3.189, ibid. 1876 ~ Od. 9.432, the escape from Polyphemus’ cave

Having tied a woven rope around him | they pulled him [up], trusting their courage and might of their hands, | the executioners, who in martyrdoms do everything appropriately; | the fools, for they were harboring such thoughts. The murderers attacked straight like wolves who eat raw flesh. | I see him like a thick-​fleeced ram, | who strolls among a herd of white-​woolled ewes. | For a ram he was, the most beautiful of all the sheep.

Here the violence of the aggressors is juxtaposed with an extensive simile referring to the Lamb of God compiled out of verses drawn from both Homeric epics: the lines on Helen observing the Achaeans from the walls of Troy while comparing Odysseus to a ram (1874–​1875) and the (1876) tale of Odysseus using a ram to escape Polyphemus’ cave—​a scene that likewise alludes to Jesus’ near

158  The Homeric Centos escape from death, but which is also an important element in the classicizing reception of the Crucifixion through the Odysseus model, as discussed below. Although the famous phrase “ecce agnus dei” appears only in John 1:29 and 1:36, it was already related to Jesus’ sacrifice by the Christian apostles and apologists as it enabled them to merge the story of the Messiah with the ritual of the Passover lamb.149 The lamb metaphor can also be found in the description of the crucified Christ in the Acta Pilati.150 The connection would have been an obvious one for a late antique readership, as can be seen from Paulinus’ description of the apse in the Cathedral of Nola, in which the ekphrasist experiences a kind of revelation.151 Hence, next to the totally corporeal punishment of Melanthius, the poem offers a confession of faith in the Son of Man in the first person by having the Helen-​like narrator intruding in the narrative to express her awe in this lamb-​digression.152

4.3.3  A Cosmic Crucifixion It is this revelatory feeling that presides over the following description of the nailing of Jesus on the cross, in which graphic details of torture and cosmic resonance reach a delicate equilibrium: ἦμος δ’ ἠέλιος μέσον οὐρανὸν ἀμφιβεβήκει, δεξάμενοι δ’ ἄρα τοί γε διαστάντες τανύουσι ⸢σταυρο⸣ῖσιν πυκινοῖσι⸥ ⸤διαμπερὲς ἔνθα καὶ ἔνθα, γυμνόν, ἀτάρ τοι εἵματ’ ἐνὶ μεγάροισι κέοντο, ὀρθὸν ἐν ἱστοπέδῃ, ἐκ δ’ αὐτοῦ πείρατ’ ἀνῆψαν, ὕψι μάλα μεγάλως· ἐπὶ δ’ ἴαχε λαὸς ὄπισθεν. ὣς ὁ μὲν αὖθι λέλειπτο, ταθεὶς ὀλοῷ ὑπὸ δεσμῷ, μεσσηγὺς γαίης τε καὶ οὐρανοῦ ἀστερόεντος, ὥρῃ ἐν εἰαρινῇ, ὅτε τ’ ἤματα μακρὰ πέλονται ὥς κεν δηθὰ ζωὸς ἐὼν χαλέπ’ ἄλγεα πάσχῃ. οὐδέ τι κινῆσαι μελέων ἦν οὐδ’ ἀναεῖραι οὔτε στηρίξαι ποσὶν ἔμπεδον οὔτ’ ἐπιβῆναι, ἰδνώθη δ᾽ὁπίσω ὁ δ᾽ἀπὸ χθονὸς ὑψοσ᾽ἀερθείς.

1882 ~ Il. 8.68, when Zeus’ takes his golden scales 1883 ~ Il. 17.391, fight for Patroclus 1884 ~ Il. 24.453 +​Od. 14.11 1885 ~ Il. 22.520, Andromache’s lament for Hector 1886 ~ Od. 12.179, Odysseus on the mast 1887 ~ Il. 17.723, the Achaeans carry aloft Patroclus’ body 1888 ~ Od. 22.200, Melanthius’ punishment 1889 ~ Il. 5.769, a formula for flying gods; cf. Il. 8.46 1890 ~ Od. 18.367, the length of the day 1891 ~ Od. 22.177, Melanthius’ punishment 1892 ~ Od. 8.298, Ares and Aphrodite 1893 ~ Od. 12.434, Odysseus escapes Charybdis 1894 ~ Od. 8.375, the ball-​throwing game

When the sun reached the middle of the sky | then they split in two groups, grabbed and extended him | on solid cross beams, through and through, from side to side; | naked, as his clothes remained in the palace; | upright, on the mast beam, and fastened the ropes from it [the mast]; | high in great altitude, while the crowds were yelling from behind. | So, he was left there, stretched with deadly bonds; | halfway between earth and the starry sky; | and it was spring, when the days get long; | so that that he may suffer terrible woes [for longer] when still alive. | And it was not possible to move a limb nor even raise it | not even to support steadily the legs nor even tread. | He was bent backward, the one who was lifted up from the earth to heavens.

The image here suggests impalement (1883–​ 1884) rather than crucifixion. Moreover, the nakedness (1885) of Jesus as well as the height of the cross (1887) conforms to early fifth-​century visual representations of him on a cross larger than those of the robbers, such as the one at Santa Sabina.153 The

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  159 text above reveals the difficulty of describing the death of the Savior in heroic terms. Homeric epic does focus on heroic deaths, of course, but of another kind, deaths in which the kleos granted to the dead is not comparable to the kind reserved for the living Christian God.154 On the other hand, the theme of the heroic death allows for a glorification of a Gospel passage that was in Paul’s words synonymous to μωρία and σκάνδαλον. This subtle balance is achieved through the merging of heroic (Odysseus, Hector, Patroclus) and unheroic (Melanthius) models. Interestingly, the poem emphasizes that Jesus is still alive (1891: δηθὰ ζωός) at midday, which on an exegetical level underscores his humanity at the moment of the Crucifixion, an important detail in the soteriological reworking of the event, during which the dying Jesus is still (and also) a mortal. The Homeric revision likewise echoes this cosmic approach to the Crucifixion. The adverb indicating that the crucified Jesus is suspended halfway between the earth and the sky (1889: μεσσηγύς),155 alludes to his mediation between this world and the next through death.156 The same words are reused in Eudocia’s “other” poem to describe a vision of Christ, who likewise is suspended between heaven and earth.157 This is an image known from visual representations of the Crucifixion that show Jesus as larger than the other figures, and from the apocryphal narratives that speak of a gigantic, cosmic cross. This supernatural element is also evident in the poem (1894: ἰδνώθη δ᾽ὁπίσω ὁ δ᾽ἀπὸ χθονὸς ὑψοσ᾽ ἀερθείς), in which Jesus appears to be elevated. In the Odyssey, the line describes a crouching boy playing ball and jumping in the air,158 whereas in the biblical poem it refers to the Son of Man doubled over in pain yet simultaneously rising above the earth in glory, a common Christian reading of the raising of the cross or Jesus on the cross.159 The cosmic resonances are further enhanced by the timing of the event—​midday (1882)—​and the season—​spring (1890)—​highlighting the pathetic fallacy of the Crucifixion. A similar cosmic vision is found in the Nonnian Paraphrasis, where the Cross is repeatedly said to stretch to the four corners of the universe,160 as in the nailing scene below: εἰς δόρυ τετράπλευρον ἐπήορον ὑψόθι γαίης 92 ὄρθιον ἐξετάνυσσαν, ἐπισφίγξαντες ἀνάγκῃ There, the assassins | stretched Him out upright on a four-​armed plank | raised upon the earth, and they bound him tight by force

Here too Jesus hovers between the earth and heavens (Par. 19.92: ἐπήορον ὑψόθι γαίης). The difference is that Nonnus seems to rework the fourfold cosmic soul folded into an X in Plato’s Timaeus 36b-​c, a text pivotal for both Jewish and Christian cosmogonical thought. He thus places greater emphasis on the Platonizing revision of the passion. The I HC, by contrast, takes a more pagan approach to the image of the hovering Cross, associating it with the flying gods of the epic and Odysseus on the mast.

160  The Homeric Centos In terms of the Homeric model, the analogues used to express the Crucifixion are various and serve an exegetical function. For example, the reference to Melanthius frames the scene (1888, 1891), but the allusions to the corpses of Patroclus (1883, 1887) and Hector (1885) add another dimension to the death of Jesus: now he is no longer compared to the despicable servant, but to the courageous heroes of Graeco-​Roman mythology, just as he is through his heroic nudity in visual sources. It is the image of Odysseus on the mast—​a living hero who escapes and deceives death161—​that strengthens the heroic connotations.162 The “crucified” hero here stands in contrast to the Iliadic dead warriors and, as in his narrow escape from Polyphemus’ cave and the ram discussed above, foreshadows Christ’s near escape and victory over death (1893). It is also Odysseus’ patience and endurance that the cento revisits in order to present Jesus’ suffering in a dignified manner.163 Similarly, Odysseus’ inability to ἐπιβῆναι (“get a foothold”)164 in his scene with Charybdis besides describing his dire situation is also loaded with apologetic undertones: for Celsus, proof of Christ’s divinity would have lay in his disappearance from the cross;165 yet a Christian audience could understand his inability to hold foothold as treading, or even walking away, thus as a demonstration of his willing self-​sacrifice.166

4.3.4  The Final Saying Jesus’ final words on the cross, after the robbers were through mocking him and one of them had repented, consist of an extended ethopoeia. Whereas Jesus had remained silent throughout the trial, Luke describes him as eloquent in his last moments. In one of his seven sayings, Jesus famously absolves his assassins, Lk 23:34: πάτερ ἄφες αὐτοῖς· οὐ γάρ οἴδασι τί ποιοῦσι (“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing”),167 which is revisited in the poem as follows: «ὦ πάτερ, ἦ μέγα θαῦμα τόδ’ ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ὁρῶμαι. ἴσχεο μηδὲ⸥ ⸤περισθενέων δηλήσεο τούσδε, οἳ δὴ ἐμῇ κεφαλῇ κατ’ ὀνείδεα χεῦαν οἵ τέ μ’ ἀτιμάζουσι καὶ οἳ νηλειτεῖς εἰσιν, οἵ τέ με ὑβρίζοντες ἀτάσθαλα μηχανόωνται, νῦν τέ μ’ ἀτιμάζουσι κακὰ χροῒ εἵματ’ ἔχοντα, νῦν αὖ παῖδ’ ἀγαπητὸν ἀποκτεῖναι μεμάασιν. ἀλλά, πάτερ, τόδε πέρ μοι ἐπικρήηνον ἐέλδωρ· αὐτοὺς δή περ ἔασον ὑπεκφυγέειν καὶ ἀλύξαι, ἴσχεο μηδὲ⸥ ⸤βίην τίσαις ὑπερηνορεόντων, ἀνδρῶν δρηστῆρων κεχολωμένος, οἵ με⸥ ⸤ἔτισαν, ἄλλης μὲν λώβης τε καὶ αἴσχεος οὐκ ἐπιδευεῖς. ἤδη γὰρ τετέλεστ ἅ μοι φίλος ἤθελε θυμός». 1938 Schembra τετέλεστο

1927 ~ Od. 19.36, formula 1928 ~ Od. 22.356 +​368, Odysseus spares Phemius and Medon 1929 ~ Od. 22.463, Telemachus’ revenge 1930 ~ Od. 22.418, punishment of evil handmaidens 1931 ~ Od. 3.207, Telemachus about the suitors 1932 ~ Od. 14.506, Odysseus to Eumaeus 1933 ~ Od. 5.18, Athena about Telemachus’ safety 1934 ~ Il. 8.242, Agamemnon prays to Zeus 1935 ~ Il. 8.243, when pushed back at battle 1936 ~ Od. 22.356 +​23.31, the suitor’s punishment 1937 ~ Od. 22.369 +​Il. 9.10, suitors vs. Medon 1938 ~ Il. 13.622, Menelaus speech to the Trojans 1938 ~ Od. 13.40, Odysseus to Alcinous

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  161 Father, what astonishing spectacle do I witness with my eyes! | Hold fast! Do not hurt them in your all-​mightiness, | those who have showered my head with insults | and those who are abusing me and those who are guilty,168 | those who offend me because of my vile clothing, | and now again they ravenously strive to murder your beloved son. | But, Father, fulfil this very wish of mine: | let them flee away and escape [punishment], | Hold fast! Do not avenge the violence of these intrepid men, | being angry at these assassins who punished me, | they do not require any more harm and shame. | For all my dear heart wished for has already been completed.

The “astonishing spectacle” that Jesus reports in this passage is, of course, the humiliation and death of the Son of God at the hands of mortals.169 It is not fortuitous that the major Kontrastimitation is with Odyssey 22 and 23, the two books that recount the punishment of the suitors and other villains, with the exception of Phemius and Medon, at the palace. This is a climactic moment in this epic of homecoming and revenge, and one that recalls an epiphany, as Sheila Murnaghan has argued. Upon disclosing his identity, “Odysseus reveals himself to the suitors not to cure their ignorance but to punish it.”170 The biblical narrative thus revisits both the epiphanic and vindictive elements of the scene: Jesus has openly revealed that he is the Messiah throughout his mission yet dies “unrecognized”; Odysseus disguises his identity but is ultimately recognized by friends and foes. Unlike the mythical king, whose slaying of the suitors implies further adventures for him,171 the Christian does not seek further retribution or bring an end to one mission in order to commence another but with his death he offers the final solution. The compilation of centos constructed from half-​lines in the passage above illustrates the difficulty of extracting material from a heroic epic, a tale of kleos earned through battle and vengeance,172 to describe Christian humility, forgiveness, and perseverance. Earlier on, Jesus uses a similar selection of lines to describe his assassins as aggressors.173 In the Garden, a scene echoing Luke,174 he asks God to endow him with the strength to achieve this different kind of glory despite the humiliation inflicted on him by his opponents.175 Yet in the programmatic exchange with God-​Father Jesus himself claimed that he wished in I HC 201–​202: πάσχειν τ’ ἄλγεα πολλά, βίας ὑποδέγμενος ἀνδρῶν | μεῖζόν κε κλέος εἴη ἐμὸν καὶ κάλλιον οὕτω (“to suffer many woes, and withstand the violence of men; so that my glory will be greater and thus better”). The revision of these same lines in the Crucifixion scene betrays an interest in variatio, but also an excellent case of Kontrastimitation. This is a stunning revision of the Iliadic idea of kleos and also of the notions of epic vindication such as Odysseus’ vengeance on the suitors. Τhe text closes with Jesus’ final utterance (I HC 1939: δη γὰρ τετέλεστ ἅ μοι φίλος ἤθελε θυμός),176 which alludes to Odysseus’ supplication to Alcinous in Odyssey 13.40, a fine case of Kontrastimitation.177 Odysseus asks Alcinous for help to get back home, admitting that he has received from him enough material presents, which are important in the heroic context.178 In the Christian

162  The Homeric Centos poem, however, the mortal Jesus receives suffering and humiliation.179 “Return,” “compensation,” and kleos envisaged from a Christian perspective are different from those of the heroic world. The Christian God is interested in a different kind of reward from that hoped for in Homer’s Οὐρανίωνες—​both in this world and the next. Interesting too is that other editions of Homeric Centos do not reproduce this ending, although they draw on the Melanthius passage and the popular Christianized image of Odysseus on the mast.180 In this respect, this elaborate version of the Odyssean characterization of Jesus is probably pertinent solely to the first edition. Despite the rigidity of the Homeric style, if combined with the earlier Odyssean characterization of Jesus on the mast, near the Charybdis, or escaping the Cyclops’ cave, this is almost a touching scene. Indeed, in the cento poem, Jesus appears more human than in the Gospels as he revisits his earthly ministry and anticipates his return to his Father after a life of earthly wanderings and woes. And yet again, we may wonder whether this image of Christ was too human for the first half of the fifth century.

4.4 Descent 4.4.1  Dying on the Battlefield The cento Passion narrative does not rework only the canonical sources but also includes references to the apocryphal descensus ad infernos, Jesus’ descent to the underworld and duel with death. As in the revision of the cento Crucifixion, the lines drawn belong to both Homeric epics: Odysseus’ descent to the Underworld—​a theme found across epic traditions—​is an important component of the revised Christian poem and gives the poem its overarching agenda. Like Odysseus, other epic heroes, pagan and Christian, travel to the Underworld in reality or metaphorically in a display of strength and perseverance.181 The cento description of the Christian Underworld offers an impressive soteriological take on the traditional death of the Iliadic hero as part of a longer journey to the beyond in the passage below: ὣς ἄρα μιν εἰπόντα τέλος θανάτοιο κάλυψε, ψυχὴ δ’ ἐκ ῥεθέων πταμένη Ἄϊδόσδε βεβήκει, τῆλε μάλ’, ἧχι βάθιστον ὑπὸ χθονός ἐστι βέρεθρον, τῶν ἄλλων ψυχὰς ἰδέειν κατατεθνηώτων, ἔνθα σιδήρειαί τε πύλαι καὶ χάλκεος οὐδός. καρτερὸς ἔρρηξεν δὲ πύλας καὶ μακρὸν ὀχῆα· οἱ δ’ αἰεὶ περὶ νεκρὸν ὁμίλεον, ὡς ὅτε μυῖαι σταθμῷ ἔνι βρομέωσι περιγλαγέας κατὰ πέλλας ὥρῃ ἐν εἰαρινῇ, ὅτε τε γλάγος ἄγγεα δεύει.

1940 ~ Ιl. 16.855, Patroclus᾽ death 1941 ~ Ιl. 16.856, ibid. 1942 ~ Il. 8.14, description of Tartarus, Zeus’ threat 1943 ~ Od. 11.576, Nekyia 1944 ~ Il. 8.15, description of Tartarus 1945 ~ Il. 13.125, Hector breaches the wall 1946 ~ Il. 16.641, Sarpedon’s death 1947 ~ Il. 16.642, ibid. 1948 ~ Il. 16.643, ibid.

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  163 So he spoke and the end of death covered him; | and his soul flew away from his limbs and descended to Hades | far away, where lies the deepest cavity under the earth | to see the other souls of the dead mortals, | where are the iron gates and the bronze threshold. He, mighty, broke through the gates and the long bolt; | and [the souls] were swarming around the dead body, just as when flies | fly buzzing around the overflowing milk-​pails, | in the spring time, when milk splashes the buckets.

The details build on famous heroic deaths, in particular the death of Patroclus and Sarpedon in Book 16 of the Iliad.182 The fact that the lines on the death of the two heroes flank the description of the Underworld (Ι HC 1942–​1944) suggests a programmatic attempt at symmetry in the description of Jesus’ death: 2 lines on Patroclus—​3 on the Underworld—​1 on Hector—​3 on Sarpedon. Sarpedon, for whom Zeus sheds tears of blood and for whom he reserves posthumous deification, is a closer model for John the Evangelist’s mortal Son of Man, whose death too is followed by astonishing miracles, such as the solar eclipse. Ancient readers seem to have preferred Patroclus to Sarpedon, probably due to the text itself. One scholiast, for example, notes that Sarpedon’s bravura before the wall was meant solely to glorify Patroclus later in the story.183 But though Patroclus may have roused greater pity, Sarpedon served as a better analogue for the Christian cento. For both Christian writers and the long tradition of Homerkritik, the context of Sarpedon’s death was problematic. Zeus’ tears were regarded as indicating inadequacy.184 Yet, as the problematic line in Iliad 16.459 is avoided,185 then Sarpedon can become a positive foil for Jesus. On the Homeric intertextual level, the inclusion of Hector in this constellation of dead warriors heightens the drama as he too will soon die despite his bravery.186 On the biblical level, however, both his bravery and the centrality of Odysseus in a line on the Nekyia in I HC 1943 highlight the poem’s soteriological approach; like the doomed Hector and Odysseus’ fearless descent to the Underworld, Jesus bravely faces a liminal situation between life and death. Like Hector breaching the wall or Odysseus returning alive from Hades, Jesus will perform a similar, albeit mightier feat, namely, resurrecting from the dead. That Christ’s human soul—an anti-Apollinarian touch-travels to Hades to save other mortal souls (1941, 1943) is Jesus’ chief heroic achievment by contrast to that of other epic heroes. The description of the Christian beyond in Homeric tinge is intriguing as the Homeric centos reinforce the poem’s reworking of Jesus’ Descent, a scene not found in the canon. The first line in the excerpt, Iliad 8.14, is nonetheless important as it belongs to a long tradition of interpreting lines that describe the Homeric Underworld. From Plato onward, its βέρεθρον was synonymous with the chasm from which the rivers of the Underworld flow in and out.187 The second part of the description, drawn from Iliad 8.15, which focuses on Hades’ iron gates and the bronze threshold,188 prompts not only classicizing associations with Tartarus, but also Christian ones. Rocco Schembra rightly notes the parallel to Christ’s Descent, which is part of Pilate’s Cycle and is reused later in the biblical

164  The Homeric Centos poem.189 In this apocryphal narrative, Satan is in conversation with Hades when Jesus breaks the doors of Hell: Descent 5: τοιαῦτα τοῦ σατανᾶ καὶ τοῦ ᾃδου λεγόντων πρὸς ἄλλήλους ἐγένετο φωνὴ μεγάλη ὥσπερ βροντὴ λέγουσα· ἄρατε πύλας οἱ ἄρχοντες ὑμῶν, καὶ ἐπάρθητε πύλαι αἰώνιοι, καὶ εἰσελεύσεται ὁ βασιλεὺς τῆς δόξης. Ἀκούσας ὁ ᾃδης λέγει τῷ σατανᾷ· ἔξελθε, εἰ δυνατὸς εἶ, καὶ ἀντίστηθι αὐτῷ. ἐξῆλθεν οὖν ἔξω ὁ σατάν. εἶτα λέγει ὁ ᾃδης τοῖς δαίμοσιν αὐτοῦ· ἀσφαλίσασθε καλῶς καὶ ἰσχυρῶς τὰς πύλας τὰς χαλκᾶς καὶ τοὺς μοχλοὺς τοὺς σιδηροὺς, καὶ τὰ κλεῖθρα μου κατέχετε, καὶ σκοπεῖτε πάντα ἱστάμενοι ὄρθιοι· ἐάν γαρ εἰσέλθῃ αὐτὸς ὧδε, οὐαὶ ἡμᾶς λήψεται. As Satan and Hades were talking to one another thus, there was a loud cry like thunder, crying: your leaders, open the gates, let the eternal gates be lifted, and the King of Glory shall enter. When Hades heard, he tells Satan: Get out, if you are strong, and fight him! And so, Satan came out. Then Hades said to his demons: lock well and securely the bronze doors and the iron bolts, and hold onto my bars, and watch everything standing upright; for if he enters here, we will be doomed!

As Schembra notes, the apocryphal passage here revisits Psalm 23, which hints at the glorification of Christ. Nonnus’ description of the crucified Jesus as attached by a “bolt”—​σταυροῖο συνεκλήισσαν ὀχῆι—​may too be an allusion to the Psalm and its typological reception and foreshadows Christ’s anticipated victory.190 However allusions to the bronze bolt are usually cited in discussions of the Ascension rather than the descent.191 Eusebius, however, associates Psalm 106 and the Descent in the text below:192 Euseb. Ecl. Proph. 109 (Gaisford): τάχα δὲ τούτοις τοῖς πυλωροῖς τῶν ἐνθάδε λεγομένων πυλῶν τοῦ θανάτου ὑπό τινων θείων δυνάμεων ἐλέγετο κατὰ τὸν καιρὸν τοῦ πάθους καὶ τῆς εἰς τὸν Ἅιδην τοῦ Σωτῆρος ἡμῶν καταβάσεως τὸ, ἄρατε πύλας οἱ ἄρχοντες ὑμῶν καὶ ἐπάρθητε πύλαι αἰώνιοι, καὶ εἰσελεύσεται ὁ βασιλεὺς τῆς δόξης· αἰώνιοι δὲ εἴρηνται πύλαι, ὡς ὑπολαμβάνω, διὰ τὸ ἐξ αἰῶνος μηδενὶ ἄλλῳ αὐτὰς ἀνεῖσθαι ἢ τούτῳ μόνῳ τῷ καὶ τοὺς παλαί ποτε καταποθέντας ὑπὸ τοῦ θανάτου ῥυσαμένῳ καὶ ζωοποιήσαντι· περὶ οὗ ἐνθάδε μὲν εἴρηται τὸ, ἀνοίγονται δέ σοι φόβῳ πύλαι θανάτου, πυλωροὶ δὲ Ἅιδου ἰδόντες σε ἔπτηξαν· ἐν δὲ τῷ ρϛʹ ψαλμῷ τὸ, ὅτι συνέτριψε πύλας χαλκᾶς, οὐκ ἄλλας οὔσας, ὡς οἶμαι, ἢ τὰς τοῦ θανάτου, καὶ μοχλοὺς σιδηροῦς συνέτριψεν· δῆλον δ’ ὅτι τοὺς τῶν προειρημένων πυλῶν. Perhaps it is about these gate keepers of the here-​mentioned doors of death, during the time of the passion and the descent to Hades of our Savior, that some

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  165 divine powers said the words “your master lift the doors! Oh, eternal gates be lifted up, that the King of Glory may come in” [Ps 24:7]. The gates are called “eternal,” as I believe, because from the beginning of times they have not been opened but by this one who saved even the ones devoured by death in times of old and brought them back to life. About Him it is said here that “The gates of death have been opened unto thee, and the gate-​holders of Hades saw you and quailed” [Job 38:17]. In Psalm 106 it is also said that he destroyed the bronze doors, which, as I think, are not others but these of death, “and he cut through the bars of iron.” It is obvious then that these [bars] are one of the aforementioned doors.

This compilation of Psalms with references to doors, irrespective of their intended meaning, indicates that slipping between biblical and relevant Homeric intertexts was unproblematic. Thus, Homer’s iron gates and bronze threshold could easily merge with the bronze doors and the iron gates of the apocryphal account. Both the biblical and the Homeric intertexts would have enhanced the image of Jesus as a victorious warrior, a Hector or a Solomon, with Messianic appeal. Another intriguing topic from an exegetical perspective are the lines on the separation of Jesus’ soul from his body. Homeric heroes breathe their last in formulaic lines and their soul or thymos departs for Hades. Like Patroclus and Hector, Jesus breathes his last and his soul descends to Hades in a very formulaic line, 1940–​1941: ὣς δ᾽ ἄρα μιν εἰπόντα τέλος θανάτοιο κάλυψε, | ψυχὴ δ’ ἐκ ῥεθέων πταμένη Ἄϊδόσδε βεβήκει (~ Il. 16.856 and 22.362). Despite its repetitiveness in the epics this line is sensitive when reused for the Christian Savior. It was during the Christological Controversy that the belief arose that Christ had a soul that suffered alongside his flesh. This idea became a theological factor in Cyril’s Christology and was later used to explain the unity of God and man in Christ.193 The image of the soul’s separation from the body adds a sense of liminal corporeality as the soul (ψυχή), was considered as partaking to both divine and human natures: the rational soul is not a part of Jesus mortal body, but was instead connected to his divinity that descends. On the other hand, the image of the flies buzzing around milk jugs in the account of the battle over Sarpedon’s body points to Jesus’ mortality. In the Christian poem, it is the dead that gather like flies around the dead Jesus in the Underworld. Given the earlier allusions to the Nekyia in I HC 1943, the Homeric reader would have also been prompted to recall how Odysseus poured milk and honey to attract Tieresias’ soul.194 Meanwhile, the Christian reader would have associated milk with Christian ritual as it symbolized “birth” thus again circumventing a straightforward understanding of the lines as focusing chiefly on Jesus’ decaying body. In early Apostolic tradition, milk and honey were offered to baptizands

166  The Homeric Centos prior to and in preparation for Communion, since in Clement’s words, Jesus himself was milk.195 Thus, the merging of pagan and Christian rites and symbolism offered the souls getting a foretaste of Holy Communion through Christ’s physical preparation for the afterlife. Thanks to the author’s symbolic reworking, the soul of Christ maintains its divine associations but also relates to the souls of those mortals whom he descends to redeem. In the upper world, the death of Jesus generates a similar miraculous, eucharistic vision for the living. The soldier who, after an extensive characterization (1949–​1965), pierces Christ’s side, witnesses the following ekphrastic wonder: εἶθαρ δ’ ἄμβροτον αἷμα κατάρρεεν ἐξ ὠτειλῆς, νηπενθές τ’ ἄχολόν τε κακῶν τ’ ἐπίληθον ἁπάντων. τοῦτό νυ καὶ γέρας οἶον ὀϊζυροῖσι βροτοῖσιν. οὔ ποτέ τοι θάνατον προτιόσσετο θυμὸς ἀγήνωρ, ὃς τὸ καταβρώξειεν, ἐπὴν κρητῆρι μιγείη· οὐκ ἂν ἐφημέριός γε βάλοι κατὰ δάκρυ παρειῶν, οὐδ’ εἴ οἱ κατατεθναίη μήτηρ τε πατήρ τε, ἠὲ κασίγνητος ὁμογάστριος ἠὲ καὶ υἱός.

1969 ~ Il. 5.870, Ares to Zeus 1970 ~ Od. 4.221, Helen’s wine with drugs 1971 ~ Od. 4.197, on burial rites/​inevitability of death 1972 ~ Od. 14.219, Odysseus’ Cretan tales 1973 ~ Od. 4.222, Helen’s wine 1974 ~ Od. 4.223, ibid. 1975 ~ Od. 4.224, ibid. 1976 ~ Il. 24.47, Apollo on Achilles’ vengeful wrath

Immediately there gushed forth from the wound immortal blood | which quenches sorrows, bitterness, and all painful memories. | This is the only boon for miserable mortals! | For your brave soul will never look upon at death [in fear] | if it consumes it, once mixed in a bowl. | And no longer a mortal shall shed a tear | even if his mother were to die or his father | nor his uterine brother or even his son.

The basic intertext of the opening of this ekphrasis is Ares’ complaint about the wound that Diomedes, a mortal man, inflicted on him, an immortal god during aristeia (Il. 5.870: δεῖξεν δ’ ἄμβροτον αἷμα καταρρέον ἐξ ὠτειλῆς). The analogue of Diomedes, from whom mighty Ares abandons the battlefield in terror, may allude to Jesus’ impending victory over Death, the principal theme of the descent, as we shall see. Nonetheless, the choice of verse has its roots in Christian exegesis. Whether the Savior’s blood was divine or mortal was of primary soteriological importance to Christians, for only if it were mortal was the Salvation of mankind guaranteed. As the God made flesh, Jesus had to bleed blood. The Iliadic passage, however, had already been reused earlier in relation to this passage with a line more famous than Ares’ whinges. The philosopher Celsus characteristically provoked his Christian interlocutor and “jesting, . . . said that the blood of Jesus that was poured forth on the cross was not [blood] but ‘ichor that runs in the veins of the blessed gods’.” Origen thus feels the urge to explain that “for his part, Celsus is jesting, but as for ourselves, drawing from the great Gospels, even against Celsus’ wish, we will demonstrate that the mythical and Homeric ichor did not poor forth from his body.”196 Celsus uses the line because it was popular. Plutarch, for example, uses it to illustrate Alexander’s belief in his own divine origin; as he had no blood, only ichor, he would not bleed to death.197 The parallel to any comparison of Christian and pagan blood would thus have

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  167 been clear and difficult to dismiss. Furthermore, thanks to Celsus, ichor acquired negative connotations for Christians, who began using it in the medical rather than Homeric sense to describe putrefied discharge. The formulation εἶθαρ δ’ ἄμβροτον αἷμα in the I HC is probably carefully reemployed in order not to overlap with the controversial ἰχώρ used in Christian polemic. As with the careful reworking of the cento Genesis the Christian reception of the selected verses was as important as their Homeric use.198 In fact, the cluster ἄμβροτον αἷμα in I HC 1969 is theologically appropriate in that it contains both the immortal (ἀ privative) and the mortal (βροτός) notions and can thus uphold the dual nature of Christ while recalling its programmatic proem that sets forth as its chief didactic aim the knowledge and confession of the God-Man (6: ἠμὲν θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα), once again an allusion to Diomedes’ aristeia (Il. 5.128). That being said, the greater part of the description is a digression on the curative and soteriological powers of Christ’s divine blood, which, like the concept of ecce agnus dei discussed above, has a confessional and personal tone. This ekphrasis includes lines from Odyssey 4 on Helen’s narcotic wine which accompanied by a soothing tale are offered to her guests as a pharmakon. Not only Helen’s drugs but wine alone is akin to a forgetfulness potion.199 But the combination of wine, drugs, and table talk made this passage popular in antiquity, especially in consolatory contexts200 and in banquet-​related settings. Christians used it too especially for soothing words and song: Clement, quoting Odyssey 4.22, finds Leviticus soothing, while Gregory takes pleasure in verse which soothes like Helen’s tale.201 The Christian appropriation of these lines allowed for a further Christianization of the Homeric passage, which like Pilate’s libation, could evoke a Christian ritual too: the Homeric context enhances the references to wine, turning Jesus’ blood into the prototype of eucharistic wine in its image of the drink mixed—​presumably for a Christian audience with water202—​in a cup (1963: [εἶθαρ ἄμβροτον] ὃς τὸ καταβρώξειεν, ἐπὴν κρητῆρι μιγείη). The allusions to mixis, mixture here, are dictated by the excerpted verse, but also implies the eucharistic miracle that takes place during the Crucifixion, namely the combination of the divine blood [God] with the earthly water [body] in Christ.203 Similar eucharistic insinuations are found also in the Metaphrasis of the Psalms (2.41: ζωὸν ἐμὸν δίψησε καταβρῶξαι θεὸν ἦτορ, “my heart was thirsty to swallow a living god”) and even more so in Nonnus’ syncretistic representation of Bacchus and Christ. Dionysus who does not taste sorrow weeps when seeing Ampelus transformed into the vine that will provide comfort for mortals in Dionysiaca 7.80: νηπενθὴς Διόνυσος, ἀπενθέα βότρυν ἀέξων. On a different level, but similarly, it is Jesus who weeps over Lazarus’ mortality in the Paraphrasis, in a kind of typological reading of the two passages where the salvific properties of Dionysus’ wine in this life prefigure Jesus’ sacrifice that enables Resurrection.204 It is in a similar vein that one needs to understand the reception

168  The Homeric Centos of wine and blood in the digression on Jesus’ wound in the I HC, as combining eucharistic imagery with a confessional tinge while maintaining the classical associations of wine with Dionysus. Simultaneously, the jeweled character of the passage, like Helen’s sweet words, also contributes to the effectiveness of the ekphrasis. Instead of forgetfulness, wine now offered nepsis and ablution.

4.4.2  Funeral for a Hero If the Odyssean connotations are stronger in the description of the Crucifixion, it is the Iliad that underlines Jesus’ descent. The contrast between the world of the living and the dead is powerful in the parallel treatment of the deposition and burial of Jesus’ body and his subsequent descent and confrontation with death in a Homeric duel. After the aforementioned associations of Jesus and Sarpedon, Patroclus and Hector, the Deposition follows a related pattern. The careful choice of lines, however, indicates the difficulty of narrating the burial of a living god in stark corporeal terms, recurrent in epic formulaic language, as seen in the weaving of the following centos: τὸν⸣ δ’ ἄρ’⸥ ⸤ἔπειθ’ ὑποδύντε δύω ἐρίηρες ἑταῖροι κάτθεσαν ἐν λεχέεσσι· φίλοι δ’ ἀμφέσταν ἑταῖροι μυρόμενοι, θαλερὸν δὲ κατείβετο δάκρυ παρειῶν. ἀμφὶ δέ μιν φᾶρος καλὸν βάλον ἠδὲ χιτῶνα, ἐν λεχέεσσι δὲ θέντες ἑανῷ λιτὶ κάλυψαν ἐς πόδας ἐκ κεφαλῆς, καθύπερθε δὲ φάρεϊ λευκῷ. αἱ δ’ ὠτειλὰς πλῆσαν ἀλείφατος ἐννεώροιο· ἀλλὰ γὰρ οὐδέ τί οἱ χρὼς σήπετο, οὐδέ μιν εὐλαὶ ἔσθουσ’, αἵ ῥά τε φῶτας θνητούς τε κατέδουσιν, αἰεὶ τῷ δ’ ἔσται χρὼς ἔμπεδος, ἢ καὶ ἀρείων.

2040 ~ Il. 1.148 +​Il 8.332 2041 ~ Il. 18.233, Patroclus’ funeral 2042 ~ Il. 24.794, Hector’s funeral 2043 ~ Il. 24.588, ibid. 2044 ~ Il. 18.352, Patroclus’ funeral 2045 ~ Il. 18.353, ibid. 2046 ~ Il. 18.351, ibid. 2047 ~ Il. 24.414, Hector’s body 2048 ~ Il. 24.415, ibid. 2049 ~ Il. 19.33, Thetis treats Patroclus’ wounds

Then, two mighty companions carried him [down] | and put him on a bier; and his companions stood around it | lamenting, wetting their cheeks with big tears. | Around him they put a lovely pall and a nice cloak, and they covered him in the bier putting on top a linen cloth | from head to toe, a white robe on top. | And they filled his wounds with expensive cream; | but his skin was not decaying, neither were worms | eating him, which usually devour human men; | instead his skin will remain intact, or even better.

This is an anticipated compilation of lines retrieved from key Iliadic funeral scenes such as the deaths of Patroclus and Hector, which were similarly juxtaposed in imperial visual culture.205 It breaks with Archaic epic in that it extends over more lines, and displays a late antique taste for description influenced by epideictic funerary orations.206 From a Christian perspective, however, the strong emphasis on the immaculate quality of Jesus’ body is not merely a reflection of the traditional heroic topos or of imperial rhetoric, but is also theological, especially from the fifth century onward, as is clear from its

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  169 appearance in discussions of divine impassibility. The choice of these foils—​as opposed to Sarpedon’s funeral cum apotheosis—​to redefine the mystery of baptism lies in their emphasis on Jesus’ corporeality: whereas baptism is a rebirth akin to Sarpedon’s post mortem immediate glorification, Jesus on Golgotha must first die a human death. The description of the ambrosial anointment of the deceased in I HC 2046, which alludes to Thetis’ balm for Patroclus body, fits the Gospel context. In John 19, myrrh and aloe are the main ingredients,207 but the passage was often interpreted against the list of aromatics in the Song of Songs 4:14 as prefiguring paradise. That said, the ointment mentioned here in the I HC, unlike the list of aromatics in John’s revision in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis,208 complicates the interpretation, as it is meant to immortalize Jesus’ presumably mortal body. This line of reasoning is theologically slippery. According to some readings, the burial was a re-​enactment of Jesus’ birth, now seen as Resurrection;209 Origen envisioned Jesus’ corpse as gushing water and blood as if it were a living body. However, the rites over the body, which he downplays in order to focus on his allegorical interpretation, are given more weight in other contexts. The Easterner Theodoret, a former ally of Nestorius, for example, insists on the fact that it was the body that was buried, referring to the frequent mention of it in the Gospel, including the passages on the entombment,210 while Cyril who claimed that “the Word suffered impassibly,” contends that the ensouled Word descended into Hades.211 In light of these observations, it is difficult not to see an oxymoron in I HC 2047–​2049. In the least it is intriguing that the lines used for the burial rites derive from those designating the rites held for two mortals, Patroclus and Hector, and not, for example, Sarpedon.212 This decision seems to downplay God’s direct involvement in his Son’s mortal body and burial. Moreover, the text stresses the “impassibility” of Jesus’ body, which, despite its Hector-​like mistreatment (as the reader of the Iliad might remember) and a slave-​like death (depicted in Melanthius-​related centos above), appears even more beautiful in death. It is here that the cento revisits Patroclus’s body, which Thetis anoints with ambrosia.213 Nevertheless, the mere suggestion that the body might decay without a Thetis-​ like divine intersection analogue, and the powerful image of flies devouring the allegedly divine (and not simply mortal) flesh are at odds with the earlier image of souls swarming around Jesus in the Underworld like flies do around milk jugs. Read without any allusion to the prior eucharistic interpretation, the image evoked by the embalmment scene may have hit a nerve in late antique audiences since it implied that the entombed body of Jesus was all too human, irrespective of any allegorical touches.214 Read in tandem with the previous analogy of Christ and milk, this description may hint at a distinction between the divine and mortal aspects of Jesus’ soul and flesh respectively which would still be problematic as it implies a split between his natures at the moment of his death. On

170  The Homeric Centos the other hand, if taken at face value, this and the milk-​jug-​and-​flies image are two facets of Christ’s nature. The Homeric hypotext and its reuse permit all these interpretations. These concerns with the body return again in the burial scene with its detailed description of the corpse’s physicality. In classical epic, heroic bodies have superhuman strength and weight even in death.215 Nonetheless, the Christian interpretation is at stake when the centos revisiting Hector’s funeral give way to a description of the bearing of Patroclus’ heavy body followed by one of the Cyclopean stones sealing Polyphemus’ cave, as seen below: τορνώσαντο δὲ σῆμα θεμείλιά τε προβάλοντο ἀγκὰς δ’ ἀλλήλων λαβέτην χερσὶ στιβαρῇσι οἱ δ’ ὥς θ’ ἡμίονοι κρατερὸν μένος ἀμφιβαλόντες ἕλκωσ’ ἐξ ὄρεος κατὰ παιπαλόεσσαν ἀταρπὸν ἢ δοκὸν ἠὲ δόρυ μέγα νήϊον· ἐν δέ τε θυμὸς τείρεθ’ ὁμοῦ καμάτῳ τε καὶ ἱδρῷ σπευδόντεσσιν· ὣς οἵ γ’ ἐμμεμαῶτε νέκυν φέρον.⸥ ⸤⸢αὐτὰρ⸣ ὕπερ⸢θεν⸣ αἶψα δ’ ἄρ’ ἐς κοίλην κάπετον θέσαν. χερσὶ μέγαν λίθον ἀείραντές τε προσέθηκαν ὄβριμον· οὐκ ἂν τόν γε δύω καὶ εἴκοσ’ ἄμαξαι ἐσθλαὶ τετράκυκλοι ἀπ’ οὔδεος ὀχλίσσειαν ...

I ΗC 2084 ~ Il. 23.255, the signpost for the chariot race I ΗC 2085 ~ Il. 23.711, the wrestle I ΗC 2086 ~ Il. 17.742, Patroclus’ funeral I ΗC 2087 ~ Il. 17.743, ibid. I ΗC 2088 ~ Il. 17.744, ibid. I ΗC 2089 ~ Il. 17.745, ibid. I ΗC 2090 ~ Il. 17.746 +​12.446 I HC 2091 ~ Il. 24.797, Hector’s funeral I HC 2092 ~ Od. 9.305, the Cyclopean stone I HC 2093 ~ Od. 9.241, ibid. I HC 2094 ~ Od. 9.242, ibid.

They raised a monument and its edifice was visible | and the two [Joseph and Nicodemus] raised him in turns from his strong arms, and like mules who have put all strength they can muster, | they dragged him from the mountain over the steep stony trail | like a beam or a big timber of a ship; and inside their hearts | worn out both from the effort and the sweat as they were hurrying. | Thus, they struggled to carry the dead body. But then from above | they placed him quickly in a hollow grave. | And with their hands they lifted a great rock and added it (in front); | a massive stone that twenty-​two great chariots | with four wheels would have not been able to heave up from the ground.

In the Synoptic Gospels, Joseph of Arimathea requests Jesus’ body from Pilate, while in John 19:38, he buries it together with Nicodemus. The canonical sources are silent on the issue of the weight of Jesus’ body. What is heavy instead is the crossbeam that Jesus carries to the Calvary, with the help of Simon of Cyrene in the Synoptic sources,216 and the human sins it represents which Jesus lifted with his death.217 It is intriguing to see then how the cento blends the idea of the body with the image of the cross and imbues the classicizing description of heroic bodies with a theological approach. For Christians the cross was considered the sphragis for the mortal body that guaranteed Salvation, so that the notions of the cross and the cross-​shaped body could be interchangeable.218 Accordingly, this cento passage and especially line 2089 would have been memorable and highly symbolic since it compares the body of Jesus to a heavy mast,219 drawing on the well-​known association of the crucified saviour and Odysseus presented previously in the poem too. The use of the powerful and innovative metonym of the body-​mast for the body-​cross also appears in the Paraphrasis, which nonetheless stresses both its divine (θεοδέγμονι) and

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  171 human weight (νέκυν, φόρτον).220 The Homeric styled heroic representation of Jesus’ body here delivers an important Christian message: when dying on the crss, Jesus was not only elevated in glory but through his body he also metaphorically “lifted” the weight of human sin. For this reason, his body was heavy just as his cross, again a different kind of heroism. Time and time again, we are left to wonder whether this corporeal representation of the Son of Man, for all its refreshing (from an exegetical point of view) appeal, was tantalizing to a late antique mainstream audience.

4.4.3  The Harrowing of Hell These Homeric ideas of heroism foreshadow Jesus’ victorious descent into Hades and his fight with death, an event that was canonized in Late Antiquity at least in a metaphorical sense and acquired imperial tones as well.221 The only allusion to the Harrowing of Hell (i.e., in the canonical writings) is found in the First Petrine epistle where he appears preaching among the dead. During the Christological debates Cyril had to explain in which form he did so in his capacity aa a GodMan united to a human soul.222 Apocryphal literature found the topic extremely productive. Rocco Schembra explains in detail how the I HC reworks the apocryphal Descent in the Cycle of Pilate. Suffice it to say that the apocryphal material turned the otherwise scandalous death of the Messiah on the cross into a victorious narrative that stretched well beyond the witness-​narratives of his three-​ day entombment and Resurrection in the canonical sources.223 To present the battle of Christ and Satan in Homeric colors required an interpretative stretch compared with other models. We saw earlier that Jesus’ confrontation with the bee-​like stinging Pharisees was molded on David’s psalms. Similarly, for His battle with death, David and Goliath offered another classic.224 Yet classical myth could also provide an analogue as seen in the following excerpt from Porphyry’s work Against the Christians quoted in Didymus: Comm. in Eccl. 281 (Gronewald): Πορφύριος γοῦν θέλων ἐ[..... ..... .....]| τοις ἀναπλάττοντες ἀναγωγὰς καὶ ἀλλ[η]γ̣[ορίας ..... ..... ..... ... ἔν]|θα ὁ Ἀχιλλεὺς καὶ Ἕκτωρ μνημονεύεται, ἠλληγόρησεν φήσας πρὸς τὸν Χ(ριστὸ)ν καὶ τὸν διάβολον· | καὶ ἃ ἐλέγομεν ἡμεῖς περὶ τοῦ διαβόλου, αὐτὸς περὶ τοῦ Ἕκτορος, καὶ ἃ περὶ τοῦ Χ(ριστο)ῦ, αὐτὸς περὶ Ἀχιλ|λέως. Now Porphyry, who wants [to reproach us for doing violence to literal meanings] by manufacturing figurative references and allegorical meanings, has [himself] allegorized [someplace in Homer] where Achilles and Hector are mentioned, when he spoke in reference to Christ and the Devil. And the things

172  The Homeric Centos that we are accustomed to say about the Devil, he says about Hector, while what we say about Christ, he says about Achilles.225

In this passage, the use of the archetypical Homeric duel between Achilles and Hector to represent that between Jesus and the Devil should not, as Philip Sellew argues, be interpreted as a strict parallel or an allegory of the battle of good against evil in moral binary terms, but as an “ecumenical” blueprint, shared by Christians and Platonists.226 The reuse of the famous duel in a Christian context would have therefore been part of the earlier debates between pagans and Christians long before the cento was composed. In the I HC, Christ’s encounter with Death is well prepared from the moment of the Crucifixion and the first mention of the iron gates and bronze threshold (1944, above), that like a Hector-​analogue breaches. A Christian audience would have been further prompted to link Hector’s bravura to the apocryphal narrative, namely Hades urging the demons to shut Hell’s doors.227 The Iliadic and apocryphal intertexts are reworked after the miraculous events that follow on Jesus’ moment of death and before the final allusion to the Descent. Cento Jesus descents to Hades as described the epic formula 1941: ψυχὴ δ’ ἐκ ῥεθέων πταμένη Ἀϊδόσδε βεβήκει. The Christian reader knows this is not any mortal soul but that of the one of the life-​giving divine Word. The cento’s recasting of Jesus’ final moments interweaves passages from the above-​and Underworld228 while depicting Hades in supplication mode.229 Hades remains near the cross and the grave during the events leading from the Crucifixion to the deposition.230 In the Gospel of Nicodemus Hades appears as mocking Satan for his short-​lived victory over Adam as the New Adam has now breached the threshold. In the I HC, the number of Jesus’ interlocutors is unclear,231 and Hades seems to be his main opponent.232 The formulaic introduction of Death, ἄναξ ἐνέρων Ἀϊδωνεύς, was popular throughout antiquity and would have had few connotations beyond Hades and death.233 Besides Hades, was a mythological figure used both by pagans and Christians rather unproblematically.234 More important to the context of the I HC, is the citation of a line from On the Sublime 9.6–​9, in which Ps.-​Longinus compares the scale of the theomachy’s effects in the Iliad (especially in terms of Poseidon’s horses) to the words “Let there be light” in Genesis 1:3. It is precisely the magnitude of these events and the divinity’s part in the harrowing of the Underworld that is the focus of the I HC.235 For a Christian audience, the aesthetics of the sublime power of the divine Jesus would here be coupled with the confessional tone of the Jesus who annihilates death. On the other hand, the reference to the Titanomachy would resume the grand tones of the Arrest and the cosmic allure of the Crucifixion, foreshadowing the outcome of the descent: Jesus’ victory over Death imagined as an epic duel.236

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  173 The passage presents Jesus as an analogue of Achilles by describing Hades through several Iliadic heroes, who, for the most part, engaged Achilles (but not only Achilles) in battles. An echo of this is found also in the Paraphrasis where in a striking Kontrastimitation Jesus instead of weighing like a dead body on earth emerges victorious as he removes the stone of the tomb monument which is instead described as ἄχθος ἀρούρης, an adjective used for idle bodies.237 In the I HC the rhetorical supplication below is a fine example of captatio benevolentiae:238 «γουνοῦμαί σε, ὦ ἄνα· θεὸς δέ κεν ἦ βροτός ἐσσι; νημερτὲς μὲν δή μοι ὑπόσχεο καὶ κατάνευσον, ἢ ἀπόειπ’, ἐπεὶ οὔ τοι ἔπι δέος, ὄφρ’ ἐῢ εἰδῶ. εἰ μέν τοι θεός ἐσσι, ὃς οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχῃσι, τρισμάκαρες μὲν σοί γε πατὴρ καὶ πότνια μήτηρ· εἰ δέ τίς ἐσσι βροτῶν, οἳ ἀρούρης καρπὸν ἔδουσι, λίσσομ’ ὑπὲρ ψυχῆς καὶ γούνων σῶν τε τοκήων, μή μ’ ἀπογυιώσῃς μένεος, ἀλκῆς τε λάθωμαι. κρείσσων εἰς ἐμέθεν καὶ φέρτερος οὐκ ὀλίγον περ, νῦν δ’ ἐμὲ μὲν μέγα κῦδος ἀφείλεο, τοὺς δ’ ἐσάωσας ῥηϊδίως, ἐπεὶ οὔ τι τίσιν γ’ ἔδδεισας ὀπίσσω. ἦ σ’ ἂν τισαίμην, εἴ μοι δύναμίς γε παρείη.

2122 ~ Od. 6.149, Odysseus to Nausicaa 2123 ~ Il. 1.514, Thetis to Zeus 2124 ~ Il. 1.515, ibid. 2125 ~ Od. 6.150, Odysseus to Nausicaa 2126 ~ Od. 6.154, ibid. 2127 ~ Il. 6.142, Diomedes to Glaucus 2128 ~ Il. 22.338, Hector to Achilles 2129 ~ Il.6.265, Hector to Andromache offering wine 2130 ~ Il.19.217, Odysseus to Achilles 2131 ~ Il. 22.18, Achilles to Apollo 2132 ~ Il. 22.19, ibid. 2133 ~ Il. 22.20, ibid. +​ Od. 2.62.

I supplicate you, Lord, whether you are god or human | now promise me truthfully and nod in consent | or refuse, you have nothing to fear, that I understand well; | for if you are a god, who dwells in the wide sky, | thrice blessed are your father and venerable mother; | or if you are one of the humans, who eat the earthly seed, | I am begging you, by your life and your knees and your parents, | do not debilitate me, so that I lose my strength. | You are indeed much stronger and better than I am; | and now you have stolen my great renown, and you saved these [dead] ones | with ease, because you were not the least afraid of the subsequent divine punishment. | Truly, I would take my revenge on you, if there was still vigor inside me!

Interestingly, this extensive address seems to be a unique feature of this edition of centos.239 In a late antique rhetorical manner, the poem retains the typical epic supplication format and refers programmatically in its first two lines to Odysseus’ plea to Nausicaa (2122)240 and Thetis’ address to Zeus (2123).241 Of these two models, the first is a supplication of a mortal by a mortal, whom Odysseus famously mistakes for Artemis; the second is a supplication of a god by a goddess. As a result, the mix of the two paradigms underscores Hades’ uncertainty and attempt to grasp Jesus’ dual nature (2125–​2127, θεός . . . βροτός), an ironic comment for the audience of the poem. The poem expands on the supplication of Christ’s human nature by drawing lines from the supplicating heroes in the Iliad but is introduced by Diomedes’ cautionary address to Glaucus.242 This subtle acknowledgment of Christ’s dual nature is important to the theological understanding of the scene since Hades, unlike Satan, appears keen to acknowledge the Messiah, as he also does in the Gospel of Nicodemus. In the second part of the supplication in I HC the duel between Achilles and Hector appears in Christian guise with the undertones of an eschatological

174  The Homeric Centos battle. It is in this way that we must interpret the lines that present Christ as a mortal hero molded along the lines of Achilles (qua Son of Man)243 and simultaneously as an immortal hero (qua Son of God). This is the effect of the incorporation of the analogue of Zeus in Thetis’ supplication and Achilles’ words on divine vengeance to Apollo in I HC 2133 and 2144–​2145—​words that gave Achilles a reputation for impiety in antiquity.244 The scene of Satan kneeling before a glorified and clement Jesus would also have reminded an ancient audience of the ritual supplication of the Emperor in the secular Roman world.245 Hence, the Homeric foil and its classicizing style encourages a further link to be drawn between the transcendental victory of Jesus over Death, and the secular one of the Christian Emperor over the ecumene.246 Hades, on the other, is presented as a negative character. The victim of Jesus’ Achillean revenge, receives a different kind of Achillean characterization as it appears from Jesus’ reply below: ἦ σ’ ἂν τισαίμην, εἴ μοι δύναμίς γε παρείη. οὐ γὰρ ἔτ’ ἀνσχετὰ ἔργα τετεύχαται, οὐδ’ ἔτι καλῶς, οἶκος ἐμὸς διόλωλε· νεμεσσήθητε καὶ αὐτοί, ἄλλους τ’ αἰδέσθητε περικτίονας ἀνθρώπους. ὣς σὺ μὲν οὐδὲ θανὼν ὄνομ’ ὤλεσας, ἀλλά τοι αἰεὶ πάντας ἐπ’ ἀνθρώπους κλέος ἔσσεται ἐσθλὸν μάλα. ζώγρει·⸥ ⸤ἐγὼ δέ κέ τοι χάριν ἰδέω ἤματα πάντα. βουλοίμην κ’ ἐπάρουρος ἐὼν θητευέμεν ἄλλῳ, ὅς κε θνητὸς ἔῃ καὶ οὐ τόσα μήδεα οἶδε ἢ πᾶσιν νεκύεσσι καταφθιμένοισιν ἀνάσσειν· βουλοίμην ἢ σοί, διοτρεφές, ἤματα πάντα, οὗ περ καὶ μείζων ἀρετὴ τιμή τε βίη τε, ἐκ θυμοῦ πεσέειν καὶ δαίμοσιν εἶναι ἀλιτρός».

2133 ~ Il. 22.20, Achilles to Xanthus +​Od. 2.62, Telemachus 2134 ~ Od. 2.63, ibid. 2135 ~ Od. 2.64, ibid. 2136 ~ Od. 2.65, ibid. 2137 ~ Od. 24.93, Agamemnon to Achilles in Hades 2138 ~ Od. 24.94, ibid. 2139 ~ Il. 5.698/​6.46/​11.131, heroic supplication +​14.235 2140 ~ Od. 11.489, Achilles to Odysseus in Hades 2141 ~ Il. 18.363, Hera to Zeus, formulaic 2142 ~ Od. 11.491, Achilles to Odysseus in Hades 2143 ~ Il. 23.594, Antilochus afraid of Menelaus 2144 ~ Il. 9.498, Phoenix to Achilles on nemesis 2145 ~ Il. 23.595, Antilochus gives the horse to Menelaus

Truly, I would take my revenge on you, if there was still vigor inside me! | For the deeds that have been done are no longer bearable, no good at all; | my house has perished; you yourselves [demons] shall be ashamed too, | such disgrace to the neighboring people. | But you [Jesus], not even in death did you relinquish your name, but forever, | among all people, your good renown will endure. | Take me a captive [alive]; I will be forever in your debt. | Oh, how I would prefer to be a man tied to his fields and in servitude to someone else, | a human, who does not know all these wisdoms, | rather than being a king amongst all the deceased corpses. | This I would prefer, day in and day out, oh son of god, | whose virtue, honour, and power are greater, fall from [your] grace—​even if I am sinner against the demons.247

Hades’ threat of revenge (2130: ἦ σ’ ἂν τισαίμην) would have sounded hollow had the audience not known from the Descent and earlier addresses that Satan was Death’s companion in arms.248 The Homeric text though strengthens the representation of the characters as it combines in one line (2133) two hemistichs evoking vengeance: the first half of the line alludes intertextually to both Achilles’ arrogant reply to a god, the river Xanthus, an act deemed hubristic by ancient readers and unfit for a brave hero;249 the second half is drawn from Telemachus’

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  175 speech before the suitors in the Odyssey (Od. 2.62: ἦ τ’ ἂν ἀμυναίμην, εἴ μοι δύναμίς γε παρείη), and thus offers an interesting comparison between Achilles who challenges a god and the weak Telemachus. Telemachus’ feebleness is reinforced by allusions to other supplication scenes in the Iliad250 in which warriors are slaughtered by angry opponents, chiefly Agamemnon and Achilles, despite their pleas. This astute reading of the parallel between the bravest of the Achaeans and the younger indecisive Telemachus offers an interesting variation of Hades’ negative Achillean characterization. In the end, Hades exhibits outmost weakness as he requests to be captured alive (I HC 2139: ζώγρει) in a cento whose first part relates to a plea by captive heroes that they be ransomed.251 This moment of weakness is paired with yet another negative characterization of Achilles. The poem builds on the positive model of the Homeric hero as a foil for Christ and the negative use of Achilles for Hades. Hades is given Achilles’ lambast against the heroic ideal, which had been deemed unworthy of Iliadic kleos since the time of Plato.252 The omission from this quotation of Odyssey 11.490 (ἀνδρὶ παρ’ ἀκλήρῳ, ᾧ μὴ βίοτος πολὺς εἴη) and its replacement by Iliad 18.363 (ὅς κε θνητὸς ἔῃ καὶ οὐ τόσα μήδεα οἶδε) here recasts the scene mutatis mutandis: in Homer Achilles (an elite mortal warrior) wishes to be an ἐπάρουρος of a poor landlord; in the Christian poem Hades (an immortal god) would rather serve a mortal for a master than an omniscient god provided Jesus spares him. Not only Hades relinquishes, here, his claim to heroic kleos but even his claim to immortality, a change of heart as profound as that of Achilles in the Nekyia. It comes as no surprise that the negative traits of Achilles i.e., impiety and weakness of spirit, are attributed to Hades, while the positive ones—​such as those referenced in Agamemnon’s famous address to the warrior in the Second Nekyia in Odyssey 24.93: ὣς σὺ μὲν οὐδὲ θανὼν ὄνομ’ ὤλεσας—​are granted to Jesus. Simultaneously the poem seems to underscore the Christian revision of mortality which is interchangeably attributed to both characters: Hades requests for a mortal master; Jesus instead descents as a mortal and rises as a god; by contrast, Hades from a god is downgraded to embody death, a feature of the mortals. In antiquity, the word ἐπάρουρος had several meanings: a keeper or guard, a ploughman or one living from and/​or on earth, ἐπίγειος.253 In the Christian poem, it is this final meaning of this highlighted word that is important,254 for understanding the power game between Christ and Death. It is not that death ceases to exist after the Resurrection, according for example Cyril of Alexandria, but that his impact is minimal as he is no longer in control of human mortality: Frag. in Paul. 1 Cor: 317: «ποῦ ἡ δίκη σου θάνατε; ποῦ τὸ κέντρον σου ᾅδη»; Πλὴν τὸ κέντρον τοῦ θανάτου φησὶν ἡ ἁμαρτία, ἡ δὲ δύναμις τῆς ἁμαρτίας ὁ νόμος· πλήττει μὲν γὰρ οἷά τις σκορπίος ὁ τὸ κέντρον ἔχων τοῦ θανάτου, τουτέστιν ὁ σατανᾶς. Πλήττει δὲ οὐχ ἑτέρως, πλὴν ὅτι διὰ τῆς ἁμαρτίας·

176  The Homeric Centos “So where is your victory death? Where is your sting Hades?” (Osee 13.14 quoted in 1 Cor 15:55) Except he says that the sting of death is sin (1 Cor 15:56), and the power of sin is the law; and it strikes like a scorpion that bears the sting of death, namely Satan. It does not strike otherwise, except through sin.

In a heroic context, Achilles’ comment already sounded borderline.255 In terms of Homeric heroic ideals, Achilles’ boldness may appear less than Odysseus’ perseverance and successful nostos from the Underworld. The immortal glory of the dead warrior can be paralleled to that of the living yet wandering hero. In a Christian poem it is Odysseus’ analogue who claims all trophies, both on behalf of the warrior-​hero and of the wanderer: Jesus, God incarnate who lived disguised as a poor man on earth, redefines suffering as kleos256 and invades Hell as the Messianic King of Glory while embodying both the victorious hero of the Iliad and the embittered dead hero of the Odyssey. Thus, to some extent, the Achillean kleos of the Odyssey is redeemed in the Christian poem; it is not the warrior but the ἐπάρουρος who earns glory. Like Odysseus’, Jesus’ descent is successful and promotes a different kind of heroic ideal: a combination of the fearless son of Thetis and the suffering of the king of Ithaca. The following passage similarly attempts to recreate a fearless portrait of Jesus who retaliates against the following merciless answer: λισσόμενος ἐπέεσσιν, ἀμείλικτον δ’ ὄπ’ ἄκουσε· «χρὴ μὲν δὴ τὸν μῦθον ἀπηλεγέως ἀποειπεῖν, ᾗ περ δὴ κρανέω τε καὶ ὡς τετελεσμένον ἔσται. ἄνδρα θνητὸν ἐόντα, πάλαι πεπρωμένον αἴσῃ, ἠδὲ γυναῖκας ἐϋζώνους⸥ ⸤καὶ νήπια τέκνα ἂψ ἐθέλω θανάτοιο δυσηλεγέος ἐξαναλῦσαι. βάλλεαι· ἀλλά σ’ ἔγωγ’ ἀναχωρήσαντα κελεύω ἐς πληθὺν ἰέναι, μηδ’ ἀντίος ἵστασ’ ἐμεῖο. πρῆξαι δ’ ἔμπης οὔ τι δυνήσεαι, ἀλλ’ ἀπὸ θυμοῦ μᾶλλον ἐμοὶ ἔσεαι· τὸ δέ τοι καὶ ῥίγιον ἔσται». ὣς εἰπὼν λίπεν αὐτόν, ἐπεὶ διεπέφραδε πάντα, δειδιότα· κρατερὸς γὰρ ἔχε τρόμος ἀνδρὸς ὁμοκλῇ

2147 ~ Il. 21.98, Tros supplicates Achilles 2148 ~ Il. 9.309, Achilles to Odysseus, the embassy 2149 ~ Il. 9.310, ibid. 2150 ~ Il. 16.441/​22.179, Sarpedon’s and Hector’s fate 2151 ~ Il. 9.366 +​2.136 2152 ~ Il. 16.442, Sarpedon and Hector’s fate 2153 ~ Il. 20.196, Achilles to Aeneas 2154 ~ Il. 20.197, ibid. 2155 ~ Il. 1.562, Zeus to Hera after the Dios Apate 2156 ~ Il. 1.563, ibid. 2157 ~ Il. 20.340, Aeneas learns the future end of Achilles 2158 ~ Il. 6.137, Dionysus shies in front of Lycurgus

As [Hades] was begging with words, he heard this harsh voice. | “These words should be straightforwardly refuted, | as I now proclaim, and it will be fulfilled accordingly. | The man who is mortal, according to the fate of old, | and the well-​girdled women and the young children, | time and again I want to liberate from the ruthless death. | You [Satan] have been hit! But I order you to retreat | and return to the multitude, do no longer oppose me. | You will not be able to do a thing in any case, but better shield away | from my anger; this will be better for you indeed.” | So he said and left him, after revealing everything, | shaking from fear; for great trembling had seized him by reason of the man’s threat.

The inevitability of death at 2150 even for heroes was a topos in antiquity.257 This changed with Christianity due to Jesus’ incarnation, as expounded here in lines 2148–​2152. A sophistic twist on these lines can be found in Cyril’s

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  177 refutation of Julian, which was dedicated to Theodosius II.258 Julian had allegedly referred to Jesus as the dead man (νεκρόν).259 Cyril countered by quoting Hera’s rebuke of Zeus from Iliad 16.440–​442 and pointing out that though the pagan gods pitied mortals, they, like Hera in the Sarpedon passage, were dismayed by the idea of Salvation from death. Then he proceeded to compare Christ’s real power over death that was unlike anything from what was expected from the pagan gods.260 As with ἐπάρουρος, the notion of θνητός, had radically changed. Jesus’ final words to Hades are puzzling as he urges him to disappear in the crowd and does not kill him. In the Descent 22–​23, Jesus captures Satan and hands him over to Hades’ keep until the Second Coming.261 The epic adaptation can be better understood if we reconsider Hades’ Telemachean rhetoric (2135–​ 2136: νεμεσσήθητε . . . αἰδέσθητε). If we take the apocryphal story into consideration, we can see that these orders are addressed to the demons still present at the scene and safeguarding the gates.262 When Hades acknowledges Jesus’ divinity and expresses his wish to be a serf in the Achillean manner, he seems to evoke these same demons in plural 2145: βουλοίμην ἢ σοι . . . ἐκ θυμοῦ πεσέειν καὶ δαίμοσιν εἶναι ἀλιτρός. This sentence, if interpreted as the/​some gods, may have been problematic to a Christian audience since the word δαιμόνια refers either to the pagan gods or the demons, the minions of Satan, throughout the poem.263 The use of the plural for the Christian triune god would have been regarded as “heretical,” even from Hades’ point of view. I thus believe that the “και” here should be understood as a concessive reference to Hades’ refusal to enrage Jesus at the cost of losing the respect of his acolytes. This is not the first time that Christ addresses the inner demon of a character. Christ reuses the excerpted lines to rebuke the demon inside the demoniac as well as Satan (presumably hiding within Hades), both in the second person in 962 (ἀλλά σ’ ἔγωγ’ ἀναχωρήσαντα κελεύω)264 and in 215 (βάλλεαι . . . σ᾽ ἔγωγε) respectively. The poem seems also to comment on the difference between the two Homeric scenes from where these lines are drawn and which ancient readers read in tandem because of the repletion of a hemistich (μηδ’ ἀντίος ἵστασ’ ἐμεῖο).265 In the case of the Demoniac of Gerasene, the lines fit the context of the duel between Menelaus and Euphorbus, which ends with the latter’s death. In the case of Satan, it is clearly the duel between Aeneas and Achilles, which is the foil as it allows for more nuanced exegesis. In the Iliad, Poseidon discourages Aeneas from fighting Achilles and predicts his survival and his opponent’s death. The I HC thus manipulates a well-​known Homeric episode to enhance its meaning intertextually through a comparison of both scenes with Homer, but also intratextually, through a comparison of the Demoniac to Satan. This explains the latter’s purge in Hades, via the reuse of the second person imperative. Just as in the case of demoniac Jesus performs here an exorcism at a

178  The Homeric Centos larger scale. This also explains why Jesus does not take immediate revenge over Hades who becomes the guard of Satan until the last days, as foreshadowed in Apocalypse 20:7. In the grand plan of cento Salvation, Hades sides with Jesus while Satan disappears incapacitated (2155), as he does in Christian exegesis. Death does not cease to exist for mankind but its power over humans has been re-​semanticized through faith in Resurrection and the second coming. For this same reason, Christ does not strike Hades–​Hector dead. Moreover, unlike the II HC, the I HC is rather cautious about putting strong duel-​and strife-​related words in Christ’s mouth.266 In this centonic reworking, the Achillean traits attributed to Jesus and Hades are the product of an astute Homerkritik that reads a parallel between the Menelaus–​Euphorbus and Achilles–​Tros duels, but which also wishes to fabricate an ideal hero—​Christ—​out of Achilles’ often controversial characteristics. Toward this end, the poem attributes the positive qualities to Jesus and the negative ones to Hades. On the other hand, despite using the son of Thetis with his comparable demi-​god pedigree as the model for Christ, the poem subverts the heroic ideal represented by Achilles; humility, self-​restraint, clemency toward opponents, and bravery in martyrdom have now replaced Achilles’ fury, self-​obsession, and wrath. This subversion is already found in the Odyssey, where the dead hero appears regretting his past choices. Likewise, the cento reworking of Achilles in the Harrowing of Hell is probably the second-​most central reception and subversion of the Iliad, a poem that famously describes the outcome of Achilles’ menis. In particular, the menis-​theme of the Iliad is important at the metaliterary level: in the discussion on the Fall, Eve was described as οὐλομένη, which introduced human suffering and death as the poem’s central Iliadic theme, albeit reversed by the Godhead’s plan of Salvation and the Son’s obedience to it and thus in stark contrast to the anticipated vindictive pagan message. Furthermore, the battle imagery that frames the beginning of the Crucifixion and the echoes of the Titanomachy and “clash of armies” in Book 2 present the Crucifixion as a cosmic and Iliadic battle that begins on the cross and ends in Hades. In this context, the duel between Achilles with Hector is restaged on cosmic grounds as a battle between good and evil, an effect that would have been satisfactory to an audience steeped in allegorical interpretations of Homer, as we saw in the case of Porphyry. The actual word related to Achilles, menis, is used in the poem only by Pilate, who cautions against divine wrath (1850: θεοῦ δ’ ἀλεώμεθα μῆνιν), never materialize, even during the Crucifixion. With Christ’s Odyssean descent and Achillean bravery, the suffering of man has come full circle and instead of witnessing divine wrath, humanity has established a new covenant with the Father through his Son’s heroic deeds.

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  179

4.5 Summary The preceding analysis showed the different interpretations of specific passages in the passion narrative in order to demonstrate the ways in which the I HC engages with the canonical and apocryphal Christian sources and reclaim of the Homeric Kunstsprache. What emerges is that the I HC is a biblical poem that supports confirms and expands on the late antique biblical interpretation while simultaneously eloquent about the late antique reception of Homer, both in pagan and especially in Christian milieux. The reception of Homer is multi-​layered. The Homeric text allows for a thorough revision and interpretation of the Christian story by providing thematic analogies and an ideological backdrop that enables further discussion of kingship, return, divine epiphany, kleos, and vengeance. By contrast to Genesis with its rich reception among Hellenized Jews and Christians, the passion narrative did not have such an exegetical past, which may explain why it could allow for a more flexible handling of the Homeric source material. Yet as with Genesis the poem is conscious of Homer’s Christian reception too: while Odysseus on the mast was a widespread image that evoked Christ’s Crucifixion, and whereas adjectives like νηπενθής became gradually a staple of Christian poetry, there were other more contested passages, as illustrated in the danger of applying the noun case of Jesus’ ἰχώρ to the blood of the Theantropos. An interesting case of Christian imperial poetic reception is the reclaim of Aeneas and his pietas to foil the god-​ sent Christ shared in Eudocia, Nonnus, as it was the case in Proba and Juvencus, all of which highlight the affirmative capitalization on the imperial jargon and its reconceptualization in Christian terms. Simultaneously epic Kunstsprache reclaimed previous pagan rites and imagery to describe the Christian mysteries: Pilate’s baptismal libation, Helen’s eucharistic intoxicated wine, or Jesus as salvific milk in the Underworld, are three characteristic cases. At the philological level, the poem seems aware of the Homeric criticism of specific passages, such as Achilles’ problematic posthumous uttering (ἐπάρουρος), but even of lines, such as the threat of revenge (ἂν τισαίμην) by Telemachus and Achilles, and also of allegorical interpretation as seen in the reworking of Porphyry’s passage. Again, the poem equally reflects the late antique reuse of Homer, as for example in the association of Pilate with Echetos, a model used also for Julian, or the characterization of the Pharisees as wasps, an image from late invective. Homer of the I HC was not a relic of the past but a paragon of the present. The Homeric style intends to make the poem appealing to an elite Roman audience, add depth in the characterization of biblical characters, and increase the suspense of the Passion Narrative. The trial before Pilate is full of classicizing tropes, imagery, and intertextuality: the governor of the I HC speaks as a pepaideumenos in gnomae and appears as an intellectual and pious representative

180  The Homeric Centos of the gentiles and even witnesses an epiphany, becoming thus a successful Pentheus or an Athena-​like protege like Odysseus. In the passion narrative, the Odyssey is chiefly used to describe the corporeal suffering of Jesus: lowlifes like Thersites, Melanthius, and Irus, serve as foils to Jesus during the scourging and Crucifixion and contrast the overall heroic representation of Jesus as an Odysseus bound to the mast, an image evoking heroic perseverance, as the visual images of the passion also confirm. The poem further employs Odysseus’ famous cunning and disguise to introduce themes of adventure, such as narrow escape, return, and vindication albeit of a non-​earthly caliber. Again, the theme of Odysseus’ return and vindication featuring in his answer to Alcinous, τετέλεστo/​αι that corresponds to the Johannine τετέλεσται, undergoes an in-​ depth resemanticization: the end of the earthly journey is the cross; the actual return is to the Father; and the one who wins, Christ, does so by sacrificing himself. The Odyssean echoes are also vivid in the description of the Underworld where the wandering hero deconstructs the warrior’s ideals. Likewise the cento Christ–​ Odysseus vouchsafes a different kind of heroism, one based in strength but also perseverance and forgiveness. The Odyssey then is used chiefly for its soteriological symbolic potential and secondly for its adventure plot of near escapes and misrecognitions. The Iliad on the other hand, is used to underscore the heroic component of Jesus’ gesture and his tragic fate, by alluding for example to heroic feats and funerals. Interestingly the Iliad supports existing typological interpretations and is used as classicizing foil to the Old Testament Messianic narratives, as the allusions to David for example and his fight with the wasps or the bolts of the Underworld suggest. Achilles, in particular, offers a parallel to Jesus that differs from that of Odysseus as he is the embodiment of heroic kleos. The analogy between the Achilles–​Hector duel and that of Christ–​Hades redefines through Kontrastimitation the new idea of Christian glory in martyrdom and like the previous allusions to the Titanomachy helps recasting the narrative as an event of epic and cosmic dimensions. Iliadic heroes were considered larger than life as Porphyry’s allegorical interpretation of the Achilles–​Hector shows, and their reclaim through both Usurpation and Kontrastimitation highlights the Gospels’ transcendental character, more present in John but not so in the Synoptic Gospels. Earlier the poem had expressed the Fall in terms of Iliadic suffering (οὐλομένην) in a passage linking tightly Eve’s transgression, her gluttony, and Achilles’ menis. The Iliad in the passion narrative is indeed used for woes, battles, and funerals, to which Jesus–​Odysseus’ τετέλεσται gives an interesting soteriological twist. Unlike the world of Archaic heroes, qualities such as humility, perseverance, meekness, but also magnanimity, forgiveness, and heroic confrontation of death are the new qualities of the Christian protagonist in this life, but also—​and this is yet another substantial difference in contrast

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  181 to the heroic world—​in the next one. The Christian hero has achieved the best of both worlds, the Odyssean and Achillean, the Underworld and the realm of the toiling mortals. To some extent he has become the “best of the Achaeans,” a title contested between Odysseus and Achilles, provided, like Eudocia does in her Apologia 31, one mutatis mutandis speaks “ἀντὶ μὲν Ἀργείων στρατιῆς γένος εἶπεν Ἑβραίων.” In terms of the Gospel’s reception, the I HC reworks both canonical and apocryphal texts but does not narrate the events in the strict order of the Gospels and often omits details. It thus more closely resembles visual narrative sequences of the passion, especially on sarcophagi, where the viewer is expected to remember and retrieve the omitted information. The narrative flow follows the main nuclei, as Eusebius’ canons do, but without dwelling on the details and certainly not attempting at harmonizing the fourfold Gospel.267 Characteristically, the cento does not present Jesus replying to Pilate, not even in monosyllables, whereas in the Paraphrasis, the scene is quite prominent and assumes the form of a philosophical dialogue aimed at discovering the truth.268 In the cento version, it seems that the focus is less on the encounter between Jesus and Pilate than on the difference between the judge and the Jews and their mutual (mis)understanding of Jesus’ identity. In this respect the poem emphasizes Pilate’s latent epiphany in order to claim the Christian message for the gentiles and not for the Jews, without however extracting from him a confession as Nonnus does. On other occasions the I HC diverges significantly from the canon: for example, Pilate disappears handing over Jesus in person, the gory details of the flagellation scene surpass the ones found in the Gospels, and even the weight of the dead body is repeatedly evoked. The apocryphal material on the other hand is used in a manner similar to the Homeric epic, as adding in suspense and characterization: we saw earlier in Mary’s lament how the Acta Pilati B allow for a maternal representation of the Virgin that the canon didn’t allow and how the I HC expanded on it; here, it is Pilate’s positive Roman portraiture that is at stake. Furthermore, the apocryphal revision of the Descent and the Harrowing of Hell complement the action of the canon and increase readerly anticipation. It needs to be stressed that the recasting of apocryphal texts alongside canonical sources attests to their popularity especially outside dogmatic literature: canonization did not exclude experimentation and as with the presumed condemnation of centos by the official Church, the reception of earlier Christian literature, canon and beyond, was probably much more flexible among laity. Besides, Eudocia’s other poem on Saint Cyprian was also inspired by an apocryphal text and transposed into hexameters: the versification of Justa’s temptations and her representation as a New Thecla show that biblical poetry appealed to an audience fascinated by the lives of the saints and apocryphal narratives. These observations entail that the decision to versify or

182  The Homeric Centos paraphrase the Bible was ultimately personal. In the case of this poem the aim was not to reproduce the Gospel but to provide an additional interpretation based on the possibilities offered by the Homeric Kunstsprache which aimed at mildly exonerating Pilate and elevating the Crucifixion to a cosmic event, without relinquishing the pathos, suspense, and adventure possibilities offered by classical epics and Christian apocrypha. The analysis here also shows that the poem revisits ongoing Christian exegesis, the most important one being the modification of Jesus’ shameful death into a full-​blown imperial triumph. To counter it, the poem, like the visual arts and exegesis, paints the Crucifixion as a cosmic victory, as does the description of the Nonnian cross expanding to the four corners of the universe. A further connection lies in the typological readings of the cross as dried wood, the mention of Adam’s grave being situated on Golgotha, and the relationship between Jesus and the New Adam or David. Other typological interpretations appear as well; a case in point is the wasp metaphor from the Psalms in which Davidic echoes blend with epic heroism in such a way that the Old Testament theme works alongside Homer. Yet the most impressive evidence of exegesis and also the most difficult to evaluate is the poem’s take on the Christological debate. The echo of the Philippians 2:5–​11 with a stress on the physical humiliation of the Irus-​ like Christ may raise some concerns. The descriptions of heavy heroic bodies and rotting corpses, pagan funerary rites, and the soul’s flight to the Homeric Underworld are prominently flagged in this poem, as is Thetis’ conspicuous ointment. Most of these scenes are backed with imagery relevant to Christian mystery, as in the digression on the ecce agnus dei or on Helen’s eucharistic narcotics. The modern reader is nonetheless left to ponder whether these descriptions presented a rather blunt representation of Jesus’ material body, by implying that the body suffers (more) at (some) expense of Christ’s divinity. The cento Jesus is not the divine-​living-​corpse of the Paraphrasis but a corpse, a heavy crossbeam. It may be that under Theodosius II the cross was no longer a scandal, but the debate over Christ’s two natures was far from resolved. If, as I suggest in Chapter 2, the poem is authored by Eudocia and probably antedates the Council of Ephesus, then the fairly strong emphasis on the corporeal nature of the body may reflect the (predominately) eastern distinction between man and god especially in the passion,269 rather than a Cyrillian approach. To some extent one may separate between passages where Christ’s flesh nature is emphatically depicted, such as the scourging and the burial. Nonnus’ post-​Ephesian and post-​Chalcedonian (predominately) Logos-​dominated Christology is articulated through paradoxical expressions and oxymorons—​Par. 19.222–​223: νέκυν οὐ μιμνόντα, νεκρὸν ἀειζώοντα is evocative of Cyril’s slogans, such as ἀπαθῶς ἔπαθεν; yet these do not have an equivalent in the cento Gospel. The poem admittedly also presents Christ’s Achillean and Messianic descent but the all-​too

Crucifixus etiam pro nobis  183 human Odyssean suffering of Jesus doesn’t necessarily fade, at least for those who wish to read it as such. Interestingly though with Mary the poem adopted a Cyrillian position, with the passion it opted for one that could be read as an echo of Nestorius’ teachings. This fluidity, in my view, is representative of an earlier pre-​Ephesus date or of the years immediately following the Council. Certainly, since Nestorius was only exiled in 435 and several attempts at reconciliation between easterners and Cyrillians took place after 431, it is not surprising that this poem does not reveal a clear Christological hallmark.270 Needless to say, it is difficult to estimate not whether an ancient audience would have read the poem in such Christological terms but to what extent: paideia was a staple, Christology in the making. The answer probably depends on the audience’s awareness of Christological details and its motivation for reading this kind of poetry. While the biblical cento does not allow Homer to pose as a theologian, it certainly uses him to practice theology. The classicizing revision of the passion narrative in the I HC made it possible to reconsider and legitimize Christ’s narrative from a pagan perspective but at the same time reflects an acute knowledge of the poem’s contemporary theological concerns. If read for pleasure, the Homeric hypotext would certainly have heightened the element of adventure and offered insights into episodes such as the reprise of Odysseus on the mast or the cosmic duel and cross. Read together with Mary’s tragic lament, the Crucifixion also shows the poem’s interest in tragically and classically conceived pathos. If read with a keen eye for discerning exegetical pitfalls, however, a person like Faustus would certainly have found potentially heretic, and even borderline “Nestorian,” material in it as well. This chapter opened with the Axion Esti, in which the cross of martyrdom is recast as a trident entwined by a dolphin, a pagan image turned Christian and secular in return. The ensuing discussion presented the reshaping of the dead body of Jesus as a mast and offered detailed analyses of passages from the passion narrative that illustrate struggles with the cross and the Crucifixion centuries before Elytis’ nautical reinvention and the suggested alternatives late antique epic had to redefine the cross within the context of Christian exegesis and while reusing its classicizing past to highlight the aspirations of the nascent Christian empire: Odysseus bound on the mast and Achilles in front of the walls of Troy, offered a narrative and ideological backdrop that redefined the passion and the victory of the cross for the now-​Christian elites and which could still be embedded in the Empire’s pre Christian past: after all Christ suffered sub Pontio Pilato.

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web [ . . . ] throughout history, humankind has told two stories: the story of a lost ship sailing the Mediterranean seas in quest of a beloved isle, and the story of a god who allows himself to be crucified on Golgotha. Jorge Luis Borges, 1971, “The Gospel According to Mark” quoted in M. Usher, 1998, Homeric Stitchings, 12

Late antique centonized biblical poems are one example of a long tradition of pastiche poetry that stretches from antiquity to T. S. Eliot and Giorgios Seferis. Pastiche and cento poems are ideal text-​cases for exploring issues of the intertextual appropriation of culturally and religiously loaded texts, verbatim quotation, intergeneric dialogue, and audience response. This book has been about the First Edition of Homeric Centos, which I attribute to Eudocia, and the ways in which this poem reflects the literary and religious milieu of the fifth century CE. Throughout the analysis the metaphor of “unweaving” was used to denote the disentanglement of the thick, intertextual, religious and cultural layers of which the work is composed. The I Homerocentones, I argued, is a biblical poem representative of the late antique Homeric reception, beyond the classroom, and of biblical exegesis, within and beyond the canon, which reveals, at least, a sharp female focus, if not of female authorship. This study thus shows that the biblical Homeric centos on Salvation are woven into a more complex and colorful textile than their narrow classification as Homeric or biblical poems might suggest. Certainly, some of the key themes reworked in the poem are reminiscent of the late antique reception of Homer and the Bible: the cultural and poetic authority of the poet, the rhetorical reuse of the epics, the taste for jeweled ekphraseis, the awareness of the scholarly reception of specific Homeric stylistic and linguistic features, episodes, or books, the allegorical reception of some passages in the epics such as the duel—​all are found in literature beside the I HC. Similarly, the poem engages with the canonical biblical texts and their exegesis and can be read alongside Juvencus’ Four Books of the Gospel, Proba’s Cento, the Metaphrasis of the Psalms, and Nonnus’ Paraphrasis of St. John’s Gospel. More than other biblical paraphrases, the I HC shows a predilection for apocryphal material and unlike other Christian epics it is less apologetic about its fusion of pagan The Homeric Centos. Anna Lefteratou, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2023. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197666555.003.0006

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web  185 and Christian culture. On the other hand, the poem, thanks to its technique, is a unique web of Homeric and biblical material. Typological interpretation by contrasting for example Eve and Mary is heavily used in the poem. Elsewhere, the Bible allowed for a transcendental and allegorizing reading of the Salvation story, as seen, for example, in the cosmic duel of Jesus–​Achilles and Hades–​ Hector, but not necessarily to the extent employed in other classicizing epics such as the allegorical touches found in Nouns’ Paraphrasis. Homer, by contrast, offers a more nuanced reading of the Bible through Kontrastimiation or Usurpation, as in the case of Jesus’ suffering in the flesh, the elements of adventure, and opportunities for the deeper characterization of its stereotypical, yet mute characters. In this concluding section I shall “reweave” all these separate threads back together into the poetic textile with which I began this analysis of the Homeric Centos, adding some reflections on the poem’s Sitz im Leben, the biases modern scholars faced by engaging with these works, and the challenges of future research.

Classicizing Poetry Modern scholars often connect cento compositions to late antique schoolroom exercises. The I HC was to some extent a product of Graeco-​Roman paideia, but one that went beyond the classroom. Throughout this analysis we have focused not only on the scholarly, but also on the rhetorical uses and reuses of Homer. Despite I HC’s didactic tone and reliance on rhetorical topoi or the progymnasmata, its stylistic complexity suggests that it was more than a mere pedagogical tool. Although Homer was taught in schools, he also served as a source of invention for declamation, something we can observe in the poem, as in the case of Mary’s lament, for example, or the soliloquy of the Samaritan Woman. The poem shows an astute knowledge of both the Homeric text and its literary and philological reception—​ certainly not classroom material. It demonstrates a thorough grasp of Homeric criticism, as can be seen in the case of Telemachus’ demegoria in the mouth of Hades. Although the poem’s audience would have been familiar with several lines of the I HC from what they had learned in school and rhetorical training, the allusions in the complete work go well beyond those in excerpts and testify to an “advanced” knowledge of the Homeric text. The innovative quality of the I HC thus lies in the application of the tools usually used for mythical themes—​of the kind that Tatian’s audience, according to the Apologia, would have enjoyed—​on a biblical topic for which there were not enough classicizing predecessors. These point to the creative reuse rather than the servile imitation of Homeric epic, and is thus similar to what we find in other Homer-​inspired poems of Late Antiquity, such as Quintus’

186  The Homeric Centos Posthomerica or Nonnus’ mythological and Christian epics. For this reason, and despite acknowledging the fact that centos do evoke a closer “connection” to their “original source” than do other types of allusion, I have opted for terms that denote intertextual relationships that are not unique to this genre, but rather show its relationship to the entirety of late antique epic verse. While formulaic composition is a useful tool for understanding the memorization, composition and performance of epic poetry diachronically, and cento compositions in particular, throughout antiquity, its emphasis on orality downplays the literary context in which the I HC was composed because it assimilates the Christian poem to a type of poetry written twelve centuries earlier. In this respect, the paratexts attributed to Patricius and Eudocia speak to the multifaceted debt that the centos owe the Homeric epic as a written text, a philological and editorial model, and an orally performed poem. Finally, the I HC is a product of a literary bookish culture that prized declamation and the recitation of poetic works. As we might expect, the analysis of the poem’s Homeric reuse has revealed the I HC audience’s thorough knowledge of Homeric compositional techniques—​formulae, simile, typical adjectives. Poets like Quintus of Smyrna and Nonnus, for example, would have been aware of the fact that these were important constituents of Homeric Kunstsprache, but would not have dwelled on them alone. Expanded gnomic collections, extensive ekphrastic digressions, such as the one on Jordan, or the didaskalia of Mary’s lament, are late antique adaptations of the Homeric material that adhere to the aesthetics of the “Jeweled Style.” Most important in this respect, are the smaller thematic units that are used instead of rhapsodies to recast the biblical tale. The juxtaposition of episodes drawn from Jesus’ life and ministry bears certain similarities to the snapshot approach in visual media, in which the audience is left to reconstruct a continuous narrative from sequential and cumulative images. This technique is illustrative of the poem’s late antique aesthetics and may well suggest the kind of performance that these thematic snapshots may have entailed, either individually or in larger units, depending on the circumstance. Furthermore, the I HC does not allude solely to Homer. Throughout the epic Kunstsprache we can discern allusions to didactic poetry, as in the revised Hesiod in the centonic Genesis or the Pandora-​like description of Eve. Intertexts such as Gregory’s poems offer important contemporary evidence of the kind of didactic—​often Hesiodic—​reworking inspired by the theme of Creation. For this reason, too, I also avoided a specific theorization of cento technique as this may overemphasize the poem’s dependence on formulae. Read in this light the study may have had erroneously stressed the importance of the structural units and dismiss instead the work’s rich intertextual resonances preserved beyond Homer. In fact, the kind of intertextual relationship between I HC and Homer is different from that between other centos and their source texts. It is in this light that the bias of the Virgilian cento must be reconsidered. Both Homer and Virgil

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web  187 were staples of Graeco-​Roman paideia, but the reception of Homeric centos in the Greek-​speaking East differed from the reception of Virgilian centos in the Latin-​speaking West. Although this book does not venture to compare Virgilian and Homeric centos (as worthwhile as a thorough comparative study of the two would be), it is worth stressing that despite the similarity of their technique, the two differ in their approach to tradition and innovation. Latin poetry, for one, was more emulative from the outset: Virgil not only set himself in competition with Homer, but also wrote the Aeneid with Greek tragedy, lyric poetry, and their Hellenistic revisions in mind. Thus, even at the level of its elementary thread, the Virgilian cento was heir to a more interculturally, intertextually, bilingual, and bicultural self-​conscious tradition. Moreover, Virgil wrote not only heroic epic but also idylls. It is this particular mélange that is further exploited in Hosidius Geta’s Medea, a Virgilian cento of the early third century, as well as by Proba’s association of Eve with Dido. Virgilian centos, therefore, came with an inter-​ cultural/​textual and intergeneric past that the archaic Homeric verses did not, and for which the latter compensated by revisiting not only the use of Homer in other genres, especially in declamation, but also Homer as didactic epic. Thus, when the scribe of Proba’s Cento admits that his poem is better that Virgil’s, or when Proba the poet in the first person condemns her own previous songs in order to sing of Virgil singing of Christ, they are both testifying to a longer emulative and competitive tradition with the Latin poet. In the East, however, competition with Homer fluctuates between less conspicuous revisions, such as those of Quintus, to more antagonistic revisions, such as those of Nonnus in the Dionysiaca. This ambivalent attitude is replicated in the reception of classicizing poetry in Christian verse. In fact, unlike the militant Gregory, the narrators of the Vision of Dorotheus or the more self-​reflexive poet of the Metaphrasis of the Psalms have little to say “against” Homer, as their Christian apologia is not needed. Thus, in so far as the cultural appropriation of Homer is concerned, the I HC is probably closer to poems such as the Posthomerica, which revise the poet within the new aesthetic, and closer to Christian poems like the Metaphrasis or the Vision, within the new religious ideology. This, after all, is what the poet of the Apologia argues with regard to herself when placing her work between Tatian’s virtuoso sequels and Patricius’ Christian themes. Thus, Homer’s currency in the East probably allowed for greater formal and ideological continuity. Most importantly, the I HC also reveals the Christian aspects of Homeric reclamation. The analysis of Book 2 of the Odyssey illustrates the reception and adaptation of an otherwise not so popular portion of the epic, which is nonetheless instrumental here in that it expresses and threads some of the poem’s core ideas on sonship, fatherhood, and sin. These ideas are central to the whole of the Odyssey of course, but the conglomeration of relevant material in this book shows how the centonist worked with their model and how excerption advanced particular Christianized readings. It is in a similar vein that the cento revisits specific

188  The Homeric Centos Homeric foils in order to endorse characterization and exegesis. Amongst the most popular analogues is the use of Hector and Achilles to describe the tragic fate of the Son of Man. While Hector appears mostly as an example of tragic and untimely death, Achilles refers both to tragic death and the heroic, mutatis mutandis, image of Jesus, especially in the Descent, where the Achillean model is enhanced by Davidic undertones. Meanwhile, and despite these allusions, the poem stresses change in the concept of kleos, an ideological staple of heroic epic, which it now replaces with suffering and sacrifice. At the same time, the overarching plot of the I HC is expressed in its imperial reclaim of the Odyssean proem at the end of the Fall that reverberates with allusions to menis. An important foil throughout the narrative is Odysseus, who serves as the model for the wandering sufferers in the story, including Jesus. Similarity to Odysseus Jesus’ travails bring him to the “end of the world” and even the underworld, the theme of the epic hero’s katabasis to Hades now reused to foil the Christian descensus. The reception of Odysseus and his famous nostos in the I HC bears many affinities with the allegorical—​both pagan and Christian—​revisions of the myth, especially in the image of the hero attached to the mast. In the I HC, however, the king of Ithaca offers an additional powerful vehicle for discussing core themes of the I HC. His travels are reclaimed to illustrate the themes of adventure and near or mis-​recognition (especially during the earthly ministry of Jesus) as well as the themes of—​the sinners’ and Christs’—​suffering and erring, to frame allegorical conjugal harmony (in Jesus’ representation as the Heavenly Bridegroom), and, above all, to recast as nostos the soteriological (the Incarnation) and eschatological homecoming (the Ascension) of Christ and his salvific victory over death (descensus). Similar reuse of core Homeric themes can be found in other poems too, starting, for example, with Gregory’s allegorical reclaim of Odysseus on the raft, as a model for the earthly wandering of the soul, or Nonnus’ Achillean depiction of Jesus’ kleos, the association of the cross and the mast, to illustrate again the reclaim of key Homeric themes either through Usurpation or Kontrastimitation, which for some poets would have been more straightforward and unproblematic, whereas for others more contested and apologetic. The knowledge and display of the Homeric koine in the I HC demonstrate the author’s appropriation of the classicizing paideia, this time, for a Christian cause, though not necessarily to imply that Homer was “mutatus in melius” or a true Christian. For the author of the Apologia and probably of this cento poem, Homer is, above all blameless, ἀμεμφής.

Biblical Poetry Related to the claim that Homeric centos grew out of a schoolroom context, is the scholarly bias regarding the motives behind classicizing Christian verse of every

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web  189 kind. As we observed above that the textual transmission of the Homerocentones is entangled with their early modern reception as either Christian or Homeric poems. Accordingly, this impacted their popularity or denigration respectively among early modern readers, depending on the latter’s tastes. The oft-​repeated hypothesis that the short-​lived Edict of Julian (362–​364 CE) prompted the sudden appearance of Christian verse postulates that Christians needed external stimuli to write classicizing poetry and thus implies that biblical poems were composed with Homer—​the supreme model—​in mind and were thus inferior. This presupposition—​most recently voiced by Sandnes in his 2011 monograph—​is misleading as it dismisses the epic tradition that leads from the Hellenistic era onward. The classicization of Christian poetry reflected the gradual Christianization of the elites but differed in intensity from one individual or socio-​cultural constellation to another. Be that as it may, it is simplistic to argue that all Christian poetry developed in reaction to this short-​lived decree, especially since some of these works, such as Juvencus’ epic or Proba’s Cento, predate the decree, and Jewish biblical poetry had already been composed by the Hellenized Jews, such as Theodot and Philo the epic poet, who were known to Eusebius (Evangelical Preparation 9.22 and 9.37) a continuity rarely taken into consideration by late antique scholars. These indicate, most likely, that we do not have the entire picture. The paratexts and the prefaces to Christian poems and the I HC analyzed here reveal that a variety of motives—​most of them overlapping—​prompted the composition of classicizing poetry: personal confession, a concern for Salvation, imperial soteriology or evangelical ecumenism, theological inspiration (especially in Proba’s vates), didacticism and moralizing (especially in Gregory), personal disclosure of revelation (as in Dorotheus), and philological and literary aspirations (as in Eudocia’s revision of Patricius). Another bias, which concerns the revision of the Bible, and is as old as Tertullian’s and Irenaeus’ reservations about cento poetry which they associated with misleading interpretation. The Centos were religious enough to be considered Christian expressions of faith but could not “compete” with or “replace” the Bible. They were not works of liturgical poetry either, as far as we know. While Karl Olaf Sandnes, drawing on Dennis MacDonald’s ideas on Homer and the New Testament, views the Centos as representing a “maximalist” approach to the Christian reception of classical authors, this is a stretch that misinterprets the milieu in which this poetry appears. When it comes to biblical narratives, the use of classical texts by ‘early’ Christian and ‘later’ authors differs—if such a division within the first five Christian centuries can be held.. In the first case, we are dealing with a minority: members of small (Hellenized) Jewish communities within Roman Judaea or of Jews and others in cosmopolitan cities such as Ephesus who may have read epic poetry or Greek philosophy closely but did not feel the need to underscore their debt to Homer or even Plato, at least not explicitly. Conversely, post-fourth century biblical poetry is

190  The Homeric Centos aimed at an elite audience in a rapidly growing Christian Empire that embraced eagerly and broadcasted its newfound religious identity through its paideia, thereby imprinting the ‘new’ religion with a further ideological and Graeco-​Roman tinge. Modern readers have detected various similarities between New Testament and classical texts, Homer and Euripides in particular. Some of these observations are shared with ancient readers: early exegetes, such as Clement and Origen, used their cultural pedigree with an apologetic agenda in order to explain the appropriation of Christianity by elite gentiles. Other resemblances, in turn, were prompted by the late antique close juxtaposition of the classical texts, Homer in particular, with the New Testament narrative. Such concurrence is exactly what cento poetics is about and, since the material is shared, drawing similar conclusions—​shared between the ancient readers and modern interpreters—​is unavoidable. It is thus arbitrary to say that Homer, in our case, influenced the themes and motifs of the Gospel, whether those found in the canonical Gospels or their centonic versions. We rather need to infer that there were many ancient readers, especially those increasingly recruited among the pepaideumenoi, who were willing to read the Gospel and Homer in parallel exploring looser or closer similarities. In this sense, biblical poems like the I HC were not meant to replace the Scripture. Christianity was a religion to which books and bookish culture became increasingly important as timed passed. Any replacement of the Book, i.e., the Bible, would have been regarded as sacrilegious. But once Christianity was consolidated and its credo defined by councils, biblical poetry in classicizing verse quickly developed into a means of expressing conversion, the confession of faith, a vision, or Christian universalism, as exemplified by the prefaces of Juvencus and Apollinaris or Eudocia’s address to the Ethiopian-​like inhabitants of the eastern and western parts of the Empire. Like other Bible-​themed works, such as essays, homilies, or commentaries, the I HC offers an alternative exegesis of the Bible by drawing on contemporary Christian exegesis and the visual culture. As in earlier Christian classicizing verse, found in the verse especially that of Gregory, and the Metaphrasis of the Psalms, and of Nonnus’ Paraphrasis of St John’s Gospel, the combination of Homer and the Bible in the I HC was above all ideologically motivated: a poetry for the now Christianized elites. It is with this in mind that the intriguing association between Jesus and Aeneas as well as the exculpation of Pontius Pilate should be read. Biblical poetry thus offered yet another way of reading the Book embedding it in Graeco-​Roman culture, one that stressed the importance and reclaim of the message of Salvation for the gentiles. The exegetical reading of the story of Salvation, the theme of the I HC, is closely related to the exegetical and doctrinal milieu in which the work developed. Examining the poem’s retelling of Genesis, we saw a tactful selection of specific Homeric passages untainted by earlier squabbles over the primacy of Homer over Moses, or vice versa. The paradise ekphrasis placed on Achilles’ shield is described

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web  191 by the narrator, while the contested Homeric passages are uttered by Satan. Both the analysis of Genesis and the passion narrative reveal the difference in the reclamation of the Old and the New Testament: whereas Creation themes had been part of the agenda since Hellenistic and early imperial times, and thus required extra attention when revised, the New Testament, with some blatant exceptions, such as the discussion of divine blood (ἰχώρ), offered a new field for improvization that was less obstructed by earlier reclaims of classicizing themes. Thus, despite certain parallel models, Jesus could fight like Achilles or suffer like Odysseus, and Mary could weep like Andromache. Some of these themes, such as Mary’s lament, or the textile connotations projected on the hemorrhaging woman, would become staples of later Byzantine hymnography and medieval legends, disclosing the grey area in which the contribution of the Homerocentones has been downplayed due to the assumption that they merely evoked classical ideals. The parallel to the mainstream appropriation of apocryphal material is quite typical of the I HC and demonstrates the poem’s engagement with popular interpretations of the biblical narrative in Late Antiquity that were equally revisited by the Christian interpreters, such as Proclus in his use of Marian Apocrypha. Given that Eudocia is also the poet of Saint Cyprian, it should come as no surprise that she too incorporates a variety of apocryphal narratives into her poem on the Salvation. Apocryphal narratives had the power to build on the plots of canonical sources and to add characterization, or thread in exegesis. Similarly, the I HC fills in the gaps whenever possible, as for example, in the depiction of the otherwise mute women of the Gospel and provides access to tales like the Descent, which are not part of the canon. It thus testifies to a broader, bottom-​up reception and revision of the Bible, which was nonetheless made intriguing to the elite in a different guise through the Homeric style. The pairing of the Descent with its typological Davidic echoes and the Homeric intertext is probably the highlight of the poem’s use of Homer to bring its Messianic message emphatically to the fore. Of course, the dating of the apocryphal texts used here makes the relationship between the I HC and especially the Acta Pilati B problematic. It may be that the poem draws on shared sources, but, interestingly, themes regarded as “medieval” by scholars working on the Cycle of Pilate (e.g., the planctus Mariae, the descensus ad infernos) may not be as late as once thought if the dating of the I HC is fixed to the first half of the fifth century. As for the pressing doctrinal issues—​such as the Theotokos and Christ’s impassibility—​the I HC falls in line with certain trends, but more often than not, does not side with or against Nestorius or Cyril. The Virgin’s active participation in the drama of the incarnation despite her weakness showcases her rising popularity around the time before the Council of Ephesus. The Mary of the I HC is not yet the Theotokos, something one would expect had the poem been composed after 431, as is the case in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis and in the (possibly dated

192  The Homeric Centos by Leena Mari Peltomaa as early as the fifth century) Akathistos. In the cento, Mary is formulaically introduced as a nursing mother, an anti-​Nestorian touch. She is an alter ego of Anticleia/​First Eve but is never referred to as God-​bearer, as she is by Nonnus. Instead, she is called a virgin-​bearer, ἁγνοτόκος, an allusion to her perpetual and most notably post-​partum virginity as is the case in the poem about Saint Cyprian. This term may be added to the attempts at describing the mother of God other than as Theotokos which were in circulation—​e.g., as θεοδόχος (“god’s vessel”), or χριστοτόκος (“Christ bearer”)—​and illustrates the fluidity of these notions around the time of the 431 Council. Nonetheless, the matter of breastfeeding is a pressing point against Nestorius, who could not imagine that the divine Jesus came down to Earth as a dependent infant, and altogether contributes to the portrayal of the Virgin as a caring mother, which, as I argued above, may echo an opposition to the veneration of Mary by ascetic virgins such as Pulcheria. The Virgin’s otherwise regal depiction and role at the River Jordan, the foot of the Cross, and atop the Mount of Olives indicate that she was on her way to becoming the divine heiress of a later Byzantine tradition. The poem probably crafts her character so as to appeal to Roman matronly ideals, since for a queen, rather than the ascetic Pulcheria, as Kenneth Holum has argued, dynastic rights were consolidated through the birth of an heir, whom, ironically, Eudocia failed to produce. This would not have been the first case of an imperial reclaim of the ideals of motherhood and fertility for a queen and Empress: Hellenistic female monarchs such as Berenike II were traditionally associated with fertility goddesses such as Hera, Isis, or Aphrodite. Similarly, Roman matrons such as Agrippina the Younger were linked to Ceres. By contrast, virginity as idealized by Christians, posed a problem and a threat to imperial dynasties. Mary was needed both as an ascetic virgin and as mother. In his Obituary to Theodosius I, Ambrose tried to bypass the problem by associating Mary with the Empress Helen, mother of Constantine. Mary and Helen’s low birth, their elevation to God-​and Emperor-​bearer respectively, the Virgin Annunciate, and the discoverer of the Holy Cross, respectively, were all mixed into the encomium of Helen, a new model of female Christian matronly piety that for a widow. The I HC reflects a similar Roman matronly and motherly idea of Mary. The striking absence of widows in this rendition of centos may also be pressing the point for a positive representation of Christian motherhood. Even in the retelling of Justa’s temptations the most (near) successful devil is the one who promises her offspring in Eve’s manner. Although the times seemed to briefly favor the virgin Pulcheria instead of Eudocia—​the virgin Augusta was hailed at Chalcedon as the “New Helena”—​without a male heir, a new dynasty was unavoidably about to follow, that of Leo I. With regard to the thorny debate over the impassibility of Christ-​God, the Jesus of the cento passion narrative is more often than not represented in the flesh

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web  193 since martyrdom is the poem’s exegetical focus. References to Jesus’ execution as a would-​be thief, his decaying flesh, the weight of his corpse on the shoulders of his companions, are all powerful images of his carnality that also prompt an emotional reaction from the part of the reader. The comparative analysis of Nonnus, for example, reveals an exegetical altera pars that relies on a different and highly allegorical and allusive language for dealing with similar issues, which is still is far from—​though closer than the I HC to—​early Byzantine poetic paradoxes such as the νύμφη ἀνύμφευτος of the Akathistos or Mary’s recurring stanza in Romanos’ Kontakion 25: ὁ υἱὸς καὶ θεός μου. From this perspective, the I HC may call for a more dualistic interpretation of Jesus’ twofold nature, with greater stress on his human half that may betray some influence of Nestorius’ arguments and certainly nothing of the miaphysitic beliefs ascribed to Eudocia by later historians. The heroic foils used are not exclusively reemployed for Jesus but the epic world they represent threatens the unity of Christ: the cento Savior on the cross is not just an Odysseus analogue but also a Thersites, a Melanthius. Although this could be read as a Cyrillian case of extreme theopatheia, the all too human suffering of Jesus split across the poem’s sub-​sections may also be hinting at a spin-​off of Nestorius’ stricter division between Christ’s human and divine natures exemplified by 2 Philippians 5–11, which attributes suffering chiefly to the flesh. As with Mary, the debates in this case, which we now take for granted, were still being crafted, while the boundaries between the “orthodox” and the “heretic” were not yet clearly defined. Thus, the poem probably reveals the mixture of dogmatic questions at the time, while not denying Jesus’ divine twofold nature, as vividly reproduced in his Descent and Messianic victory over death. The initial programmatic way of addressing Christ was through the exegetically ambiguous line θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα (5), one that cannot reproduce the rich connotations embedded in the compound word “God-​Man.” However, since the formula being the best cento option—​the double correlative conjunction ἠδὲ καί endorsed securely the union of natures—​we should no doubt the poet’s programmatic confession of the incarnated Christ according to the orthodoxy defined by Nicene Creed. Related to the revision of the Bible is the presentation of the Christian bard as a theologian, especially in the I HC’s exegetical reverberations. This tendency, evident in both Homeric and Virgilian centos, can be related to the growing fashion for the allegorical interpretation of both poets in Late Antiquity as well as the inspired Virgilian vates, in Juvencus and Proba. There is no substantial evidence with which to argue that the I HC was meant as a prophetic revision of the Gospel in a typological manner. Homeric verses, of course, were reused for divination and excerpted for oracles, but the opening lines of the I HC suggest a sermonizing or didactic setting and do not allude to the mysticism of the poet-​vates of the Latin intertexts, or the apocalyptic self-​disclosure of the Sibyl in oracular poetry. There are some terms—​e.g., the reference to the poetess’ thymos—​that imply divine

194  The Homeric Centos inspiration, but not necessarily to the mode of revelation. Just as Homer does not become melius when reclaimed for a Christian topic, so too the poem does not present the “Gospel according to Homer,” but rather a classicizing and unavoidably Homerizing reworking cum exegesis of it. When setting out to narrate the story of Salvation, the poet-​preacher of the proem defines herself not as a mystic, but rather—​and implicitly—​as a preacher, as an evangelist, and as a confessor, who, while reciting Genesis, professes the Nicene Creed, and even as an eyewitness of the events that she describes. This latter is not a gift of prophecy but the effect of faith: Paula on Golgotha had similarly experienced the Crucifixion in a vision. In sum, Eudocia offers what was expected of an erudite Christian of her time: eloquent catechesis, evangelism and pistis. For this reason, it’s probably better to think of the poem as a Biblical Homeric cento rather than simply a Homerokentron.

Eudocia’s Biblical Homeric Cento The reading presented here argues that the I HC displays a female focalization. Modern scholars uphold the manuscript tradition that famously recognizes Eudocia as a cento poet, but this study brings attention to the female focalizers embedded in the biblical poem. It looks at Mary’s prominence, offers a mild exoneration of Eve through Epicaste, gives voice to central Gospel female characters, and thus demonstrates that the poem was both composed with women in mind and that women were among its addressees. Although poetry composed by women need not uphold a woman-centered point of view, this particular edition of centos presents them in a favorable light especially when compared with their representation to the second edition. The Homeric hypotext contributes to the more subtle characterization of the poem’s female cast, allowing for greater variation in the stock-​types of the Virgin and Eve characters. This was clearly a poem composed for the educated elite, one that probably coincided with the rise in Mary’s popularity and the concern with her role in Salvation, as well as with the interests of Theodosian women, both in-​and outside the palace and capital. Apocryphal narratives brought women into focus in ways that the Bible did not, turning Mary and Thecla into important models for early Christian women and female members of the elite. A similar tendency can be observed in late antique matronae doctae, who saw Homeric centos as a way of weaving confession, paideia, and a new and surprisingly non-​ascetic matronly ideal into a solid poetic textile on Salvation. A poem like the I HC can thus be included within the otherwise prolific output of the period’s famous belletrist, or, as the manuscript tradition refers to her, the σοφωτάτη καὶ λαμπροτάτη Empress Eudocia, whose bicultural background and intercultural milieu explain the poikilia of Homeric, biblical, apocryphal, exegetical, and visual threads thickly woven into the ποικίλα θρόα of her Homerocentones.

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web  195 In sum, the first edition of Homerocentones, which reflects the classical and exegetical Sitz im Leben of the first half of the fifth century is better understood if seen as a continuation of the classical epic tradition and a by-​product of the nascent biblical poetry, with a view to the sixth and seventh century Byzantine literary production of which they were important forerunners. Certainly, the archaizing language and meter of the Homerocentones and of late antique classicizing Christian verse were not destined to be successful: Cassia’s and Romanos’ poetry were written in a different style and meter once the language and the aesthetics changed. Yet some themes related to Mary’s motherhood and atonement, Jesus’ heroism, and his clothing in flesh prevailed and evolved further. The Christian tale of Salvation, like any ancient myth, could be told in many ways through the addition or subtraction of details and in a variety of styles. The new story, the willing self-​sacrifice of the Christian Savior as Borges saw it, did not dissuade poets from writing about Odysseus’ travels and travails, or even inventing an amalgamation of both. Like the repurposed churches of Late Antiquity constructed from pagan spolia, so here, the old could be reused to create the new and turn Homer into the Bible, even when the building materials were not always distinguishable. That said, the nautical imagery stretching from the apologists to Eudocia and from the Empress to Elytis was a clear and innovative Odyssean addition to the Passion narrative. Centuries later, Christians believed in the healing and salvific powers of the sacramental wine and another legend told how Elijah, like Odysseus, would carry the oar up the hill, where the inhabitants would no longer recognize it as such, and settle there, thereby hinting at a Christian culture fascinated by nautical metaphors.1 τέλος τοῦ παρόντος μαθήματος. δαῖμον [τοῦ τυπογραφείου] δίδου πονέοντι τεὴν πολύολβον ἀρωγήν.2

Drawing Spyros Evangelatos, reproduction K. Karasavidis

Notes Unweaving Crossweave Poems 1. The terms used to describe appropriation and reuse are complex and derive from techniques used in the plastic and visual arts, e.g., see Weisstein 1978; e.g., collage, or cut-​up technique, is a more flexible term than the term pastiche/​pasticcio, which hints at a closer stylistic imitation of a model; collages and cut-​ups were used by the Dadaists, T. S. Eliot’s contemporaries. There is much debate on whether ancient cento is a form of the modern pastiche and whether some centos are more pastiche-​like than others. Rondholz 2012, 27–​30 offers a good introduction. 2. For an analysis of Seferis’ poem, see Kostiou 2014. On the imagery of Asia Minor in modern Greek literature, see Raudvere 2018. 3. Genette 1982 distinction between hypotext (model text A) on which the new hypertext (new text B) builds is still useful for the cento. Cf. Pollmann 2017: 9 and Bažil 2009: 60. 4. On the levels of hypertextual imitation, see Genette 1982, e.g., 33–​40, 47–​57, 112, 237–​45 who differentiates between playful transformation (parody), satirical transformation (travesty), serious transformation (transposition), playful imitation (pastiche), satirical imitation (caricature), and serious imitation (forgery). See also Bažil 2009: 59–​71 on the communicative setting, “la situation centonienne,” and how this influences the intensity of intertextual relations. Cento poetry is usually labelled as “transposition,” cf. Genette (1982): 61, on the musical metaphor; see also Pollmann 2017: 9, 101, 110 and Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 15–​17. See also Schembra 2020: xlix who describes the stages of cento creation as: selection, transposition, harmonization, simplification, and amplification. 5. Cento: in Latin means patchwork, quilt; ὁ κέντρων: in Greek means needle, needlework, sting. See Usher 1998: 1–​5, 25, Rondholz 2012: 2–​4, 67, passim., Schottenius-​ Cullhed 2016b on textile poetics, and Bažil 2017a; on the weaving imagery in the I HC, see Lefteratou 2017a. 6. According to the useful definition in Usher 1997: 305. 7. See, e.g., selectivity in Herzog 1975, Fuhrmann 1977, Green 2006, Otten and Pollmann 2007, Pelttari 2014, Mastrangelo 2016, Kaufmann 2017, Pollmann 2017, Elsner and Hernández Lobato 2017, and Squire 2017. 8. See also Chuvin 1991 and Hopkinson 1994, the contributions to the Nonnian Conferences in Spanoudakis 2014a, Bannert and Kröll 2017, Doroszewski and Jażdżewska 2020, Verhelst forthcoming, Agosti and Rotondo forthcoming, and the excellent Brill’s Companion edited by Accorinti 2016a. Beyond the Nonnian context,

198  Notes see Johnson 2006a, Hadjittofi and Lefteratou 2020, and the many contributions of Gianfranco Agosti, e.g., Agosti 2001b, Agosti 2006, and Agosti 2008a. 9. The Latin cento has received more attention, cf. e.g., Hoch 1997, McGill 2002, McGill 2005, Bažil 2009, Rondholz 2012, Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a, and Elsner 2017. For the Greek material, see the earlier studies by Rey 1998 and Usher 1998; recently see the excellent edition and commentaries by Schembra 2006, Schembra 2007a, Schembra 2007b, and Schembra 2020 a slightly revised commentary on the first edition. An introductory comparative study of Proba and Eudocia can be found in Sandnes 2011a. 10. Another metaphor is that of dismemberment and the cento see Hardie 2007: 171, and McGill 2014. 11. As examples of philological work and the I HC, see Schembra 2007a, Schembra 2002, and Nesselrath 2007. 12. On intertextuality in Classics, see Hinds 1998 and especially his remarks about the authorial competition between “alluding text” and “incorporating text” at 101; Fowler 1997; on the cento, see Hardie 2007. See further Hinds 2014, Formisano and Sogno 2010, Kaufmann 2017 and recently the levels of intertextual allusion in Bažil 2018; on innovation and tradition, see Pollmann 2017; on readerly approaches, Pelttari 2014, all of whom focus on Latin material. On Homer and the I HC, see Usher 1998, especially on formulaic diction. For a contextualization of the Homeric Centos in late antique Christian poetry, see the pivotal study by Whitby 2007, Lefteratou 2016, Lefteratou forthcoming-​a, and Lefteratou forthcoming-​e; see also the narratological approaches in Verhelst 2019 and Kuhn-​Treichel 2017. 13. Examples of a feminist reading of cento poetry can be found in Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016, esp. ch. 3 and Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016c; on those of Virgilian Centos, see Karanika 2014a for the Homeric Centos, though without tackling the issue of authorship, and some remarks in Sowers 2008: e.g., 163. 14. The historical and cultural contextualization of cento has received less in-​depth study; on its relationship to late antique paideia and the pragmatics of late antique poetry, see Agosti 2006; for a revision of apocryphal literature, see some preliminary remarks in Rey 1996; on Nonnus, see Spanoudakis 2017; on the engagement of cento with Homer and the Gospel canon (albeit without regard for the Christian reception of the canon), see Sandnes 2011a and; on its revision of rituals, e.g., baptism, see Lefteratou forthcoming-​c. 15. See Agosti 2001b: 68–​74, who shows that the level of style and exegetical approaches to Old or New Testament texts went beyond the level of education received at school. 16. On intratextuality, defined more narrowly, as engaging internal relations within a text see Sharrock and Morales 2000: 10. 17. Here following Agosti 2001b: 68–​74. For the political and ideological use of the Edict by later Christian leaders see McLynn 2014, with test-​cases. On the diverse reactions of Christian poets to and the different levels of engagement with the classical past, see the introduction in Hadjittofi and Lefteratou 2020: 9. The contributions to this edited volume show that Gregory and the two Apollinarii had different motives for composing classicizing poetry than did Nonnus or the poets of the Cycle of Agathias who composed their poems more than a century later.

Notes  199 18. On Christianization in literature as an intercultural concept see, Agosti 2009; for the broader socio-​historical context, see Leppin 2012. 19. Modern understandings of Christology, the theology of Christ’s divine and human natures, are heavily influenced by the 451 Council of Chalcedon that professed Christ to be consubstantial with both God and mankind, and that his two natures (human and divine) were in no way mixed or separated in the union while functioning separately. After the Council, the Church came gradually to be split among “Chalcedonians” (often those of the imperial Church, who, based on a selection of Cyrillian writings approved at the Council), “miaphysites” (supporters of a particular version of Cyrillian theology that emphasized the oneness of Christs’ nature), “dyophysites” (or Easterners, Nestorius’ supporters, often associated with Antioch, who argued for the stricter differentiation between the two natures of Christ), and many shades in between. Terms such as “miaphysite” or “mia physis Christology” and “dyophysite” or “two-​natures Christology” are used here as working categories but are chiefly post-​Chalcedonian, and often scholarly, constructs. These notions would not have been in circulation in the first half of the fifth century. For an overview see Beeley 2012. Similarly, throughout this study, the terms “orthodoxy” and “heresy” and their derivatives are used as relative categories. Heretics and heresy were (re-​)constructed by their allegedly “orthodox” opponents. Further on religous dissent see Kahlos 2019: 106–​21.

Chapter 1 1. Prieto Domínguez 2010: 50–​53. 2. On the philological and interpretative techniques used to decipher both Homer and the Bible see e.g., the contributions in Niehoff 2012. And among the many works on mimesis in Graeco-​Roman literature and its Byzantine reception see, e.g., Conte 1986 for earlier and Rhody and Schiffer 2008 for later literature. 3. Rey 1998, Usher 1999. 4. Schembra also offers an Italian translation of and excellent commentary for both I HC and II HC. Schembra 2006, Schembra 2007b. 5. Ludwich 1897 gave up on the task, while Usher 1999 and Rey 1998 edited select manuscripts. For an overview, see the introduction by Schembra 2007a. 6. Usher 1999. 7. The critique of Usher’s edition by Schembra 2007b: cx-​cxxix is to the point, though one must stress that it—​especially the Prolegomenon and Homeric Stitchings—​is most likely the first referential text for Anglophone readers wishing to approach the Homeric Centos before dealing with Schembra’s (2007a) intimidating 492-​page volume in the Corpus Christianorum. For a friendly first-​reader of Eudocia, a good selection of passages with analysis is Sowers 2020a. Sandnes 2011 is more interested in theology. 8. Sigla here and below from Schembra 2007a: xxvi-​xliv. 9. Schembra 2007a: lxxvi.

200  Notes 10. On Christian humanism from Late Antiquity to the seicento see Pontani 2018, also on the impact of Neoplatonic allegoresis; and at 234 on Marcus Musurus hexametric Creed, ca. 1512. On Homer in Renaissance see Wolfe 2020. 11. In 1541, Petrus Brubachius published the I HC with CPr and Nonn. Par. In his 1554 revised edition he printed HC with a Latin translation, alongside Lycurgus’ Against Leocrates. In 1578, Henricus Stephanus printed it with CPr and Par. In 1609, Claudium Chapelet’s Poetae Graeci Christiani of 1609 includes the I HC. 12. See e.g., Finkelberg 2019: ch. 30, esp. 361 on Descartes; see also Haugen 2020: 510 on Ludolf Küster’s 1696, Historia critica Homeri, 78‒9, 87‒8 philological work on the establishment of the Homeric text by the rhapsodes as a kind of cento. The ideological background of the early modern reception of the HC remains to be written but is beyond the scope of this book. 13. E.g., Libert 1624, Laurentii 1648, Ravesteinium 1650, Field 1664—​save the edition prepared by Marguerite de la Bigne for the Magna Bibliotheca Patrum in 1624, and Teucher’s in 1793 by Teucher, which included both the Greek and the Latin Centos. 14. This is the edition in Arthur Ludwich 1893, Index Lectionum. Insunt Eudociae Augustae carminum reliquiae editae ab Arthuro Ludwich, in the Regia Academia Albertina I (April). 15. This volume is based on a single manuscript (M, CCC Cambridge 248), and the careless editing can be attributed to the editor’s disenchantment with the text, Ludwich 1897: 97: emendatiunculae paucae mihi fere invito exciderunt inter scribendum: hunc igitur campum, quem videbam nimis sterile esse, aliis patientioribus permitto diligentius colendum. Rey 1998 diligently edited and published Ludwich’s unfinished II HC. 16. This is different from the modern idea of plagiarism, Markschies 2015. For ancient ideas of plagiarism, see the standard discussion in Stemplinger 1912, and for Latin Literature, McGill 2012. Although notion of cento as plagiarism does appear in antiquity (e.g., Auson. praef. 21: de alieno nostrum; cf. the discussion in Prieto Domínguez 2010: 64–​65), it was the authority of the source material that enabled this kind of imitation and appropriation; see Hunger 1969/1970 and Pelttari 2014: 157–​60. 17. On centos, see Crusius 1899, Herzog 1975, Gärtner and Liebermann 1997, Usher 1997, McGill 2005, Prieto Domínguez 2010, and the introductions in Bažil 2009 and Rondholz 2012. 18. Following the example of the reader-​centered analysis by Pelttari 2014. Cf. earlier Hardie 2007, esp. 176, on a reader-​motivated intertextual approach. 19. Cf. Pollmann 2017: 109–​10, on Auson. CN as part of a prosimetric text. 20. Surprisingly, another anonymous Virgilian cento includes, De alea, own lines and consecutive lines, see McGill 2005: xv, 69. 21. Cf. respectively CN 1–​3 ~ Aen. 5.304, Aen. 11.291, Ecl. 7.4; CPr 183–​185 ~ Aen. 6.673–​ 675; I HC 62–​66 ~ Od. 6.181–​185. 22. Salanitro 1997: 2326, n. 70 observes that Lucian alludes to a cento composed of various, and not exclusively Homeric, verses. Cf. Luc. Symp. 17: “Istiaeus the grammarian then began to perform rhapsodies while reclining, and he brought together verses from Pindar and Hesiod and Anacreon, so that from all these one very

Notes  201 ridiculous song was composed.” Yet, in what follows, Lucian gives examples solely of Homeric lines. 23. Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 156. 24. On the genre of Medea and the poem’s “mimetic mode,” see McGill 2002: 145; on its reception of Virgil alongside Seneca see Hardie 2007. For another dramatically inspired cento, the Alcesta, and its belonging to the genus mixtum, see Wasyl 2020: 179. 25. As Harrison 2007: 240 argues. 26. On classicism in late antique literature see selectively, Johnson 2006a. For an introduction to classicizing Christian poetry, see, McGill 2017 for Latin; and Agosti 2012a for Greek; see also Hadjittofi and Lefteratou 2020: 32. This borrowing technique is typical of the late antique view of innovation, which, unlike that of the Hellenistic or Augustan traditions, does not necessarily explicitly highlight competitiveness with its forerunners but also implicitly appropriates their work into new compositions. See McGill and Pucci 2016, Mastrangelo 2016, and Pollmann 2017: 23–​26. See also e.g., Elsner 2017: 181 for plagiarism as spoliation and as “a new form of literary classicism.” On the differences between imperial/​Augustan and late antique reader-​oriented appropriation, see Pelttari 2014: 130 on repetition as a form of emulation. 27. “Invented” Christian poems such as the Vision of Dorotheus or Dracontius’ Satisfactio counsel caution against such claims as they show that the actual broader picture is lost to us. Moreover, depending on its date, for which see Most 2008, the Chr. Pat. offers an alternative narrative mimetic mode for recasting the Passion. On innovation within classicism, see Pollmann 2017: 24, and esp. 33 on the Chr. Pat. as avatar of Ezekiel’s Hellenistic Exagoge. 28. Cf. both epigrams to the I HC, the so-​called Apologia (Vat. suppl. gr. 388) and the so-​ called Hypothesis in Anthologia Palatina 119 on Patricius’ work, which refers to the poem as both βίβλος and ἔπος. Cf. Schembra 2007a: cxxxiii and cxxxviii. 29. On orality and the performance of epic poetry in Late Antiquity, see e.g., Agosti 2006 and Agosti 2008a. On reading events where poems such as centos circulated see Sowers 2016: 528–​9; and Sowers 2020: 46. 30. For a similar structure in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, see Agosti 2016b. 31. On poikilia, see e.g., Roberts 1985, Roberts 1989, Miguélez Cavero 2008: 376. For an overview see e.g., Grand‐Clément 2015: 406, “the Greeks used the term poikilia to refer specifically to the effect produced by the assemblage of different colors and materials on an object, but also to express the more generic ideas of variety, versatility, intricacy, and complexity.” For the term and its reception in Late Antiquity see Fitzerald 2016: 65–​71. In literature is the aesthetic principle of variation, multiformity, and polymorphism, starting from the lexical level (such as choice of non-​ repetitive adjectives), to the thematic/​structural level (no two episodes/​scenes are exactly the same) and even with respect to genre (such as the appropriation of large and small scale hexametric verse, epigrams, hymns, grand epic in Nonn. Dion.). See, Fauth 1981. 32. Pelttari 2014: 99–​103, describes it as a three-​layered reading approach consisting of surface, microstructure, and macrostructure. 33. Thraede 1962. See also Agosti 2011b, Pollmann 2017: esp. ch. 1.

202  Notes 34. Agosti 1997: 33 rightly insists that “the original context makes all the difference.” 35. Cf. Agosti 2011a on Sophronius. 36. Cf. Roberts 1989. On the cento as typical of late antiquity, see McGill 2005. On the innovative role played by the reader in this poetry, see Pelttari 2014: 98 on cento and plagiarism, and 158 on Ausonius’ appropriation of Horace. 37. See Elsner 2004: esp. 304, Onians 1980, Squire 2013: 118, and the updated bibliography in Elsner 2017. 38. Elsner 2004: 308. 39. On late antique poetry and spoliation, see Roberts 1989, Elsner 2000a, Agosti 2004–​ 2005, and Agosti 2014b. For Aphrodisias see Chaniotis 2008. 40. The levels of allusive engagement of cento with Homer/​Virgil and the Bible are disputed, and different levels of associations have been proposed: e.g., see Glei 2009 arguing for a relation characteristic of the poem’s neutralization and evocation of the original text [I am thankful to my late colleague Christoph Leidl for pointing this out to me], and Usher 1998: 49 concept of “defamiliariation/​Verfremdung” especially because of the formularity of some verses, and Hardie 2007 on a critical evaluation of the levels of intertextual and authorial engagement. 41. Though he acknowledges the literate milieux of Late Antiquity, Usher 1998: e.g., 41–​ 49, 71–​76, stresses the reuse of formulaic style in composing the centos as if it were an archaic composition, e.g., at 76: “Parry’s notion of expectation actually better suits the centonist Eudocia—​a literate poet fully conversant in the Homeric langue, who composed in a culture still marked by oral residue—​than it does the oral bard of primary orality.” 42. E.g., Bakker 2013 and Currie 2016: 9–​10 on “Homer’s allusive art,” that emphasizes the repetitions in Homeric epic through the lens of intertextuality. 43. For earlier poetry see e.g., Conte 1986. Recently, Bažil 2018 distinguishes between “leading reminiscence”—​“analogical allusions” to similar passages—​“synergic allusions” more vague intertextual associations; Pelttari 2014: 131–​43 reviews the theoretical approach to allusions in Latin poetry and argues for a more subtle sub-​division of allusions in Late Antiquity between “non referential allusions”—​ “juxtaposed allusions” (quotation of earlier poetry, without highlighting the aemulatio of the current poem with the past)—​and “apposed allusions” (which mark themselves as different from the rest of the text and encourage an interpretation against the current context). 44. Ausonius’ preface to CN for example is a good example of a self-​conscious metaliterary language or the dedication to Proba’s Cento, for which see Section 1.3.1.2​. 45. These correspond roughly to Bažil 2018 categorization discussed above in the Introduction n. 4​but do not offer a new theorization of cento. On “allusion” vs. “intertext,” see Hinds 1998; for “intergenericity” see Harrison 2007; see Bakker 2013 on “interformularity”; see Sharrock and Morales (2010) on “intratextuality.” 46. hAph 58–​64 ~ Od. 8.362–​366 and Il. 14.166–​172. On this direct quotation as rather a form of allusivity even in genres using a formulaic style, see Currie 2016: 151. 47. E.g., Ar. Pax 1090: ὣς οἱ μὲν νέφος ἐχθρὸν ἀπωσάμενοι πολέμοιο; quoting additional fragments of Homeric lines from Il. 1.318, Il.17.243, Il. 16.301) at 1270–​1274

Notes  203 and 1282–​1287; cf. Ar. Ran. 1264–​1268 (Aesch. Frag. 132 (Myrmidones), TGF 273, TGF Psych. 273, Euripidean rhythm, 1285–​1295 (Aesch. Agam. 108–​111, with additional lines), and 1309–​1322 (Eur. TGF 856, TGF Hyps. 7.5). For plagiarism and Aristophanes, see Stemplinger 1912: 12–​ 15 on direct quotation and personal criticism. 48. E.g., Petr. Sat. 132: illa solo fixos oculos aversa tenebat | nec magis incepto vultum sermone movetur | quam lentae salices lassove papavera collo ~ Aen. 6.469, 6.470, modified Ecl. 3.83, 5.16, Aen. 9.436 (“that one turned aside and gazed fixedly at the ground | nor is moved by the beginning of speech any more | than drop ping willows or poppies on their tired necks”), tr. Pollmann 2017, 107. 49. Char. 5.5.9 quoting Il. 3.146 and Od. 18.213, Lefteratou 2017b: 219. 50. See e.g., Marrou 1948, Kindstrand 1973, Lamberton 1986, Small 1997, Rossum-​ Steenbeek 1998, Cribiore 2001, Webb 2010. 51. For peplos as a name for collections of miscellanea, see Aul. Gell. Att. Praef. 6. On the Ps.-​Aristotelean Peplos see Gutzwiller 2010: 223–​4 on the metaphorical association of this “woven” collection to the peplos of Athena at the Panathenaea, which also featured mythical scenes. I am indebted to Ewen Bowie for pointing to me these parallels. 52. Ferguson 1974: 107–​8. 53. Pind. Ol. 6.85: ἀνδράσιν αἰχματαῖσι πλέκων | ποικίλον ὕμνον (“I will weave a colourful song for the spearmen”) echoed in the proem of Nonn. Dion. 1.15: ποικίλον ὕμνον ἀράσσω (“I strike [on lyre] a colourful song”), Del Corno et al. 1997: 215. See e.g., Scheidegger Lämmle 2015 and the contributions in Squire 2017; for women and weaving see below ch. 2 n.5​. 54. Iren. Adv. Haer. 1.9.4: “they [interpreters] act like those who would propose themes which they chance upon and they to put them to verse from Homeric poems, so that the inexperienced thing that Homer composed the poems with that theme, which in reality are of recent composition,” tr. Unger and Dillion: 47. Here Irenaeus cites as an example a ten-​line cento on Heracles quoted from Od. 10.76, 21.26, Il. 19.123, 8.368, Od. 6.130, Il. 24.327, Od. 11.38, Il. 24.328, Od. 11.6262, Il. 2.409. The authorship of this cento is highly debated, e.g., see Wilken 1967: 32 against attribution to the heretic Valentinus. See also Unger and Dillion 1992: 181–​2, and Sowers 2020a on Hercules and Christ. 55. Tert. Praescr. 39.4–​7: “today you see completely different stories being composed out of Virgil, as they construct their material according to his verses and his verses according to their material . . . there are also the ones we call Homerocentones, which fix up into a single unit, from Homer’s poem’s their own work in a patchwork manner (more centonario), out of the many pieces drawn together from here and there,” tr. Pelttari 2014: 108. 56. Cf. McGill 2005: xvi-​xvii, who claims that their opinions are not a direct attack on cento poetry as a whole. 57. Jer. Ep. 53.7: “instead they adapt incongruous testimonies to their own interpretations . . . as if we have not read the Homeric and Virgilian centos, and as if we could not say in this way that even Virgil was a Christian,” tr. By Pelttari 2014: 109.

204  Notes 58. His strong resistance, therefore, has more to do with issues of Christian misuse that he, as an official Church authority, felt compelled to address, as Pelttari 2014: 110 confirms. 59. Though probably writing before the paraphrases of the Empress Eudocia, since his history ends in around 439 CE, Cameron 2016: 73. For the different reactions to the edict see McLynn 2014. 60. Narsallah 2010: 47–​49, and esp. 50 rightly proposes to look at early Christian apologies beyond the narrow frame of the gentile versus Jewish versus pagan competition and emphasized the role of paideia in these “cross-​cultic and cross-​ethnic” defenses of the right religion and ritual. Ancient readers emphasize the momentum of the endeavor, e.g., in Socr. HE 16.2: “they proved themselves useful (χρειώδεις) to the Christian in their contemporary circumstance”; on Divine Providence surpassing both Julian’s and the heretical achievements of the Apollinarii, see HE 16.7; and at 16.17: “to use their weapons against them,” Socrates comments on the use of classical paideia for arguing with pagans and enhancing logical and rhetorical articulation. Cf. also Buck 2003: 311. 61. Soz. HE 5.18.4–​5; for the positive attitude, see Agosti 2001b: 71 and Cameron 2016: 73. 62. Soz. HE 5.18.3. 63. Soz. HE 5.18.5: “were people not fond of antiquity and accustomed to cherishing what they already knew (τὴν ἀρχαιότητα . . . καὶ τὰ συνήθη φίλα ἐνόμιζον), I believe they would also praise and [and be eager] to learn together with the poets of old the endeavour of Apollinaris, admiring thus even more his genius (τὴν ἐφυΐαν θαυμάζοντες).” 64. Cf. esp. Pelttari 2014: 111. 65. CN praef. 23–​24: nam duos iunctim locare ineptum est et tres una serie merae nugae. Pollmann 2017: 106 rightly observes that not only Proba, but also Ausonius do not follow the theoretical statements in the Ausonian preface. 66. Isid. Etym. 1.39, Rondholz 2012: 12–​13 on Isidore copying Tertullian and adding Virgil to the sources used by centonists. 67. Hld. Σ Dion. T. 5 (Hilgard, 480): καὶ ὥσπερ ὁ κέντρων λέγεται περιβόλαιον τὸ ἐκ διαφόρων ῥακῶν συγκείμενον, oὕτω καὶ τὰ ἐκ διαφόρων ἐπῶν συγκείμενα νοήματα κέντρωνες καλοῦνται (“just as the κέντρων means a bedspread compiled out of different rags, so are the thoughts (themes) from various verses ‘centos’ ”). See Usher 1998: 25 and Prieto Domínguez 2010: 207. 68. Σ Nub. 449: κέντρων δέ ἐστι τὸ ἐπισασσόμενον τοῖς ὄνοις, ἐκ πολλῶν καὶ διαφόρων συρραφέν σακκίων (“cento is the rug stitched together from many various patches that is used to saddle the donkeys”): Sud. s.v.: κέντρων, ὁ ἐκ πολλῶν συρραμένος . . . οἱά ἐστι τὰ Ὁμηρόκεντρα. Salanitro 1981: 2320. 69. Cf. Eustath. ad. Il. 1.10 and ad Il. 4.29: “thus, the poet [Homer] stitched together the speech of Glaucus from different lines and contexts according to the rules of centonization (κέντρωνος δίκην ἀπὸ ἐννοιῶν ἀλλαχοῦ ῥηθεισῶν συνέρραψε), according to [a technique] (later labelled Homeric centos”; on this, see Prieto Domínguez 2010: 24.

Notes  205 70. Cf. Rondholz 2012: 2–​3, esp. n.17 and 27 on the use of cento in Eustathius’ day as a means to illustrate what a “rhapsody” may have been. There have been attempts to equate cento with the Archaic rhapsody, as in Crusius 1899, Salanitro 1981: 22, and Gärtner and Liebermann 1997, and repeated in Usher 1998, who tries to place it within the Archaic oral rhapsodic tradition. On cento in the Italian Renaissance see Hoch 1997. 71. An earlier and shorter version of this section appeared in Lefteratou 2019. 72. On memorization in a literacy context and the centos, see Pelttari 2014 and Bažil 2017b; on formulae see Usher 1997. 73. On the longue durée of the Second Sophistic, see Kaldellis 2007 and Elm 2012. 74. For moralizing aspects in Quintus, see Vian 1980: 336, Bär 2008: 164–​6, and Greensmith 2020: 132–​ 5 also on the innovative touch to didacticism; for the Homeromanteion, see Zografou 2013; for the Or. Sib. Lightfoot 2007: 192–​202. Cf. also the contributions in Johnson 2006a. 75. Cribiore 2001a: 35, 41. 76. Cf. Cribiore 2001a: 225–​30; on Libanius, see e.g., Cribiore 2007: 159–​65 and Webb 2010: 132–​3. 77. And already noted by D’Ippolito 2007: 72–​82. 78. Dio Chrys. Or. 32.79. Barry 1993. 79. Besides Tronchet 2016, see also Hawkins 2016 on parody. 80. 1–​3: ἅρματα δ’ ἄλλοτε μὲν χθονὶ πίλνατο πουλυβοτείρῃ, | ἄλλοτε δ’ ἀΐξασκε μετήορα· [τοὶ δὲ θεαταὶ] | θώκοις ἐν σφετέροις οὔθ’ ἕστασαν οὔτε κάθηντο. 1 ~ Il. 23.368, Chariot race for Patroclus; 2 ~ Il. 23.369 +​[own]; 3—​[own] (“at times the chars clung close to bounteous earth, | at times they bounded high; but in their seats | the gaping crowd did neither stand nor sit”) tr. Cohoon and Crosby 1989. 81. 30–​35: τὸν δ’ ἄρ’ ὑπὸ ζυγόφιν προσέφη πόδας αἰόλος ἵππος· | οὐχ ὁράᾳς οἷος κἀγὼ καλός τε μέγας τε; | ἀλλ’ ἔπι τοι κἀμοὶ θάνατος καὶ μοῖρα κραταιή. | αἲ γάρ πως ὑμᾶς γε καὶ αὐτοὺς ἐνθάδε πάντας | [ὁπλήεντας ἔθηκε] θεὰ λευκώλενος Ἥρη, | ὡς μή μοι τρύζητε [καθήμενοι] ἄλλοθεν ἄλλος. 30 ~ Il. 19.404, Xanthus to Achilles; 31 ~ Il. 21.108, Achilles to Lycaon; 32 ~ Il. 21.110 ibid.; 33 [own verse]; 34 ~ Il. 1.55, formulaic; 35 ~ Il. 9.311 (παρήμενοι) (“to him then spake the charger fleet from ’neath | the yoke: ‘See’st not how fine a steed am I | how handsome and stalwart? Still for even me | doth wait grim death and stubborn-​heated fate. | I would that you yourselves had all received | from white-​armed Hera just such hooves as mine; | No more would you sit and murmur each to each’ ”), tr. Cohoon and Crosby. 82. Il. 21.107–​110: κάτθανε καὶ Πάτροκλος, ὅ περ σέο πολλὸν ἀμείνων (“even Patroclus died, who was more valiant than you”), quoted in Alex. Rhet. Rhet. 4. 83. Noted in Tronchet 2016: 398–​9. 84. Aul. Gell. Att. 13.21: “But the early grammarians have noted this feature in Homer above all, that when he had said in one place ‘κολοιούς τε ψηράς τε’ (‘both crows and starlings’), in another place he did not use ψηρῶν, but ψαρῶν.” 85. Adams 2016. 86. For the text, see Maltomini 1995. On the use of Virgilian lines in divination and its impact on cento, see Pavlovskis 1989 on the sortes Virgilianae and Proba.

206  Notes 87. E.g., Karanika 2011: 270, observes that both the Homeromanteion (κλῦθι ἄναξ sc. Apollo) and the Homerocentones (I HC 1: κέκλυτε μύρια φύλα) begin with the verb κλύω. However, a careful TLG search shows that grammarians and rhetoricians seem to have praised Homer for placing the verb before the subject as it intensifies the meaning, Dion. Hal. De comp. 5.18 on Il. 5.115, Men. Rhet. Epid. 343. 88. For Homer as a theologian see Lamberton 1986; the concept is applied on the IHC, e.g. recently Sowers 2020: 12–14. For the shared culture of the Homeromanteion and the Homerocentones see the observations in Meerson 2018: 146–​53. 89. For formularity in Hellenistic poetry, see e.g., Fantuzzi and Hunter 2005. 90. Bakker 2013. See, for example, Nagy 1996: 50, cited in Usher 1998: 86. See also the recent observations by Currie 2016: 11 in Fenik 1968, who notes that “typical composition and direct influence are not incompatible”; cf. also Tsagalis 2004, who undertakes a comparison of the formulaic aspects of laments in the Iliad. 91. D’Ippolito 2016: 373. 92. On formularity in Quintus, see Vian 1959, Bär 2008: 54–​69, and Greensmith 2020: 96–​ 99 arguing for a middle ground between Homeric koine and Alexandrian variatio. Contra see Hose 2004 on the impact of school. For Nonnus’ innovative approach see e.g., Hopkinson 1994, Shorrock 2001 and on Nonnian aesthetics Agosti 2008b. 93. For Q.S. see D’Ippolito 2003: 513–​6. 94. I HC 5–​6, see also Schembra 2006: 87. The Homeric rendering refers to the second and third article of the Nicene Creed that describes the incarnation of Christ. See Schembra 2020: and Sandness 2022: 82. The actual use of θεάνθρωπος dates from the sixth century, and was a debated term, e.g. Council of Constantinople II 536 CE, ACO 3.229. 95. E.g., I HC 6, 75, 93, 276, 434, 1545, 2008, 2251: θνητοῖσι καὶ ἀθανάτοισιν; 241: ὃς πάντεσσι περικτιόνεσσιν ἀνάσσει; 1198: θεὸς⸥ ⸤πάντεσσιν ἀνάσσων; 1325, 1345, 1509: ἀνδράσιν ἐν πολλοῖσι καὶ ἰφθίμοισιν ἀνάσσων. 96. The paralytic at I HC 711 ~ Od. 4.795; the blind in 866; the good robber in 1904; a soldier in 1955; Hades in 2125: εἰ μέν τοι θεός ἐσσι, ὃς οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἔχῃσι. Cf. Rom 8:34, Hbr 7:25. 97. And most often as: τὸν δ’ αὖ γε προσέειπε θεοκλύμενος θεοειδής e.g., in Ι HC 697, 719, 799, 892, 921, 1433, 1467, 1655, 2265, 2340 ~ Od. 15.356. On the etymology see Rey 1996: 197, Schembra 2006: 266, and Lefteratou 2019–​2020: 262. 98. I HC 1430, 1620, 1662. The line is a combination of Il. 22.380: ὃς κακὰ πόλλ’ ἔρρεξεν ὅσ’ οὐ σύμπαντες οἱ ἄλλοι, used by Achilles about Hector; and Il. 9.540: ὃς κακὰ πόλλ’ ἕρδεσκεν ἔθων Οἰνῆος ἀλωήν, used for the boar that ravaged Oeneus’ estates, a line that appears in glossaries, e.g., Apion de gloss., 74.217, s.v. ἀλωή. In Il. 9.540 Artemis’ punishment of Oeneus eventually leads to the sacking of his city. 99. Cf. Ael. Frag. 325 (Hercher) replicated in Suda, σ 759: “but this is the clear evidence of his Tartarus-​and Tantalus-​like retribution: the one who did many evil things, he will be punished with many evils, accordingly.” 100. Satan in I HC 36, II HC 183. Indeed, when meeting with Judas in Gethsemane, Jesus first addresses the demon inside Judas, then the fallen disciple, I HC 1684, 1712, 1714. Schembra 2006: 449–​50.

Notes  207 101. Il. 7.446, 24.324, Od. 1.98, 5.46, Hes. Theog. 160, 487, etc. 102. Porph. Q. ad Il. 14.200. 103. Q.S. ἀπείριτον (x 16); ἀπείριτος (x 6) e.g. 1.679, 3.386, 10.104, 10.188; ἀπειρέσιος etc (x 65) e.g. 3.222, 4.80, 4.168. Cf. I HC 65: ἀπειρέσιος; I HC 22: ἀπείριτος; I HC 10: ἀπείρω; cf. Or. Sib. (GCS 8, Geffcken): ἀπειρέσιος, nine times vs. six times ἀπείρων. 104. II HC 142, 231, and 1003. 105. It comes in two variants, e.g., Il. 2.468: μυρίοι, ὅσσά τε φύλλα καὶ ἄνθεα γίγνεται ὥρῃ; and Od. 9.51: ἦλθον ἔπειθ’, ὅσα φύλλα καὶ ἄνθεα γίνεται ὥρῃ. Cf. I HC 527, 748, 1275, 1624; II HC 541, 1095, 1174. 106. Luc. Pisc. 42, Max. Tyr. Diss. 7.6., Synes. Ep. 130. 21, Porph. Q. ad. Il. 2.467–​8 also quotes this line with Il. 2.800: φύλλοισιν ἐοικότες ἢ ψαμάθοισιν. 107. E.g., Il. 2.271, 4.81, 22.372, Od. 8.328, passim. E.g., I HC 729, 990, 1294, 2005, 2244; II HC 651, 701, passim. Ariston. De sign. Il. 3.297; Apoll. Lex. Hom. (Bekker) 170: ὦδε. 108. Or. 32, 82–​84 (line 23); Tronchet 2016: esp. 389ff. 109. Usher 1998: e.g., 87–​89. 110. See Usher 1998: 101–​11 on the banquet scene. 111. For similar “structural” approaches to Homer, see e.g., Peradotto 1990 and Tsagalis 2004. 112. I HC 1240 ~ Il. 21.56: αὖθις ἀνεστήσατο ὑπὸ ζόφου ἠερόεντος. 113. On the theological significance of noon, see Caprara 2005: 6–​8. 114. For Homer, see Radin 1988. 115. Cf. Apollon. Soph. lexic. Hom. 85 s.v. ἠώς, presents a selection of Homeric lines related to Dawn; similarly Porph. Q. ad Il. 8.1. Cf. also Hld. Aeth. 3.4.1, and the neologism in Nonn. Dion. 16.46: Ἀστακὶς ἐβλάστησε νέη ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς (“Astakis sprouted, a new rosy-​fingered Dawn”). 116. Cf. I HC 499: ἔσσεται ἢ ἠὼς ἢ δείλη ἢ μέσον ἦμαρ. For the eschatological dimension here see Sandnes 2011a: 206. 117. I HC 1825–​ 1827: Ἠὼς μὲν κροκόπεπλος ἐκίδνατο πᾶσαν ἐπ’ αἶαν | οἴκτρ’ ὀλοφυρομένη, θαλερὸν κατὰ δάκρυ χέουσα (“Eos in her saffron dress was spreading above the earth, lamenting pitifully, and shedding big tears”). This is a late antique revision of the epic Eos-​related formula: Dawn appears lamenting her son Memnon in Q.S. 2.623–​625, threatening to make the light disappear from the world and during Thetis’ lament at 3.665 she emerges triumphant. Cf. Miguélez Cavero 2008: 317–​8. 118. For the theme of the Odyssean nostos and its philosophical ramifications in the I HC, see Lefteratou 2016. 119. Cf. Dio Chrys. Or. 66.20 and Gangloff 2006: 89–​94, who notes that the reuse of the Odyssey in the work of the sophist reflects a more personal reading of this work than that of the Iliad. 120. Cf. also the merge Od. 18.1 and 21.327 at II HC 706: ἦλθε δ’ ἐπὶ πτωχὸν πανδήμιον ἀλαλήμενον (“he met a poor common mendicant”). 121. I HC 1110 (the Woman with an issue of blood/​Haimorrhoousa); Hades in 2125. 122. Od. 4.831 +​and I HC 711 (the Paralytic), 867 (the Blind Man), 1094 (the bad robber at Golgotha, ironically), 1955 (the good robber at Golgotha, positively and in contrast to the previous speech of the bad bandit).

208  Notes 123. I HC 675–​676: ὣς φάτο· τοῦ δ’ ἔκλυε⸥ ⸤μέγας θεὸς εὐξαμένοιο, | δεξιτερῆς δ’ ἕλε χειρὸς ἔπος τ’ ἔφατ’ ἔκ τ’ ὀνόμαζεν (“so he spoke; and the great God heard him praying and pulled him from the right hand and spoke and said”). 124. I HC 730–​734. 125. I HC 700 and 1233–​1235. 126. I HC 929. 127. I HC 990 and 1294: ὧδε δέ τις εἴπεσκεν ἰδὼν ἐς πλησίον ἄλλον (“so many an onlooker said to their neighbour”). 128. I HC 815: ἐκ δὲ γέλασσε πατήρ τε φίλος καὶ πότνια μήτηρ (“and the father and the revered mother laughed”). 129. See Section 2.3.4.​ 130. For a similar selection process in the Homeromanteion see Zografou 2013. 131. I HC 328, 1844 ~ Od. 4.397. Cf. Arsen. Apophtheg. 3.90d. 132. For Socrates wrestling with god/​Proteus, see Pl. Euthyphr. 15d3: οὐκ ἀφετέος εἶ ὥσπερ ὁ Πρωτεύς; Euthyd. 288b7, Ion 541e7, Resp. 381b. Finberg 1982, Fuhrer 2004. For literary uses of Proteus, see Baumbach 2013. 133. E.g., the eponymous protagonist in Luc. Peregr.; the Egyptian magician Calasiris in Hld. Aeth. 2.24.4, and Apollonius in Philostr. Vit. Apol.; see also Miles 2016. 134. I HC 328, Herod; I HC 1844, Pilate. Cf. further at I HC 1850–​ 1851: ἀλλ’ ἀναχαζώμεσθα, θεοῦ δ’ ἀλεώμεθα μῆνιν· | οὐ γάρ πως πάντεσσι θεὸς φαίνοιτο ἐναργής (“for god does not appear to everyone clearly”). Cf. Section 4.2.1.​ 135. I HC 1107 ~ Od.19.163. This is also cited in Il. 22.126. Hes. Theog. 35 rejects an opening that starts with the origins of “oak trees and stones” and begins with the Hymn to the Muses. 136. Pl. Resp. 8.544d: ἢ οἴει ἐκ δρυός ποθεν ἢ ἐκ πέτρας τὰς πολιτείας γίγνεσθαι (“or how do you think civil polities are born, from oak trees or from stones?”). Excerpted in Stob. 4.1.117. Cf. also Σ ad Pl. 544b, which quotes both the Platonic and the Homeric passages. See also Pl. Apol. 275b, Phdr. 275b. 137. In Plut. Consol. ad ux. 2 =​Mor. 608c, καίτοι οὐδ’ αὐτός “ἀπὸ δρυὸς οὐδ’ ἀπὸ πέτρης” ἐγενόμην (“for myself I am not made of oak or stone”). Cf. also Dio Chrys. Or. 3.9, Max. Tyr. Diss. 21.6, Stob. 4.1.117. 138. Clem. Protr. 2.38.1, Strom. 2.4.15.1, and. Euseb. Praep. ev. 14.4.10, Aster. Hom. 5.7.5, and esp. ACO 1.1.7.17. 139. Cf. e.g., Roberts 1989: 38–​44. 140. Mt 9:1: καὶ ἐμβὰς εἰς πλοῖον διεπέρασεν. On Nonnus, see Agosti 2014a, esp. 160, who discusses the ekphrasis of the lamp in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis that has no parallel in John’s text. 141. Men. Rhet. Epid. 399, tr. Russel and Wilson 1981: 135: “let the ship haste on her way, ‘bearing the god-​like hero’ (Od. 13.89), until in your speech you bring him into port.” 142. Od. 13.81–​91: “while the ship, as in a field four stallions drawing a chariot all break together at the stroke of the whiplash, and lifting high their feet lightly beat out their path, so the stern of this ship would lift and the creaming wave behind her boiled amain the thunderous crash of the sea. She ran on very steady and never wavering; even the falcon, that hawk that flies lightest of winged creatures, could not have

Notes  209 paced her, so lightly dd she run on her way and cut through the sea’s waves. She carried a man with a mind like the gods for counsel, one whose spirit up to this time had endured much, suffering man pains: the wards of men, hard crossing of the big waters; but now he slept still, oblivious of all he had suffered.” 143. See e.g., Luc. Imag., who cites Il. 20.227 next to other horse-​related lines, stressing its ekphrastic vividness. 144. Noted by Eustathius as an ekphrastic touch with onomatopoeia, e.g., ad Od. 1.214: ὅτι διασκευάζων ὁ ποιητὴς καὶ οἷον ἐκφράζων ἀνάπλου εὔπλοιάν φησιν . . . καὶ τῷ συχνῷ ῥοίζῳ τοῦ ῥ τὸν τραχὺν ἦχον τοῦ πλοῦ μιμούμενος (“they say that poet here adapts and appears to offer an ekphrasis of the fair voyage of the sailing back [Il. 1.481–​483] . . . and with the often whizzing of rho he imitated the coarse sound of the sailing”). 145. στείρῃ πορφύρεον μεγάλ’ ἴαχε νηὸς ἰούσης appears in Il. 1.482, 2.428. 146. Rahner 1963: 374–​82. 147. Collections of Homeric lines that are thematically related may be found in the grammarians and scholiasts: e.g., Hdn. Prosod. 3.2, 46 s.v. χείμαρροι: . . . “ὅσσους Ἑλλήσποντος ἀγάρροος” (Il. 2.845), “στήῃ ἐπ’ ὠκυρόῳ ποταμῷ” (Il. 5.598), “ἐς ποταμὸν εἰλεῦντο βαθύρροον” (Il. 21.8), “ἀψορρόου Ὠκεανοῖο” (Il. 18.399). σπανίως δὲ τὸ ἕτερον· “χειμάρρους κατ’ ὄρεσφιν ὄπαζεν” (Il. 11.493), “ποταμῷ πλήθοντι ἐοικὼς χειμάρρῳ” (Il. 2.87). τὸ μέντοι γε ἁπλοῦν ἀεὶ ἐντελῶς ἀποφαίνεται ῥόος· “ὤθει δ’ ἐν σάκεϊ πίπτων ῥόος” (Il. 21.241). This collection is repeated in the Σ ad Il. 4.452. Another case are collections of lines on the spindle e.g., Apoll. Lex. Hom. 83, Porph. Q. ad Il. 6.461. 148. For a detailed analysis of the passage see Lefteratou forthcoming-​c with an emphasis on the elements of oral composition and ritual practice. 149. Eustath. 2.324 ad Il. 7.135: “Pheia is a town in Elis, around which runs the river Iardanos, which has been useful for the River Jordan in a more divine way (θειότερον) to those stitching Homeric centos.” 150. Homer is called φιλοποίκιλος (“lover of variation”) in Σ Il. 13.219–​329. See Miguélez Cavero 2008: 165. 151. See Kirk et al. 1991: 352 on the topos of the irritability of wasps. It is worth noting that this is a very different image from that of the better behaved and more bee-​like troops of the Achaeans in Il. 2.87; see Maciver 2012b for the bee simile in Homer and its afterlife in Q.S. 152. E.g., Il. 12.167. Vit. Hom. 861 (Kindstrand): “thus he depicted wrath and pursuit saying ‘like wasp in the way-​sides’ and then he added ‘which kids tend to irritate (Il. 16.260)’ so as to highlight the natural hot-​temper of wasps because of the teasing by the kids.” 153. Q.S. 8.40 (the Argives swarm around Neoptolemus, a Patroclus analogue), 11.145 (the Argives resemble wasps attacking bees), 13.54 (the revengeful attack of the Argives on exiting the Trojan Horse). 154. E.g., Callim. Frag. 380, see the discussion on the “iambic wasp” in Hawkins 2014: 98, 107, 35. On Aristophanes’ popularity in Late Antiquity, see Cribiore 2001: 201 and Agosti 2001c with a reference to Nonnus’ comic touches; and pp. 231–​2 on Gregory

210  Notes Nazianzen’s use of Aristophanes for invective. See also Hawkins 2014: ch. 3, and esp. at 149 on Gregory’s iambic invective and possible allusions to Callimachus’ iambic wasps and Gregory’s Egyptian gnats. 155. Ch. 4.2.1​. 156. On the etymological play with ποδώκης cf. Lefteratou 2019–​2020: 264. 157. I HC 45: οὐχ᾽ ἅλιος . . . οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ δόξης. Cf. Section 3.2.2.​ 158. Even reused for Hercules in Irenaeus’ “cento” in Adv. haer. 1.1.20. Lion themes in the Iliad underline the heroic bravery, pride, and savagery, Clarke 1995; by contrast, in the Odyssey, the lion images are used to describe Odysseus as a sly hungry-​driven beast, esp. in the cruel massacre of the suitors in Book 22, Magrath 1982. 159. A comic revision in Machon. CGF fr. 11.118; Dio. Chrys. Or. 74.18; Sext. Emp. Adv. Math. 6.26: “the main theme of the scene is Agamemnon lying dead, neither in the Trojan fields nor in one of the banks of Scamander; but among boys and girls, an ox in the manger (βοῦς ἐπὶ φάτνῃ), namely after the toils of the campaign and during dinner.” 160. In Christian lore martyrs and apostles easily overcame beasts and lions in the arena by faith alone. Paul famously baptizes a helpful lion, AAPaul fr. 5, AAPaul & Thecla 33; on the theme see Adamik 1996 with bibliography. 161. In several passages of the NT—​e.g., Mk 13:32, 12.9, Lk 20:9–​16, and especially John—​Jesus presents himself as the Son of God. This is the so-​called divine Sonship of Jesus, that alludes to his relationship to the Father that contrasts his human Sonship, e.g., Davidic Sonship, or other adoptionist approaches. Cf. DJG s.v. “Son of God” 2. 162. Cribiore 2001. 163. The numbers are taken from a survey of the Indexes in Schembra 2007a: 447–​85 and are discussed in detail here as opposed to Lefteratou 2019. There is little variation in the amount of quotation in each book if lines and the size of each edition are taken into consideration: e.g., Book 1 of the Iliad is quoted in I HC ca. 93 times and at least once in a total of 2350 lines (ca. 3.9%); in II HC at least 88 times in a total of 1949 lines (ca. 4.5%); and in HCa 33 times on a total of 622 lines (5.3%). The complex transmission is probably the reason for these slight discrepancies 164. For a similar rough evaluation of the popularity of particular books in the Homeric Centos and the Homeromanteion, see Meerson 2018: 144–​8. 165. This in-​ depth analysis contradicts the assumptions of Meerson 2018: 147, overestimates the issue of popularity for the Homerocentones. 166. And 69 in the 1946 lines of the II HC, 19 in the 622 lines of the HCa, 22 in the 653 lines of the HCb, and 21 in the 738 lines of the I HC c. In my earlier analysis of these lines in Lefteratou 2019 I did not count for the repeated lines. 167. I HC 1764, 1896, 1901, and in line 2097. 168. Cf. Ariston. De sign. on Il. 2.55, reports that Zenodotus emended Il. 2.55 (τοὺς ὅ γε συγκαλέσας πυκινὴν ἠρτύνετο βουλήν) to ἐπεί ῥ’ ἤγερθεν ὁμηγερέες τ’ ἐγένοντο. 169. Cf. Porph. Q. ad Od. 2.51: δημηγοροῦντα τὸν Τηλέμαχον τῶν ἐξ Ἰθάκης εἰκότως κατηγορεῖν (“in his speech Telemachus, as one might expect, accuses the ones [suitors] from Ithaca”); cf. also Σ ad Od. 2.85a: ὡς συκοφάντην καὶ δεινὸν εἰπεῖν

Notes  211 ἀποφαίνων τὸν Τηλέμαχον (“he [Homer] depicts Telemachus as vexatious litigant and a powerful speaker”). 170. Cf. Arsen. Apophtheg. 11.50a. Reused for the philosopher, e.g., Porph. Vit. Plot. 23.1: εἴρηται μὲν ὅτι ἀγανὸς γέγονε καὶ ἤπιος καὶ πρᾶός γε μάλιστα καὶ μείλιχος (“it’s been said that he was of mild, soft, extremely gentle disposition, and kind”); as well as for the Christian God in Met. Pss. 2.24: ἠπιοθύμων. 171. I HC 105–​134. For a similar critique of pagan rites, especially related to magic in Eudocia’s Cypr., see Agosti 2012b. 172. Hes. Op. 135–​140 (West), the hybris of the silver race, cf. I HC 106: ἡμέας ὑβρίζοντες ἀτάσθαλα μηχανόωνται; the offence of not honouring the gods with sacrifices Op. 126; cf. I HC 113: οὐκέτι . . . ἦρα φέρουσι; Op. 145, the warlike bronze race, cf. I HC 126–​127: ἄνδρας κτείνουσι . . . τέκνα . . . ἄγουσι . . . γυναῖκας; Op. 183, insolence against the strangers, cf. I HC 117: οὐ γὰρ ξείνους . . . ἀνέχονται. On the reception of the myth of the Flood, see Griffin 1992 and for the punishments awaiting the silver and bronze race, see van Noorden 2015: 79–​80. 173. I HC 110 ~ Od. 2.230: ἀγανὸς καὶ ἤπιος. E.g., I HC 140–​141: [Jesus] ἀγανός . . . ἴλεως; 148: ἀγανοφροσύνῃ καὶ σοῖς ἀγανοῖς ἐπέεσσι; 482: θεὸς δέ με γείνατο πατήρ, | ἤπιος. On the meekness and gentleness of the Roman Emperor as seen through the Stoic and Christian lens, see Morgan 2015: 459–​60. 174. Zenodotus apparently saw a subversion of the effectiveness of the speech in Telemachus’ ending with bitter tears in Od. 2.81, Arist. De sign. Od. 2.89. For a modern reception of Telemachus’ insecure speech see de Jong 2001: 46–​49. 175. Procl. ad Od. 2.63: “Heraclides [of Pontus] criticizes the lack of control in Telemachus’ speech. He says that though it is appropriate to expect and beg for support in order to rid his house of the suitors, Telemachus, instead, chastises, saying ‘No longer are the things endurable that have been done, and beyond all decency has my house been destroyed’ [quoting Od. 2.63–​64, 2.58–​60, 2.65–​66, 2.68 +​70] . . . the speech is then addressed toward the wrong-​doers; for this reason the outspokenness of the criticism is of a royal caliber, but the supplication, since supplication has been included too, is appropriate to the unfortunate: ‘I supplicate you, by Zeus the Olympian and by Themis, let be, my friends, and leave me alone to waste away in my bitter sorrow [Od. 2.68+​70]’ and so forth.” 176. Od. 2. 62–​65: [Telemachus to the suitors] ἦ τ’ ἂν ἀμυναίμην, εἴ μοι δύναμίς γε παρείη· | οὐ γὰρ ἔτ’ ἀνσχετὰ ἔργα τετεύχαται, οὐδ’ ἔτι καλῶς | οἶκος ἐμὸς διόλωλε· νεμεσσήθητε καὶ αὐτοί, | ἄλλους τ’ αἰδέσθητε περικτίονας ἀνθρώπους; in I HC 2133–​2136: [Xanthus to Achilles] ἦ σ’ ἂν τισαίμην [Il. 22.20], εἴ μοι δύναμίς γε παρείη. | οὐ γὰρ ἔτ’ ἀνσχετὰ ἔργα τετεύχαται, οὐδ’ ἔτι καλῶς | οἶκος ἐμὸς διόλωλε· νεμεσσήθητε καὶ αὐτοί, | ἄλλους τ’ αἰδέσθητε περικτίονας ἀνθρώπους. 177. Cited e.g., in Plut. frag.141. Stob. 4.29c. 178. In the Od. the name of Alcinous’ son who gives his seat to Odysseus is Laodamas but Plut. Q. Conv. 1.2.4 =​Mor. 617b calls him Laomedon. Here the name is used as an altered adjective for its semantic impact, λαός +​μέδων, “the ruler of people” or, in the Christian sense, “the one who cares about humans.” By contrast, ἀγαπήνωρ, is Christianized, against its etymological pedigree (ἀγαπῶ +​ἀνήρ, the lover men or

212  Notes bravery), to indicate the beloved Son; pace, Σ ad Il. 13.756: Ἀγαπήνορα. ἀγαπῶντα τὴν ἀνδρίαν. πολεμικόν. Schembra 2006: 119–​20. 179. Cf. Il. 16.171, Eudorus. 180. The physical similarity is stressed elsewhere in the Odyssey, as, for example, when Helen sees in Telemachus his father. Od. 4.143; cf. the scholiast in Σ ad Od. 4.143b interestingly notes that Helen recognizes Telemachus as the son of Odysseus but does not recognize Peisistratus as the son of Nestor, so the similarity between father and son is not beyond doubt. 181. See Lampe s.v. ‘εἶδος᾽. Cf. Jo 5:37: “and the Father who sent me has himself testified on my behalf. You have never heard his voice or seen his form (εἶδος).” E.g., Cyr. Alex. In Jo 1.376–​383, Cyril claims that here Jesus daunts the Jews who believed to have “seen and heard” God on Sinai; by contrast, God is invisible and perceived only through his works through Christ, God’s countenance, Jo 14:9. 182. Homoios and its derivatives evoked the issues pertaining to the Nicene definition of the Son’s relationship to the father as homoousios (“of the same”) as opposed to the semi-​Arian homoiousios (“of a similar”) or the Arian heterousion (“of a different”) or the Eunomian anomoean (“different”). On the theological background, see Grillmeier et al. 1975: 250–​71, 470–​98, and esp. 547. Young 2009: 138, 125. 183. van Loon 2009: 100 argues that occasionally Cyril uses ὁμοιότης as a synonym of ὁμοούσιος, e.g., Thes. 29A, 104D, 316C; e.g. τὸ δὲ ὅμοιον κατὰ πάντα, καὶ ὁμοούσιον (“the same is in every respect consubstantial”). 184. Cf. the echoes of the Nicene Creed in I HC 93–​96: ὃς πᾶσι θνητοῖσι καὶ ἀθανάτοισιν ἀνάσσει (cf. Nic. Creed: 1 πατέρα παντοκράτορα) | υἱὸν ἀναστήσας ἀγαπήνορα, λαομέδοντα (cf. Mt 3:17: ὁ υἱός μου ὁ ἀγαπητός) | ὃς ᾔδη τά τ’ ἐόντα τά τ’ ἐσσόμενα πρό τ’ ἐόντα (cf. Nic. Creed 3: προ πάντων των αἰώνων), | πατρὸς ἑοῖο φίλοιο φρένας τε καὶ εἶδος ὁμοῖος (cf. Nic. Creed 2: ὁμοούσιον τῷ Πατρί). Save the only-​ begotten attribute that is found in II HC 21: μοῦνος τηλύγετος’, on which see Schembra 2007b: 64. 185. I HCa 19, I HCb 19, I HCc 19: φρένας καὶ εἶδος. The Odyssean line remains intact at the prophetic revelation scenes of Christ as pantokrator at the end of II HC 1917, I HCb 631, I HCc 716: δέμας καὶ εἶδος. 186. Schembra 2006: 121 takes ὁμοῖος to express equality and not superficial similarity, in line with the Nicene Creed. 187. Other terms such are used in different contexts, e.g., εἴκελος in I HC 1473, 1665; θέσκελος, for Adam’s likeness to God (Gen 1:16) in I HC 33; and for the likeness of Jesus to the father from the mortal perspective of the Baptist in I HC 409. Jesus’ divine status during his earthly mission is expressed with the oxymoron ἰσόθεος φῶς (“god-​equal human”) that underlines both his godly and human nature, e.g. I HC 447, 1606, 2286. In Nonn. Par. the terms used to express Nicene consubstantiality also vary and are bound to epic language: e.g., ἰσοφυής (1.2), ἀγχιφανής, ἀμέριστος, ὁμόζυγός εἰμι τοκῆος (10.138), γενέτης . . . καὶ ὁμοίιος υἱός (5.81); Χριστῷ σύγγονον ἄλλον, ὁμοίιον, and for the Spirit (14.63). De Stefani 2008: 22–​26, 106; Agnosini 2020: 110; Ypsilanti et al. 2020: 261. For paradox as characteristic of Christian discourse cf. Averil Cameron 1994, ch.5.

Notes  213 188. The phrase ἄλγεα πολλὰ μογήσας appears as a leitmotif of Odysseus throughout, in addition to the passages cited in Od. 7.147, 19.483, etc. 189. Cf. Usher 1998: 124–​9, and my observations for the reworking of the Samaritan Woman in Section 2.3.5.1. 190. On typical questions of origin, see now Accorinti 2020: 233. 191. I HC 2315 and 2319: οὐλήν ~ Od. 24.331, on Jesus’ and Odysseus’ scars see Whitby 2007: 213. 192. Od. 21.207–​209, omitting the twenty years nostos travels v. 208: ἤλυθον εἰκοστῷ ἔτεϊ ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν. 193. ~ Od. 23.163–​165: ἐκ δ’ ἀσαμίνθου βῆ δέμας ἀθανάτοισιν ὁμοῖος·| ἂψ δ’ αὖτις κατ’ ἄρ’ ἕζετ’ ἐπὶ θρόνου, ἔνθεν ἀνέστη, | ἀντίον ἧς ἀλόχου. Erroneously, in my view, Schembra understands this final line, an otherwise formulaic verse, as alluding to Od. 18.157. Though correctly in Schembra 2006: 118 where he observes that Jesus’ mission is framed by a Ringkomposition with him standing up and sitting back on his throne: I HC 94: ἀναστήσας λαομέδοντα; and 2354: ἕζετ᾽ἐπὶ θρόνου ἔνθεν ἀνέστη. 194. Fowler 2002: 216 on the metaphor of the journey as “didactic plot.” 195. Listed among the poem’s audience are those living in the East and the West, a phrase which, for a fifth-​century Christian audience, may have prompted it to recall the (recent) division of the Roman Empire into an Eastern and Western part, some fifty years earlier (395). Cf. Schembra 2006: 80–​81, Sowers 2020a: 53. 196. II HC 1: κέκλυτε, μυρία φῦλα ⸢περικτιόνων⸥ ⸤ἀνθρώπων | . . . 4: ὄφρ᾽εὖ γινώσκητ’ θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα, | 6: κέκλυτέ μευ, μνηστῆρες ἀγακλειτῆς βασιλείης, 7: ὄφρ’ εἴπω τά με θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι κελεύει (~ Il. 17.220 +​Od. 265; Il. 5.128; Od. 16.360; Il. 7.68). Surprisingly and as opposed to the universality of the call in I HC 1, I HC 6 describes the poem’s audience as Christians par excellence, the betrothed of the divine kingdom. 197. On the idea of paratext, see Genette 1982. 198. On Archaic Greek poems, see e.g., Wheeler 2002; on Hellenistic poetry, see Conte 1992; on the development of the tradition of Latin prose prefaces, see Janson 1964; on Latin, see Sciarrino 2006. See also Mac Góráin 2018. 199. On the Latin prefaces and their late antique appropriation, see Pelttari 2014: 49–​61. On the more distinguished voice of the later poet, see Shorrock 2011: 14. On the pressure placed on Christian poets to clearly express their position in relation to tradition/​paideia and faith/​Christianity, see Pollmann 2017: 220. 200. John’s proem on Logos alludes to didactic hymnic openings such as Hesiod’s and Aratus’s “hymns to Zeus,” Hadjittofi 2020a: 259. 201. Cf. Nonn. Dion. 1.1–​45 and 25.1–​30, in Hopkinson 1994; on the disclosure of the narrator see Geisz 2018. On the epigram-​inscription, see Accorinti 2016b: 23, with literature. 202. Green 2006: 4–​7. 203. In his discussion of paratexts, Pelttari 2014: 48–​49, n. 9 includes metrical prefaces that are not clearly separated from the text-​body, the actual poem, or distinguished by other paratextual highlights (e.g., mentions in the manuscript or their meter,

214  Notes i.e., iambic preambles introducing hexameters), and thus excludes the prefaces of Juvencus and Proba. 204. Green 2006: 18–​23. 205. Carrubba 1993: 308. 206. The Muses became angels in Christian poetic invocations, see Pollmann 2017: 216–​ 7 and Agosti 2002: 92–​93. 207. Cf. McGill 2016: 7. 208. Carrubba 1993: 308. 209. See McGill 2016: 9 with further literature. 210. On the “truth” of Christian poetry, see Pollmann 2001: 62–​63; on vitalia gesta and the echo of res gesta (historical facts/​deeds), see Green 2006: 20–​21. Carrubba 1993: 305, n.7: “My sense is that Juvencus’ text allows the reader to see the gesta (19) of Christ in contrast to the gestis (16) of the ancients from more than one point of view: (1) ‘real-​life’ as opposed to fictional mendacia (16); (2) ‘life-​giving’ with reference to eternal Salvation; (3) ‘life’ and deeds as if the Latin read vita et gesta; (4) ‘energizing’ or ‘powerful.’ It seems to me impractical and unwise to search for an exclusive meaning poetry is, after all, preeminently suggestive.” On Ammianus’ use of the genre of Res Gestae when continuing from the point at Tacitus stopped, see Ross 2016. 211. For the use of the term πράξεις in Greek historiography, cf. Hdt 1.1.1, Polyb. 1.1.1, 9.1.5–​6, Diod. Sic. 1.1.1, Joseph. Ant. 14.68. For the debt of the Acts to ancient historiography, see e.g., Aune 1987: 77–​88. 212. E.g., praef. 21–​24: “nor do I fear world-​waiting flames will seize | my work: this might, in fact deliver me, | when Christ the gleaming judge, his high-​throned Father’s | glory descends within a blazing cloud” (tr. McGill). 213. For Juvencus and Constantine, see Bardill 2012: 384; for some similar thoughts, see Paschalis 2020. In the case of Proba, which Arcadius is meant as the imperial dedicatee, depends largely on the dating; see Cameron 1982, Green 2008. On Virgil, see Mac Góráin 2018: 432–​3. 214. This will become regular in the Latin Christian poets. See Mastrangelo 2016. 215. The only available study is the introductory work by Sandnes 2011a, who offers overviews of both centos without examining them in depth or with regard for the different treatment of each episode in both poems. 216. Pelttari 2014: 111. 217. Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 54. 218. On Proba’s debt to Juvencus’ fama, see e.g., Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 120–​1. 219. Pelttari 2014: 112. 220. Pelttari 2014: 33–​37. 221. CPr 1–​8: foedera pacis . . . regum cruedelia bella . . . pollutos caede parentum . . . fama triumphos . . . confiteor scripsi: satis est meminisse malorum (cf. Luc. 4.205, 36; Luc 1.4); and 47–​48: namque —​fatebor enim —​| levium spectacula rerum | semper equos atque arma virum pugnasque canebam (~ Ecl. 1.31 +​G. 4.3 | Aen. 9.777). On the arma virumque as a hendiadys and emblematic of the Aeneid, see Mac Góráin 2018: 431; on its metaliterary reuse by Proba, see Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 118.

Notes  215 222. Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 124–​5, with literature. 223. McGill 2007: 176, argues for a projection of allegorical reading on Virgil (rather than arguing that Virgil too sung to Christ before His time); contra, see Pelttari 2014: 110: “[Proba] explains that her cento will turn Virgil into a poet who already did sing of Christ,” without caring about Virgil’s original meaning. Sowers 2020a: 37 shows how the voice of the poet is increasingly merged with that of Virgil, “the loudest voice.” 224. As Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 117 points out. 225. Agosti 2002: 101. 226. Cf. again in Vis. D., 173–​175: χαρίεσσαν ἀοιδὴν | ἐν στήθεσσιν ἐμοῖσιν. For the metaphor of the “path of song,” see Volk 2002: 20–​21, notes 30 and 1: οἴμη was first used metapoetically in Od. 8.74 and 481, Od. 22.347; οἶμος first in hMerc. 451: οἶμος ἀοιδῆς. On the Hesiodic allusions, see Agosti 2001a: esp. 192–​3. Cf. Vis. D. 177 ~ Hes. Theog. 31–​32, on which, see Agosti 2016a: 191–​3. 227. Cf. Agosti 1998. 228. On the Angels and Christ replacing the Muses in the Vis. D., see Kessels and Van der Horst 1987: 353, Agosti 2002: 104, and Lasek 2013: 56 with allusions to Hesiod’s Theogony. On Hes. and the Vis. D., see also Gelzer 2002: 146 and especially Faulkner 2020a, Faulkner 2020b. 229. On the Ring-​composition, see Lasek 2013: 55. 230. Agosti 2001a: 73. 231. Explaining his motives for writing poetry, Greg. Naz. Carm. de se ipso 2.1.39 (Moreschini/​Sykes), states that: (a) verse slows him down, so he avoids writing verse excessively; (b) he intends teaching young people who enjoy literature by giving them “pleasant medicine”; (c) he wishes to surpass the pagans and rival the classical canon; and (d) he wishes to find solace in his old age. For Gregory’s accurate knowledge of the poetic tradition in which he stands as heir, see O’Connell 2019. 232. Carm. II.1.34. 233. See the translation and analysis in Kuhn-​Treichel 2020 with further literature. 234. As Kuhn-​Treichel 2020: 98 observes. 235. For a parallel development in Sidonius’ poetry after his ordination see Onorato 2020: esp. 90. 236. The poem’s authorship heavily debated, see the reevaluation in Faulkner 2020b who attributes it to Apollinaris. 237. For a detailed analysis see Faulkner 2020a on which this study is heavily indebted. 238. Faulkner 2020a: 272. 239. proth. 32–​34: ἑξατόνοις ἐπέεσιν, ἵνα γνώωσι καὶ ἄλλοι, | γλῶσσ᾽ ὅτι παντοίη Χριστὸν βασιλῆα βοήσει | καί μιν πανσυδίῃ γουνάσσεται ἔθνεα γαίης (“in hexameter verse, in order that others [sc. gentiles] as well should know, | that every tongue will proclaim Christ as King and | all nations of earth will with all speed kneel before him”) alluding to Phil 2:11. 240. Cf. the Callimachean attack to non-​truthful poetry at frag. 75.76 (Pfeiffer): πρέσβυς ἐτητυμίῃ μεμελημένος (“the old man concerned with truth”) echoing Stesichorus’ Palinode PGM frag. 192 =​91 (Finglass). For literary competitiveness especially

216  Notes in mythical accounts see Morgan 2000: 21 and Vergados 2020: 154. In Christian writings the topos of aemulatio acquires an extra a confessional and apologetic touch: cf. Gregory’s obsession with poetic truth PG 37. 776: τολμήσω τινὰ μῦθον ἐτήτυμον. By contrast, Christian poetry is the truth and fights heresy, Vian 1997, Faulkner 2014: 201, Lefteratou and Hadjittofi 2020: 3. 241. Cf. O’Connell 2019 on continuity; and van Noorden 2021 on Homer and Hesiod for recasting Genesis in the Or. Sib. 242. Cf. Schembra 2007a: cxxxix. On the proems, see also Agosti 2001b: 74–​85. 243. LSJ, s.v. θεουδής, compd. of θεὸς and δέος: but taken as meaning θεοειδὴς by late poets, such as Q.S. in 1.65, 3.775, for example. 244. Compare the analysis of terms referring to voice and singing, versus terms that refer to the bookishness of late antique society, which are cited as evidence of the performative context of such poems in Agosti 2006: esp. 51–​55. 245. For this use of ‘τεύχω’, see LSJ, Od. 7.234–​235. In addition, the passive verb τέτυκται is used elsewhere in the I HC for introducing vivid ekphraseis. Cf. I HC 8: ἐν μὲν γαῖαν ἔτευξ’, a verse alluding to the famous ekphrastic description of Achilles’ Shield in Il. 18.483. 246. For catalogues, see e.g., Hutchinson 2009; in Gregory of Nazianzus, see e.g., McDonald 2020. Cf. the catalogue of book themes in Nonnus’ Dionysiaca, see Middleton 2015: esp. 228–​32. 247. Cf. e.g., Hypothesis 5–​26: ὡς μόλεν . . . ὡς λάβε μορφὴν . . . ὥς μιν λοῦσεν . . . ὡς θάνεν. 248. Confessing God as ἄναρχος is already found in Tat. ad Graec. 5.3 and Greg. Naz. Carm. Dogm. PG 37.400: εἷς Θεός ἐστιν ἄναρχος, ἀναίτιος, οὐ περίγραπτος (“there is one God, without beginning, without blame, in-​describable”). 249. Ch. 2: καὶ εἰς ἕνα Κύριον Ἰησοῦν Χριστόν, τὸν Υἱὸν τοῦ Θεοῦ τὸν μονογενῆ, τὸν ἐκ τοῦ Πατρὸς γεννηθέντα πρὸ πάντων τῶν αἰώνων, φῶς ἐκ φωτός, Θεὸν ἀληθινὸν ἐκ Θεοῦ ἀληθινοῦ, γεννηθέντα οὐ ποιηθέντα, ὁμοούσιον τῷ Πατρί. 250. Rey 1998: 518–​20. 251. This could be emended to: ὃς πάμπρωτος ἐπήξαθ᾽ ἕδος κλεινόν γε δόμοιο. On the problematic transmission of the last two verses not from M but from Palat. Vat. gr 326 see Rey 1998: 521. 252. Livrea 1997b: 47 erroneously overinterprets Tatian as a seer and translated: “la sapiente melodia del vate Taziano.” 253. Note the concessive construction καὶ περ. 254. Agosti 2006 has long stressed the merging of terms alluding to the oral performance. On performance in the Apologia, see also Sowers 2008: 79 and Sowers 2020a: 45–​46. Another oxymoron is the contrast between song and silence, for which, cf. Accorinti 2009 and Rotondo 2008, with a focus on the Dionysiaca. For parallel cases, esp. of direct speech, in Eudocia’s other poem, St. Cyprian, see also Agosti 2012b: 203ff. 255. Cf. Middleton 2015: 35 and her interesting suggestion to relate it to Hdt.’s preface to his Histories. 256. The same goes for the reception of Tatian’s poetry, which, though meant for aural enjoyment, was still a product of a bookish culture e.g., 19: ὑμνοπόλοιο; 20: μολπήν; 22: δέλτῳ. For Eudocia as editor and her relationship with the humble and pious

Notes  217 Byzantine scribe, see some preliminary considerations in Middleton 2015 ad loc. For Tatian and the expectations of the poet’s audience see Sowers 2020a: 47. 257. Homer’s verses are called ἔπεα (17), a term suggesting genre, meter, and oral performance, or song (23: Ὁμηρείης μολπής) but elsewhere they are referred to as books (22: Ὁμηρείων ἀπὸ βίβλων). 258. For an in-​depth analysis, see Usher 1997, Agosti 2001b: 74–​82, Sowers 2008: 75–​93 and Schembra 2007a: cxxxiii-​cxlix. 259. The hemistich is of a formulaic nature: cf. Ps.-​Phocyl. Sent. 7: ἐτήτυμα πάντ’ ἀγορεύειν. See also Q.S. 12.420. Schembra 2007a: cxxxvi notes that the problem here probably lay in the correspondence of the hexametric text with the content of the Gospel. 260. Schembra 2007b: cxxxvii proposes that the purge included lines by Apoll. Rhod. and minor epic poets and that the lack of gospel-​related truthfulness revealed stark discrepancies with the Gospel. 261. Flavius Eutolmius Tatianus, Praetorian Prefect of the East under Theodosius I and grammarian. See PRLE 1:876–​878, Holum 1982: 14, 221 and now Mecella 2015. We know that he was very famous and that his epics were considered equal to Homer’s. Lib. Epist. 990, 2–​3, attests to his popularity. Cf. Prieto Domínguez 2010: 70 and Cribiore 2007: 165, who also believe Tatian to have written cento-​poems. See the overview in Agosti 2001b: 80 for other possibilities. 262. Lib. Epist. 990, 2–​5 (Norman 173): ἡμεῖς δὲ οἱ περὶ τὰς Μούσας καὶ μᾶλλον ἑορτάζομεν μετά τε τῶν ἄλλων εὖ παθόντες ἀνθρώπων καὶ πλέον ἐκείνων τι λαβόντες εὐρυτέρας τῆς παιδεύσεως ὑπὸ σοῦ γεγενημένης ποιήσεως συναφθείσης τῇ παρ’ Ὁμήρου δι’ αὐτῶν τῶν Ὁμήρου. οὗτος δὲ ὁ πόνος ἠγαπᾶτο μὲν καὶ πρότερον καὶ ἦν ἐν χερσὶ διδασκάλων τε καὶ μαθητῶν τυγχάνων ὧνπερ Ἰλιὰς καὶ ἣν ἐπ’ ἐκείνῃ πεποίηκεν Ὅμηρος ἀκριβωθεὶς δὲ τῇ τρίτῃ χειρὶ καὶ τοῦ κάλλους γενομένου μείζονος μειζόνως ἤστραψεν ὁ πόνος, καὶ ἐφ’ ὅτιπερ ἂν τῆς ἀγέλης ἔλθῃς, εὑρήσεις Τατιανόν. (“we (the servants) of the Muses rejoice even more together with the other benefited humans, precisely because, even more than them, we received a broader education through the poetry composed by you, which is connected to Homer’s poetry through similar (theme? metric? verse?) to Homer’s”). This labor was cherished, of course, previously too [namely before receiving the probably sent manuscript] and received the same attention from teachers and pupils as did the Iliad and its sequel; and once it had been [clearly revised by the third hand and its beauty became greater, the greater shone the labor; and wherever you come by [at our group/​ school], you will find Tatian”). 263. Writing before the publication of Schembra’s edition, Agosti 2001b: 79 expresses reservations. Schembra 2007a: clxxxviii-​cxc argues that the original meaning of the word is a double entendre, thereby hinting at ambiguity and innuendo; others, like Usher 1997 and Sandnes 2011a: 190, equate the “δοιάδες” of the Apologia with the “duos” of Ausonius’ preface. 264. Cf. Schembra 2007a: cxxxv: “poiché quello dalla poesia omerica con quei versi compose il suo canto;” Sowers 2008: 78: “since he (Tatian) from Homeric song, made out of those verses his own ballad;” Livrea 1997b: 47: “perché colui dal canto omerico,

218  Notes dai versi epici ha creato la sua poesia.” For interpolated lines see e.g., the comment by Usher 1997: 314: “Tatian it seems avoided such faults by interspersing lines of his own composition”; and Middleton 2015: 34: “because that man made a song with no doublet in his Homeric composition or else his own verses.” 265. This point is made explicitly by Usher 1997: 314 who also cites the first manuscript N, but not the second, m. HCa: N—​Napoli, II C 37, 13–​14th century: ὃν Τατιανὸς ἐκ τοῦ Ὁμήρου, τὰ μεθ᾽Ὅμηρον ἔγραψε· δυὸ στίχους ἐφεξῆς κειμένους ὁμηρικοὺς μὴ εὑρίσκεσθαι, ἐν τούτῳ δὲ πολὺ τὸ τοιοῦτον εἶναι (“and [regarding Tatian’s cento], about the lack of two consecutive lines next to one another in the Homeric Cento that Tatian wrote from Homer according/​after [μεθ᾽: the meaning here is obscure] Homer; but in this [the Homerocentones] this practice is frequent”); and HCb: m—​ Munich gr. 243, 1509 CE: Τατιανὸς ἐκ τῶν Ὁμήρου βιβλίων τὸν μὲν Ὁμηρον ἔγραψε. Καὶ δύο στίχους ὁμηρικοὺς κειμένους μὴ εὑρίσκετε· ἐν τούτῳ δὲ πολὺ τὸ τοιοῦτον εἶναι (“Tatian wrote Homer (?) from the books of Homer. And you will not find to two Homeric verses next to one another. But this poem is full of these [i.e., consecutive lines]”). 266. Sowers 2008: 91. 267. Cf. Whitby 2016: 217 emphasizes the primacy of the biblical text for Christian poetry in Nonnus’ more restrained approach to the Par. as opposed to the Dion. 268. Pelttari 2014: 37 makes a similar observation about Macrobius’ evaluation of Homer. 269. For classical sources on the “first inventor,” see Kleingünther 1933. 270. Cf. μέγα κῦδος, as battlefield glory at Il. 8.237, 9.673. 271. Cf. SEG 30:298, Lycaonia, second and third centuries CE; SEG 30:298, Athens third century CE on Theotimos a Christian bard as the memorial of: [μουσοπόλου Θ]εότιμου [ἀν Ἑλλάδα κῦδος ἄριστον] | [ἀρκεῖν δ᾽ούκ ἐ]δάη Πιερὶς οἷσι φίλοις]. These are epitaphs, which suggest that Patricius may no longer have been alive when Eudocia edited his text and that her Apologia may well have been intended as a funerary epitaph. 272. Cf. Apologia 38: καλὴν ἐξανάγων φήμην, and LSJ s.v. ἐξανάγω, u.a., to bring someone up from Hades, cf. E. Heracl. 218; Usher 1997: 318, introduces evidence in the form of a hexameter tomb inscription in Gulushlu Turkey that refers to a certain priest called Patricius, who died a generation or two before Eudocia, but without any mention of his poetic activity. 273. Cf. the play between epigrams and monuments in Agosti 2011–​2012: esp. 255. For the metaphor here, see Livrea 1997a: 47, who imagines a cathedral. 274. Cf. the criticism in the earlier version of Alan Cameron 1982: 285: “this well-​ meaning but unimaginative pedantry.” Sowers 2008: 89–​90 observes her meekness as “an over attempt not to deprive Patricius of the honor due to him as progenitor of the Christian cento.” 275. Hose 2004: 30–​33, commenting on the adjective ἀμεμφέος, notes that unlike Juvencus or Proba, the Apologia pays full respect to the Homeric text. O’Connell 2019: 167 argues that even more polemical poems like Gregory still feel part of the tradition, of the “continuous song.”

Notes  219 276. On similar conclusion about Quintus Smyrnaeus’ relationship with Homer see, e.g., Greensmith 2020: 235. 277. Agosti 2001b: 74 and 83. 278. E.g., Agosti 2001b: 76, and esp. Schembra 2007a: cxxxv, Sandnes 2011a: 181, and Sowers 2020a: 42, 5 on Eudocian authorship. 279. On the epic Kunstsprache, see Reece 2009: 66, 75. 280. As argued by Nagy 2008: 3, 9–​21, 444–​7. 281. Cf. as argued by Agosti 2002: 102; on Homer as “patrimonio culturale,” see Agosti 2015: 97.

Chapter 2 1. Zonaras Epit. 354. 2. Thuc. 2.45.2; Plut. Mul. virt. 1 =​Mor. 242e. On the stereotypical praise of women in Latin funerary epitaphs, see e.g., Riess 2012. 3. PLRE I 300–​301 s.v. “Eusebia.” 4. Pomeroy 1995 (1975): ix; James 1997a challenges these stereotypical perceptions. See also McClanan 2002 on Byzantine empresses. For the more nuanced roles of Christian female monarchs, see Dirschlmayer 2021 on Constantinian women. 5. See e.g., Snyder 1981, Papadopoulou-​ Belmehdi 1992, Clayton 2004, and the overview in Foley 2005. See also Canevaro 2018: 60–​67 on the relationship between objects and women. On weaving and song, see McIntosh Snyder 1981, and Fanfani 2017 with bibliography. On weaving as one of the popular themes of poetry produced by and for women, see e.g., Downes 2010. 6. See e.g., Foley 2001, McClure 1999, Mossman 2005, Keith 2000, Alexiou 2002 (1976), and Lovatt 2013. 7. Dido is probably a good parallel of intertextual characterization as she combines features from Circe, Nausicaa, Penelope, Calypso, and the Laestrygonian princess, cf. Bednarowski 2015 with literature. For the term “metaphorical characterization” see de Temmerman 2014: 35 on the use of explicit and implicit paradigms. 8. On the impact of the novel in shaping Christian role models, see Cooper 1996: ch. 2. 9. See Brown 1988, Cooper 1992, Burrus 1987, and, more recently, Undheim 2017. 10. On female leadership and priesthood in the early stages of Christianity, see Kateusz 2019; see also several recent publications that bring early Christian women to the fore: Cooper 2013, Cohick and Brown Hughes 2017, with a chapter on Eudocia. 11. 1 Cor 14:33–​35, Tim 2:11–​14, Titus 2:3–​5, Eph. 5:22–​24. 12. Choricius’ Funerary Oration for Maria, the mother of the bishop Marcian: ἐκ δε τῆς οἰκείας δὲ φύσεως ταύτην μαθοῦσα πάσαις μὲν γυναιξί, παρθένοις δὲ μάλιστα πρέπειν τὴν σιωπήν [4 Carrara =​101 Foerster and Richtsteig] (“having learned because of her natural disposition what is necessary for all women, and virgins especially, silence”).

220  Notes 13. Although virgins often had to dress in male clothing, and the guidance of the male apostle was required, apocryphal narratives illustrate the tendency to depict female voices, e.g., Streete 2006. The most active female protagonist of secular fiction is probably Heliodorus’ Chariclea; on the Christian allusions, see Andujar 2012. For female ascetics with male characteristics, see the ground work by Brown 1988, the contributions in James 1997b, Davies 2002, and the useful literature in Kalavrezou 2012. 14. This summary does not address the role of women in non-​Graeco-​Roman milieux. Women may have played a more seminal role in the Church as can be seen in Ephrem’s poetry, which lays emphasis on the worship of Mary as early as the fourth century; see Harvey 1990: 112. 15. For a grim painting of Roman widowhood, see Krause 1994–​1995 and the critique by Hemelrijk 1997. 16. Evans Grubbs 2002: 247, 103, 9. On the development of Christian sexual renunciation, see Brown 1988; for a more controversial re-​evaluation of Christian morality, see Harper 2013. 17. The early third-​century Perpetua and Felicitas are mothers, but the late antique heroine of martyr accounts is increasingly a virgin, see Winstead 1997: 9–​10, Cooper 1996 and Boyarin 1999. Elm 1994: 172–​3 shows how the order of widows in the early Church was eventually replaced by the orders of virgins. Brubaker 1997 also argues that starting with the fifth century, the Cult of Mary as imperial role model for the Empress gradually replaced that of Helena, Constantine’s mother as the embodiment of female matronage. See also Dirschlmayer 2021 with literature. 18. The title θεοτόκος was in circulation long before the Council. It appears in some debated Origenic fragments (e.g., Frag. in Lk in catenis fr. 80) and most importantly in Greg. Naz. Ep. 101.16 (to Cledonius) in an anathema: εἴ τις οὐ Θεοτόκον τὴν ἁγίαν Μαρίαν ὑπολαμβάνει, χωρὶς ἐστὶ τῆς θεότητος (“whoever does not acknowledge the holy Mary to be Theotokos, he is godless”). For Syriac Christianity cf., e.g., Ephr. Syr. Prec. ad dei matrem, 2.355: Παρθένε Δέσποινα Θεοτόκε. See Mathews and Muller 2016: 4; Emereau 1918: 98–​100; Bakker and Philippides 2000. The Theotokos became the banner of Cyril in the 431 Council as this served his political and theological aims—​on the first see Wessel 2004; for the latter see McGuckin 2004; for a good summary see Bevan 2016 and Price and Graumann 2021. 19. According to Holum 1982, Eudocia fashioned herself as a new Helen by visiting the Holy Land; even more tellingly, the Marian-​like virginity vow of Pulcheria secured her brother’s right to the throne. See also Brubaker 1997 on imperial matronage and Harries 2013. 20. Brubaker and Cunningham 2011: 2 on the scholarly skepticism regarding Pulcheria’s role in the actual spread of Marian devotion; James 2005 argues for the importance of Mary as intercessor to Christ, modelled after the example of the Emperor who was also a mediator. For the political and spiritual use of Mary see Limberis 1994 and Constas 2003: esp. ch. 6. See also Warner 2016: 450–​3 on legends about Mary and Pulcheria.

Notes  221 21. Christotokos (“Christ-​bearer”) allowed for the Virgin to give birth not to God but to the incarnated Word, Christ; Nestorius also argued for Christodochos (“Christ’s vessel/​ receiver”) ACO 1.5.40.24 and Theodochos (God’s vessel/​ receiver) ACO 1.5.30, see Bevan 2016: 98. Nestorius objected more to the deification of Mary, Loofs 1905: 272, 353: μόνον μὴ ποιείτω τὴν παρθένον θεάν. For the context of the Council, proceedings of which were not immediately accepted or even legal, see Price and Graumann 2020. 22. Procl. Const. Hom. 1.1: “the only bridge for God to mankind; the awesome loom of the divine economy (τῆς οἰκονομίας ιστός) upon which the robe of union was ineffably woven” in ACO 1.1.1.103; see further Constas 2003: 194, 214. Ephrem’s poetry also uses weaving as a metaphor for the incarnation, Brock 1992: ch. 11. 23. On the influence of Theophrastus’ Characters on the Gospels, in Imperial and Late Antiquity, see De Temmerman 2014: 20. For similar empathetic reactions between embedded and external audiences, see e.g., Char. 5.8.1–​2 and esp. Hld. Aeth. 7.8.3, where the embedded audience identifies with the heroes of similar age. For modern empathetic responses to narratives, see e.g., Keen 2007. 24. Procl. Const. Hom. 4. 2. The sources of these miracles are Lk 2:36–​37; Lk 1:7; Lk 2:8–​ 14; Lk 2:25; Gal 1:13; Mt 9:9, Lk 5:27; Mt 15:22; Mt 9:20, Lk 8:43; Mt 26:6, Mk 14:2, Lk 7:37; Lk 19:4; Lk 23:40, respectively; tr. Constas 2003: 235. 25. See Haynes 2003 with previous literature and the overview in Hunter 2008. On the female audience of the novels, the apocrypha and the centos, see also Sowers 2008: 142. 26. Bremmer 2001: 167. On the popularity of Thecla’s legend see Johnson 2006b. Jerome’s ep. 107 proposing a purely Christian curriculum seems to be directed to a girl, while men could enjoy the best of both—​Graeco-​Roman and Christian—​worlds. See e.g., Macrina who was reading exclusively Christian texts whereas her brother Basil studies in Athens, Greg. Nyss. VMacr. 3 vs 7, discussed in Elm 1994: 43–​45. Yet not all female Christians aspired to become highbrow ascetics like Jerome’s addressees, Katz 2007. 27. Already in the NT objections were voiced against active female participation e.g., 1 Tim 2:12. See further Rousseau 1995, Coon 1997: 95ff., Mayer 1999a, Mayer 1999b. On imperial Roman literate matrons, see Hemelrijk 2004. On women and power in Late Antiquity, see Cooper 2009 and the relevant contributions in James and Dillon 2015 and Dirschlmayer 2021. 28. For Eusebia, see Jul. Encom. Euseb.15a (124): μουσεῖον ἑλληνικῶν βιβλίων. For Serena, see Claud. Carm. min. 30, 146. See Rousseau 2009 with literature. 29. Alan Cameron 2016: 71. 30. Huskinson 1999: esp. 206–​8. 31. On Christianity and the book see, e.g., Stroumsa 2008 and 2016: 67–​76. 32. Petronius’ association of Encolpius’ penis with Dido in Petron. Sat. 132.11 ~ Aen. 6.469, on which see Pollmann 2017: 106–​7. Cf. the reuse of Aeneas’ katabasis in the underworld as hypotext for the genitalia of the bride in Auson. CN 111 ~ Aen. 7.84 and the discussion of sexual violence in the poem in Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016c: 248. Pollmann 2017: 106–​11 emphasizes the reuse of Virgil in a poem full of sexual connotations such as the CN or for Salvation as in CPr.

222  Notes 33. Sozom. HE 6.25, reporting how Apollinaris’ male followers sung his strains at banquets while women sung them seated at the loom. For Pulcheria’s cloth see also Holum 1982: 144. 34. On women’s contribution to the archaic economy through weaving, see Wagner-​ Hasel 2020, and particularly the association of Penelope’s weaving with Odysseus’ geras in lines 232–​246. On weaving and poetics, see Pantelia 1993 and now Canevaro 2018: esp. 55–​66. On Jewish women and weaving, see Preskowitz 1997; on Christian perceptions of weaving as reflecting the incarnation, see Constas 1995, Kruger 2001, and Brock 1992: 11–​38 especially on metaphorical uses of clothing in Syriac Christianity. On female cento poets and weaving, see Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a and 2016b on the joint medieval fascination with Proba’s weaving and poetic skills; see also Stevenson 2005, who emphasizes the upper-​class connotations of both weaving and education from antiquity onward; and Richards 2013 on feminist readers of ancient female weavers. On the I HC and the legend of Veronica see Lefteratou 2017a. 35. Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: esp. ch. 3, 108. 36. Wasyl 2020: 177. The description of Eve’s body, composed of centos originally used to describe Scylla, and of her beautiful face, which resembles that of the son of Arcens before it is smashed, is treated less than favorably. On antifeminism, see Kyriakidis 1992 recently revised by Laato 2017: e.g., 103–​6, who downplays the antifeminist issues and stresses Proba’s praise of marriage and traditional Roman marital customs. For a middle way, see also Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 60–​61, 140–​4 who on at 145 notes that “the use of Virgil’s Dido introduces an element of ambiguity and may inspire in the reader conflicting feelings of compassion for Eve.” 37. See, Mavroudi 2012: esp. 72–​75. 38. On the influence of apocryphal literature on the poem, see also Rey 1996. 39. Kateusz 2019: 127 on Ambr. De Virg. 2.7 and 2.10 on Mary, “who was humble in heart, grave in speech, prudent in mind, sparing of words, studious in reading”; and Jer. Epist. 107.7 on the Temple as “the shrine of the scriptures.” 40. See Taylor 2018 for the reception of the spinning Annunciate, but without reference to the centos. 41. The text is dates in the second half of the second century and quoted e.g., in Clem. Strom. 7.16.39, see van Oyen 2013: 274 with literature and at 291, on the apologetic motivation, a defense of Mary’s virginity; and, at 299, influence on Mariology. 42. See Schembra 2006: 137 on I HC 217: ἐν μεγάροισι as the Temple. Cf. also at 270: τῷδ’ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ, the formulation might also allude to the Temple, as οἶκος τοῦ θεοῦ par excellence. 43. For the iconography, see Taylor 2018: 215, with literature. For this cento passage and iconography see also Smolak 1979. On the Christian interpretation of Mary, see Allen 2011. The Virgin becomes the Queen of Heaven especially after the fifth century, e.g., Jo Dam. Hom. 5, PG 96, 653D. In the Akathistos redated ca. 450 by Peltomaa 2001, the Theotokos is called: κλεῖς τὴς βασιλείας, τίμιον διάδημα βασιλέων, τῆς βασιλείας τὸ ἀπόρθητον τεῖχος (“keys of kingship, pious diadem of kings, unconquered wall of the kingdom”) but not queen. See Limberis 1994 on Mary as divine queen. 44. James 2017: 135.

Notes  223 45. I HC 213 ~ Od. 6.16, Athena visits Nausicaa in her dream. 46. I HC 209 ~ Od. 15.377: δεσποίνης; on this early title of Mary, see Schembra 2006: 141; I HC 246 ~ Od. 4.703, Penelope at the news of the plot against Telemachus; 247 ~ Od. 19.478, the mis-​recognition scene. 47. I HC 218–​219 ~ Il. 19.262–​263. 48. I HC 215 ~ Od. 6.306; 235 and 237 ~ Od. 13.59 and 60, the farewell greeting to Arete (χαῖρε βασίλεια). 49. I HC 254 ~ Il. 24.90. 50. I HC 249–​250 ~ Od. 19.471–​472. 51. Interestingly, in Homer the adjective ἀδμήτη is used only for wild animals, as in Il. 10.293 (cow), 23.266 (mane); 23.655 (horse), Od. 3.383 (cow); a human virgin is described as ‘παρθένος ἀδμής’, as in Od. 6.228. 52. Schembra 2006: 147, shows how all these titles and attributes reflect late antique Marian devotion. 53. The ancients thought that the Zeus will was either to honor Achilles or Hector or alleviate the earth from over-​population, summarized in Tzetzes ad Il. 5. For similarities with the cento here see Smolak 1974: 32; for an overview, see Reitz 2020. 54. Ancient readers have collated lines referring to women spinning, e.g., Apoll. Lex. Hom. (Bekker) 83; Porph. Q. ad Il. 6.491, quoting Od. 4.135 and 130, 7.306, 18.315, and Il. 21.70. 55. Schembra 2006: 134. The wordplay and the paradox that would end up in Rom. Mel.’ praise of the Virgin as a νύμφη ἀνύμφευτος (H 9) and later in the Akathistos, is already found in Eur. Hec. 612: νύμφην τ’ ἄνυμφον παρθένον τ’ ἀπάρθενον (of Polyxena); Hld. Aeth. 2.4.3: τί ἄν σέ τις ὀνομάσειε; νύμφην; ἀλλ’ ἀνύμφευτος· γαμετήν; ἀλλ’ ἀπείρατος; and very often in Nonn. Dion. e.g., 33.210: ἀνυμφεύτοιο νύμφης. Cf. also Eudocia’s contemporary, Basil Seleuc. Serm 61.31: καὶ κόρην ἀνύμφευτον, ἀθάνατον νυμφίον γεννήσασαν (“the unwedded maiden, who brought forth the immortal bridegroom”). Cf. Av. Cameron 1994: 179, on Mary and paradox. 56. I HC 229–​230 ~ Il. 24.170–​171. 57. At I HC 235 ~ Od. 13.59, Arete; and at I HC 265 ~ Od. 17.583, Penelope. 58. I HC 263: πολλοὶ γὰρ κακὰ κήδεα βουλεύονται echoes Od. 23.217: πολλοὶ γὰρ κακὰ κέρδεα βουλεύουσιν; the Odyssean passage contrasts Penelope’s behaviour to Helen being beguiled by words. 59. In Protev. 13–​14, Joseph cannot believe her but protects her; in the Gospel of Ps.-​ Matthew 10.2, he accuses her of being seduced by someone who pretended to be an angel. The virginal conception was a popular topos of anti-​Christian polemic, cf. Orig. C. Cels., where the philosopher accuses her of an affair with a soldier called Pantheras. 60. This is another recurring theme in spiced-​up apocryphal stories: cf. the divinely inspired foreknowledge of Joseph at I HC 223 and Mt 1:19 or Protev. 13–​15, where he wishes to repudiate her and accepts her after a dream; in Lk 1:27 he is simply her betrothed. 61. I HC 257 ~ Il. 20.243, on Zeus’ will, a line that was proverbial in antiquity; Stob., e.g., 1.1.5, collects several lines indicating Zeus’ omnipotence. Cf. Lk 1.38: ἰδοὺ ἡ δούλη κυρίου. Schembra 2006: 562 on Lk 1:38 and Mary.

224  Notes 62. The first indications of Mary’s Dormition and Assumption appear in the early fifth century; Shoemaker 2004, 25–​32. See also Warner 2016: 297 on the legends regarding Pulcheria’s request of Mary’s body, whereas she receives instead her clothes which she deposited at Blachernae. 63. I HC 229–​234 alluding with variations to Il. 24.170–​71; 24.26; 172–​172. 64. Schembra 2006: 144–​5 on the adaptation of Lk. 65. Il. 24.171: θάρσει Δαρδανίδη Πρίαμε φρεσί, μὴ δέ τι τάρβει (‘take heart Priam, son of Dardanus, do not be frightened’). Lk 2:35: σοῦ αὐτῆς τὴν ψυχὴν διελεύσεται ῥομφαία (“a sword will pierce your own soul too”). The idea of Mary’s doubt upon seeing her Son crucified appears in Orig. Hom. Lk 17.107 and became a staple of the hymns and homilies on the Hypapante, e.g., Rom. Mel. h 14.13. 66. For Procl. Const. see Constas 2003: 315–​20 on the influence of myths such as Athena on the loom and the depiction of Mary’s womb as a “textile workshop.” 67. Constas 2003: 357: “with the thread of life, Mary binds her child unswervingly to death, for the point of her spindle hides the tip of a nail.” 68. I HC 278 ~ Od. 5.77: αὐτίκ’ ἄρ’ εἰς εὐρὺ σπέος ἤλυθεν; Od. 13.349: σπέος εὐρὺ κατηρεφές. 69. Lamberton 1986: 321, see Appendix IV esp. the ἄντρον ἐπήρατον ἠεροειδές from Od. 13.103–​112. 70. Q.S. 6.470–​490, Maciver 2017: 124. 71. Cf. Porph. De antro 8: κόσμου σύμβολον. 72. Vergados 2013: 281, 453. 73. Od. 5.264. E.g., Buffière 2010, e.g., 377–​91. Lamberton 1986: 107, 30–​31. 74. For Calypso’s immortal garments see e.g., Plut. Mor. 831d: “Calypso put around Odysseus the garment ‘εἵματ’ ἀμφιέσασα θυώδεα,’ smelling of divine flesh, gifts and souvenirs of her love. But as he was overthrown and sank [from the raft] he could barely hold out, thus he stripped and threw away the soaked and heavy garment.” On the Neoplatonic origins of the metaphor “χιτὼν γε τὸ σῶμα τῇ ψυχῇ,” which goes back to Empedocles (Frag. 31 B 126 D-​K), see Beatrice 1985. Clothing metaphors were used by Ephrem according to Brock 1992: ch. 11 and Constas 1995, especially in relation to Mary. 75. I HC 300: δεξάμενοι δ’ ἄρα παῖδες ἀμύμονες ἁγνοτόκοιο—​an extreme case of the Christianization of the original Ἀλκινόοιο. Schembra 2006: 181–​3, on whether the adjective qualifies Mary or Jesus. Cf. Th. Prodr. Carm. hist. 8.46: παρθένον ἁγνοτόκειαν, ὁμοστράτηγον ἄνακτος (“the chaste-​bearing Virgin, the emperor’s co-​commander”). 76. In Nonnus it appears at a different position. Cf. Dion. 45.98: παιδοκόμῳ δὲ γάλακτι θεητόκος ἔτρεφε Ῥείη (“Rhea the god bearer fed [Dionysus] with child-​rearing milk”); alluding to Par. 2.9: παρθενικὴ Χριστοῖο θεητόκος ἵκετο μήτηρ (“the virgin mother of Christ came, the mother of God”). Shorrock 2011: 50, Accorinti 2018: 339. Hadjittofi 2018: 178. 77. I HC 296, 304, 360, 2050, 20179 ~ Od. 23.325. Cf. II HC 158, 234, 895, 1833, 1910; III HC 122, 155, 200; IV HC 154, 199, passim. 78. Od. 6.228. 79. E.g., Maccab. 4:18.7, Joseph&Aseneth 15.1–​4, Greg. Nyss. Hom. in cant. 6.263.

Notes  225 80. Od. 6.109, 228, hCer 145, Hes. frag. (Merkelbach-​West) 59. 81. II HC 384, HCa 199, HCβ 198, passim. 82. Greg. Naz. PG 37.1565, 12: ὅ μιν τέκε παρθένος ἀδμής (“[the other half] which the unyoked virgin brought forth”). On Nonnus’ debt to Gregory, see Simelidis 2009: 60. 83. See Il. 2.514, used for Astyoche but also for famous virgin goddesses, e.g., hDian 2, hMin 3; see also Hes. Theog. 572, Op. 71. 84. I HC 1.760; and for Justa in Eudoc. Cypr. 1.110, 159. 85. Holum 1982: 142ff. 86. Schembra 2006: 560–​1, 637. The passage also alludes to the AAPil. B (cOd. C) 10.2: τὸ θυλλαγγάλακτον τῶν μασθῶν μου (“the breast-​fed baby of my milk pouches”); Cf. Chr. Pat. 908–​909, 1335. 87. Constas 2003: 330–​1, esp. n. 35. On the importance of Mary’s body in the creation of Jesus in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis, see Hadjittofi 2018: esp. 175–​6. 88. Constas 1995: 131. 89. Nonn. Par. 2.9: παρθενικὴ Χριστοῖο θεητόκος ἵκετο μήτηρ. On the ambivalence of the combination of the terms Χριστός, θεός, and -​τόκος see Shorrock 2011: 61–​62 and Sieber 2017: 159–​60. 90. Coll. Vat. 53. ACO I.1 cited in Bevan 2016: 60–​2 with literature. Bevan shows that Nestorius’ issue was not with Mary but with the Incarnation and the dangers of mixing the two natures. Schembra 2006: 560 sees in the Marian formula at I HC 296, 2050, passim as an echo of the Acta Pilati 10.1.2b: τὸ θηλαγγάλακτον τῶν μασθῶν μου. Still the imagery would have been controversial by the late thirties. 91. Cf. also McGuckin 2004: 154 and esp. 1997. Though Jesus was depicted suckling and in swaddling bands already in the iconography of the catacombs e.g., a possible representation of Mary lactans in the Catacomb of Priscilla, Warner 2016: 196. 92. Price and Graumann 2020: 10. 93. Procl. Const. ACO 1.1.1.104, Hom. 1.2: “If the mother had not remained a virgin, then the child born would have been a mere man and the birth no miracle. But if she remained a virgin even after birth, then indeed he was wondrously born” Constas 2003: 139. 94. On the embedded encomium of Antioch in Cypr 1.11–​14 as a terminus post quem see Bevegni 2006: 33. 95. CTh 16.5.66. For the aftermath see Price and Graumann 2021: 56; and esp. Bevan 2016: 251–​56. 96. In II HC 341–​399, John and Jesus dominate the scene. 97. Cf. Schembra 2006: 29, who translates ad loc. as “la Vergine casta”; by contrast, in II HC 378 it is John who dresses him in “immortal gowns.” 98. See Ferguson 2009: 450 citing Euseb. Vita Const. 4.62. 99. Jensen 2011: 168–​70 also reports that the change of clothing is a universally attested ritual and that the same goes for the white colour of these garments. 100. Ferguson 2009: 477 cites Cyr. Jer. Catech. 3–​4. See also John the Deacon Ep. Sen. 6, who also compares the white clothing to the wedding garments of brides. 101. On Hermes and Jesus, see Accorinti 1995.

226  Notes 102. The line was athetized by Aristarchus (Σ ad Od. 6.244) and criticized by Homer’s readers e.g., Plut. Quomodo adul. 8 (Hunter, Russel) =​Mor. 27b; but later this aspect of Nausicaa’s character was defended by Eustath. ad Od. 1.251 (van der Valk), since she says these words only in the presence of her handmaidens, i.e., it is girls’ talk. 103. Constas 2003: 318. In fact, in an earlier Syriac poem by Ps.-​Ephr. h Epiphany 3.21 (CSCO 186, Beck), the Virgin is depicted as “pouring godly ointment on the head of our Lord.” Mary seems present also in Rom. Mel. H. 19.9 (βλέψον πρὸς Μαρίαν), where Jesus addresses her and makes her a model for John. For translations of Ephrem’s celebrated poetry into Greek, see Brock 2001. 104. The bibliography is immense, see, inter alia, Emereau 1918, Bouvier 1976, Tomadakis 1993, Sticca 1984, Tulier 1997, Tsironis 1998; Shoemaker 2011, Alexiou 2002 (1976), Ševčenko 2011. On the influence of these apocrypha on Byzantine literature, see Averil Cameron 1994: 90–​107. On the problematic attribution of a homily on a Marian lament to Ephrem see Bakker and Philippides 2000: 44–​5. 105. Tischendorf 1987: lxvii claims a fifth-​century date for the Greek Pilate text but the transmission of the Acta Pilati is complex: the first Greek recension (A) that may be inspired by Eusebius’ mention of a Report of Pilate (HE 2.2.1–​2) to Tiberius may be dated in the fifth century, Baudoin 2016, or an original text somewhere between 320 and 380, Gounelle 2013b: 371; the second recension, B, that includes Mary’s lament, Jesus’ Crucifixion, and the Harrowing of Hell, has been dated by Gounelle 2008 much later in the ninth/​tenth centuries, Baudoin and Izydorczyk 2019: 15. Classicists, might have been too keen to date the recension B earlier in the fifth century, Accorinti 2018: 340, Lefteratou 2020b; on the other hand, those working on the apocryphal acts are oblivious of the early classicizing laments, so are Byzantinists, e.g., Bakker and Philippides 2000. If my dating is correct one might need to reconsider the influence of Ephrem and the impact of classicizing literature on Mary’s lament altogether. 106. Cf. Orig. Frag. in Jo PG 14.4, 32, where Mary is expected to see in the beloved disciple John the risen Christ. 107. Cf. Jo Chrys. Hom. Jo 22 oPG 59.462, interprets Jesus’ address to his mother as a manifestation of filial love. Athanasius restages the dialogue between Mary and Simeon and urges Mary to demonstrate philosophical temperance, Hom. in occ. Dom. PG 28.996; cf. Cyr. Alex. In Jo 3.91: “for by sword (ῥομφαίαν) he meant the sharp infliction by sorrow that tears the woman’s sanity.” See Kalavrezou 1990 on the Byzantine reception. 108. Reynolds 2012: 246–​52. Jo 19:26–​27. Cyril interprets it as a sign of filial love but also as a way of restraining Mary’s maternal reaction, in Jο PG 74.663–​665. Nonnus avoids the spectacle of Mary’s lamenting and instead focuses on the Magdalene: in Nonn. Par. 19.136 [on Jo 19:25]: Μαγδαληνὴ φιλοδάκρυος, echoing Cyr. Alex. In Jo 3.89: φιλόδακρυ γάρ πως ἀεἰ τὸ θηλειῶν ἐστι γένος (“women are always fond of tears”). 109. The discussion of Mary’s lament in the I HC is not included, in my knowledge, in any discussion of Marian laments such as those by Alexiou 2002 (1976) or Sticca 1984or even in the more recent discussions on Ephrem’s homily in Bakker and Philippides 2000 or in Brubaker and Cunningham’s otherwise exhaustive 2011 treatment of Mary in Byzantium.

Notes  227 110. Besides the brief HCc 331–​340. The other editions show only the disciples as lamenting at the burial, and Mary with myrrh-​bearers only afterward e.g., II HC 1753–​1764, alluding to the confusing of Marys visiting the tomb monument. 111. For extant parallels, see Schembra 2006 ad loc. 112. E.g., Eos lamenting Memnon, Thetis lamenting Achilles in Q.S. 2. 608–​621 and 3.608–​630, respectively; see Vian 1959: 33–​5. In Nonnus cf. Chreirobie in Dion. 40.160–​194. On the rhetorical background see Miguélez Cavero 2008: 308, 36, esp. ethopoeiai of lamenting characters, such as Achilles for Penthesileia in Lib. Ethop. 8.12.13 Förster. See also Viljamaa 1968: 117–​8 and Maguire 1981: 94–​96. 113. Men. Rhet. Epid. 434, 10: “[people] who have come ‘not to a happy theatre’.” On the gooi in Homer, see Tsagalis 2004: 32–​51. On the theatricality and the epidictic genre in the I HC, see Lefteratou 2020b. 114. The passage covers broadly the events in Jo 19.38; Mt 27.57, Mk 15.42–​46, Lk 23.50–​53. 115. Tsagalis 2004: 55, 8, notes that there can be up to three introductory lines. 116. This also stands in contrast to the introduction of other laments in subsequent editions of the HC, e.g., the widow of Nain in II HC 881–​885 is presented in one line (Od. 11.155, Anticleia to Odysseus) but closes with her hopes for a speedy resurrection. 117. E.g., I HC 3051: λίγ᾽ ἐκώκυε; I HC 2053: ἐκπάγλως ὀδύερτο; I HC 2054: ὀξὺ κωκύσασα; I HC 2058: ὀλοφυρομένη; cf. a similar overwhelming emotion in Chr. Pat. esp. 865–​866: ἒ ἒ ἔ . . . αἲ αἴ. On the theatrical dimension of ekphrasis, see Webb 2006: 54–​55. 118. E.g., Ševčenko 2011: 248–​9. 119. Eger. Itin. 36.1 (Brodersen) Station at Gethsemane and 37.6. 120. In none of the canonical Gospels is the Virgin amongst the myrrh bearers or the Mary’s assembled: Mt 28:1: ἦλθεν Μαριὰμ ἡ Μαγδαληνὴ καὶ ἡ ἄλλη Μαρία; Mk 16:1–​2: Μαρία ἡ Μαγδαληνὴ καὶ Μαρία ἡ τοῦ Ἰακώβου καὶ Σαλώμη; Lk 24:1, 24:10: Μαγδαληνὴ Μαρία καὶ Ἰωάννα καὶ Μαρία ἡ Ἰακώβου; Jo 20:1: Μαρία ἡ Μαγδαληνή. The references to the “other Mary” or “Mary of Jacob [whose name corresponds to that of the half-​brother of Jesus]” contributes to the occasional inclusion of the Virgin among the Myrrhbearers, cf. Jo Chrys. Hom. Mt 88, PG 58.777, 45–​55, or as Schembra 2006: 595–​610 proposes, to her assimilation with the Magdalene. 121. See n. 86 in Chapter 4 on Phil 2:58: “but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—​even death on a cross.” 122. Od. 19.232–​241. For the female point of view imbued on these woven fabrics, see Canevaro 2018: 94. See also Karanika 2014b: 70–​71 on female memory, song, and weaving. 123. Od. 19.234 ~ I HC 287. 124. On the shroud as symbolic body, see Constas 2003: 349 with references to the story of Pulcheria covering the altar with a precious cloth, a symbolic re-​enaction of the burial.

228  Notes 125. She is with the disciples when Jesus visits them (Acts 1:14), but not when he, covered by a thick cloud (Acts 1:9–​11), ascends to Heaven (Lk 24:51), at which point the angel addresses only men (Acts 1:11: ἄνδρες Γαλιλαῖοι). 126. On audience and setting, see the useful observations of Bhalla 2018. 127. Table 2.1. ​ 128. E.g., the Paralytic at Capernaum is treated in 66 lines in the I HC and 38 in the II HC, yet the discrepancy is smaller between the 70 lines used for Lazarus in the I HC and the 64 in the II HC. 129. Table 2.2. ​ 130. Of these, the second and third are in reverse order. While the shorter editions HC a b and c include solely the Haimorrhoousa. 131. A thorough inspection of the parallel with the II HC is impossible within the scope of a single chapter as these miracles are discussed over several lines in both editions. 132. Orig. C. Cels. 2.48. 133. Mt 9.18–​19, Mk 5:21–​24, 35–​43, and Lk 8.40–​42, and 49–​56. 134. Both in I HC Schembra 2006: 272 and II HC Schembra 2007b: 118. 135. Manuscripts C, D, E and F: of περὶ τῆς θυγατρὸς τοῦ ἐκατοντάρχου; msc. M: περὶ τῆς θυγατρὸς τοῦ βασιλικοῦ. We have the healing of the son (Mt 8:5–​13) or slave (Lk 7:10) of a centurion. 136. Matthew’s account may be toning down the opposition of the Jewish leaders to Jesus in the New Testament Synoptics, as opposed to Mark, for example, Struthers Malbon 1989: esp. 264, 80. 137. Mk 5:21, Mt 5:18, Lk 8:40. See further Rochais 1981. See below Section 2.3.4.​ 138. Schenk 2017: 324, Fig. 7.17. In a fourth-​century sarcophagus Jaïrus’ daughter appears on the left (identified as a dressed girl lying on a bier), the son of the widow of Nain at the center (a nude, face-​front male figure on the ground), and the Sacrifice of Isaac on the right, thereby underscoring the typological association between the Old and New Testament. With the exception of the Catacomb of Priscilla where the resurrection of Lazarus is depicted with Jaïrus’ daughter, Dresken-​Weiland 2010: 222, the visual renditions include the girl in a series of miracles that often omit the Raising of Lazarus. This shows the personal appeal of the miracle in specific circumstances. Contra see e.g., the Vatican double-​register sarcophagus (inv. 31532) that shows the resurrection of a boy together with that of Lazarus. It is interesting to note that the theme “child’s resurrection” is not popular in children sarcophagi, with an exception identified as the son of the widow at Nain: Huskinson 1996: Pl.16.A.6 and the discussion at 120. 139. Huskinson 1996: 68–​69 and Schenk 2017: 323ff. 140. See Koch 2000: 164 and 166 on the problematic identification of the various resurrection scenes. Schenk 2017: 321, for example, understands the Adelphi Sarcophagus, which shows a swaddled figure inside a sarcophagus-​like cradle as representing the resurrection of Jaïrus’ daughter, while Koch 2000: 166, Figure 47 lists it as the resurrection of the son of the Widow of Nain. I am thankful to Ally Kateusz for sharing with me her views: she identifies two versions of the

Notes  229 resurrection of the Jaïrus’ daughter, one that depicts the mother standing and one crouching under the girl’s bed, see https://​ally​kate​usz.org/​art-​as-​text-​powe​rpoi​nts/​ rais​ing-​jai​rus-​daugh​ter/​. 141. Koch 2000: Fig. 32 and 3. 142. Schenk 2017: 321. 143. See Schembra 2006: 275, on Jesus as the biblical shepherd. 144. The lines not shared by the I HC and II HC are in boldface. 145. Il. 2.514 and Od. 6.18. 146. It is used throughout the Centos to foreshadow the death of Jaïrus’ daughter, I HC 759, II HC 548; the son of the widow, II HC 870; and, above all, Lazarus, I HC 1243, II HC 1161, HCa 395, HCb 344, HCc 357. 147. The Homeric hapax καδδραθέτην may refer to sitting as well as sleeping; e.g., Hsch. κ 57; Apoll. Lex. Hom. (Bekker) 94. 148. Both Polydorus at Il. 21.68 and Circe at Od. 10.323 need to crawl to clasp Achilles’ and Odysseus’ hands under their spear and sword, respectively. 149. Here I am following Reece 2009: 320–​ 7 and the ancient interpretation that understands alpha as copulative or intensive. 150. On the gnomic Nachleben, see Arsen. Apophtheg. 8.831 and Eustath. ad Od. 1.259. 151. Thomas 2011: esp. 392. 152. Mary Magdalene became the Sinful Woman in the West after the sixth century at the incentive of Pope Gregory the Great; see, Haskins 1992: 1–​29; on the anointing in the Eastern, especially Syriac, tradition, see Ashbrook Harvey 2015: ­chapter 3. 153. Lk 7:46–​48. Mt 26:6 and Mk 14:3 Jesus is at Simon’s the leper in Bethany. In Lk 7:36–​38, Jesus is at the house of a Pharisee. In Jo 12:1–​8, this woman is Lazarus’ sister Mary. 154. Lk 7: 37: γυνὴ ἁμαρτωλός; 7:39: ποταπὴ γυνή; for harlots in Christian literature see Burrus 2004. 155. Mk 14:8 and Mt 26:12. 156. Mk 14:9. Cf. also Mt 26:13. 157. Cf. Orig. Frag. in Jo 78, who attempts to reconcile the different traditions; Jo Chrys. Hom. Mt PG 58.723, notes that they were different women. 158. Amphiloch. In mul. peccatr. 416: “let us bless (μακαρίσωμεν) the woman who covered Eve’s deeds, the sinner, the harlot, the good-​doer, the one who showed the way of repentance.” 159. Jo Chrys. [?]‌PG 61, 709–​712 =​CPG 4984: τοιαῦτα λαλούσης ἐν ἑαυτῇ (PG 61.730); in this homily the Sinful Woman appears as μαθήτρια of the Haimorrhoousa. 160. Jo Chrys. Hom. Mt PG 58.723, compares her to the Haimorrhoousa, the Cananite Woman, and the Samaritan and argues that the Sinful Woman was more of a sinner and also far more aware of her sins, and thus decided to meet Jesus in a domestic milieu rather than in public. On her modesty, see John Chyrs. PG 61.729: “adorning herself with the female headscarf [cf. 1 Cor 11:15: περιβόλαιον], in a virgin’s manner but not as a harlot.” 161. Jo Chrys. PG 58.725: “this is what all sing across the globe [sic. from India and Bactria to Britain] . . . which happened in Judaea secretly, in a house at the hands of a

230  Notes harlot.” Though another exegetical variant associated her with Israel, whose fall was often linked to harlotry, Burrus 2004: 130–​1. 162. Warner 2016: esp. 58–​60. 163. Schembra 2007b: 203 here believes this Simon to be Peter but on him being the leper see Lefteratou 2019–​2020: 263. II HC 1332: αὐτοῦ ὑπὲρ κεφαλῆς translates Mt 26:7: κατέχεεν ἐπὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς. 164. Cf. Greg. Naz. Carm. moral., 1.2.2, PG 37.592: καὶ κεράμοιο βρύοντος ἀεὶ τόσον ὑγρὸν ἔλαιον, | ὅσσον ἀφύσσετο χερσὶ φιλοξείνοιο γυναικός (“and the jug always provided as much liquid oil as the hospitable woman [widow of Sarepta] had drawn with her hands”); for the translation and the echo of Callimachus’ Hecale see De Stefani and Magnelli 2011: 554. 165. Cf. I HC 276, 1329, II HC 372, 954. 166. A propos of the woman, see Clem. Paed. 2.8.62.3: τὸ ἔλαιον αὐτός ἐστιν ὁ κύριος, ἀφ’ οὗ τὸ ἔλεος τὸ ἐφ’ ἡμᾶς (“the oil is Lord himself, from whom comes the mercy upon us”). 167. Cf. Eustath. ad Od. 1.280: ἔνθα καὶ λίθων ξεστῶν ἕδρας. 168. Cf. the observations about the preponderance of pronouns in female speech in Argamon et al. 2003. 169. Cf. I HC 1333, placed among other related gnomic lines in Stob. 1.1.8 and Arsen. Apophth. 15.24a. 170. Schembra 2007b: 204 rightly offers here as parallels Eph. 5:22, Col 3:18, Peter 3:1. Cf. Democritus’ saying in Stob. 4.23, 39: ὑπὸ γυναικὸς ἄρχεσθαι ὕβρις εἴη ἂν ἀνδρὶ ἐσχάτη. (“for a man it is most shameful to be governed by a woman”). 171. Hardie (2007), 174 uses the term “dominant.” 172. Gaca 2015: 284–​5 assembles the sources on raving girls and women in ancient warfare and evidence from the Homeric text, e.g., the ransom for Chryseis is paid by her father not her husband. Jerome C. Jovian. 41 mentions among the older exemplary virgins Iphigenia, the Sibyl, Cassandra, and Chryseis. 173. Od. 1.334: ἄντα παρειάων σχομένη λιπαρὰ κρήδεμνα, had an interesting afterlife: in Homer it showcases the freedom of women to participate in banquets, Hunter 2018: 163, but some of the later commentators found Penelope’s behavior flirtatious and inappropriate. The tradition begins with the late fourth-​century BCE Dicaearchus of Messene (Frag. 92 Wehrli =​95 Mirhady =​Σ ad Od. 1.332) to Porph. Q. ad Od. 1.332. It is also reused in the fourth century BCE in Matro of Pitane’s epic parody about a veiled prostitute, quoted in Athen. Deipn. 4.13 (Kaibel). Eustath. ad Od. 1.63, is aware that Homeric queens such as Penelope and Arete participated in banquets—​which also reflects customs in the twelfth century CE—​but sees in Penelope’s covering of her cheeks a gesture of chastity and virtue (σωφρόνως . . . καὶ αἰδημόνως). On the projection of morals of a later period on Homeric epics, see Hunter 2018: 164–​5. 174. Jul. Encom. Euseb. 17. 175. Currie 2016: 50–​1, with literature. 176. Jesus is recognized by his Odyssean scars also by Thomas in I HC 2302–​2309 and Nonn. Par. 20.127 (αὐτάγγελον οὐλῆς), Whitby 2007: 210.

Notes  231 177. The most famous is the parable of “The Ten Bridesmaids” in Mt 25:1–​12, and Paul’s mention of Christ as the Bridegroom of the Church, e.g., 2 Cor 11:2, Eph 5:24–​32. 178. Od. 7.67: καί μιν ἔτισ’ ὡς οὔ τις ἐπὶ χθονὶ τίεται ἄλλη ~ I HC 1331, II HC 1335, and in Jul. Encom. Euseb. 2. 179. Jul. Encom. Euseb. 17.47: “indeed Homer did not mention anything more about her besides her chastity, the love for her husband, the care to her father-​in-​law and to their son.” 180. James 2012 on Julian’s debt to the rhetorical tradition and his own contributions. On the Homeric models see also Tougher 1998. 181. Cf. Encom. Euseb. 2: ᾆσαι βασιλίδος ἐγκώμιον; 9: τῆς Πηνελόπης ἐγκώμιον. 182. Julian. Encom. Euseb. 17.47: καίτοι ἐπὶ ταύτης οὐδὲν Ὅμηρος εἰπεῖν ἔσχε πλέον τῆς σωφροσύνης καὶ τῆς φιλανδρίας καὶ τῆς ἐς τὸν ἑκυρὸν ἐπιμελείας καὶ τὸν παῖδα (“indeed Homer did not mention anything more about her besides her chastity, the love for her husband, the care to her father-​in-​law and to their son”). 183. I HC 1000–​1052; II HC 941–​960; HCa 373–​387; HCb 418–​432; HCc 432–​456. 184. The miracle is told in Mk 5:25–​34 (374 words); Lk 8:43–​48 (280 words), and Mt 9:20–​22 (138 words). According to Robbins 1987, Mark emphasizes emotions and actions as the woman moves from the world of physicians to Jesus; Luke by contrast focuses on the public nature of the healing and the woman’s declaration of faith; while Matthew emphasizes the woman’s inner reasoning. 185. Orig. Hom. Lk frag. 125. Didym. Comm. Zach. 1.251 (Doutreleau), comments on the Haimorrhoousa as embodying the Gentiles; Cyr. Comm. Lk (in catenis) PG 72.637 on the twelve years from the birth of the girl to the healing of the woman. Bleeding women and girls were considered taboo, see Kuryluk 1991, and recently Baert 2010 13–​15, and Sidgwick 2015: esp. part I. 186. Jo Chrys. Hom. Mt 31 PG 57.371: “Jesus . . . brought her in the spotlight and makes her visible (εἰς μέσον ἄγει καὶ δήλην) for the sake of many.” 187. On Veronica, see Wolf 1998, Kuryluk 1991, and recently Baert 2010; in the I HC, see Lefteratou 2017a. 188. Baert 2010: 35 in discussing the Ravenna mosaic, Fig. 18, says characteristically that: “her covered hands are a reference to the prevailing purity laws. Relics, for example, could only be touched with a piece of cloth. At a visual level, text and gesture are connected with the convention of proskynesis before the Holiest.” 189. Cf. On the tripartite lifecycle of butterflies from moths to chrysalis to butterflies, see e.g., Arist. HA 551a13, Plin. Nat. 11.112. These cycles were interpreted allegorically; e.g., in Pl. Phdr. 248c, the psyche (soul and butterfly) sheds her wings when filled with evil. Schembra 2006: 312 suggests here an allusion to the Ps 21:3–​7: ἐγὼ γὰρ εἰμὶ σκώληξ. On the afterlife of the Platonic insect allegory, see Egan 2004. 190. Mk 5:25–​26. Robbins 1987: 510 argues that this illustrates the interest of the narrator in the social reality. 191. I HC 1000, 1025 (ἐν μεγάροισι), 1043 (πλοῦτος), 1048 (ὑψόροφον θάλαμον). Schembra does not believe that the tale here is conflated with the healing of the woman from Canaan, Mk 7:24, which is the case in the I HC according to Rey 1998: 308–​9.

232  Notes 192. The lines—​ἔσκε . . . γυνὴ . . . ἀγλαὰ ἔργ’ εἰδυῖα—​recalling Eumaeus’ wet-​nurse but not Penelope—​appear in HCa, 373–​374, HCb 418–​419, and HCc, 432–​33. In II HC 941 she is introduced as yet another lamenting woman. 193. Schembra 2006: 311 point in discussing these lines, and especially the adoption of the lowercase φ, giving φοίνισσ’, “the crimson one” as the epithet for the Woman with the Issue of Blood, instead of uppercase Φ, giving Φοίνισσ’ the ethnic “Phoenician,” is correct and reflects contemporary exegesis regarding the woman’s menorrhagia. Cf. Orig. Hom. Lk frag. 125, PG 17, 337: “but she was gushing forth blood endlessly and suffered from the ‘phoenician sin’.” This echoes the famous Is. 1:18: “If your sins are as scarlet (ἁμαρτίαι ὑμῶν ὡς φοινικοῦν), as snow they shall be white.” Cf. Cyr. Comm. Lk (in catenis), PG 72.637. On the illness of the woman as φοινικὴν ἁμαρτίαν cf. also Greg. Naz. In bapt. 33 (Or. 40), PG 36.405. Female physiology is further explained in Didymus who observes that the hemorrhage of the woman prevented her from having children, Comm. Zacch. 1.251 (Doutreleau). 194. Σ ad Od. 15.422. 195. Il. 3.385–​386: γρηῒ δέ μιν ἐϊκυῖα παλαιγενέϊ προσέειπεν | εἰροκόμῳ; and the etymology in Porph. Q. Hom. 1.56. 196. At Il. 3.399, 411–​412, Helen voices her opposition to the goddess’s advice mentioning the blame she will receive from the Trojan women. Ancient readers saw her as an objectified woman; thus at Il. 3.412 Helen fears that women will reproach her for becoming the cause of a second war (δευτέρας μάχης αἰτίαν), as she ought to follow the victor, Σ ad Il. 3.411, 2a1. Modern readers see here an attempt at crafting an independent character, e.g., Roisman 2006: esp. 15–​20. 197. The idea of an esoteric dialogue is inspired here by Mt 9:21: ἔλεγεν γὰρ ἐν ἑαυτῇ, cf. Schembra 2006: 312–​3. 198. Instead of public ritual confession gradually becomes private; e.g., Rapp 2006: 125 quoting Sozom. HE 7.16.1–​3, who mentions the rape of an elite woman as the reason for the discontinuation of private confession. 199. Σ ad Od. 19.407: ὀδυσσάμενος, μισηθείς· ἢ ὀργὴν ἀγαγών· ἢ βλάψας. On the etymological interpretation of Homer, see Lamberton 1986: 38. Strauss Clay 1983: 60–​5 with an elaborate discussion of the older scholarship, Doherty 2009: 92–​93. On the cento etymology see Lefteratou 2019–​2020: 266. 200. Il. 6.323–​324. See Graziosi 2010: 169 on the metaliterary importance of περικλυτὰ ἔργα. The lines were part of Helen’s ancient characterization, e.g., Porph. Q. ad Il. 3.236, who assembled different lines in which Helen presents herself in a negative light. 201. Cf. a similar female voice in the much later hymn by Cassia: ἁμαρτιῶν μου τά πλήθη καί κριμάτων σου ἀβύσσους | τίς ἐξιχνιάσει, ψυχοσῶστα Σωτήρ μου; (“the multitude of my sins and the abyss of thy judgments, who could discern, you Savior of my soul?”). 202. For other passages, see Sandnes 2011a: 12–​15, 193, 201. 203. The lines are repeated in the Odyssey in Telemachus’ address to Penelope at Od. 1.357 and 21.351, which were deemed spurious in antiquity: e.g., Ariston. De sign. Od. 3.56.

Notes  233 204. E.g., Plut. Brut. 23.6, Brutus cites these same lines to describe Porcia’s and Brutus’ farewell. 205. Only Il. 6.490. The female spinner appears in all besides in all except the II HC; namely in HCa 385, HCb 431, and HCc 444. The other editions (II HC 960, HCa 386, HCb 432, HCc 446) end the miracle with the line “she was amazed at the miracle and returned home again.” 206. Il. 22.445–​446: “Innocent (νηπίη), she didn’t yet know that far from the baths grey-​ eyed Athena had beat him down at the hands of Achilles.” Andromache’s absence was puzzling for ancient readers. Aristarchus argued that the poet, having previously employed the Andromache character in the dialogue with Hector now casts off the character, while still pitying her, Σ ad Il. 22.442–​445. 207. On women poetic and textual production see n. 5 in Chapter 2.​ 208. Helen at Il. 3.171, 3.228, 3.423, 4.305; Od. 15.106, passim. Penelope in Od. 16.414, 18.302, 20.60, passim. 209. Taylor 2018 gives an extensive list and a thorough discussion of such Christian textiles used both for everyday and funerary clothing which is beyond our scope here. 210. Sozom. HE 9.1 in Constas 1995: 189 with a thorough discussion. 211. Usher 1998: 114, Blacker 1990. Cf. Od. 6.110–​322, Nausicaa; Od. 7.18–​81, Athena; Od. 10.103–​111, the Laestrygonian princess. Even Eumaeus; Sidonian girl at Od. 15.415–​484. Isaac and Rebecca (Gen 24:11–​20); Jacob and Rachel (Gen 29:1–​12), and Moses and Sephora (Ex 2:15–​21). 212. Keener 2003: 585. 213. Bultmann 1971: 181. There has long been an allegorical interpretation of the five husbands to which I shall return below. According to Bultmann 1971: 188 three marriages would have been the maximum for a Jew; Keener 2003: 595 argues that the fact that the woman comes at noon and alone, whereas married women and virgins come in groups at other times, hints at her impurity. 214. See Daniélou 1958 on John linking the “living water” and the living water qua “Holy Spirit,” to baptismal rituals. Bultmann 1971: 182 discerns a Gnostic echo behind phrases such as “the living water.” 215. Ashton 2007: 98 notes that the question is whether Salvation is for the Jews as well as the role of Judeans, Galileans and Samaritans in it. 216. Orig. PG 14.4.217–​219, compares the motif of earthly thirst to that of the Jews in Exodus 17:6; he associates Jesus with the “living water” and interprets it as “teaching.” 217. Orig. PG 14.4.239: περὶ τῆς ἀφέσεως τῆς ὑδρίας, sees the passage about the abandoned pitcher as an allegorical renunciation of matter for the sake of a higher spiritual cause; and PG 14.4.219c: προφάσει ἀλληγορίας. 218. Wiles 2011: 47 and 8, on baptismal imagery. 219. Cf. Proc. Const. Hom. 4.105: “the waters offer the Jordan, and the wells the Samaritan Woman”; in Constas 2003: 235). 220. PG 73.6.178, although he does not go so far as to identify Samaria with the gentiles as he does with Cana elsewhere, Lefteratou 2023: 301; this identification comes later with Rom. Mel. h19.5 (de Matons): τὴν ἐξ ἐθνῶν, τὸν τύπον. Earlier evidence of this

234  Notes association lies in the quotation of the second-​century Gnostic Heracleon in Orig. Frag. in Jo 14.4.226b: Heracleon identified the Samaritans with the gentile nations. 221. PG 14.4.222b. Wiles 2011: 47 and PG 14.14.236, probably inspired by the Gnostic Heracleon who associates Jesus qua πηγὴ ὕδατος ἅλλομένου with the bridegroom of the Song of Songs, PG.14.4.215. 222. PG 61.743, on the contested authorship, see Kaiser 2016: 90–​97. 223. PG 59.540. Cf. Hawley 1995: 265 on Lib. Prog. 11.18: “what speech would a prostitute who has become chaste (πόρνη σωφρονήσασα) utter?” On the eventual elevation of her desire from the carnal to the spiritual, see PG 59.537: διήγειρεν αὐτῆς τὸν πόθον εἰς ἐπιθυμίαν, translate 538, 541 σαγηνεύει translate and PG 59.541. Christian themes were also topics for ethopoeiae, such as Cain in the P. Bodm. 33, see Miguélez Cavero 2008: 316–​27, and Hurst and Rudhardt 2002: 119–​26. This would become very popular in Byzantine progymnasmata, e.g., Nicephor. Basil. 38. 224. Ephr. Syr. h 22 (CSCO 223.95, Beck, pp. 68–​72) and 23 (pp.73–​75). In h 22, str. 8 and 12, she hides her past in order to test Jesus’ claims. Like Mary, the Samaritan conceived the Logos immaculately (this time figuratively) through the ear; unlike Mary, she did not give birth to a baby, but confesses that he is the Messiah (a figurative birth). See also Rom. Mel.’ h 19, and Papagiannis 2013–​2014. 225. Peppard 2016: esp. ch. 5, in which he tries to prove that the woman at the well at Dura Europos is not the Samaritan but Mary at the Annunciation. Bucolo 2009, in the Catacomb of Calixtus, the Samaritan Woman at the well is depicted next to Moses striking water from the rock; in the Catacomb of Praetexatus, she is depicted next to Lazarus, Borg 2013: 258. See also Jensen 2011: e.g. 15–​16, 21, 33–​37, passim. 226. Jensen 2011: Fig. 6.9 and the discussion at 194. 227. Jo 4:6: ἐκαθέζετο. On the two variants of Jesus (standing and sitting), see also Binazzi 1989. For the Cana Wedding in Eudocia and Nonnus see Lefteratou forthcoming-​a. 228. Schenk 2017: esp. 30–​31. 229. Cf. Itinerarium Burdigalense 588.2–​ 5 (Geyer and Cuntz CCSL 175); Elsner 2000b: 186. On description of springs and wells in Itineraria as a sign of interest in female sexuality and in “life-​giving water” as a theological metaphor, see Elsner 2000b: 191, with literature. 230. In the Gospel he is referred to as a Jew, Jo 4:8 and 4:22; or Judaean, 4:24. On the Samaritan woman episode see also Verhelst 2019, Sowers 2020a: ch. 1, and the comparative analysis of Nonnus and Eudocia in Lefteratou 2023. 231. Cf. Jo Chrys. PG 58.537: “she sees Jesus as some stranger (ξένον), and alone as a wanderer (ὁδοιπόρον).” On the female focalization here, see also Karanika 2014a: 103. 232. Jo 4:11–​12: “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?” 233. Cf. I HC 1089: εἶμ’, ἵνα θαρσύνω ἑτάρους εἴπω τε ἕκαστα, again at 1122. 234. I HC 39 (Eve) and 1059 (Samaritan); II HC 185 (Eve) and 909 (Samaritan). 235. I HC 259–​268 ~ Od. 23.213–​217. 236. II HC 909–​911: κούρῃ δὲ ξύμβλητο πρὸ ἄστεος ὑδρευούσῃ. | θυγάτηρ ἰφθίμη πέλεν Σαμαρέων τανυγλώσσων, | μητρός τ’ ἐκ Πέρσης, τὴν Ὠκεανὸς τέκε παῖδα

Notes  235 (“there, before the town, he encountered a girl drawing water; a comely daughter from the chattering Samarians; her mother was Perse, the daughter of Oceanus”). As Schembra 2007b: 156 notes Perse was the mother of Circe whom Clem. Protr. 12.118.2.3 calls πορνίδιον. 237. Od. 10.80–​ 132 (Laestrygonians) and 10.133ff. (Circe). Odysseus and his companions ought to have learned from his encounter with the first deadly beauty how to counter the other one, which he does. 238. II HC 917–​921 ~ Od. 6.178, 186, 187, 191, 192 (Nausicaa). 239. In a total of 107 lines on the Samaritan the striking numbers are as follows: Od. 6 (Odysseus and Nausicaa): 18 lines I HC 1066–​1067, 1073–​1075, 1080, 1082, 1088, 1094, 1097–​1098, 1101, 1103, 1113–​1114, 1125–​1126, 1145; Od. 8 (Odysseus at Alcinous’ palace incognito, farewell to Nausicaa): 21 lines, I HC 1053, 1091–​ 1092, 1105–​1106, 1108–​1111, 1115–​1119, 1128–​1130, 1132, 1136, 1139, 1153–​ 1155, 1160. 240. Od. 23 (Odysseus and Penelope): 10 lines, 1064–​1065, 1069–​1071, 1076–​1077, 1080, 1081, 1121. The passage as a hospitality-​type scene is fully analysed by Usher 1998: ch. 7. 241. This did not need to be so: e.g., the II HC 898–​940 does not include lines from the recognition scene at all and emphatically presents the woman as an avatar of Nausicaa (a positive temptress) against the Laestrygonian princess (a negative temptress), whereas the inquiry about his origin is only three lines long. 242. Eustath. ad Od. 1.234, for example, mentions Odysseus’ charm over women (φιλογύναιον) and their fondness of him (διὰ τὴν γυναικοφιλίαν), from Circe and Calypso, to Helen and Athena, to Nausicaa and Penelope. 243. E.g., see Austin 1975: 214–​7, Van Nortwick 1979 and Katz 1991: 136. 244. I HC 1082 ~ Od. 23.107 and 6.221: οὐδ’ εἰς ὦπα ἰδέσθαι ἐναντίον.⸥ ⸤αἰδέομαι γάρ. See Usher 1998: 302. 245. I HC 1064–​1065 and I HC 1069–​1071. 246. I HC 1072–​1073 ~ Od. 24.126 and 6.66. 247. Od. 6.181–​184. Ideal partnership and Roman values in marriage is discussed in Plutarch’s Amatorius. 248. Sandnes 2011a: 190. 249. Cf. I HC 1070 ~ Od. 23.101: ὅς τοι κακὰ πόλλ’ ἐμόγησε (“who has suffered many woes”). 250. In I HC 1097–​1098 on Nausicaa’s dowry (ἔδνοισι) alluding to Od. 6.158–​159: κεῖνος δ’ αὖ περὶ κῆρι μακάρτατος ἔξοχον ἄλλων, | ὅς κέ σε ἔδνοισι βρίσας οἶκόνδ’ ἀγάγηται (“but blessed at the heart, even beyond these others, is that onewho, after loading you down with gifts, leads you as his bride home”). Sowers 2020a: 58, understands the dowry allusions as gifts that cast Jesus in the role of the man receiving hospitality as disguised God. 251. Cf. Usher 1998: 306, for other occasions of Verfremdung, of distancing from the original. Caprara 2005: 50 sees in it wedding imagery. Still, there is a biblical precedent, cf. in Orig. In Cant. 13.3.47, it is the Queen of Sheba (embodying the Church of the Gentiles) who brings presents to Salomon, munera digna Christo.

236  Notes 252. Jo 4:29–​30: “she said to the people, ‘Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?’ They left the city and were on their way to him.” 253. Orig. Frag. in Jo, PG 13.31.190; Cyril shows that the woman plans her speech so as not to scare her fellow citizens, In Jo 1.289 (Pusey): “you see how skillfully she conversed with the Samaritans? She does not immediately say that she has found the Christ . . . she prepares them ahead of time with wonder.” 254. In Ephr. Syr. h 22.6 (CSCO 223–​224, Beck) on virginity cf. Beck ad loc. on disputatio. 255. Cf. Σ Ael. Aristid. 9.12 (Jebb), comparing speech openings in Homer and Demosthenes. 256. On metaphorical allusions to Paeon, the healer of the gods, see Schembra 2006: 330. 257. Quint. Inst. 9.2.19: “again, hesitation may lend an impression of truth to our statements,” tr. H. E. Butler; Quintilian also proposes feigning ignorance when passing on judgment. 258. The term ‘διαγινώσκω’ was, among other things, a law term (determine or decide a suit) e.g., Antiph. 6.3 (used in the captatio benevolentiae), Lys. 7.22, D. 28.10 (before the testimonies); contra Schembra 2006: 329, who argues that the uncertainty is the result of the woman’s lack of precise knowledge about Jesus’ nature. 259. Cod. 183: ὅπερ ὅτι καὶ γυναικὸς καὶ βασιλείᾳ τρυφώσης καὶ οὕτω καλόν, ἄξιον θαυμάσαι (“it is admirable that this great poem [is the work] of a woman and in fact of a queen living in luxury”). 260. See Price and Gaddis 2007 for an introduction and Price 2009. 261. E.g., Holum 1982, Alan Cameron 1982 now revised in Cameron 2016, Van Deun 1993, Leppin 1996, and Sowers 2020a. See also Greatrex 2004, Leppin 2006, Avlamis 2016, and the useful discussion of Empresses and patronage in Dirschlmayer 2015: 111–​53. 262. Kelly 2016: 54; Licinia Eudoxia (born 422, who married to Valentinian III in 437) PLRE II 410–​412 s.v. “Eudoxia 2”; Flaccilla (who died in 431, still a child) PLRE II 473 s.v. “Flacilla 2.” There are some dubious claims that Eudocia bore a male heir, Arcadius, who died young, Holum 1982: 178, n. 1; see PLRE II 130 s.v. “Arcadius 2” but there is no consensus on this among scholars. 263. Maybe following the marriage of Licinia Eudoxia to Valentinian, see Socr. HE 7.47.3, Dirschlmayer 2015: 146. 264. Alan Cameron 1982. According to Holum 1982: 115, Eudocia was named Athenaïs at birth but may have been of Antiochean origin. See the criticism in Dirschlmayer 2015: 145. Also Fowden 1990, Whitby 2007: 205 and Alexandrova 2016 on her Athenian origin. 265. According to Alan Cameron 2016: 62. 266. Fowden 1990: 498. Sironen 1990 =​SEG 40.184. Eudocia’s Athenian building programme is not discussed in Angelova 2015 who presents her other activities (e.g., at 178–​180) nor in Dirschlmayer (2015). 267. Dirschlmayer 2015: 144, Alan Cameron 2016: 71. 268. Livrea 1997b and Livrea 1998. See an overview in Leppin 1996.

Notes  237 269. Dirschlmayer 2015: 150–​1 on Cyr. Scyth. Vit. Euthymii 30 (Schwartz). See also the material in Neary 2017: ch 1. arguing that her support was motivated because after Chalcedon monasteries and bishops gained more power than the exiled Augusta. 270. Cf. the recent re-​evaluation of Nestorius and the Theodosian court in Bevan 2016: ch. 3. Bevan brings out the growing tension between the Emperor and his appointed bishop as well as the fluidity of doctrinal issues at the time. 271. Cf. Alan Cameron 1982: 79 on the importance of literary over political fame for Eudocia and Cyrus. 272. Van Deun 1993: 273: an ode to Theodosius II’s victory over the Persians in 422 (Socrates HE 7.2); an encomium of the city of Antioch (Evagrius HE 1.20); a metrical paraphrasis of the Octateuch, of which two verses survive, and of the prophets Zechariah and Danial (Photius codices 183, 184); a hexameter poem paraphrasing an apocryphal text on St. Cyprian, Bevegni 2006; and an inscription in the Hammat Gader baths (Israel), Green and Tsafrir 1982. For the bath inscription see now Sowers 2020a: ch. 1. See also Schembra 2020: xxv. 273. Middleton 2015: 93 here discerns an irony in Eudocia’s repeated allusions to Patricius (apol. 2, 12, 28). 274. Possible allusions to her name in the manuscript tradition introducing the Assembly of Father and Son in II HC inscr. e.g., περὶ τῆς τοῦ πατρὸς εὐδοκίας και ἀποστολῆς τοῦ ὑιοῦ, are not found at I HC 98, where the manuscripts give περὶ τῆς τοῦ πατρὸς συμβουλίας. See Schembra 2007a: ad loc. and esp. See here the persuasive analysis by Schembra 2006: 106–​7 with counter arguments. Contra see e.g., Livrea 1998: 91. 275. On scribal humility here see also Middleton 2015: 32, especially on the Christian connotations of humility. See also Karanika 2014: 100. Cf. in his answer to Themistius the Emperor, he says that modesty in a monarch, should be valued more than arrogance, e.g., ad Themist. 10; see also Julian’s fear of imperial letters being treated like showoff objects, hence his regrets about writing too loquaciously in the past, Epist. 40. 276. Green and Tsafrir 1982: 80–​82 show that her name (+​Εὐδοκίας Αὐγούστης +​) flanked by two crosses, which was prohibited under Theodosius II, seems to be a later addition, following her departure from the city. 277. Ὁμηροκέντρων Πατρικίου ἐπισκόπου καὶ Ὀπτίμου φιλοσόφου καὶ Εὐδοκίας Αὐγούστης καὶ Κοσμᾶ Ἱεροσολυμίτου τῶν πάντων εἰς ἑνὸς συνθήματος ἐκλογήν (“a selection in one band of the all the Homeric Centos of Patricius the bishop, and Optimus the philosopher, and Eudocia the Empress and Cosmas from Jerusalem”). 278. B, H, L, N (Eudocia alone); E and I (Eudocia and Patricius) in Schembra. 279. HCb these are: Am (Eudocia) and X, N, Vt (Eudocia and Patricius), in Schembra. 280. Schembra 2007b: cxxxv–​cxix. 281. Among others, e.g. Livrea 1998, Agosti 2001b: 83, with hesitation by Whitby 2007: e.g., 194: “for cento, the best-​known Latin exponent is, like the Empress Eudocia, an aristocratic lady, Proba, who, probably in the 360s, composed a 694-​line poem of similar scope to the Homeric centos [the italics are mine], beginning with Old Testament material on the Fall of Man and the Flood as background to an account of the life, death, and Ascension of Christ.” Eudocian authorship is assumed as uncontroversial by Sandnes 2011a, Sandnes 2020: 3, Karanika 2014a; see also Alexandrova 2016.

238  Notes 282. For the matronly representation of Mary and Eudocia see also Alexandrova 2018, although I disagree with the description of Pulcheria as an Eve-​model. Accusations of Empress as being potential sinners like Eve abounded in Christian writings, e.g., Constantia as Eve, Eudoxia as Jezebel, or Theodora as Jezebel, see Hillner 2019. 283. Carney and Müller 2021: 4, esp. on the association of pagan queens with fertility goddesses. Cf. also Kelly 2016: 54. 284. One of the demons sent to seduce Justa in disguise praises the postlapsarian Eve as a motherly model and questions the girls rigid ascetism Cypr. 1.159–​168. This is the only time the virgin feels tempted. in Cypr. 1.164–​165: παίδων μήτηρ ἀνεδείχθη | ἔνθεν σπέρμηνεν γενεὴν πάντων μεροπήων, | ἐσθλὰ δὲ πάντ’ ἔμαθεν.“ τότε δὴ τότ’ ἔμελλεν Ἰούστα | δαίμονι πειθομένη θυρέων ἔκτοσθε γενέσθαι· (“ ‘ . . . [Eve] became a mother of children, who sowed all the generations of the mortals; and she learned all wisdom’; then Justa was about to follow the demon outside the threshold”). The motherly ideal returns at the end of the poem when Justa becomes a “mother of virgins,” head of a virginal community, at 1.318–​20: μητέρα . . . κουράων ἀταλῶν, Χριστοῦ μεγλάλου θεραπαινῶν. Sowers 2020: 75. 285. Listed by Kuhn-​Treichel 2017. For a comparison of the two hexametric Genesis in the I HC and the Or. Sib. see Lefteratou forthcoming-​b. 286. I HC 68–​70 ~ Od. 15.20, 23.223 and 224: οἶσθα γὰρ οἷος θυμὸς ἐνὶ στήθεσσι γυναικός· | τὴν δ’ ἄτην οὐ πρόσθεν ἑῷ ἐγκάτθετο θυμῷ | λυγρήν, ἐξ ἧς πρῶτα καὶ ἡμέας ἵκετο πένθος (“you know what kind of heart the woman has in her breast; she did not previously stored mischief (ate) in her heart, | the horrible, because of which first suffering came upon us [mortals/​women]”). On the misogynistic tint see e.g., Stob. 4.22g.145. 287. Kuhn-​Treichel 2017. 288. I HC 284–​289 ~ Il. 3.169–​170: “I have not seen before (ἐγὼν οὔπω ἴδον) such a handsome man with my eyes, nor so majestic; he looks like a royal man.” 289. Cf. Athen. Deipn. 13.20.24 (Kaibel) and Themistius 180d (Harduin) for Theodosius I. 290. I HC 287 ~ Od. 19.234: “so soft he was and gleaming like the sun.” Similar imagery leading to the gilded Child-​Christ mosaics in the next century, James 2005: 48. 291. I HC 1784–​1786 ~ Il. 3.197 and 3.189 and Od. 9.432: “for I see him like (ἔγωγε ἐΐσκω) a thick fleeced ram, | who patrols among a herd of silver-​woolled ewes.” 292. I HC 1970–​1975 ~ Od. 4.221–​224: “[immortal blood], which quenches sorrows, bitterness, and all painful memories . . . for your brave soul will never (οὔ ποτέ τοι) look upon at death [in fear].” 293. Cf. a similar tactful amalgamation of Nonnus with John the disciple and the evangelist in Hadjittofi 2020b. 294. In one of the interpretations of Jo 19:35 the blood coming out of Jesus’ side during the sleep of death, has its parallel in the creation of Eve from the side of Adam; see Wiles 2011: 63, with further discussion. 295. In Cypr. 1. 64–​92, the description of the Creation by Justa, no mention of Eve’s responsibility is made. The virgin praises God as the creator of the universe in lines

Notes  239 evoking the Creed. In her version mankind strayed (λιασθέντα) because of Satan (ὄφεως ὑποθημοσύνῃσι) and was redeemed through the merciful incarnation of Christ.

Chapter 3 1. Online resources: https://​chau​cer.fas.harv​ard.edu. 2. Acts 17:28: “for ‘in him we live and move and have our being [Epimenides]’ as even some of your own poets have said, ‘or we too are his offspring [Arat. Phaen.5]’.” 3. Aratus’ Phaenomena was known to the Hellenistic Jewish writer Aristoboulus, who quotes lines 1–​9 (Euseb. Praep. ev. 13.12.1), but the learned Paul may be citing the Greek poet directly. For an overview of the debate, see Tipp 2012: 584 and Rothschild 2014: 67–​68. 4. Lightfoot 2007: 324, however, stresses the earlier apocalyptic origin of such poetry: On Genesis in confessions of monotheism, see eadem, 524. 5. For an overview, see Stemberger 2014; on Alexandria as an intercultural hub but also one of intercommunal rivalry, see Haas 1997. 6. On the didactic character of hexaemeral literature in general, see Hardie 2016. 7. Clem. Aelx. Strom. 1.19.91.4: “he alludes periphrastically/​ implicitly (κατὰ περίφρασιν) in the Greek manner to God the Creator.” On the late antique reception of Aratus, see Gee 2013: esp. 6. 8. The quotation of Greek authors by Paul’s contemporaries, Philo and Josephus, now in Koskenniemi 2019. 9. Delumeau 1995, Evans 1968. On the influence of Eastern myths on Greek theogonies, see Scully 2015, West 1997. On Pandora and Eve, see Bremmer 2008b, Schmitt 2001; on complex texts such as the Or. Sib. too display the influence of both traditions; see van Noorden 2015 on Hesiod, and in general Lightfoot 2007. 10. The mention of the God-​Man aligns with the confession of the Nicene Creed Cf. Section 3.2.1.1. Neither the Apologia nor the introit introduce the Holy Spirit and the Trinity. The omission may be simply due to the fact that the work is poetic and chiefly about Jesus and that the Spirit is not particularly active in the narrative; only during the Epiphany at I HC 1.460 at Jordan: ὕψι δ’ ὑπὲρ νεφέων ἴδετο τρήρωνα πέλειαν, | αἴγλη δ’ οὐρανὸν ἷκε. Cf. also Met. Pss. 2.67: ἀργύρεα τρήρωνος ὅπως πτερὰ καλὰ πελείης. 11. See Mary Whitby 2007: 216–​7 and Alan Cameron 2016: 75. 12. On the quotation of classical texts by the Christian exegetes, see Gnilka 1984. 13. Grypeou and Spurling 2013 contribution examines late antique Jewish and the Christian traditions side by side. 14. See e.g., Evans 1968 on Philo and Josephus. See also Köckert 2009 on Christian cosmogonies. According to Grypeou and Spurling 2013: 438, the similarity of the arguments does not change the fact that these were used for different purposes. The Jewish exegetes emphasized the importance of the biblical story as a history of

240  Notes the chosen people, while the Gentiles saw in it allusions to the coming of Jesus/​the Messiah. 15. Gen 1:1: ἐν ἀρχῇ ἐποίησεν ὁ θεὸς τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ τὴν γῆν; and the Nicene Creed, article 1: ποιητὴν οὐρανοῦ καὶ γῆς, ὀρατῶν τε πάντων καὶ ἀοράτων. See Robbins 2012: esp. 341–​2, 8 on the debt of the first article of the Nicene Creed to Gen 1:1, Job 27, and Prov 8, but also on the Christian innovation of adding the invisible and timeless creation to the material one addressed in Genesis. For a similar attitude in Gregory of Nazianzus, cf. Moreschini et al. 1997: 114. 16. Philo and Origen saw in the triangle of Adam, Eve, and the Serpent, the reflection of mind/​spirit, soul/​senses/​heart, and pleasure: the heart, being corrupted by pleasure, eventually leads the mind/​spirit astray, leaving aside the question of the man’s relationship to the tree (which, as God’s creation, could not bear evil by definition). Cf. Orig. C. Cels. 4.40 on the use of allegory as an interpretative method. 17. Evans 1968: 68. August. De Gen. c. Manich. 2.9–​11. On the positive prelapsarian representation of Eve in Augustine see Conybeare 2018. 18. Ibid. 2.21.32. 19. Hesiodic scholarship is divided between pro-​feminist readings that focus on the negative representation of Pandora and of the condition feminine—​e.g., Glenn 1977, Arrighetti 1981—​in antiquity, and structuralist readings, whereby Pandora is part of Zeus’ plan of revenge and related to the sacrificial themes of the epic. See Vernant 1979. Rudhardt 1986 also argues that the myth of Pandora interprets the relationships between humans and the divine and does not cast the woman as the origin of all evil. 20. Tert. Cor. 7.3; Orig. C. Cels. 4.38 on Hes. Op. (West) 90–​98. 21. Tim 2:14. On Paul’s condemnation of Eve, see also 2 Cor 11:3. 22. Tert. Cult. Femin. 1.1.2: tu es diaboli ianua. Church 1975, however, claims that Tertullian is equally concerned with the Salvation of women in his longer analysis. Flood 2011: 13–​14. 23. Jo Chrys. PG 44.74, 60.673. 24. Procop. In Gen 3.8, citing also Tim 2:14: Adam was not deceived, but the woman was and became a transgressor. 25. Didym. Comm. Gen 94.2: πολλάκις γὰρ τοῖς ἀσθενεστέροις οἱ διδάσκαλοι συγκατίασιν, ἵν’ ἐκ τούτου ὑποστροφὴν αὐτοῖς ἐργάσωνται (“many a time the instructors go down with the weaker [pupils], so that they can achieve their recovery”) citing Tim 2:14. 26. Musäus 2004: 136–​42. 27. Justin Dial. 100.5, compares the two virgins, stating that one gave birth to death while the other gave birth to the Messiah; Athanas. Hom. in illud. 8.6, compares the two women, Mary and Eve, but contrasts Jesus and Adam. 28. Cf. 1 Cor 15; Rom 5; Grypeou and Spurling 2013: 60–​70. Evans 1968: 97. 29. Just. Dial. 100. 30. Tert. De anim. 43. 31. See Flood 2011 for an overview. 32. Theoph. Ant. Ad Autol. 2.25. 33. Evans 1968: 87 on the “minimal” and “maximal” literary approaches.

Notes  241 34. Issues of the protoplasts’ free-​will were discussed more in the East during the Pelagian controversy, Bonner 2018: 4, 49. 35. On Adam being created endowed with free will cf. Greg. Naz. Or. 45.8, PG 36.632: τῷ αὐτεξουσίῳ τιμήσας. 36. Beatrice 2013 (1978): 43–​46. See also e.g., Augustin De natura e gratia 19, on “sins of ignorance.” Against the assumption that Pelagius pardoned sins of ignorance and forgetfulness see Bonner 2018: 2,19. 37. Cyr. Jer. Catech.3.8, discussed in Knell 2017: 105. Cf. Adam’s ignorance in Ephr. Syr. Prec. ad dei matr. 7.391: “thus sin done in ignorance is milder and lighter than that done beckoningly (τὸ ἐν ἀγνοίᾳ κατάκριμα τοῦ ἐν γνώσει κουφότερον). Adam received a commandment and a law but he did not preserve them; however, dear undefiled Father, he did not have experience so far of an earlier Fall or condemnation”). 38. On free will in general see the introduction in Knell 2017. Bonner 2018 has recently refuted the idea of free will attributed to Pelagius as a construct of his opponents. For the discrepancy between the Augustine’s perception of original sin and grace and the Greek exegetes see e.g., Beatrice 2013; see also Wickham 1989 on Cyril’s understanding of Pelagianism as a variant of Nestorianism that denied Christ his full divinity. Pelagianism was condemned at the Council of Ephesus; for Cyril’s attacks on Nestorius on behalf of the pope see Price and Graumann 2020: 46–​48. 39. The exegetical tradition is vast: Origen wrote Hom. Gen., PG 12 and Adnot. Gen. P G 17, his famous now fragmentary De principiis, surviving extant only in Rufinus’ Latin translation Crouzel and Simonetti 1978–​1984. We have fragments of the homiletic works of Hippolytus; Didymus wrote a Commentary in the fourth century now fragmentary Doultereau 1977–​1978, John Chrysostom wrote homilies (PG 53) and sermons (PG 54), as did Severianus (PG 56) and Theodore of Mopsuestia in Syriac, now fragmentary (PG 66.633–​646). See also a selective approach to major events in Cyril’s Glaph. in Gen (PG 69.10–​386). 40. Cf. For the Christian use of ekphrasis see Ludlow 2020, esp. 39–52 on Basil. 41. DeMarco 2014. 42. Basil, Hex. 6.1 (Giet): “death—​that was born by sin, the first born (πρωτότοκον) of the arch-​evil demon.” 43. Eg. Hex. 6.7: “for where necessity and fatalism reign, there is no space left for merit, the most remarkable element of righteous judgement.” 44. Hex. 1.1–​2: “let us listen then to these words of truth (ἀληθείας ῥημάτων) written without the help of the ‘enticing words of man’s wisdom’ [1 Cor 2:4] by the dictation of the Holy Spirit (διδακτοῖς Πνεύματος); words destined to produce not the applause of those who hear them, but the salvation of those who are instructed by them,” tr. Bl. Jackson. 45. Basil Hex. 5.9.11: “but I am ashamed to see that my discourse oversteps the accustomed limits (τῇ ἀπληστίᾳ τῆς θεωρίας εἰς ἀμετρίαν ἐπίπτοντα) . . . but when I reflect upon the inexhaustible wisdom which is displayed in the works of creation (πρὸς τὸ ποικίλον τῆς ἐν τοῖς δημιουργήμασι σοφίας), I seem to be but at the beginning of my story,’’ tr. Jackson. The word ἀμετρία (“measurelessness”) means the lack of self-​ control (μέτρον, measure), but is also a metaliterary pun that alludes to the ideal of

242  Notes poetic composition to which Basil here aspires, though he is writing in prose; for a similar use in Gregory, see McDonald 2020: 121–​2, and Ludlow 2020: 229. On Basil’s late antique aesthetics, see Karahan 2012. Cf. also Agosti 2017 lecture in Ghent. 46. Hex. 4.1: ὁ Κύριος, ὁ μέγας θαυματοποιὸς καὶ τεχνίτης. 47. Cf. Hex. 1.4: τὸν Θεὸν . . . ποιητὴν τοῦ παντός; Hex. 1.2: τίς ὁ ποιητής; On the metaliterary ramifications of the term ποίησις rather than κτίσις, see DeMarco 2014: 341. 48. See Auerbach 1952: esp. 319 on the humility of the preacher; and Maxwell 2006: 34–​ 36, 94 on John Chrysostom and Basil with further literature on the pretence of humility vs. the Christian exegetes, who continued preaching in an elevated style. 49. Greg. Naz. Or. 43.67 and Greg. Nyss. Praef. to the Apol. Hexaem. 50. On the catalogues in epic, see Kuhlmann 1973; on the didactic potential of catalogues, see Overduin 2015: 30. 51. For Homer, see Verdenius 1970, for Hesiod, see Koning 2010: esp. 57–​61. 52. A view found, for example, in Arist. Po. 1447b, where famously he does not consider Empedocles a poet but a φυσιολόγος. 53. Epigr. 27 Pfeiffer: Ἡσιόδου τό τ᾽ἄεισμα καὶ ὁ τρόπος. See van Noorden 2015: 172 with further literature on the allusions to Aratus here as well as the “Hesiodism” of the Phaenomena. 54. Hadjittofi 2020a argues this persuasively for Nonnus’ Paraphrasis. 55. On ancient critics, see Hunter 2014: 550. On modern approaches, see Effe 1977 and Volk 2002, and most importantly Fowler 2002: 205, who suggests a more flexible approach. 56. See Magnelli 2005 on Dionysius Periegetes’ appropriation of Hesiod both in the “Homeric” and “Hesiodic” mode. Kuhn-​Treichel 2016: 9–​12, 43–​44 reaches a similar conclusion when examining the Christian Latin writings on Claudius Marius Victorius. 57. A different opinion is expressed by Themistius in his praise of Theodosius, who quotes the proems of Homer, Hesiod, and Thucydides, as models for his own speech pointing out that he will deliver speeches more peaceful and kingly, Or. 15.1: τῶν Ὁμήρου εἰρηνικωτέρους, τῶν δὲ Ἡσιόδου βασιλικωτέρους. 58. Van den Berg 2014, for example, argues that Plotinus considered the Op. —​a poem viewed as educational (παιδευτικόν) throughout antiquity—​as propaedeutic for those who wished to uncover the dissimulated messages in the Theogony. Agosti 2016a reaches similar conclusions when discussing the importance of the Theogony to Christian poets. Contra, the entry “didactic poetry” in the OCD ends with Aratus. 59. See Strauss Clay 1993; for a brief overview, see Stamatopoulou 2017: 7 n. 31. 60. Moreschini & Sykes1997: 143. 61. PG 37.521–​649, In laudem virginitatis. 62. See Sykes 1970: 39. Gigli Piccardi 1990: 118–​23 further stresses their similarity to other philosophically oriented poetry that revisits the Timaeus, e.g., Cosm. Strasb. 27: οὐρανὸν ἐσφαίρωσε; cf. Carm. mor. 527: κυκλώσαο; cf. Pl. Tim. 34b. 63. Sykes 1970: 39–​40 stresses the doctrinal aspect of this poetry vis-à-vis the descriptive nature of the Or. Sib. See also Meinel 2009: 72–​73.

Notes  243 64. Greg. Naz. PG 37.397a: οἶδα μὲν ὡς σχεδίῃσι μακρὸν πλόον ἐκπερόωμεν (“I know that it is upon a flimsy raft that we set out on a great voyage,” tr. Sykes). Moreschini & Sykes 1997: 78, on Od. 5.33 reworked in Pl. Phd. 85d1; ibid at 250. On the didactic potential of the (Odyssean) journey, see Fowler 2002: 217. 65. Arc. 1.25–​39: εἷς θεὸς . . . ὁ γ᾽υἱὸς κοσμοθέτης νωμεύς τε . . . ἓν πνεῦμα. 66. The journey metaphor, the allegory of light and darkness belong to didactic frameworks, Fowler 2002. 67. Moreschini et al. 1997: 144–​6. 68. Arc. 6.69 and 76: ὅσους κακίην ἐδίδαξεν; διδάσκαλοι ἀμπλακιάων. 69. Arc. 7.1–​3: “The soul is a breath of God (ἄημα θεοῦ), and for all its heavenly form, it has endured mingling with that which is earthly (μίξιν οὐρανίη χθονίοιο), light hidden in a cave, yet divine and immortal.” (tr. Moreschini & Sykes). 70. Elsewhere he sets out to praise in a hybrid genre, precisely the hybrid divine nature of man (PG 37.529: μικτὸν γένος) and the dual nature of Jesus, which they also describe as a new mixture (PG 37.534: καινὴ μίξις), thereby presenting Christ as the Second Adam. The metaliterary allusions here are discussed in Kuhn-​Treichel 2020: 97–​99. 71. Arc. 8.5–​54, Moreschini et al. 1997: 45, 256–​9. 72. Cf. PG 37.526.10. 73. On parthenogenesis in Hesiod, cf. Theog. 126 (the creation of Uranus), see Park 2014. 74. Hes. Op. (West) 376–​380; Theog. 96. The argument developed in Hong 2014. 75. Gen 3:16. Cf. Orig. Frag. ad Cor (Jenkins), 39; Basil PG 31, 1473: oὐκέτι, «ἐν λύπαις τέξῃ τέκνα·» μακαρία γὰρ ἡ ὠδίνασα τὸν Ἐμμανουήλ (“no longer ‘in pain you will give birth’; for blessed is the one who brought forth Emmanuel”). 76. The text and analysis are from Knecht 1972: 39–​50. 77. Cf. a similar adaptation of Hesiod’s Pandora for Eve is found in Or. Sib. 1.46: τοὔνεκεν ἀντ᾽ ἀγαθοῖο λάβον κακόν, οἷον ἔπραξαν (“so ill, not good, they got, for what they did”) tr. Lightfoot. Cf. Hes. Theog. 585, 602: κακὸν ἀντ᾽ ἀγαθοῖο, with allusions to Pandora. Lightfoot 2007: 346. 78. Lines 129–​ 132 (Knecht): οὐκ ἀΐεις καὶ πρόσθε τεὸν πατέρ’ ὡς ἀπάτησεν | ἀνδροφόνοιο φυτοῦ εὔχροος ἀγλαΐη | ἤπαφεν, εὐθαλέος τε ἄφαρ βάλεν ἐκ παραδείσου, | δυσμενέος τε δόλος, παρφασίη τ’ ἀλόχου (“don’t you hear how previously your father was deceived by the beautiful brilliance of the murderous plant? | He touched the blossom and immediately he was expelled from paradise | by the trickery of the evil-​one (Satan) and by the allurement of his wife”). 79. This aligns with Cyril’s view that the story of Eve is better than the one of Pandora: C. Jul. 3.5: “why then, you noble one, shall we spurn the woman that has been created by God and the tale about her as if unappealing and accept instead Hesiod’s Pandora?” Jul. C. Gal. 167 condemns both pagan and Christian myths as irrational, asking: “and in what are these tales [Genesis] different from the make-​belief myths we find among the Greeks?” 80. Fowler 2002. 81. A preliminary investigation of this material appeared in French, Lefteratou 2020a. 82. CPr 36; Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 128. 83. Pollmann 2017: 115

244  Notes 84. CPr 54–​56: ore favete omnes | laetasque advertite mentes, matres atque viri | pueri innuptaeque puellae. (“keep silent, everyone, and give me your cheerful attention | mothers and men, boys and unmarried girls”) ~ Aen. 5.71 and 305; Geor. 4.475, Aen. 6.306, Geor. 4.476. Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 114 on allusions to famous prophetic figures; Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 131 on the Sibyl. 85. On “narratorial self-​effacement,” see de Jong 1987 and Morisson 2007; on the application of the concept, see Kuhn-​Treichel 2017 who sees Eudocia as an “involved narrator” instead of a modest one. 86. Hadjittofi 2020b for examples and literature. 87. Cf. Il. 7.67, 8.5; Od. 7.186, 8.26, 17.468, passim, Cf. Hes. Ehoie Frag. 75. The formula is also introduced in the case of other embedded speeches: e.g., I HC I 474: κέκλυτε μνηστῆρες . . . ὄφρ᾽εἴπω. 88. Clem. Protr. 12.120.2–​3: ὑπὲρ ἀνθρώπων εὔχεται καὶ ἀνθρώποις ἐγκελεύεται «κέκλυτε, μυρία φῦλα» (“he is praying for mankind and urges men to ‘hearken you, myriad human clans’ ”). Cf. Greg. Naz. Arc. 4.1: εἰ δ᾽ἄγε, and the opening in Greg. Naz. C. Jul. 4.1: ἀκούσατε ταῦτα, πάντα τὰ ἔθνη, ἐνωτίσασθε πάντες οἱ κατοικοῦντες τὴν οἰκουμένην (“Behold these words, all nations! Hearken all you who dwell the ecumene [inhabited world]”). 89. Schembra 2006: 80–​81, rightly distinguishes between rhetorical construction and actual oral performance: “l’imperativo ‘κέκλυτε’ non deve essere interpretato in senso proprio, come allusivo di un ascolto reale de parte di una comunità disposta davanti ad un poeta-​rapsodo, bensì di un’auscultazione interiore, propria di un animo ben disposto a ricevere la verità di fede.’ See Stewart-​Sykes 2001 on the development of the Christian homily from a prophetic outpouring to an institutionalized speech in Christian schools. 90. I HC 6 ~ Il. 5.128, treated briefly in Kuhn-​Treichel 2017: 68, also Sowers 2020a: 53. 91. Schembra 2006: 80–​81. 92. In Nonn. Par. for example, γιγνώσκω denotes the journey from ignorance to knowledge/​confession and the metaphorical transition from darkness to light; e.g., Par. 1.29: καὶ λόγον οὐ γίνωσκεν ἐπήλυδα κόσμος ἀλήτης (“and the erring world did not recognize the Word who had come”). On Nonnus’ converts and their journeys of faith, see Rotondo 2017. 93. Cf. Kuhn-​Treichel 2017: 67–​68. 94. See Cairns 2014, on the association of thymos with kardie, and the thymoeidic elements from Resp. 439e–​440a. For etymology of thymos in the cento see Lefteratou 2019–​2020: 274 with literature. 95. Cf. Ex 15:8: καὶ διὰ πνεύματος τοῦ θυμοῦ σου διέστη τὸ ὕδωρ. See also 2 Reg 22:13: ἀπὸ πνοῆς πνεύματος θυμοῦ αὐτοῦ. Pl. Cra. 419e: ἀπὸ τῆς θύσεως καὶ ζέσεως τῆς ψυχῆς (“from the rage and the boiling of the soul”). On the Stoic association of thymos and pneuma, see Buffière 2010: 257–​60. 96. Schembra 2006: 86. Cf. a similar use of the heart in Greg. Naz. PG 37.1229B, 18–​ 21: ἀλλ’ ἔμπης τά με θυμὸς ἐποτρύνει καὶ ἀνώγει, (~ Il. 6.439 and 15.43) | φθέγξομαι, οὐκ ἐθέλων μὲν, ἀτὰρ λόγον ἔκτοθε ῥήξω | ψυχῆς, ὡς ὅτε κῦμα βιώμενον ἔνδοθι λάβρῳ | πνεύματι (“though still, what my soul urges and instructs me, that | will

Notes  245 I speak, without my wish, but I will burst forth a speech | from my soul, just as the wave which is compelled from the inside by the violent Spirit”). Cf. the similar prompting of the angel in Vis. D. 340: ἐν στήθεσσιν ἀὸιδήν. For the I HC, see Schembra 2006: 80–​81 with earlier literature. Sowers 2020a: 53. 97. Schembra 2006: 80–​81. ​ 98. O’Meara 1982: 12–​14, on Ithaca as the archetypal destination of the erring soul. 99. Fowler 2002: 216 with literature. See also Fowler 2002: 218 on the metaphorical didactic use of light vs. darkness. 100. In Pl. Alc. 150d, the citation is used in an allegorical sense, as a way to distinguish good from evil; on the Platonic revision, see also Luc. DMort 7, a comic reprise, in which Hermes cures Charon of blindness. In Max. Tyr. Diss. 8.5, the line is quoted among others as referring to an epic epiphany and to Socrates’ daimonion. See Bompaire 1958: esp. 21–​32, and de Lacy 1974. 101. Etym. Magn. σ 772: φιλοσόφει, ὄφρ’ εὖ γινώσκῃς ἠμὲν θεὸν ἠδὲ σοφιστήν (“practice philosophy, so that you may distinguish between god and sophist”). 102. Cf. Clem. Protr. 1.113.1–​2 (Mondésert): “accept Jesus, accept seeing, accept the light, ‘ὄφρ’ εὖ γινώσκοις ἠμὲν θεὸν ἠδὲ καὶ ἄνδρα’ ” repeated in Strom. 1.28.178 and Didym. De Trinit. 2.8–​27, PG 39.728. 103. Discussed in Agosti 2011a. 104. Athena as instructor of Pandora appears in Hes. Op. (West) 63–​ 66: ἔργα διδασκῆσαι. Strauss Clay 2003: 123 on the text transmission. On Athena as a teacher in Late Antiquity, see the comments of the scholiasts in Σ in Op. (vetera), 64: Ἀθηναϊκὸν . . . δίδαγμα; Σ in Op. (Procli, Moschopuli, Tzetzae, Galeni), 64bis, Ἀθηνᾶν . . . διδάσκαλον. In August. Civ. 7.28, Minerva personifies wisdom; in Mart. Cap. de Nupt. and until the Renaissance she appears in moralizing poetry, Deacy 2008: 141–​5. For the ongoing appeal of Athena in material culture see Wade 2019 on the bronze steelyards from the fifth to the seventh centuries. 105. On Eudocia and Athens, see Chapter 2, Section 2.4.2. It was not uncommon even for Christians to appreciate Athena; e.g. Fowden 1990: 499 speaks of Herculius, prefect of Illyricum (408–​410), who restored Hadrian’s Library in Athens and whose statue featured opposite that of Athena Promachos, and adds (n. 29) that Theodosius II (IG2 4225) placed the following inscription on the walls of Constantinople: tam cito tam stabilem Pallas vix conderet arcem (“Pallas could have hardly built a wall as quickly and as strong”), thus further demonstrating the association of the city and its goddess irrespective of faith. 106. A bronze statue of Athena is said to have stood in the forum in Constantinople until 1203 too; see Jenkins 1947. 107. I HC 8–​13 ~ Il. 18.483–​488. 108. I HC 15, 24, 28, 30–​31 ~ Od. 5.67. 109. I HC 26–​27 ~ Od. 7.115–​116. For a list of classical imitations of Homer’s paradisal gardens, see also Kuhn-​Treichel 2016: 239. 110. Cf. Hardie 1985: 15 on Σ in Arat. PhA. 26: κόσμου μίμημα. See also Buffière 2010: 54, 164–​67 on the ekphrasis as a Stoic allegory; ibid. 203–​7, on the Homeric influence on ancient astronomers. The Shield as a cosmogony can already be found in Crates

246  Notes of Mallus (second century BCE), on which see Mette 1936. On the joint reception of the Shield and the Theogony in Ovid. Met 1.2, see Wheeler 1995 and van Noorden 2015: 213–​5. On Quintus see Maciver 2012a; on Nonn. Dion. 25.398–​401 and Arat. Phaen. 26–​29, see Vian 1990; on Dionysus’ shield in the Dion. as a Christian allegory, see Spanoudakis 2014b. 111. Cf. the cosmic descriptions in John of Gaza and Paul the Silentiary in Friedländer 1912: 7. For ekphrasis as a means of instruction, see Miguélez Cavero 2008: 282–​308. Among the later Cosmogonies influenced by Homer and their impact on Christian poetry, see Gigli Piccardi 1990. 112. Cf. in the Address to Abraham (P. Bod. 30 1–​3: 1: ὃς κόσμον συνέζευξε καὶ οὐρανὸν̣ ἠδὲ θάλασσαν), the first line of which recalls both the Shield and evokes the first line of the Nicene Creed 1: ποιητὴν οὐρανοῦ καὶ γῆς; Agosti 2011b: 289, and n. 55 on the echo here of Acts 17:24, often featured in the confessions of the martyrs. 113. Eph 6:10–​12: “Put on the whole armour of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.” 114. Cf. Vis. D. 234: ἴφθιμον ἄνδρα; for Sedulius, Carm. Pasch. 5.319–​322, see Springer 1988: 75–​7, Faulkner 2020b: 45. 115. Il. 18.478–​608: ἐν μὲν γαῖαν ἔτευξ’, ἐν δ’ οὐρανόν, ἐν δὲ θάλασσαν. Though another Sophoclean fragment inspired by the Shield is also relatively popular in Christian writers, i.e., TGF frag. 618 (Snell): εἷς ταῖς ἀληθείαισιν, εἷς ἐστὶν θεός, | ὃς οὐρανόν τ’ ἔτευξε καὶ γαῖαν μακρὴν | πόντου τε χαροπὸν οἶδμα καὶ ἀνέμων βίας (“God is one with truth, there is one god; he who crafted the sky and the broad earth, and the grey waves of the sea and the bursting winds”) in Clem. Strom. 5.14.113, Euseb. Praep. ev. 13.13.40, whereas in 13.13.26 he quotes from the Shield; Cyr. C. Jul. 1.44 uses the Sophoclean passage to argue for the message of Christianity. 116. Clem. cites Il. 18.483ff. three times: Paed. 3.12.99.3 lines 483 and 485 but omitting 484; Strom. 6.2.9.3, on the “ἡφαιστότευκτος ἀσπίς,” where he cites lines 483 and 607; and ibid. 5.14.101. Adams 2016: 18, calls them “summarizing composite citations.” 117. Miguélez Cavero 2008: 314–​6. 118. Cf. Basil Hex. 7.6 (Giet). 119. Lib. Prog. 12.9, cites Od. 7.115 and 116 in his ekphrasis of a garden. 120. Jul. Encom. Euseb. 8 citing Od. 5.70. Stob. 1.1.36 cites Od. 7.115, 5.64, 7.116. 121. The Homeric image of the bloodthirsty dragon at I HC (~ Il. 2.308: δράκων ἐπὶ νῶτα δαφοινός) is used here for Satan; Or. Sib. depict him as a snake or reptile (1.40: ὄφις; 1.69: ἑρπυστήρ). Bus Is 27:1 shows God vanquishing a dragon snake (δράκοντα ὄφιν). Origen, C. Cels. 4.91–​94 uses the description of the dragon from the Iliad 2 to compare animal-​related superstitions. In contrast to gentile beliefs regarding the capacity of some creatures to foretell the future, the Christians, he argues, believes that naturally evil animals such as reptiles are possessed by evil demons. 122. hMerc 162, 260. See Vergados 2013: 365 ad loc. Also used for the fox as in Archil. 89.5. Contra for a literary interpretation, something from which a moral benefit is to be gained, see Plut. Quomodo adul. 4 (Hunter, Russel) =​Mor. 19b: καὶ προσυνίστησι τὰ χρηστὰ τῶν λεγομένων (“he commends in advance the useful utterances”). For the Christian reuse of this hymn see Agosti (2016d).

Notes  247 123. Cf. hApoll 534. On Homeric hymns as preludes to the heroic narrative, see Janko 1982 and Richardson 2010: 1–​2. 124. Cf. Prog. 72 (Spengel): “it is not sufficient to deliver the speech but also to embed it in the minds of the listeners, so that it becomes as the Homeric saying goes, ῥηΐδιόν τι ἔπος ἐρέω καὶ ἐνὶ φρεσὶ θήσω [Od. 11.146].” 125. Cf. Greg. Naz. Carm. mor. PG 37.674: εἰ δ’ ἄγε τοι καὶ τοῦτον ἐγὼ λόγον ἐν φρεσὶ θήσω (‘so come and I will embed this word in your head’). On clarity as an important element in Lucretius’ didactic, see Kennedy 2014 (1971): 17. 126. Cf. the descent of Aeneas in the description of the protoplast’s expulsion from paradise in CPr 273–​274 ~ Aen. 6.633–​634: et pariter gressi per opaca viarum | corripiunt spatium medium (“side by side they walked along a darkness of paths, hastened through the midway region”), Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 153. 127. Lausberg 1990: 239. 128. Cf. Od. 3.365, 4.384, (Proteus): γέρων ἅλιος νημερτής. Proteus as a sophist appears in Pl. Euthyd. 288b, Meno 80b, Polit. 219a-​c; cf. Hld. Aeth. 2.24.4. Greg. Naz. Or. 4.62 grants Julian negative Protean attributes, whereas Lib. Or. 18.176 presents him in a positive Protean light. On devil as skin-​changing Proteus see also Greg. Naz. Carm. 2.1.83.14: πέλει θανάτοιο σοφιστής, | γεγὼς ὁ Πρωτεὺς εἰς κλοπὰς μορφωμάτων (“a sophist of Death, | having become a Proteus in the devious change of shapes”), see O’Connell 2019: 157. 129. Cypr. 1.92; on the snakes tempting Justa cf. 1.66, 74 (ὄφιν), 1.120, 2.37 (δράκων). 130. Cf. the mendacious approach of Satan in I HC 40: μειλίχιον καὶ κερδαλέον φάτο μῦθον. 131. Od. 4.565–​567. Cf. Strab. 1.1.4, 3.2.13. 132. de Jong 1987: 109, 266–​78. 133. Celsus’ examples answer the claim of Christians that they will go to a better place, Orig. C. Cels. 7.28: ποῖ ἀπεῖναι μέλλομεν . . . εἰς ἄλλην γῆν, ταύτης κρείττονα (“so where will we go? . . . to another land, better than this one”). 134. Orig. C. Cels. 7.28, cites Od. 4.563 et 565–​7. Wilken 2003: 101–​2. 135. C. Cels. 7.28: οὐχ ὁρῶν ὅτι Μωϋσῆς, ὁ πολλῷ καὶ τῶν ἑλληνικῶν γραμμάτων ἀρχαιότερος, εἰσήγαγε τὸν θεὸν ἐπαγγελλόμενον τὴν ἁγίαν γῆν καὶ «ἀγαθὴν καὶ πολλήν, ῥέουσαν γάλα καὶ μέλι» τοῖς κατὰ τὸν νόμον ἑαυτοῦ βιώσασιν, οὐδ’ ὡς οἴονταί τινες τὴν «ἀγαθήν», τὴν κάτω νομιζομένην Ἰουδαίαν, κειμένην καὶ αὐτὴν ἐν τῇ ἀρχῆθεν κατηραμένῃ ἐν τοῖς ἔργοις τῆς παραβάσεως τοῦ Ἀδὰμ γῇ (“but Celsus didn’t discern that Moses, who is much older even of the Greek alphabet, introduced God promising to those who live according to his commandment the holy land, ‘the fertile and vast one, that flows with milk and honey’ [Ex 3:17]; not, as some believe, ‘the blessed one,’ namely what is considered as the earthly Judea, which in fact is also placed from the beginning on the cursed earth because of the deeds of Adam’s disobedience”). 136. See Walker Bynum 1995. 137. Cf. Luc. Paras. 24. Max. Tyr. Or. 15.7: Κυκλώπιον βίον οὐκ ἀνθρώπινον. On the discovery of culture, see the overview in Heckel 1999; on the classical reception of the Cyclops’ episode see Cook 1995.

248  Notes 138. In the aetiological myths about Sicily’s wheat production in Diod. Sic. 5.2.4, which are ironically characteristic of the parasite in Luc. Paras. 24.4. 139. Cf. van Noorden 2015: 64 on Hes. Op. (West) e.g., 299–​316, 382 (work) and 213, 268, 274 (justice) as ethical exhortation to Perses to work e.g., at 27, 42. See also Vergados 2020: 251–​4 on the Iron generation and hard work. 140. Orig. C. Cels. 4.77: “while we labour and toil extra we barely get to eat; but for them ‘[animals] ἄσπαρτα καὶ ἀνήροτα πάντα φύονται’.” Cf. Greg. Nyss. Adv. eos qui castig. PG 46.316 in a description of Moses’ manna, and the description of the early forms of life in Euseb. Praep. ev. 12.13.1. 141. Jo Chrys. PG 51.194 and 53.146. Though Christianity endorsed the prior Roman economic structures including slavery, Harper 2011, preachers such as John Chrysostom, also highlighted the importance of work instead of idleness, PG 62.405–​406 on 1 Thes 2:9. See further Karayannis 1994. 142. Jo Chrys. PG 56.179: “the earth provided everything ‘ἄσπαρτα καὶ ἀνήροτα’, but he ordered it to produce thorns and thistles [Gen 3:18].” 143. I HC 64–​65 ~ Od. 6.183–​184: ὅθ’ ὁμοφρονέοντε νοήμασιν οἶκον ἔχητον | ἀνὴρ ἠδὲ γυνή (“[nothing is better] than when two people a man and his wife, keep a harmonious household”). For the Homeric passage e.g., Austin 1975: 203–​12, 52, Katz 1991: 170, Clayton 2004: 12–​16. 144. Gen 3:16: “yet your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.” 145. On the analysis of Gen 3:16 as an allusion to Eve’s virginity in paradise in the Christian exegetes, see Reuling 2006: 61–​64 with further literature. 146. Gen. 3:6: “When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.” 147. It is found in a collection of misogynistic quotes from Euripides, Hesiod et al. in Stob. 4.22g.145. The second line (Od. 15.21: κείνου βούλεται οἶκον ὀφέλλειν) is also cited in Char. Call. 4.4.5, where the narrator misjudges the fidelity of the heroine. Cf. the equivalent in Proba, CPr 238: illa dolos dirumque nefas sub pectore versans ~ Aen. 4.563 in the context of the equally gnomic Aen. 4.569–​570: varium et mutabile sember femina; on the “la donna è mobile” theme, see Tosi 1991. 148. On Eve and gluttony, a popular medieval theme, see Flood 2011: 77. 149. The context in which it appears describes the evil wife who slowly roasts her valiant husband and eats him raw or cooked, an Hesiodic image difficult to forget: Hes. Op. (West) 703–​704: τῆς δ᾽ αὖτε κακῆς οὐ ῥίγιον ἄλλο, | δειπνολόχης: ἥτ᾽ ἄνδρα καὶ ἴφθιμόν περ ἐόντα | εὕει ἄτερ δαλοῖο καὶ ὠμῷ γήραϊ δῶκεν (“nothing worse than a bad one [wife], a greedy soul who roasts her man without fire, strong though he may be, and brings him to a raw old age”) tr. Evelyn-​White. On Eve’s gluttony, see e.g., Tert. Jejun. 2.3 an idea also found much later in Rom. Melod. Hymn 1, str. 4, regarding Adam and Eve (de Matons). 150. Il. 19.275. 151. For the irony here between Achilles’ heroic wrath and the disguised Odysseus’ mention of hunger in Il. 1.1: μῆνιν οὐλομένην and Od. 17.287: γαστὴρ οὐλομένη respectively, see Bakker 2013: 140–​1 on the interformulaic associations here.

Notes  249 152. For the association of gluttony with lust cf. Evagrius, PG 79.1141: ἔστιν οὖν γαστριμαργία, πορνείας μήτηρ; and wonderfully illustrated in the Tale of the Ephesian Widow in Petronius’ Sat. 111–​112. 153. Vergados 2013: 450, discussing hMerc 317 (αἱμυλίοισι λόγοισι), notices the relationship between Hermes’ eloquence and Od. 1.56 (αἰεὶ δὲ μαλακοῖσι καὶ αἱμυλίοισι λόγοισι) as well as Hes. Op. 78 (West), where Hermes, the sweet speaker par excellence (hMerc 13) gives Pandora wheedling words as a means of deception; he also cites Hes. Theog. 889–​890. 154. E.g., I HC 37: παρφασίῃ τ’ ἔκλεψε νόον πύκα περ φρονεόντων; 40: αὐτίκα μειλίχιον καὶ κερδαλέον φάτο μῦθον. 155. Lamberton 1986: 106–​7. 156. Montiglio 2011: 34–​36. 157. On the ambivalences regarding the moral standing of Penelope’s steadfastness as opposed to Helen’s fickleness, see Mueller 2007 on Od. 15.30. 158. Od. 23.222–​224: τὴν δ’ ἦ τοι ῥέξαι θεὸς ὤρορεν ἔργον ἀεικές· | τὴν δ’ ἄτην οὐ πρόσθεν ἑῷ ἐγκάτθετο θυμῷ | λυγρήν, ἐξ ἧς πρῶτα καὶ ἡμέας ἵκετο πένθος (“it was god who stirred her to do the shameful thing she | did, and never before had she had in her heart this terrible | wildness, out of which came suffering to us also”). 159. Cf. Holmberg 1995 on the competing myths of chastity and lust; on the imperial period, see Lefteratou 2017b. 160. Gorg. Enc. Hel. Frag. 11.60: “for sophistic speeches—​sins for the soul and deception for the mind (ψυχῆς ἁμαρτήματα καὶ δόξης ἀπατήματα)—​have been invented for the sake of beguilement and enchantment.” 161. Sandnes 2011: 190–​1 analysis is rather simplistic: e.g., at 19: “Eudocia’s method is, therefore, to heap up lines about mischievous women in the epic”; However, murderous women in Od. 24.200 and the one in 11.427 are one and the same, Clytemnestra. 162. Cf. also in Or. Sib. 1.31: [Eve] κουριδίην ἄλοχον ~ I HC 79: [Eve] κουρίδιον κτείνασα Faulkner 2020b: 42–​43. 163. Clytemnestra is also used by Proba in her parallel description of Eve, though the Dido foil is more prominent; cf. CPr 171: coniugis infandae ~ A. 11.267. 164. Pandora is considered responsible for sealing away hope, Op. 90–​100, while Mary is the hope of the protoplasts. Cf. Ephr. Syr. Prec. 9.398: τῶν προπατόρων ἡ ἐλπίς; Jo Chrys. de nativ. 45: ἐλπίδα ἀναστάσεως ἐκ τῆς θεοτόκου Μαρίας (“the hope of resurrection from Mary the Theotokos”). 165. On the medieval afterlife of this association, see Archibald 2001: 240–​1. The relationship of Adam and Eve, as well as that of their offspring, was likewise deemed incestuous, Archibald 2001: 25, 125. 166. A verse often quoted to suggest ignorance, as in Luc. Symp. 25, Herod. Lex. 27, Euseb. C. Marc. 1.2.2. 167. The condemnation of Eve is placed in Adam’s mouth in CPr 238: illa dolos dirumque nefas sub pectore versans ~ Aen. 4.563. Older scholarly approaches turned Proba into a more condescending and severe judge of Eve. Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 144–​5,

250  Notes however, argues that, despite the criticism, the use of Dido–​Lavinia foils, i.e., women whose acts were prompted by fate, softens the allegations against Eve. 168. Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016b: 145. 169. On the contrary, the words in II HC 208–​210: κουριδίῳ τεύξασα πόσει φόνον⸥ ⸤ἠδέ οἱ αὐτῇ·| πολλὰς δ’ ἰφθίμους ψυχὰς Ἄϊδι προΐαψεν, | ὡς οὐκ αἰνότερον καὶ κύντερον ἄλλο γυναικός, describe Eve only through the Clytemnestra model from Od. 11.430—​Il. 1.3—​and Od. 11.427, respectively. 170. This confirms how ancient readers also revisited the material studied by Bakker 2013: 140–​1. 171. Il. 21.521–​525: ὡς δ’ ὅτε καπνὸς ἰὼν εἰς οὐρανὸν εὐρὺν ἵκηται | ἄστεος αἰθομένοιο, θεῶν δέ ἑ μῆνις ἀνῆκε, | πᾶσι δ’ ἔθηκε πόνον, πολλοῖσι δὲ κήδε’ ἐφῆκεν, | ὣς Ἀχιλεὺς Τρώεσσι πόνον καὶ κήδε’ ἔθηκεν (“as when smoke ascending goes up into the wide sky from a burning city, with the anger of the gods let loose upon it, which inflicted labor upon them all, and sorrow on many”). On the programmatic character of all menis related passages see Kahane 1992: 117–​8 with literature. On the importance of proems as paratexts, see also MacGóráin 2018: esp. 431–​2. 172. Eustath. ad Il. 4.114 and 549 comes close to imply such a reading when discussing Homeric descriptions of sacked cities. The poet, he notes, “wishes to overview this briefly and not expand on ill-​timed ekphraseis (μὴ ἀκαίροις ἐκφράσεσιν ἐμπλατύνεσθαι) because he knows that concision (στενολεσχία) in these matters is not only more decent but also more successful (rhetorically), and, to say it differently, more imaginative (νοερωτέρα).” The commentator here seems to evoke descriptions of burning cities of which Ilion’s would have been the archetypal model; Homer’s avoidance of such a digression shows his innovative approach to the other embedded narratives. 173. Cf. Dio Or. 11.36, criticizes Homer for summarizing his poem as one on Achilles’ wrath and the sufferings of the Argives and not mentioning in the proem the later events of the plot, namely the sufferings of the Trojans. Also Themist. Theodosius (184, Harduin): ὁ μὲν εὐθὺς ἐν προοιμίοις τὴν μῆνιν τὴν Ἀχιλλέως παραγγείλας ᾄδειν τὴν Καλλιόπην, offers a summary of the proem as a summary of the poem. 174. Rey 1996: 132–​3 proposes an association with the Ascension of Isaiah 10.4, and especially with the Apocryphal Gospel of John preserved in Arabic, which includes a debate between the Father and the Son regarding Salvation. Schembra 2006: 107–​18 suspects the influence of Eznik of Kolb’s treatise Against the Sects 4.1. 175. In CPr 332 the poet omits the rest of Genesis and continues with God’s salvific plan at 333–​338: nunc ad te et tua magna, pater, consulta revertor . . . tua progenies | caelo descendit ab alto | attulit et noblis aliquando optantibus aetas auxilium adventumque (“now Father, I turn to you once again and to your great plans . . . for your child descended from heaven on high and at last an age brought aid to us who wished for it”). 176. CPr 298–​309, the sins of the iron age: war, ownership, murder, avarice, indifference, and lack of hospitality. CPr 300–​317 also lists the evil deeds of the generation of Cain that led to the Flood, and presents a Neptune-​like vengeful god, stating in 307 about Jupiter: tum pater omnipotens | graviter commotus ab alto ~ Aen. 7.770 and 1.126

Notes  251 (Neptune): graviter commotus. The wrath of Poseidon who, in the Odyssey, torments the hero with similar tempests, provides a parallel of a god wreaking vengeance on a human. Moreover, the allusions to the model of Neptune for God mitigate the topos of a man’s hubris provoking a god’s revenge, since Neptune, unlike Juno, is favorably disposed toward Aeneas. Despite his anger, God similarly quells the Flood and saves Noah. 177. Arc. 7.128–​129: τοίη πρωτογόνοιο νεόσπορος ἤλυθεν ἄτη | δειλοῖσι μερόπεσσιν, ὅθεν στάχυς ἐβλάστησεν (“such is the word newly sprung from our first parent which has come upon wretched mortals and from this source has sprouted the crop of evil”). 178. E.g., Arc. 8.21: μῆνιν ἀεὶ προφέρουσιν; 25: θεοῦ ζηλήμονα μῆνιν εἴρυσαν; see Moreschini et al. 1997: 42 and the relevant commentary. 179. The line was part of a debate on Fate in the sense of εἱμαρμένη, cf. Chrysippus frag. 937 (von Arnim) and the discussion in Plut. Quomodo. adul. 6 =​Mor. 23d. 180. In Porph. Q. ad Il.24.527 and Q. ad Od. 1.5: “[the poet here] shows that for those events that happen because of fortune and from external cause, the wise man is not in control; but of those events that we and our drive initiate, great is the one who can lay hold of them.” On the philosophical reception of these lines see e.g., Lamberton 1986 17. 181. Euseb. Praep. ev. 6.8.2: οὐ γὰρ τὸ πάντα γίνεσθαι καθ’ εἱμαρμένην (“not everything is done according to fate”); commenting on Chrysippus Frag. 999 (von Arnim) quoting Od. 1.6. Buffière 2010: 315–​6; cf. also Ahrensdorf 2014: 200–​206 on how the proem and his moral depiction of Odysseus is undermined in the main narrative of the hero’s adventures. The Homeric passages about sin and free will are also part of Thecla’s extensive explanation in Method. Olymp. Symp. Virg. 8.14–​17, where she defends the goodness found in the divine and the man’s capacity and responsibility to choose good as opposed to evil (17: τὰ βέλτιστα πρὸ τῶν φαύλων αἱρουμένους). 182. For the use of ἀτασθαλία as alluding to sin cf. Vis. D. 133, 192: πάντες ἀλειταίνουσιν ἀτασ[θαλί]ῃσι κ̣ακῇσ̣ι̣ν (everyone sins with evil wickedness). 183. Here not in the sense of “refreshment” as in the Homeric text, but in the Hesiodic sense of “blessing”; cf. Hes. Op. (West) 346 and 822; or even of grace. On ὄνειρα as ὠφέλεια, profit Σ ad Il. 22.433. 184. Christians found difficult to related Zeus’ mortal offspring with Jesus, cf. Orig. C. Cels. 1.42. 185. This is a case of the Christianization of a Homeric meaning; in Homer, Alcinous makes his son stand up, ἀναστήσας, so that Odysseus can sit. See Schembra 2006: 119–​20. 186. Cf. Section 2.2. 187. Beatrice 1985. 188. Among the many sins enlisted—​such as murder/​violence, avarice, gluttony, lust, sacrificing to idols, idleness, and violence—​there are two traditionally Graeco-​ Roman virtues that humans are lacking: φιλοξενία (I HC 117) in this poem particularly aimed at Jesus, who comes as stranger to this world to preach; the second is φιλοτιμία (Ι ΗC 118–​119: φάτις . . . ἐσθλή, χαίρουσι δὲ πατὴρ καὶ πότνια μήτηρ) also as a family value.

252  Notes 189. For the same amalgamation of adventure and paraenetic themes in biblical poetry, in particular Proba, Pollmann 2017: 115. 190. Cf. Mt 9:17: “neither is new wine put into old wineskins; otherwise, the skins burst, and the wine is spilled, and the skins are destroyed; but new wine is put into fresh wineskins, and so both are preserved.”

Chapter 4 1. tr. J. Carson & N. Sarris 2004. 2. Lignadis 1989 (1971): 189–​93. Cf. the dolphin with trident on the Hellenistic mosaic on Delos; and the dolphin with trident fresco in the Callisto catacombs. 3. The sketch here is based on information in Cook 2011: 193–​4 and Jensen 2017: ch. 3. 4. On the building program of the Holy Land, see e.g., Wharton 1992, Ousterhout 2006, Koltun-​Fromm 2017, and Yasin 2012 with literature. 5. Drijvers 1992. 6. Eger. Itin. 24.8 (the Easter celebrations) and 48.1 (the Cross celebration) (Brodersen). 7. Cf. Jer. Ep. 108.9 (Paula) and Ep. 19.10–​13 (Melania). On pilgrimage, see Hunt 1982 and the contributions in Part III in Elsner and Rutherford 2005: 373–​450. 8. August. Enarr. in Pss. 36.2.4 (PL 36:366), in Cook 2012: 401. 9. Nestorius could not accept that Godhead was crucified on Golgotha, whereas Cyril considered it imperative from his soteriological perspective; both confessed “orthodoxy” as they believed the incarnate Christ to be both God and man but the nature of the union, especially on the moment of his death, was heavily debated. The controversy reached a settlement of sorts in 451 at the Council of Chalcedon that proclaimed Christ as consubstantial with the Father and consubstantial with mankind, but the Church was eventually split as a result The literature is vast: see e.g., on theopatheia, divine suffering see Gavrilyuk 2004; on Cyril see McGuckin 2004; on Nestorius see Bevan 2016; for more diachronic approaches on the unity of Christ see Beeley 2012: esp. 211, 269–​271, and Daley 2018: ch. 1. 10. Jensen 2017: 84, Fig. 4.5, in which Jesus appears suffering. 11. The idea that biblical poetry was an attempt to unify the various versions of the Gospel in one work downplays both the poetic and exegetical agenda of biblical poetry and suggests a scholarly bias toward the canon. On Tatian, see Petersen 1994: 96, n. 46; on Juvencus’ reception within the tradition of the Diatessaron, see Nordenfalk 1973. Green 2006: 24–​26 gives a negative response in the case of both Juvencus and Sedulius. Sandnes 2019: 39 and 2022: too calls Eudocia’s poem a “cento harmony.” But as O’Loughlin 2010 shows, the trend for harmony was less popular in Late Antiquity. 12. Schembra 2006: 496. 13. I am not discussing in detail the Euripidean cento Chr. Pat. because its date is still heavily debated, (cf. Most 2008) but a brief comparison is found in Accorinti 2020: 238. 14. On the puzzling inclusion of Pilate’s name in the Creed of 381, Staats 1987, Staats 2011: 1571–​4.

Notes  253 15. Important overviews are Rahner 1963 and now Leppin 2015. 16. Orig. C. Cels. 3.24 and 1.3 and Just. I Apol. 46.2–​4 and II Apol. 10.7, already established the analogy between Jesus and Socrates, an idea that may derive from John’s Gospel, as Van Kooten 2017 argues. 17. Cf. Porph. C. Christ. frag. 63 (Harnack), compares Jesus’ silence to Apollonius’ eloquence before Domitian, as in Philostr. VA 7.32ff. See Elsner 2011 with literature. On Apollonius and Jesus, see Koskenniemi 1994; on Socrates and Jesus, see Rahner 1963: 192, 355. 18. Cf. the wordplay Aesch. PV 85–​87: Προμηθέα . . . προμηθέως, echoed in Didym. De Trin. PG 39.908: “we who live because of the cross of Jesus, and who are salvaged because of his own providing death (τῷ προμηθεστάτῳ αὐτοῦ θανάτῳ).” For Prometheus in Late Antiquity, see e.g., Kaiser-​Minn 1981 and esp. for visual evidence, Bremmer 2008a: 21, 33. A probably Christian scholiast also describes Zeus as “crucifying” Prometheus, Σ ad Il.14.296a. 19. Luc. Prom. 1.18: “a cross would be thoroughly opportune.” Elsewhere Lucian turns Jesus into a martyred hero, cf. Peregr. 11–​16 in which he presents a philosopher becoming a pupil, then a tutor of Christians in Palestine, and eventually undoing their belief in a crucified God, cf. Hengel 1997: 11, Gavrilyuk 2004: 76. 20. Among primary sources, see e.g., Hippol. Rom. Ref. omn. Haer. 7.13.1; Clem. Protr. 12.118.1–​4 with Rahner 1963: 374–​82. See also the material, though not necessarily the argument, in McDonald 1994: e.g., 260, 279–​280. The visual and literary evidence is also available in Weitzmann 1979: 57. See also Zilling 2015 with previous literature. For the Christian reception of Odysseus “crucified” on the mast see Rahner 1963: ch. 8; for the similarities between the Neoplatonic and Christian reception of Odysseus see Pépin 1982. For the boat as symbol for the cross, especially the mast in Christianity see Daniélou 1965: ch. 4. For Christianity and Platonism see Rist 1985. 21. On Asclepius, Dionysus and Heracles, see Orig. C. Cels. 3.42. For Hermes, see Accorinti 1995 and Agosti 2016d: 238, with literature. On Orpheus, see Jourdan 2010. For Dionysus, see, e.g., Turcan 1966 and Kerényi and Manheim 1976, Shorrock 2011, Friesen 2015, Pollmann 2017: ch. 6. On the descent, see Bremmer 2002. 22. Tert. Marc. 3.18. For visual parallels of Old and New Testament scenes, see the discussion of the sarcophagus of Junius Bassus (Rome 359 CE) in Harley-​McGowan 2015: 295–​6. 23. Ps 119:48–​49: καὶ ἐλάλουν ἐν τοῖς μαρτυρίοις σου | ἐναντίον βασιλέων καὶ οὐκ ᾐσχυνόμην (“I spoke of your testimonies in front of kings, unabashed”). PG 55.685 and Thdt PG 80.1836; in PG 60.138, John notes that parrhesia is necessary for attracting the gentiles. See also Acts 4:32 on the Apostle’s confrontation with rulers. 24. Cyr. Jer. Catech. 13.20. 25. Jensen 2017: 29–​32. 26. For the Jewish origin of this legend see e.g., Orig. Comm. Mt 263 (Klostermann): Ἑβραῖοι παραδιδόασι; Epiph. Panar. 2.208; For an overview see Grypeou and Spurling 2013: 60–​70, with literature. 27. Spanoudakis 2014b.

254  Notes 28. I deal cautiously with the evidence provided by a lost amulet of the Crucifixion and the inscription Ορφεος-​Βακκικος (OF 6791) as it may have been a forgery; see Carotta and Eickenberg 2009. 29. On one a large bloodstone examined by Harley-​McGowan 2015: Fig. 18.1, 292, Jesus appears alone with a magical script around him. The mid-​fourth-​century Constanza gemstone shows Jesus crucified among his twelve disciples, see Harley-​McGowan 2015: Fig. 18.3, 293. 30. For the color symbolism, see Entwistle and Adams 2011: esp. 62–​3 on bloodstones. 31. For the scene as a “metonym” of the entire Passion because it marks the end of Jesus’ ministry, see Elsner 2011: 363. Later, in the fifth century, scenes such as the Women at the Tomb and the Kiss and Suicide of Judas, whose death (again on/​from) a wood (tree/​cross) stands in contrast to the life-​giving death of Jesus become increasingly popular. Harley-​McGowan 2003: 21 and Harley-​McGowan 2015: 298 on Pilate’s prominence. 32. Jensen 2017: Fig. 4.1, fourth-​century ivory casket. See also the discussion in Elsner and Huskinson 2010. 33. See Harley-​McGowan 2019, with literature. On the afterlife of the tropaion/​trophy iconography, see Harley-​McGowan 2015: 131–​8. 34. Jensen 2011: 79–​80 on the Arles sarcophagus. 35. E.g., the Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus, which links the Sacrifice of Isaac and the Crucifixion; or the water /​baptismal symbolism that links Pilate, Moses, and Peter on the St-​Honorat-​les-​Alyscamps sarcophagus in Arles, Elsner 2011: 369, 73, passim. For the Roman pedigree of early Christian art, see Harley-​McGowan 2019. 36. Elsner 2011: 380. Cf. earlier Elsner 1998: 191–​6, discussing the various “Christian pasts” reflected in early Christian art. 37. Harley-​McGowan 2015: Fig. 18.9. 38. Choricius Laudatio Marciani 1.74. 39. Although this is not an image of a crucified Jesus, Paul. Nol. Ep. 32.10. 40. E.g., Rabbula Gospels with illuminations that show Jesus in a long gown, dying with his head bowed in a sign of human weakness, as in John 19:30. Due to doctrinal debates, he is replaced elsewhere by a lamb, Viladesau 2006: 46–​7. 41. O’Loughlin 2010: e.g., 8–​9. 42. The debate is extensive and impossible to cover here. Below, I summarize the evidence in Matera 1986. On the soteriological character of John’s Gospel, see Wiles 2011. 43. 14th or 15th (for John) of Nissan. The celebration was on the agenda at the Council of Nicaea, Euseb. Vit. Const. 17.1–​20, Averil Cameron and Hall 1999: 259–​61. 44. E.g., In the “Seven Sayings” in Mt 27:46–​50 and Mk 15:34, Jesus cries on the cross in despair (Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani?), but in Lk 23:24, 42–​44, and 46, he is composed and even forgives his torturers and the good thief. While in Mt 27:50, Mk 15:37, and Lk 23:46, Jesus utters a scream before breathing his last, in Jo 19:28 and 30 he first asks for water so that he can fulfil the Davidic Prophecy (Ps 22:15 and 69:21), then articulates the famous τετέλεσται. 45. This is the argument presented in Van Kooten 2022: esp. 643–​635, as the Johannine God must bleed human blood, not ichor.

Notes  255 46. See Cook 1993 for an overview. 47. Cf. Johnson 2006b on Thecla and Eudoc. Cypr. Sowers 2008: esp. ch. 3, Sowers 2020a: 79–​84, and Bevegni 2006 on the sources. 48. The text Bovon and Geoltrrain 1997: 247–​54 and the detailed commentary by Foster 2010: 186, 308, 24–​29. 49. The texts related to Pilate circulated from the fourth century onward but the exact dates are impossible to nail. See Bovon and Geoltrrain 1997, Gounelle 2013a. Pilate’s alleged report to Tiberius is mentioned as early as Tert. Apol. 21.24, Euseb. HE 9.5, Epiph. Panar. 50, related to the celebration of Easter. The death and exoneration of Pilate in the East differs from his death as a villain in the Latin-​speaking West, Staats 1987. 50. See Lampe 1984, esp. on the Roman character of the governor, and Roddy 2000: 147. 51. For the one truth of the Four Gospels, see Hengel 2000. O’Loughlin 2010: 9 argues that the early establishment of the canon was stronger than the innovative attempts to create harmonies of gospels. On Eusebius’ philological endeavors and his tables, found in Nestle & Aland 1994: 79, 84–​89, see Crawford 2019. 52. E.g., cf. Canon I: 328 ≈ Mt 27:24–​26 Pilate washes hands; Jesus scourged; 206 ≈ Mk 15:15 Jesus scourged; 314 ≈ Lk 23:24 no mention of flagellation; 196 ≈ Jo 19:16 no mention of flagellation. 53. Epist. Carp. 1–​14. Cf. the list of questions and answers by Hesych. Jer. Coll. PG 93, 1429–​1432, who argues that no discord exists between the narratives (οὐδεμία διαφωνία), and that the differences depend on their writer’s choice of focus. 54. On the so-​ called Buchreligionen, see e.g., Assmann 2005; see also Stroumsa 2008: esp. 66 with a focus on Late Antiquity and “the codex-​revolution.” 55. The analysis here and below owes a lot to Blowers 2012: 268–​70, who discusses the textual evidence in detail. 56. Blowers 2012: 280. 57. For some preliminary material, see Edwards 2009; for up to the fourth century, Prieur 2006; for a general analysis of the Crucifixion within the divine economy, Blowers 2012: ch. 8, 263ff. 58. Tert. Apol. 21.24. 59. Mt 27:24 in Cyr. Jer. Catech. 13.3 and 13.21, see also Staats 2011: 1573. 60. Orig. C. Cels. 2.34. 61. Cyr. Alex. In. Jo 3.52. 62. Orig. Comm. Mt PG 17.305. 63. Cyr. Alex. In. Jo 3.85–​86. Cf. Greg. Nyss. Hom. in Cant. 15, PG 6.203 hastens to clarify that Jesus, unlike David, was King not only of the Jews, and claims that the inscription declared the pars pro toto. 64. Cyr. Alex. In. Jo 3.85, 3.94. 65. Didym. Trin. PG 39.912. 66. Cf. Cyr. Alex. In Jo 3.93: “in his last moments the flesh is suffering something akin and natural (ἴδιόν τε καὶ φυσικόν).” 67. Gavrilyuk 2004: 147–​9, 172; Grillmeier et al. 1975: 457. On Cyril’s ambivalent terminology, see e.g., Grillmeier et al. 1975: esp. 478–​80 and van Loon 2009. Cf. McGuckin

256  Notes 1994: 153: “Cyril felt that the language about bi-​polarity was a thin veneer over a doctrine that quite openly spoke about ‘the man Jesus’ and the ‘God Logos’ in several contexts, which to him was nothing other than dual subjectivity . . . Moreover, the refusal to allow for Cross-​language references such as ‘God the Word died on the Cross’ (provided always that one either understood, or added the proper context ‘as enfleshed in the incarnation’) was for Cyril not an attack on misguided piety but on the essential heart of the Gospel.” 68. On this personification of Eos also above Section 1.2.1.3. 69. Cf. the metanarrative allusions in Soph. O.T. 438: ἥδ’ ἡμέρα φύσει σε καὶ διαφθερεῖ; for tragic plots as taking place within one day see Arist. Po. 1449b: ὑπὸ μίαν περίοδον ἡλίου (“during one cycle of the sun”). On the metaphors of light here, see Lefteratou 2020b: 286. Cf. also the allusions to Judas’ punishment in terms of tisis (2018: ἐπισμυγερῶς ἀπέτισεν) following the digression on the eclipse after the Crucifixion. Here Judas assumes the role of Aegisthus, and as in the drama, is punished for his transgression. 70. Christian prayer and ritual developed around the third, sixth, and ninth hour of the day (09:00, 12:00, 18:00). These correspond to the events of the Creation and, typologically, of the Passion: e.g., man’s creation takes place in the morning, transgression at noon, and fall in the evening; similarly Jesus is crucified on the third hour of Passover (e.g., Mk 15:25) and darkness falls from the sixth to the ninth hour (Mt 27:45, Mk 15:33, Lk 23:44); or in John he is crucified at noon the day of preparation of the Passover (Jo 19:14). Grypeou and Spurling 2013: 63 with literature. 71. E.g., Il. 11.713: τὸν ἀμφεστρατόωντο διαρραῖσαι μεμαῶτες (siege of the city Thryoessa); Il.11.733: ἀμφέσταν δὴ ἄστυ διαρραῖσαι μεμαῶτες (setting the scene of the attack by the Epeioi). Note that II HC 1625 opts for a very different line from Od. 16.428 on the attacks of Thesprotians. 72. For Aristophanes as a model of the late invective especially in Nonnus, see Agosti 2001c: 233. 73. AAPil. B 9.2: “Pilate, then, furious, said: ever since your race has always been given to slander and untrustworthy, and you are always the accusers (ἀντίδικοι) of your benefactors.” For ἀντίδικος in the sense of the accuser, see Lys. 7.13. 74. On the New Testament revisiting the rhetoric of pagan slander, see Johnson 1989 who quotes on p. 435 a very interesting passage from Philo Leg. 26.166 that reverses the Gentile rhetoric aimed at the Jewish diaspora, and instead calls the Egyptians “a seed bed of evil in whose souls both the venom and the temper of the native crocodiles and wasps are reproduced.” For psogos, “vituperation,” aimed at Jews in late antique poetry, see Agosti 2001c: 243. 75. Cf. Par. 18.12–​14: καὶ στρατὸν ἀσπιστῆρα δεδεγμένος ἀρχιερήων | καὶ πολὺν οἰστρήεντα παρ’ ἀρχεκάκων Φαρισαίων | σύνδρομον ἄλλον ἔχων κορυνηφόρον ἐσμὸν ὁδίτην (“Judas, receiving the army of high priests equipped for war, and having with him a great, traveling swarm from the evil-​causing Pharisees, a club-​ bearing swarm, stung into madness, that went with him”). 76. Cf. Greg. Naz. De vita sua 2.1.11: ἄτακτα παφλάζουσιν ἢ σφηκῶν δίκην | ᾄττουσιν εὐθὺ τῶν προσώπων ἀθρόως (“blustering in complete disorder more than a

Notes  257 swarm of wasps suddenly flying into your face”); C. Eunomianos, Homily 27.9: τί σφηκιὰς ἐγείρεις κατὰ τῆς πίστεως; (“what kind of wasps nests do you bring against faith?”). See Agosti 2001c: 230–​3 on Gregory and Christian invective. See also the Aristophanic references to describing the god-​haters (βέβηλοι, θεήμαχοι) in Arc. 1.19 in Moreschini et al. 1997: 83 alluding to Ran. 345–​371. 77. Ps 118:12 Septuagint: ἐκύκλωσάν με ὡς μέλισσαι κηρίον . . . ἠμυνάμην αὐτοῖς. 78. See a parallel in Didym. Com. Pss. 29–​34, 147–​148 (Gronewald): “the Israelites were dwelling around Jesus . . . These [the Jews] have been in his circle. He says therefore ‘and they surrounded me like bees a honeycomb.’ [Which means] They surrounded me in a warlike (πολεμικῶς) manner.” 79. Cf. Jo 18:12: “so the cohort and the centurion and the Jewish police arrested Jesus and bound him.” 80. Agosti 2001c: 242. 81. Elsner 2011. 82. Cf. Par. 19.83 and 19.52: ‘Πιλάτος μενέαινεν ἐᾶσαι | Ἰησοῦν ἀδίκαστον ἀνειμένον ἐκτὸς ὀλέθρου (“Pilate, judging Him again, desired to let | Jesus go without condemnation, free from doom”), tr. Hadjittofi. Par. 19.108: ἦν δὲ μιῆς παλάμης νοερῷ κεχαραγμένον ὁλκῷ (“the title was incised by the intelligent drawing of a single palm”). See the analysis in Lefteratou 2022b, where the Nonnian trial echoes that of Socrates and ends with Pilate’s confession on the titutlus. 83. Cf. Ariston. De signis Od. 18.115–​116; Vita Homeri 2263; Ps.-​Nonn. Σ Or. 4.48. For the Homeric reception of Echetos, whose name in the Christian poem means “powerful” (from ἔχω), see Schembra 2006: 486–​8, who believes that by portraying Pilate as such a dangerous man the cento draws on historical accounts of his irascibility. 84. By contrast, in the Paraphrasis, Pilate is depicted as short-​tempered but not necessarily evil: e.g., Par 18.181: θρόνον ὀξὺς ἐάσας and AAPil. B 9.3: καὶ ταῦτα εἰπὼν ὁ Πιλάτος ἠγέρθη τοῦ θρόνου μετὰ θυμοῦ. 85. Par. 18.172: μεταχείριος ἔκδοτος. The translation is mine; Hadjittofi translates the line as: “for me not to be delivered into the hands of the Hebrews.” Here, “μεταχείριος” is used for slaves; cf. the Lat.: manus injectio, in manu, “to arrest.” 86. Phil 2:6–​7: ὃς ἐν μορφῇ θεοῦ ὑπάρχων οὐχ ἁρπαγμὸν ἡγήσατο τὸ εἶναι ἴσα θεῷ, ἀλλὰ ἑαυτὸν ἐκένωσεν μορφὴν δούλου λαβών, ἐν ὁμοιώματι ἀνθρώπων γενόμενος· (“but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited”). Gavrilyuk 2004: 19, 150–​3, Cyr. Alex. Ad augustas 4, ACO 1.1.5.28. Nestorius Epist. Ad Cyrillum 2.6. See also Daley 2018: 187 on Nestorius’ use of the passage to demonstrate the unity of Christ. 87. Greg. Naz. C. Jul. 4.92 (PG 35.624): “such were the issues concerning Arethas’ [martyrdom] and of such kind, that there was little difference between these and the inhumanity and savagery (τὴν Ἐχέτου καὶ Φαλάριδος ἀπανθρωπίαν) of Echetos and Phalaris.” 88. Jo 19:16, although in it, Pilate tries to exculpate Jesus 19:12: ἐζήτει ἀπολῦσαι τὸν Ἰησοῦν. Pilate’s initial positive attitude is noted by some exegetes who attribute his change of heart to peer pressure due to Herod, Lk 23:7; cf. Orig. Comm. Mt 12.1 (Klostermann).

258  Notes 89. E.g., in interpreting Mt 27:11, Origen observes in Schol. in Mt PG 17.305: “look if the statement ‘You said so’ [Mt 15:2] to the high priest refutes his latent disbelief (τὸν δισταγμὸν αὐτοῦ λεληθότα ἐλέγχει); however, the ‘You said so’ to Pilate, approves of his declaration.” 90. For Homer, see e.g., Edwards 1975: 55, esp. on Achilles’ libation. 91. Cf. Athen. Deipn. 9.76 discusses hand washing at length and compiles relevant passages from the Greek classics, an indication that these lines were part of a broader and not solely Homeric discussion. 92. ~ Od. 9. 174, 1.146; and 16.229. Schembra 2006: 492 sees in the presence of the κήρυκες in this passage a reprise of the servants who appear in AAPil. B 9.4 and in the visual arts, where they pour the water over Pilate’s hands. See also Usher 1998: 102 for the scene’s stereotypical character. 93. Cf. Il. 16.233: Ζεῦ ἄνα Δωδωναῖε Πελασγικέ; this opening line of the prayer is often quoted: e.g., Herod. De prosod. 3.1.480; Strab. 5.2.4, 7.7.10; Plut. Quomodo adul. 11 =​ Mor. 31e. 94. Il. 16.255–​230. For a description and on the reception of this cup, see Athen. Deipn. 11.24 (Kaibel). 95. On the revelatory character of his utterances, see Schembra 2006: 490–​1. 96. For the Iliadic passage, see Pucci 2018: 103–​5. 97. Il. 16.241. 98. In AAPil. B 3.1: “and Pilate took water and washed his hands before the sun and said: ‘I am innocent of the blood of this righteous man. You see to it’ [Mt 27:24].” 99. For Pilate’s washing of hands and baptism, see e.g., Tert. Bapt. 9.4, Cyr. Jer. Catech. 13.21; on the visual images, see Jensen 2011: 79 and Elsner 2011: 375; for the early Apostolic and Apologetic evidence, see Staats 2011: 1573. 100. Lefteratou 2022b: 237. 101. Agosti 2012b: 204–​8. 102. Lefteratou 2022b: 233. 103. Cyr. Jer. Cat. 13.21; “the blood for the Jews and the water for the Christians”.​ 104. Od. 16.397–​398. 105. Od. 16.401–​402: δεινὸν δὲ γένος βασιλήϊόν ἐστι | κτείνειν. The line is also found in Ephorus FGrHist 70 F69 in a discussion on the divine and is preserved in the Schol ad. Od. 3.214e, about kingship and the liberties a king may take. 106. Cf. Mt 17:11, Mk 15:2–​5, and Lk 23:3: σὺ εἶ ὁ βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων; ὁ δὲ ἀποκριθεὶς αὐτῷ ἔφη· σὺ λέγεις. The interrogation is chiefly about the claims to kingship. In Jo 19:7–​8, during Jesus’ third inquisition, Pilate appears to be afraid as the charge of Jesus’ divine ancestry is alarming. 107. Par. 18.163, 19.2, 19.197. The debate is typical not only of John but also of Matthew; see the political undertones in Matthew’s Gospel in Carter 2011: 45–​168; for John, see Rensberger 1984. On the historical framework, see e.g., Bond 1998: 170–​ 1: “within the Roman trial narrative the issue of Jesus’ kingship suddenly becomes prominent; the word ‘king’ occurs seven times. The impression is that John wants to focus on the title and to describe exactly in what sense Jesus really was a king.” For Jesus and Messianic kingship in John, see Ashton 2007: on Revelation.

Notes  259 108. Par. 18.158: βασιλεύς; and 162: σκηπτoῦχος, alluding to Ιl.1.279: σκηπτοῦχος βασιλεύς, ᾧ τε Ζεὺς κῦδος ἔδωκεν; and Od. 4.64: διοτρεφέων βασιλήων σκηπτούχων. 109. Cf. Jo 18:37: “Pilate said to him, ‘So you are a king?’ Jesus answered, ‘You say that I am a king’.” 110. The mention of Proteus the sophist may recall the fact that the Gnostics worshipped Jesus along with pagan philosophers, using an icon supposedly custom-​made by Pilate, Staats 1987: 500. 111. The literature on dreams and visions, and the thin margin between the two, is vast; see e.g., Hanson 1980, Cox Miller 1994. 112. Orig. In Mt PG 17.308: τῆς ποτε ὑπὸ Πιλάτου κυριευομένης ἐκκλησίας. The case is even more explicit in the AAPil. B 1.6 and 2.1, in which Caesar’s standards bow before Jesus, and the dream sent to Pilate’s wife is used to frame Jesus not as a sorcerer, not a holy man. 113. Cyr. Alex. In Jo 3.70: “but Pilate, being an idolater, how could he have given ear to the voice of the Savior, who was claiming he has truth and was himself truth’s offspring?” 114. C. Cels. 2.38; AAPil 6.4: “why do you want to kill a just man?” 115. See Galinski 1969: 4–​7 on pagan and Christian authors who questioned Aeneas’ piety. Of course, the chief poem to examine the Jesus–​Aeneas analogy is the CPr 143 ~ Aen. 1.279, 1.31, G. 4.208. See Schottenius-​Cullhed 2016a: 168–​9 interpreting God’s order to Adam to establish an imperium sine fine in supernatural terms. See also the reworking of Aeneas in Juvencus as a model of piety in Flatt 2016. For an overview, see Hardie 2019: ch. 3, esp. 97. See Garrison 2010: esp. 21–​5, 31–​6, who observes that the identification of pagan and Christian pietas takes place in the Middle Ages. But elements of this approach can already be found in imperial panegyric for both pagan and Christian emperors, cf. Tommasi 2016; on pietas, see Liebeschuetz 1079: 243. 116. Ariston. De sign. 20.297 and the Σ ad Od. 20.298, stress the hero’s opposition to the war: “Aeneas did not align with the war of the Priamids; this is why Priam was wary of him, and not, as some say, because he was eyeing his kingship.” On Jesus and kingship, cf. Jo 18:36: “My kingdom is not from this world,” and the discussion of the inscription on the cross above. 117. Cf. LSJ s.v. III.2, κεχαρισμένος, in the Iliad an adjective, whereas in the Christian poem the meaning is closer to II.1, with the accusative, “to give graciously.” 118. Cf. Schembra 2006: 63: “doni dà Dio.” 119. Cf. Nonn. Par. 3.139: γέρας θεόθεν κεχαρισμένον. 120. “Νεμεσσηθῶμεν” instead of “νεμεσσηθέωμεν,” which is the text in Allen ad loc., who adopts Aristarchus’ emendation (Σ in Od. 24.52). Cf. Eustath. ad Od.4.867 also observes that the verb may be used on several occasions with both a passive and active meaning, ibid.: ὅρα δὲ τὸ ‘νεμεσσηθῶμεν’ παθητικῶς τε προφερόμενον καὶ ἐνεργητικῶς δὲ πολλαχοῦ. 121. Platt 2011: 64 and Petridou 2015 on this axiomatic principle of epiphany. 122. Od. 24.520–​525.

260  Notes 123. The two passages, the one illustrating the power of the mob rule (Eupeithes), the other the cruel tyrant (Echetos), are juxtaposed in Ps.-​Plutarch, V. Hom. Mor. 54b, 182 (Keaney-​Lamberton), in a discussion relating to Homer’s knowledge of the different kinds of government. 124. Cf. Pilate is the subject of all the following actions: Mt 27:26: παρέδωκεν; Mk 15:15: παρέδωκεν; Lk 23:25: παρέδωκεν; Jo 19:1: ἐλαβεν . . . καὶ ἐμαστίγωσεν. 125. The sources here are Jo 19:1–​3, Mk 15:15, and Mt 27:26. 126. Cf. Cribiore 2008, on how Libanius composed an encomium of Thersites to serve as a contrast to the earlier invective against him by Aristides. For the reception of Thersites among the poets composing invective from Archilochus to Gregory of Nazianzus, see Hawkins 2014: 7–​15; for the Iliad as a model for the late antique orator, see Quiroga Puertas 2019: esp. 32–​47 on Thersites and his reception in Late Antiquity. 127. Il. 2.261–​264. The omitted line is 265: ὣς ἄρ᾽ ἔφη, σκήπτρῳ δὲ μετάφρενον ἠδὲ καὶ ὤμω | πλῆξεν (“so he spoke and dashed the scepter against his back and shoulders”). 128. Schembra 2006: 495 understands it as an echo of the scourging of Jesus in the AAPil. B 10.1: ἤρξαντο οἱ Ἰουδαῖοι τύπτειν τὸν Ἰησοῦν ἐπὶ τὸν νῶτον (“the Jews started hitting Jesus on the back”). 129. The image of the bloody bruise had a happy afterlife in late antique poetry describing violence: e.g., Briseis in Q.S. 3.554 hits her breast on top of the dead Achilles, blood running against the whiteness of her skin; Sinon arrives at the Trojans covered in blood and convinces them to take in the Trojan Horse, Tryphiod. 259; cf. the fight between Aristaeus and Aeacus in Nonn. Dion. 37.537. 130. For the aesthetics of violence in Quintus, see Kaufmann 2019; for religious violence in Nonnus see Dijkstra 2015 and Agosti 2016c; for the war scenes in Nonnus, see Kaufmann 2016. 131. Cox Miller 2009: 122: “by aligning images of mutilation and disfigurement with images of light, hagiographers of desert ascetics maintained their subjects in a tensive perch between transcendence and materiality.” For perceptions of the body, see Brown 1988. 132. Cf. 1 Tim 4:7: “I have fought the good fight (ἀγῶνα ἠγώνισμαι), I have finished the race (δρόμον τετέλεκα), I have kept faith” or 1 Cor 9:24–​25. For the athletic metaphor and martyrdom, see Concannon 2014 with literature. 133. 1 Peter 2:24: “he himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed (οὗ τῷ μώλωπι ἰάθητε)”. 134. The tradition continues throughout Christian discussions of Jesus’ Passion, e.g., Clem. Strom. 2.15.64.2; Just. Dial. 137.1, encouraging Christians not to shy from Jesus’ suffering in the flesh; Euseb. In Is. 2.42: “it was natural that he underwent bruising across his body and would as he was beaten and scourged, and slapped on the face and hit on the head with a reed. But these bruises are life-​saving for us.” 135. Athan. C. Ar. 3.31: “he himself was not harmed by ‘bearing our sins in his body upon the tree,’ as Peter [1 Peter 2:24] says, but we human beings were redeemed from our own possibilities and filled with the righteousness of the Word.” See Beeley

Notes  261 2018: 208, 217, esp. on the unity of the subject of bruising in Athanasius and Greg. Naz. Antirrh. 161. 136. Gavrilyuk 2004: 17, 121–​8, and 154 in the Theotokos controversy; Grillmeier et al. 1975: 467–​72. 137. For a detailed Christological analysis of the Nonnian tunic, see Hadjittofi 2018. On Jesus conflated earthly and heavenly kingship here see Lefteratou 2022a. 138. The line alludes to Od. 21.118, Telemachus removing his cloak to shoot the arrow. 139. I HC 1854 δῆσε; 1857: ἦλθον δρηστῆρες; 1870: δήμιοι. On the Christianization of the term δρηστήρ, see Schembra 2006: 420. 140. E.g., I HC 1860: οὐκ ὄπιδα τρομέοντες ~ Od. 20.215 alluding to the suitors; see also the rhyming exchange of δρηστῆρες in the Christian poem for μνηστῆρες. I HC 1557: δρηστῆρας . . . ἀτάσθαλα μηχανόωντας ~ Od. 18.143; I HC 1633: δρηστῆρες ἀγήνορες ~ Od. 17.65; I HC 1794: δρηστήρων χείρεσσι ~ Od. 21.373: μνηστήρων χείρεσσι; and, similarly, in I HC 1779, 1887, 1872, 1937, 2039. 141. On which, see Nagy 1999 (1976), Goldhill 1991, especially on the poetic crystallization of heroic kleos and Goldhill 2020, on the late antique appropriation of kleos. For the Christian revision of kleos now attributed to God, see Simelidis 2009. 142. Lk 23:31: ὅτι εἰ ἐν τῷ ὑγρῷ ξύλῳ ταῦτα ποιοῦσιν, ἐν τῷ ξηρῷ τί γένηται; contra see Schembra 2006: 496. 143. Cf. Greg. Naz. PG 37.1537: Σάραπις, ξύλον αὖον (‘Sarapis, a dried-​up wood [sic. an old xoanon/​idol]’); Jo Chrys. PG 62.453: ‘even if one hits a dead body, it does not feel; but like a dried-​up wood so the soul is indeed dried (οὕτω καὶ ἡ ψυχὴ αὖον) after it throws off life. Cf. Apollin. frag. in Pss. 128 (Mühlenberg) also compares the souls of the sinners with dried woods as opposed to those right humans who are compared to the wet woods based on Lk 23:31: ‘For if they do this when the wood is green (ὑγρῷ), what will happen when it is dry (ξηρῷ)?’ See also Cyr. De ador. PG 58.381: ‘[Jesus] calls himself a wet and blossoming wood (ὑγρόν τε καὶ εὐανθές).’ This was already visible to the divine Moses through God’s wood . . . therefore in the case of the Wood of Life in Christ, the bitter become sweet.” 144. However, Nestor, who in the Iliad describes the turning pole to his son, also entertains the possibility of it being a monument, a σῆμα, of an ancient grave, Il. 23.330: ἤ τευ σῆμα βροτοῖο πάλαι κατατεθνηῶτος (“or a monument of some mortal man long ago dead”). The line was considered an example of an early epitaph, cf. V. Hom. 2, 2663, Eustath. ad Il. 2.407. For a joint discussion of both passages with their metanarrative suggestions, see Purves 2013, who shows that memory, stone monuments, and kleos-​related narratives are all susceptible to decay. 145. On the collection of monument-​related lines, see e.g., Etym. Magn. σ 711 s.v. σῆμα; on the ironic tone of Hector’s boasting, see Σ ad Od.7.89a: “he is writing the victor’s inscription on the grave as if he has already won, and not for a specific dead, but without even knowing with whom he will duel he sets forth the funerary speech (τὸ ἐπικήδειον) before death.” On monuments in the Iliad, see Purves 2013: 150. 146. Cf. Nonn. Par. 19.334, and esp. 20.19–​27 an amplification of Jo 20:4: προέδραμεν τάχιον.

262  Notes 147. See Schembra 2006: 501 for the interpretation of σῆμα as σημεῖον, the symbol of the cross. 148. For an intertextual analysis of Nonnus’ crucifixion, see Livrea and Accorinti 1988 and Accorinti 1996a. For a parallel study of the Nonnian crucifixion, the I HC and other biblical poems, see the overview in Accorinti 2020: 233–​8. For an analysis of the Nonnian crucifixion see Lefteratou 2022, with literature. 149. Wiles 2011: 114–​5. In the visual arts the lamb would have been an easily grasped typology (Jensen 2017: 17–​19), but early evidence of the lamb is rare; see, e.g., a second-​century gem, ibid. at 75–​77. 150. Cf. Schembra 2006: 504 quoting AAPil. B 10.2: “so that I hug the neck of my lamb . . . the lamb of my soul.” 151. This, however, is not an image of a crucified Jesus, Paul. Nol. Ep. 32.10: pleno coruscat trinitas mysterio | stat Christus agno, vox patris caelo tonat . . . crucem corona lucido cingit globo, | . . . | pia trinitas unitas Christo coit | habente et ipsa trinitate insignia: | deum revelat vox paterna et spiritus | sanctam fatentur crux et agnus victimam, | regnum et triumphum purpura et palma indicant (“the Trinity shines in full mystery; Jesus stands by the lamb, the voice of the Father thunders from the sky . . . the cross is encircled with a luminous wreath . . . the Holy Trinity is united in Christ and bears itself the signs of Trinity: the fatherly voice and the Holy Spirit reveal the god the cross and the lamb witness the victim, the purple and the palm suggest the kingship and the triumph”). 152. On the first-​person intrusions and their confessional tone, see Sections 2.4.2 and 3.2.1.​ 153. See Figure 4.1. 154. On Homeric intertextuality and the un-​Homeric syntax of this passage, see Usher 1998: 70–​71. 155. Accorinti 2020: 235 and Lefteratou 2022 on the cosmic dimensions. 156. An interesting parallel is the inscription on the column of Symeon as transmitted in the fifth-​century Vita Symeonis Stylitae Senioris (CPG 6724): μεσσηγὺς γαίης τε καὶ οὐρανοῦ ἵσταται ἀνήρ, | πάντοθεν ὀρνυμένους οὐ τρομέων ἀνέμους (“the man is standing between earth and the sky | unafraid of the winds that rush from every direction”). 157. Cypr. 1.69 (Bevegni): Χριστὸν δε τε τῶνδε μεσηγὺ | ἐσταότ᾽ (“and Christ among them standing between earth and the heavens”). 158. See e.g., Eustath. In Od. 1.305: καιριώτερον δὲ εἰπεῖν, μετεωρισθείς. 159. Cf. e.g., Ps.-​Jo Chrys. PG 62.750: “he raised the flesh on the cross, so that the flesh may be lifted up and death fallen (ἡ σὰρξ ὑψουμένη καὶ θάνατος πεπτωκώς).” Athanas. Exp. in Pss. PG 27.381: “he calls ascent the lifting up on the cross.” Cyr. Alex. In xii prophetas min. 1.404 (Pusey), speaks of the elevation as a triumph (τεθριάμβευκε τὸ καθ᾽ἡμῶν χειρόγραφο) of the New Covenant. The aesthetics of paradox are typical of Old Testament and Syriac poetry, as well as later Greek Christian verse, e.g., Ἐγκώμια Στάσις Α’: σήμερον κρεμᾶται ἐπὶ ξύλου, ὁ ἐν ὕδασι τὴν γῆν κρεμάσας . . . ὑψωθεὶς ἐν ξύλῳ, καὶ τοὺς ζώντας βροτούς, συνυψοῖς (“today is suspended on the wood, the one who suspended the earth over the waters . . . being raised up on the wood, he raised with him the living mortals”).

Notes  263 160. Par. 19.31: τετραπόρῳ ὀλέθρω; 76: τετράζυγι δεσμῷ; 92: δόρυ τετράπλευρον. On the Platonic echoes here, see Livrea and Accorinti 1988. See also Rahner 1963: 50 on the Christian reception of Plato’s cosmic chi in Tim. 36b. For a comparison of the Nonnian crucifixion with other biblical poetic versions, see Accorinti 2020; for Nonnus cosmic vision here see Lefteratou 2022a. 161. Cf. below I HC 1893 ~ Od. 12.434, the description of Jesus’ feet on the cross is compared to Odysseus’ escape from the Scylla and the Charybdis. On Eudocia and the theme of the mast, see also Accorinti 2020: 237. The deception of the devil was also part of homiletics: see e.g., Constas 2004: 151–​2 on the Odyssean character of the deception of Satan in Athanasius’ Homily on the Passion and the Cross. For the I HC, see also Usher 1998: 70–​71. 162. The Odyssean allusions to the mast-​cross are more subtle in Nonnus. E.g., Accorinti 2020: 235 finds resemblances between Par. 19.74: δουρατέου θανάτοιο; and the description of the construction of the first ship by Heracles of Tyre in Dion. 40.455: τοίχου δουρατέου πυκινὸν τύπον. 163. Cf. I HC 1925 ~ Od. 20.23: τῷ δὲ μάλ’ ἐν πείσῃ κραδίη μένε τετληκυῖα (“but his heart even more was steadfastly obedient”). The line had a long afterlife in imperial philosophical prose: e.g., Plut. De Garr. 8 =​Mor. 506b (in a compilation of other relevant Homeric lines). 164. In the Od. 12.434 ἐπιβῆναι is translated as “get a foothold”—​cf. LSJ s.v. IV, as Odysseus is hanging over the void, but in the Christian poem it means “treading” or “mount” in the sense of “ascent” especially in relation to the hovering cross; cf. Schembra 2006 ad loc. “né sostenersi saldamente con i piedi né arrampicarsi.” Cf. the metaphorical use in Hom. Il. 8.285 and Apoll. Rhod. Arg.1.447. 165. Orig. C. Cels. 2.68. E.g., Mk 15:30–​32. 166. I HC 201–​203. 167. On the centonist’s debt primarily to John and Luke, see Schembra 2006: 514. 168. On this translation, see Schembra 2006: 430 ad loc. based on Σ ad Od. 19.498. 169. See Schembra 2006: 523–​4 on the amplificatio of Luke’s text and the relevant Christian tradition. 170. Murnaghan 1987: 14, 42. 171. Loney 2019: 210 on Plutarch’s and Ps.-​Apollodorus’ sequels of Odysseus’ murder of the suitors. 172. On the open-​endedness of revenge in the Odyssey, see Loney 2019, esp. ch. 6 on Odysseus’ continuous retribution even after the murder of the suitors. 173. Only two key-​theme lines are the same: οἵ τέ μ’ ἀτιμάζουσι καὶ οἳ νηλειτεῖς εἰσιν, Od. 22.418 =​ I HC 1589 and 1929; and νῦν αὖ παῖδ’ ἀγαπητὸν ἀποκτεῖναι μεμάασιν, Od. 5. 18 =​I HC 1591 and 1932. 174. Cf. I HC 1587–​1594; on blood-​sweat, see 1585 and Lk 22:44. 175. I HC 1587–​1603, esp. 1601–​1603: κείσομ’ ἐπεί κε θάνω· νῦν δὲ κλέος ἐσθλὸν ἀροίμην, | νῦν δ’ ἔτι καὶ μᾶλλον νοέω φρεσὶ τιμήσασθαι. | ἀλλά, πάτερ, ἵληθι, δίδωθι δέ μοι κλέος ἐσθλόν (“I will be then lying dead; but now I could grasp a great glory, for now even more so I understand well that I need to honour (You). But father, be gracious, give me a great glory”). The passage is based on Lk 22:42–​45.

264  Notes 176. Schembra 2007a: 125 s.v. prints τετέλεστο and notes that in Od. 13.40 it is τετέλεσται. Schembra 2006: 523 further observes that the phrasing is a strong allusion to Jo 19:30 (τετέλεσται) and notes that “ancora più sorpredente se pensiamo che τετέλεστο è variante centonaria, dovuta ad esigenze logiche, dell omerico τετέλεσται, assolusamente identico al termine evangelico.” He nonetheless attributes the difference to a memory gap, especially if direct allusion to the Gospel text was possible through the Homeric text; cf. the Annunciation scene in I HC 235: χαῖρε and Lc 1:28: χαῖρε but also all the other cases in which Od. 13.40 is reused unchanged: e.g., HC II 1025, 1498, 1570, 1881; HCb 545; HCb 567. On the exegetical level, I do not see why the completion of Jesus’ work should be phrased in the pluperfect as it will impact the generations to come. Note that an erasure from τετέλεσται to τετέλεστο seems to have occurred in one of the oldest manuscripts in BML, Plut. 5.32. Carta 22r. 177. Which was quoted as a model of supplication in Men. Rhet. Epid. 430. 178. Od. 13.38–​46: with πομπὴ καὶ φίλα δῶρα, τά μοι θεοὶ Οὐρανίωνες | ὄλβια ποιήσειαν at 41–​42. Bowie 2013: 104. 179. Cf. the preceding lines I HC 1930 (ἀτιμάζουσι), 1931 (ὑβρίζοντες), 1933 (ἀποκτεῖναι μεμάασι), 1937 (ἔτισαν), 1938 (λώβης τε καὶ αἴσχεος). 180. E.g., in II HC 1686: ὅ περ τ᾽ἄρρητον ἄμεινον, Jesus utters a word that should have remained unsaid; in II HCa 541–​542 he dies in silence. 181. For late antique katabasis scenes, see Maciver 2017 for Q.S. and Lefteratou 2017c for Nonn. Dion. 182. On their role in the Iliad, see Allan 2005: 13. 183. Σ ad Il. 12.292–​293. Later clearly discussed by Eustath. ad Il. 3.877, who argues that despite the parallel description, Homer favors Patroclus over Sarpedon because he compares them to vultures of different strength to give the impression of equality (διὰ τὸ δῆθεν ἰσοδύναμον). 184. Pagan gods do not shed tears of weakness; the criticism goes back to Plato Rep. 388c., see also Max. Soph. Diss. 18.5. For the Christian criticism, see Clem. Protr. 4.55.3 and Athenag. Leg. pro Christ. 21.2 quoting Zeus’ lament in Il. 16.433. See also the discussion and the theological background in Cobeill 2009. 185. E.g., during his prayer in the Garden, Jesus allegedly sweated blood, Lk 22:44: ἱδρὼς αὐτοῦ ὡσεὶ θρόμβοι αἵματος καταβαίνοντες ἐπὶ τὴν γῆν. Zeus’ famous blood-​rain in Il. 16.459 (αἱματοέσσας δὲ ψιάδας) is not referenced in I HC 1585, but rather Diomedes’ sweat during the chariot race in Il. 23.507 (πολὺς δ’ ἀνεκήκιεν ἱδρώς), an allusion to the agonistic context of his pending martyrdom. 186. For the breaching of the wall as one of the high moments in the epic, see Meerson 2018: 145, who notes that it is also quoted in the Homeromanteion. 187. Pl. Phd. 112a, describing a chasm in which all the rivers merge and from which they flow out again. Stob. revisits the line together with Plato’s interpretation, Stob. 1.49.58. See also the relevant contributions in the discussions of high and late imperial Underworlds in Tanaseanu-​Döbler et al. 2017. 188. Quoted e.g., in Ps.-​Lucian Amor. 32, Philopatr. 23,

Notes  265 189. Cf. I HC 1995–​1997: ἔδδεισεν δ’ ὑπένερθεν ἄναξ ἐνέρων Ἀϊδωνεύς, | δείσας δ’ ἐκ θρόνου ἆλτο καὶ ἴαχε⸥ ⸤μάλα λιγέως· | «ὤ μοι,⸥ ⸤ἄφαρ δ’ ὤϊξε θύρας καὶ ἀπῶσεν ὀχῆα» ~ Od.20.61; Od. 20.62 +​3.214; Od. 1.149 +​24.446 (“Hades, the king of dead was terrified, | in fear he jumped from his throne and cried with very shrill voice: ‘Oh my, how quickly he opened the gates and removed the bolt’ ”). Schembra 2006: 528. 190. Par. 19.107: “where they bound Him with nails onto the cross” and 214. See several parallels in Accorinti 1996b: 194. 191. Schembra 2006: 529 quotes Ps 23:7–​10: ἄρατε πύλας, οἱ ἄρχοντες ὑμῶν, | καὶ ἐπάρθητε, πύλαι αἰώνιοι, | καὶ εἰσελεύσεται ὁ βασιλεὺς τῆς δόξης. Euseb. In Is. 1.84: τὰς οὐρανίους πύλας; Demonstr. 7.1.13: τὴν ἀπὸ γῆς εἰς οὐρανοὺς ἄνοδον. Also Just. Tryph. 36.4 attributing the psalm not to Solomon but to Jesus. 192. Ps 107:16: ὅτι συνέτριψεν πύλας χαλκᾶς | καὶ μοχλοὺς σιδηροῦς συνέκλασεν (“for he has broken down gates of bronze and has shattered bars of iron”). 193. Grillmeier et al. 1975: 476 and 546; cf. the Chalcedonian declaration, ACO 2.1.2.325–​ 326: “the same perfect in Godhead, the Same perfect in manhood, truly God and truly man, the Same of a rational soul and body.” 194. Od. 11.26–​28, along with wine, barley and water. For Christian readings of the Nekyia see also Rahner 1963: 285–​9. 195. Clem. Paed. 1.6, Tert. Marc. 1.14. On Jesus as milk, see Clem. Paed. 1.35.3. For the ritual, see Norderval 2011: 1011–​2. In the Τrad. ap. 21.28, Ekenberg 2011: 1033 shows, milk and honey allude to Ex 3:8. 196. See Van Kooten 2022 on John’s non-​ichor concept of blood in Jo 19:34. C. Cels. 1.66: παίζων γοῦν τὸ ἐπὶ τῷ σταυρῷ προχυθὲν αἷμα τοῦ Ἰησοῦ φησιν ὅτι οὐκ ἦν «ἰχώρ, οἷός περ τε ῥέει μακάρεσσι θεοῖσιν» [Il. 5.340]. C. Cels. 292. 197. Plu. Alex. 28.4 and De Alex. fort. 2 =​Mor. 341b. Cf. also Diog. Laert. V. S. 9.60. Van Kooten 2022 shows that the description of John consciously counters the Homeric versions of divinity and the Hellenistic notions of divine Sonship, usually attributed to Emperors. 198. It is surprising that the II HC still included the line with ichor in the parallel passage, II HC 1696. 199. Galen Quod animi mores, 4.777 (Kühn), compiles several passages alluding to the soothing properties of wine and Athen. Deipn. 2.4 (Kaibel): οἶνος πυρὶ ἶσον ἐπιχθονίοισιν ὄνειαρ, | ἐσθλόν, ἀλεξίκακον, πάσῃ συνοπηδὸν ἀνίῃ (“wine, a boon equal to fire for mortal men; good, apotropaic, accompanying every grief ”). 200. Diod. Sic. 1.97.7; Dio Chrys. Or. 12.52; Plut. Q. Conv. 1.1.4 =​Mor. 614c; Jul. Consol. 1.11 offers a comparison of Helen with the Sirens and with consolatory words; cf. Epist. 201. Himerius sees in the line an allegory of sweet poetic speech, Or. 16.8. For the reception in banquet literature see Vamvouri Ruffy 2019: 28–​31. 201. Clem. Protr. 1.2.4; Greg. Naz. PG 37.1536. 202. The eucharistic dimension may be found in the possibility of a twofold etymological interpretation of καταβρώξειεν: the verb καταβρόχω means to swallow—​cf. Σ in Od. 4.222c: καταβρώξειεν: καταπίοι. But it may also allude to the bread of the holy communion through alliteration with the verb βιβρώσκω, e.g., cf. Σ in Apoll.

266  Notes Rhod. 147.271a: καταβρώξασαι: καταφαγοῦσαι. In John Chrys. liturgy the eucharist provides sobriety and abution (εἰς νῆψιν ψυχῆς, εἰς ἄφεσιν ἁμαρτιῶν). 203. Gavriluyk 2004: 155, notes that Nestorius, when reading Mt 2:13, observed that Jesus invites the disciples to eat and drink his human flesh and blood and does not substitute the object by Godhead. By contrast Cyril’s own understanding of Christ’s union and the incarnation made imperative the presence of the Godhead in the tomb and the eucharist, e.g., De incarn. 708a. Van Loon 2009: 281. 204. Nonn. Dion. 12.171: Βάκχος ἄναξ δάκρυσε βροτῶν ἵνα δάκρυα λύσῃ (“Lord Bacchus wept in order to dissolve the tears of mankind”); Par. 11.123–​124: καὶ ἔστενεν αὐτὸς Ἰησοῦς | ὄμμασιν ἀκλαύτοισιν ἀήθεα δάκρυα λείβων (“and Jesus himself wailed with unweeping eyes, shedding unaccustomed tears”); on tears, wine, and the eucharist see Shorrock 2011: 102–​15. 205. On the Pianabella sarcophagus ca. 160 CE, see Elsner 2014: 328–​30. 206. On the relation to the Homeric hypotext, see also Usher 1998: 138. Cf. The description of embalmment is traced back to the Iliad, Sarpedon, Il.16.669–​671, 16.679–​781; Patroclus 19.36–​38; Hector 23.184–​187, 24.18–​21, 24.111; Achilles’ body in Q.S. 3.533–​543, which extends over ten lines. Quintus’ version seems related to Roman encomiastic funerary rhetoric. Descriptions of the dead body were a staple of epidictic, Men. Rhet. Epid. 436, Maguire 1981: 95; but in the heroic context immortalizing embalmment is also a prerequisite for the dead body of the hero. See esp. Elsner 2014: 331, for the contrast between the external panegyric decoration and the body decaying inside the sarcophagus. 207. Jo 19:39–​40: “Nicodemus, who had at first come to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes (μίγμα σμύρνης καὶ ἀλόης), weighing about a hundred pounds. They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths (ὀθονίοις μετὰ τῶν ἀρωμάτων), according to the burial custom of the Jews.” 208. Nonn. Par. 19.204–​209, see Lefteratou 2022a for the aloe digression. 209. Orig. C. Cels. 2.69: “just as he was born [immaculately] from the virginal, so does the burial entails immaculacy.” Basil quotes the anointment and adds in his Hom. in pass. PG 28.1061: “brothers, let us endure the pangs of the tomb (ὠδῖνας τοῦ τάφου) . . . let us witness the resurrection being carried to term (κυοφορουμένην τὴν ἀνάστασιν).” 210. Thdt Eranist. 213 (Ettlinger): “we don’t say the body of someone. Every knowledgeable person knows that we talk about the body [sc. not the person].” By contrast a century earlier Cyr. Jer. could quote Mt 27:59 and claim with greater ease that the burial of the body was as real as its separation from the soul, Catech. 2.7: ἐχωρίζετο γὰρ τοῦ σώματος ἡ ψυχή (“for the soul was separated from the body”). 211. Cyr. Alex. De incarn. uni. 693: “I do not think that it is meant that the divinity of the Only-​begotten descended alone and naked in Hades . . . but just as he lived among the flesh in the flesh so he preached to the souls in hades, carrying as his garment the soul that was united with him”). On the importance of the soul in Cyril see Gavrilyuk 2004: 137, McGuckin 2004: 198. 212. The description in the other editions is much shorter: e.g., II HC 1747–​1758 is built chiefly around Patroclus’ mourning and anointment with an interpolated line in II

Notes  267 HC 1756 ~ Od. 8.366, the toilette of the goddess Aphrodite after Hephaestus’ trap and humiliation, a scene presumably intended to emphasize Jesus’ divinity in the humiliation of death. By contrast, HCa 561 revisits only Il. 18.352. 213. Usher 1998: 139–​40, also points to the divinity of Jesus’ body as highlighted here, though the matter of his body was more complex in the fifth century. 214. Unless ἐννέωρος alludes here to the ninth hour, when Jesus died, see e.g., Lefteratou 2019–​2020: 271. 215. Cf. Αchilles’ body in Q.S. 3.532: κάτθεσαν ἐν κλισίῃσι δεδουπότα Πηλείωνα (“and placed on the bier the heavy-​sounding body of Peleus’ son”); 540: βριθύτερον δ’ ἄρα θῆκε δέμας (“it turned the body heavier”). 216. Mt 27:31–​32; Mk 15:20–​21; Lk 23:26. 217. Cf. Orig. Frag. in JO. 28.19.163: “because Jesus alone has been able to carry upon himself the weight of the sin (τῆς ἁμαρτίας φορτίον) on the cross, for everyone’s sake and without God’s help, and has been able]to uphold its great force.” Cf. Jo 1:29: ἴδε ὁ ἀμνὸς τοῦ Θεοῦ ὁ αἴρων τὴν ἁμαρτίαν τοῦ κόσμου (“Here is the Lamb of God who takes away/​lifts the sin of the world”). 218. On the early Christian symbolism see Daniélou 1965: 143 and Sandnes 2011b: 1473 on the cross as seal. 219. I HC 2088 ~ Od.17.744: ἢ δοκὸν ἠὲ δόρυ μέγα νήϊον. 220. Cf. both the dead body and the weight are placed in similar positions in Par. 19.202–​ 203: καὶ νέκυν ἑστηῶτα κατήγαγε δείελος ἀνὴρ | φόρτον ἐλαφρίζων θεοδέγμονι κείμενον ὤμῳ (“and the man who had come in the twilight brought down the standing corpse, lifting up the burden lying on his God-​receiving shoulder”). Cf. also Par. 20.7: βαρύφορτος Ἰωσήφ. 221. On the reception of the Harrowing of Hell in the Gospel of Nicodemus and imperial and late antique homiletics, see Roddy 2000, who argues that the revision of Jesus’ triumph over Satan had all the rhetorical and visual marks of the Roman adventus, namely glorification, recrimination and acclamation. On the reception of the Descenus in Christian exegesis, see Gounelle 2000: 107–​39. 222. 1 Peter 3:19: “he was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, in which also he went and made acclamation to the spirits in prison (καὶ τοῖς ἐν φυλακῇ πνεύμασιν πορευθεὶς ἐκήρυξεν).” As alluding to the descent see e.g., Orig. Comm. in Jo 6.35.175. Cyr. Alex. De incarn. uni. 693; see also his fragmentary on the Acts in PG 74.1013. 223. Schembra 2006: 580–​4. Attempts to discover the Greek/​Homeric kernel of the AAPil. il belong to the last century, e.g., Harris 1989 on the Homeric Centos and the apocryphal descent; for a more modern approach, see Charlesworth 2016. 224. Cf. the merging of epic and biblical imagery in Ps.-​Greg. Thaum. Sermo in omnes sanctos 10.1201: “Hades and devil are despoiled (ἐσκυλεύεται); and his ancient suit of arms is being removed (τῆς ἀρχαίας ἀφῄρηται πανοπλίας)· . . . and just as Goliath was beheaded with the familiar sword, so is the devil, who bore forth death, put to flight through death.” On the David–​Goliath parallel, see also Ps.-​Hipp. Rom. De David et Goliath (CSCO 263). 225. Text, translation and reconstruction Sellew 1989: 81–​82.

268  Notes 226. Sellew 1989: 98–​ 100. Cf. earlier allegorical interpretations such as those by Metrodorus of Lampsacus, who read Achilles as the sun and Hector as the moon; Philod. On Poems 2 (Janko) =​DK 61 A4. Sellew 1989: 100 further argues that the textual motivation for this interpretation was the readerly reception of Hector’s onslaughts as the deeds of one possessed by a demon, as in Σ ad Il. 11.347: τὸ δαιμόνιον αὐτῷ συνγεργεῖ. 227. Schembra 2006: 528. 228. I HC 1940–​1948 (the souls and the milk metaphor in Hades); 1948–​1976 (the final moments); 1977–​1994 (the thunderstorm); 1995–​2004 (the first snapshot of the Underworld; Jesus calls the souls to follow); 2005–​2036 (Juda’s suicide and the reaction of the crowds); 2040–​2114 (deposition, lament, burial); 2015–​2158 (dialogue with Hades). 229. Roddy 2000: 155–​8 on the ritual supplication during the adventus. 230. I HC 1941, 1996, 2115. 231. Schembra 2006: 579, 83, takes Hades as embodying the Satan of the apocryphal narrative. Below, I argue against this. 232. The scene opens with I HC 2115: ἔδδεισεν δ’ ὑπένερθεν ἄναξ ἐνέρων Ἀϊδωνεύς; and ends with 2146: ὣς ἄρα μιν προσέειπεν⸥ ⸤ἄναξ ἐνέρων Ἀϊδωνεύς. 233. Cf. hCer 357, Luc. Menipp. 10. 234. See Gullo 2020 on Christian funerary epigrams maintaining the mythological topoi for death and the underworld. 235. See Usher 1998: 293 for Longinus linking the myths of theomachy and creation here, as well as the analysis in De Jonge 2012: 278: “it is the enormous power of gods that is responsible for the sublime as it appears in these examples.” 236. Cf. Descensus 21.3: κύριος κραταιὸς καὶ δυνατός, κύριος δυνατὸς ἐν πολέμῳ. 237. Par. 20.5–​7: καὶ λίθον οὐδαίοιο μετοχλισθέντα θυρέτρου | ἄπλετον ἐν δαπέδῳ κεκυλισμένον, ἄχθος ἀρούρης (“and she saw that the stone of the terrestrial doorframe had been pushed away, | immense, rolled on the ground, a burden upon the earth”) echoing Achilles’ idleness by the fleet at Il. 18.104, Achilles: ἀλλ’ ἧμαι παρὰ νηυσὶν ἐτώσιον ἄχθος ἀρούρης (“but sit here beside my ships, a useless weight on the good land”); and also Odysseus’ unmovable bed from Od. 23.188: ἀνδρῶν δ’ οὔ κέν τις ζωὸς βροτός, οὐδὲ μάλ’ ἡβῶν, | ῥεῖα μετοχλίσσειεν (“bud there is no mortal man alive, no strong man, who lightly could move the weight elsewhere”). 238. Schembra 2006: 579. 239. Cf. the Iliadic context in II HC 1780: γουνοῦμαί σε, ἄναξ . . . ἐλέησον ~ Il. 21.74, Lycaon begs Achilles to spare him. The supplication is omitted from e.g. HCa 586, where Hades just disappears further inside Tartarus. 240. I HC 2122, 2125, 2126 ~ Od. 6.149, 150, 154. For a compilation of supplication-​ related lines, see Apoll. Dysc. De constructione 3.415 quoting Od. 6.149, Od.15.260, 3.92 and 6.147. Schembra 2006: 580. 241. I HC 2123–​2124 ~ Od.514–​515: ὑπόσχεο καὶ κατάνευσον. On the reception of Thetis’ supplication in late antique panegyrics, see Wheeler 2007: 104 and Miguélez Cavero 2009: 253–​63.

Notes  269 242. Cf. Diomedes inquires about the divine or mortal identity of his opponent in Il. 126 (εἰ δέ τις ἀθανάτων) and 142 (εἰ δέ τίς ἐσσι βροτῶν). 243. Cf. Descensus 21: καὶ εἰσῆλθεν ὁ βασιλεὺς τῆς δόξης ὤσπερ ἄνθρωπος. 244. On Achilles’ impiety toward Xanthus and Apollo in the Iliad, see e.g., Pl. Res. 391, which quotes only the speech’s outline: ἔβλαψάς μ’ ἑκάεργε, θεῶν ὀλοώτατε πάντων·| ἦ σ’ ἂν τισαίμην, εἴ μοι δύναμίς γε παρείη (Il. 22.15 +​20). Plut. De superst. Mor. 170f quotes Od. 22.20 as showcasing atheism. 245. Roddy 2000: 158, 72–​77. For similar scenes in the Dionysiaca see e.g., Miguélez Cavero 2009. 246. On the increasing transcendental characteristics of the Roman adventus, see MacCormack 1981 and Roddy 2000: 159. 247. Schembra 2006: 70 translates: “vorrei lavorare da salariato come bracciante alle dipendenze di un altro, che sia mortle e non conosce tanti pensieri, piuttoso che regnare tra tutti i morti defunti; lo vorrei, o figlio di Dio, piuttosto che per sempre a te, di cui certamente maggiore è la virtù, l’onore e il vigore, io cada dal cuore e sia peccatore verso la divinità.” 248. The dialogue of Satan with Hades is later revisited in Rom. Mel. hymn on the triumph of the cross (h 38, v.3). In it, Jesus gives two different orders to the two characters: str. 17:—​ὄμοσον οὖν τύραννε | λοιπὸν μηδένα σταυρῶσαι. |—​στῆσον καὶ σύ, Τάρταρε, | βουλὴν μηδένα νεκρῶσαι (“swear then tyrant [Satan] not to crucify anyone henceforth; make the resolution, you too Tartarus [Hades], not to strike anyone dead”). 249. Pl. Resp. 391a. Plut. De superst. 11, Mor. 170f on blaspheby. Σ in Il. 22.20c1. 250. I HC 2139: ζώγρει·⸥ ⸤ἐγὼ δέ κέ τοι χάριν ἰδέω ἤματα πάντα ~ Il. 5.698: πνοιὴ Βορέαο Ζώγρει, Pelagon’s death; 6.46: ζώγρει Ἀτρέος υἱέ, Adrastus surrenders to Menelaus but Agamemnon intervenes; 11.131: ζώγρει Ἀτρέος υἱέ, Hippolochus to Agamemnon. I HC 2147 ~ Il. 21.98, Tros’ supplicates Achilles. 251. Il. 6.46 and 11.131: ζώγρει Ἀτρέος υἱέ, σὺ δ’ ἄξια δέξαι ἄποινα, quoted e.g., in Max. Tyr. Diss. 5.5. The situation is more Iliadic in in the II HC, where Hades tempts Jesus with presents and kingly honors II HC 1785–​1786: ⸢ζώγρει⸣·⸥ ⸤αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν⸥ ⸤εἰδέω χάριν ἤματα πάντα, | δῶρα δέ τοι δώσω καλὸν θρόνον, ἄφθιτον αἰε (“take me captive alive and I will acknowledge my debt to you for eternity, and I will give you presents and a nice throne”). 252. Od. 11.489–​490: βουλοίμην κ’ ἐπάρουρος ἐὼν θητευέμεν ἄλλῳ, | ἀνδρὶ παρ’ ἀκλήρῳ, ᾧ μὴ βίοτος πολὺς εἴη, | ἢ πᾶσιν νεκύεσσι καταφθιμένοισιν ἀνάσσειν (“I would rather follow the plow as thrall to another man, one with no land allotted him and not much to live on, than be a king over all the perished dead”). On this revision of Achillean kleos, see Nagy 1999 (1976): 170–​2. Achilles wishes to exchange nostos for his renown as a warrior. Plato wished to delete the passage, cf. Res. 386a (ἐξαλείψομεν) and 516d, as revisited in Euseb. Praep. ev. 13.14.7. The passage otherwise appears in collections of passages praising life over old age and death, cf. Stob. 52a on Od. 11.489–​491 and Eur. Or. 1523. 253. Cf. Etym. Magn. ε 353. See also Lefteratou 2019–​2020: 267.

270  Notes 254. Cf. the opposition between “earthly” and “divine” bread in a metaphor of the eucharist in Nonn. Par. 6.177–​180: “the soil-​bound (ἐπάρουρος) man who feeds on this true bread | shall see life until enormous Aion’s | long beard is whitened with grey hairs.” 255. For the opposition between Odysseus’ metis and Achilles’ menis see Nagy 1999: e.g., 159–​72; contra see Grethlein 2017: esp. 132 who sees in Odysseus a mix of heroic attributes; also Bakker 2013: 155 and De Jong 2001: 4, 290. See e.g., Gazis 2018: 188–​ 95, arguing in favor of an “Underworld” perspective from Achilles’ part rather than the notion of earthly kleos. 256. Cf. At I HC 198–​203: πάντων ἀνθρώπων ῥῦσθαι γενεήν τε τόκον τε ~ Od. 15.142, Jesus expresses the wish to save mankind as this will be his glory: μεῖζόν κε κλέος εἴη ἐμὸν καὶ κάλλιον οὕτω ~ Od. 18.255 and 19.128); in the Iliad, Ares is discouraged from saving mankind (a stark contrast to the Christian text); in the Odyssey, Penelope expresses her own version of less heroic, domestic kleos, on which, see Katz 1991: esp. 140–​4. Accordingly, Jesus is opting for a less heroic—​in Iliadic terms—​ kind of kleos. 257. Cf. Il. 16.441–​ 442 and 22.179–​ 180: ἄνδρα θνητὸν ἐόντα πάλαι πεπρωμένον αἴσῃ | ἂψ ἐθέλεις θανάτοιο δυσηχέος ἐξαναλῦσαι; Porph. Q. ad Il. 6.488. Ps.-​Luc. Philopatris 14. 258. For the context, see Elm 2012: 303–​4. See also Athanas. De incar. 10.5: ἡ τοῦ θανάτου κατάλυσις. 259. Julian C. Gal. 196, 199. For the context, see Elm 2012: 303–​4. See also Athanas. De incar. 10.5: ἡ τοῦ θανάτου κατάλυσις. 260. Cyr. C. Jul. 10.15–​16: “Christ, the mightier than death and destroyer of decay.” 261. Echoing Ap 20:7. 262. Descensus 21:1: λέγει ὁ ᾃδης τοῖς δαίμοσιν αὐτοῦ. 263. Cf. Apolog. 31: δαιμονίης τε καὶ ἀντιθέοιο φάλαγγος; I HC 938: στυγερός τε οἱ ἔχραε δαίμων (for the demoniac of Gerasene); 957–​978: δαιμόνιε... δαιμόνιε, Jesus’ address to the demon inside the demoniac; in 965–​967: the demons (in plural) go to the pigs; again in 1684 and 1715: δαιμόν᾽, he addresses Satan inside Judas. Only Martha in I HC 1264 is addressed as δαιμονίη without negative connotations, though here it may as well be that for a Christian, grieving for the deceased is also a temptation offered by the devil. 264. I HC 961–​963: ὥς θην καὶ σὸν ἐγὼ λύσω μένος, εἴ κέ μευ ἄντα | στήῃς· ἀλλά σ’ ἔγωγ’ ἀναχωρήσαντα κελεύω | ἐς πληθὺν ἰέναι, μηδ’ ἀντίος ἵστασ’ ἐμεῖο ~ Od. 17.21–​31, Menelaus warns Euphorbus not to engage him in battle. 265. Ancient readers noticed the repeated lines and believed the warning to be fitting in the case of Menelaus, but not in that of Aeneas, cf. Ariston. De sign. Od. 17.30–​2 and 20.195–​8. 266. II HC 1775: δείδιε γὰρ μὴ λαιμὸν ἀποτμήξειε σιδήρῳ ~ Il. 18.34 (“fearing his throat might be cut with the iron”); II HC 1794: μή με, κύον, γούνων γουνάζεο μηδὲ τοκήων, ~ Il. 22.345 (“do not entreat me, you dog, neither by my knees nor by my parents”); II HC 1799: ἐχθρὰ δέ μοι σοῦ δῶρα, τίω δέ σε ἐν καρὸς αἴσῃ ~ Il. 9.378

Notes  271 (“I hate your gifts; I value you as at a hair’s worth”); II HC 1802: αὐτὸν μὲν πληγῇσιν ἀεικελίῃσι δαμάσσω ~ Il. Od. 4.244 (“he flagellated him with degrading strokes”). 267. As Sandnes 2019: 39 argues. 268. In stark maieutic terms, Jesus guides Pilate toward the revelation of truth; for the Socratic echoes here see, Lefteratou 2022b: 239–​40. 269. Gavrilyuk 2004a: 142–​4. 270. For similar blurred perception of Christology in Nonnus, see Hadjittofi 2018.

Reweaving Eudocia’s Web 1. In later Greek folklore, the etiology of the mountainous location of the Prophet Elijah’s chapels is based on Odysseus’ final journey of purification in Od. 11.126–​ 130, in order to dwell where the inhabitants call the oar a tree; On Ai-​‘Lias see Loukatos 1979: 85. 2. A paraphrasis of Vt—​Pal. Gr. 326, 15–​16th century (Schembra).

Bibliography Accorinti, D. 1995. “Hermes e Cristo”. Prometheus 21: 24–​32. Accorinti, D. 1996a. “Ancora su Nonno e la crocifissione”. Studi Italiani di Filologia Classica 4 14: 249–​51. Accorinti, D. ed. 1996b. Nonno di Panopoli: Parafrasi del vangelo di S. Giovanni. Canto XX. Pisa: Scuola Normale Superiore. Accorinti, D. 2009. “Poésie et poétique dans l’oeuvre de Nonnos de Panopolis”. In Doux remède: poésie et poétique à Byzance. Actes du IVe colloque international philologique “ΕΡΜΗΝΕΙΑ”, edited by P. Odorico, P. A. Agapitos and M. Hinterberger, 67–​98. Paris: Boccard. Accorinti, D. ed. 2016a. Brill’s Companion to Nonnus of Panopolis. Leiden: Brill. Accorinti, D. 2016b. “The poet from Panopolis”. In Brill’s Companion to Nonnus of Panopolis, edited by D. Accorinti, 11–​53. Leiden: Brill. Accorinti, D. 2018. “Die Versuchung des Nonnos. Der Mythos als Brücke zwischen Heiden-​und Christentum”. In Nonnus of Panopolis in Context II: poetry, religion and society, edited by H. Bannert and N. Kröll, 327–​54. Leiden: Brill. Accorinti, D. 2020. “Did Nonnus really want to write a ‘Gospel epic’? The ambiguous genre of the Paraphrase of the Gospel according to John”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou. 225–​49. Berlin: De Gruyter. Adams, S. 2016. “Greek education and composite citations of Homer”. In Composite citations in Antiquity: Jewish, Graeco-​Roman, and Early Christian uses, edited by S. Adams and S. M. Ehorn, 17–​34. London, New York: Bloomsbury. Agnosini, M. ed. 2020. Nonno di Panopoli: Parafrasi del vangelo di S. Giovanni. Torrino: Città Nuova. Agosti, G. 1997. “The ποικιλία of Paul the bishop”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 116: 31–​38. Agosti, G. 1998. “L’alba notturna”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 121: 53–​58. Agosti, G. 2001a. “Considerazioni preliminari sui generi letterari dei poem del Codice Bodmer”. Aegyptus 81: 185–​218. Agosti, G. 2001b. L’epica biblica nella tarda antichità greca. Autori e lettori nel IV e V secolo. Firenze: SISMEL. Agosti, G. 2001c. “Late antique iambics and the iambikè idéa”. In Iambic ideas. Essays on a poetic tradition from Archaic Greece to the Late Roman Empire, edited by A. Cavarzere, A. Aloni and A. Barchiesi, 218–​55. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Agosti, G. 2002. “I poemetti del Codice Bodmer et il loro ruolo nella storia della poesia tardoantica”. In Le Codex des Visions, edited by A. Hurst and J. Rudhardt, 74–​113. Genève: Publications de la Faculté des lettres de Genève. Agosti, G. 2004–​2005. “Immagini e poesia nel la tarda antichità”. Incontri triestini di filologia classica 4: 351–​74.

274  Bibliography Agosti, G. 2006. “La voce dei libri: dimensione performative dell’epica greca tardoantica”. In Approches de la Troisième Sophistique: hommages à Jacques Schamp, edited by E. Amato, 35–​42. Bruxelles: Latomus. Agosti, G. 2008a. “L’epica greca tardoantica tra oralità e scrittura”. In Arma virumque cano. L’epica dei greci e dei romani. Atti del convegno nayionale di studi, Torino, 23–​24 aprile 2007, edited by R. Uglione, 231–​59. Alessandria: dell’Orso. Agosti, G. 2008b. “Le Dionisiache e le arti figurative. Appunti per uno studio dell’ estetica nonniana”. In Nonno e i suoi lettori, edited by S. Audano, 17–​32. Alessandria: dell’Orso. Agosti, G. 2009. “Cristianizzazione della poesia greca e dialogo interculturale”. Cristianesimo nella storia: richerche storiche, esegetiche, teologiche 31: 311–​35. Agosti, G. 2011a. “Le brume di Omero. Sofronio dinanzi alla paideia classica”. In Il calamo della memoria: riuso di testi e mestiere letterario nella tarda antichità, IV, edited by L. Cristante & S. Ravalico, 33–​50. Trieste: Edizioni Università di Trieste. Agosti, G. 2011b. “Usurper, imiter, communiquer: le dialogue interculturel dans la poésie grecque chrétienne de l’Antiquité Tardive”. In L’oiseau et le poisson. Cohabitations religieuses dans les mondes grec et romain, edited by N. Belayche and J.-​D. Dubois, 275–​ 99. Paris: PUPF. Agosti, G. 2011–​2012. “Interazioni fra testo e immagini nell’oriente tardoantico: gli epigrammi epigrafici”. Atti della Pontificia Accademia romana di archeologia. Rendiconti LXXXIV: 247–​70. Agosti, G. 2012a. “Greek poetry”. In The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, edited by S. F. Johnson, 361–​404. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Agosti, G. 2012b. “Versificare i riti pagani. Per uno studio del catalogo delle iniziazioni nel ‘San Cipriano’ di Eudocia”. In Il calamo della memoria 5, edited by L. Cristante and T. Mazzoli: 199–​220. Trieste: Edizioni Università di Trieste. Agosti, G. 2014a. “Contextualizing Nonnus’ visual world”. In Nonnus of Panopolis in context I: poetry and cultural milieu in late antiquity with a section on Nonnus and the modern world, edited by K. Spanoudakis, 141–​74. Berlin: De Gruyter. Agosti, G. 2014b. “Greek poetry in Late Antique Alexandria: between culture and religion”. In The Alexandrian tradition: interactions between science, religion, and literature, edited by L. A. Guichard and J. García Alonso, 287–​311. Bern: Peter Lang. Agosti, G. 2015. “Poesia greca nella (e della?) Biblioteca Bodmer”. Adamantius 21: 86–​97. Agosti, G. 2016a. “Esiodo nella tarda antichità: prime prospezioni”. Seminari Romani di cultura greca 5: 179–​246. Agosti, G. 2016b. “L’epillio nelle Dionisiache? Strutture dell’epica nonniana e contesto culturale”. Aetia 6: http://​aitia.rev​ues.org/​1579?lang=​en. Agosti, G. 2016c. “Nonnus and Late Antique society”. In Brill’s Companion to Nonnus of Panopolis, edited by D. Accorinti, 644–​68. Leiden: Brill. Agosti, G. 2017. “Nonnus the prose poet” (Talk at the IV international conference on Nonnus of Panopolis at Ghent, 20.4.2017). Agosti, G. & Rotondo, A. eds. forthcoming. Studies in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis. Berlin: De Gruyter. Ahrensdorf, P. 2014. Homer on gods and human virtue. Creating the foundation of classical civilization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Alexandrova, T. L. 2018. “ЕВА, ЕЛЕНА, ЕВДОКИЯ . . . ПУЛЬХЕРИЯ? К ПРОБЛЕМЕ ИНТЕРТЕКСТУАЛЬНЫХ АЛЛЮЗИЙ В ГОМЕРОВСКОМ ЦЕНТОНЕ”. Культура и текст 3: 185–​95.

Bibliography  275 Alexandrova, T. L. 2016. “ИМПЕРАТРИЦА ЕВДОКИЯ И ПЕРВАЯ РЕДАКЦИЯ ГОМЕРОВСКОГО ЦЕНТОНА (к вопросу об авторстве) RSUH/​RGGU Bulletin. Series: Literary Theory. Linguistics. Cultural Studies. 5: 81–​100. Alexiou, M. 2002 (1976). Ritual lament in Greek tradition (Revised by D. Yatromanolakis and P. Roilos). London, Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield. Allan, W. 2005. “Arms and the man: Euphorbus, Hector, and the death of Patroclus”. The Classical Quarterly 55: 1–​16. Allen, P. 2011. “Portrayals of Mary in Greek homiletic literature (6th–​7th c.)”. In The cult of the Mother of God in Byzantium: texts and images, edited by L. Brubaker and M. B. Cunningham, 69–​88. Farnham: Ashgate. Andujar, R. M. 2012. “Charicleia the martyr: Heliodorus and Early Christian narrative”. In The Ancient Novel and Early Christian and Jewish Narrative, edited by M. Futre-​ Pinheiro, 139–​52. Groningen: Barkhuis. Angelova, D. 2015. Sacred founders. Women, men, and gods in the discourse of imperial founding. Rome through Early Byzantium. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Archibald, E. 2001. Incest and the medieval imagination. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Argamon, S., Koppel, M., Fine, J., & Shimoni, A. R. 2003. “Gender, genre, and writing style in formal written texts”. Text & Talk 23: 321–​46. Arrighetti, G. 1981. “Il misoginismo di Esiodo”. In Misoginia e maschilismo in Grecia e in Roma. Ottave giornate filologiche genovesi 25–​26 febbraio 1980, 27–​48. Ashbrook Harvey, S. 2015. Scenting salvation: Ancient Christianity and the olfatory imagination. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Ashton, J. 2007. Understanding the Fourth Gospel. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Assmann, J. 2005. “Monotheism and its political consequences”. In Religions and politics: cultural perspectives, edited by B. Giesen and D. Šuber, 141–​59. Leiden, London: Brill. Auerbach, E. 1952. “Sermo humilis”. Romanische Forschungen 64 (4): 304–​64. Aune, D. E. 1987. The New Testament in its literary environment. Cambridge: James Clarke. Austin, N. 1975. Archery at the dark of the moon: poetic problems in Homer’s Odyssey. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Avlamis, P. 2016. “(Aelia) Eudocia, c. 400–460 CE.” Digital Oxford Classical Dictionary. New York: Oxford University Press. Baert, B. 2010. “‘Who touched my clothes?’: the healing of the woman with the haemorrhage (Mk 5:2–​34; Lk 8:42–​48 and Mt 9:19–​22) in early Medieval visual culture”. Konsthistorik Tidskrift 79 (2): 65–​90. Bakker, E. G. 2013. The meaning of meat and the structure of the Odyssey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bakker, W. & Philippides, D. 2000. “The lament of the Virgin by Ephrem the Syrian”. In Enthymesis Nikolaou M. Panagiotake, edited by S. Kaklamanes, 35–​59. Herakleion: Crete University Press. Bannert, H. & Kröll, N. eds. 2017. Nonnus of Panopolis in context II: poetry, religion and society. Leiden: Brill. Bär, S. ed. 2008. Quintus Smyrnaeus, Posthomerica, I. Göttingen: Vandenkoeck & Ruprecht. Bardill, J. 2012. Constantine, divine Emperor of the Christian Golden Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barry, W. D. 1993. “Aristocrats, orators, and the ‘mob’: Dio Chrysostom and the world of the Alexandrians”. Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 42: 82–​103.

276  Bibliography Baudoin, A.-​C. 2016. “Truth in the details: The Report of Pilate to Tiberius as an authentic forgery”. In Rethinking fakes and forgeries in Classical, Late Antique, and Early Christian literature, edited by E. P. Cueva and J. Martínez, 219–​38. Groningen: Barkhuis. Baudoin, A.-​C. & Izydorczyk, Z. 2019. The oldest manuscript of the Acts of Pilate: A collaborative commentary on the Vienna Palimpsest. Strasbourg: hal-​02378821. Baumbach, M. 2013. “Proteus and Protean epic. From Homer to Nonnos”. In Transformative change in Western thought: A history of metamorphosis from Homer to Hollywood, edited by I. Gildenhard and A. Zissos, 153–​62. London: Legenda. Bažil, M. 2009. Centones christiani: métamorphoses d’une forme intertextuelle dans la poésie latine chrétienne de l’Antiquité Tardive. Paris: Inst. d’Études Augustiniennes. Bažil, M. 2017a. “Elementorum varius textus: Atomistisches und Anagrammatisches in Optatians Textbegriff ”. In Morphogrammata: the lettered art of Optatian. Figuring cultural transformation in the Age of Constantine, edited by M. Squire and J. Wienand, 341–​68. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink. Bažil, M. 2017b. “La mémoire de la citation. Teneur littérale et évocation implicite dans les centons virgiliens de l’Antiquité”. In Varium et mutabile. Mémoires et métamorphoses du centon dans l’Antiquité, edited by D. Vallat and F. Garambois-​Vasquez, 49–​60. Saint-​ Étienne: Publications de l’Université de Saint-​Étienne. Bažil, M. 2018. “Sensus diversi ut congruant. Semantische Kontextstrategien in den spätantiken Vergilcentonen”. In Text, Kontext, Kontextualisierung: Moderne Kontextkonzepte und antike Literatur, edited by U. Tischer, A. Forst, U. Gärtner, 295–​ 317. Hildesheim: Gregor Olms. Beatrice, P. F. 2013 (1978). The transmission of sin. Augustine and the pre-​Augustinian sources (tran. A. Kamesar). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Beatrice, P. F. 1985. “Le tuniche di pelle. Antiche letture di Gen 3, 21”. In La tradizione dell’enkrateia. Motivazioni ontologiche e protologiche. Atti del Colloquio Internazionale Milano, 20–​23 aprile 1982, edited by U. Bianchi, 433–​84. Roma: dell’Ateneo. Bednarowski, K. P. 2015. “Dido and the motif of deception in Aeneid 2 and 3”. Transactions of American Philological Association 145: 135–​72. Beeley, C. 2012. The unity of Christ. Continuity and conflict in Patristic tradition. New Haven, London: Yale University Press. Bevan, G. A. 2016. The new Judas: The case of Nestorius in ecclesiastical politics, 428–​451 CE. Leuven: Peeters. Bevegni, C. 2006. Eudocia Augusta: Storia di San Cipriano. Milano: Adelphi. Bhalla, N. 2018. “Christian ivories: containment, manipulation, and the creation of meaning”. In The Routledge Handbook of Early Christian Art, edited by R. M. Jensen and M. D. Elison, 207–​20. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Binazzi, G. 1989. “Cristo e la Samaritana al pozzo nella iconografia dei primi secoli”. Bessarione (4): 161–​72. Blacker, C. 1990. “The folklore of the stranger: a consideration of a disguised wandering saint”. Folklore 101 (2): 162–​8. Blowers, P. M. 2012. Drama of the divine economy. Creator and creation in Early Christian theology and piety. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bolman, E. “The enigmatic Coptic Galaktotrophousa and the cult of the Virgin Mary in Egypt”. In Images of the Mother of God: Perceptions of the Theotokos in Byzantium, edited by M. Vassilaki, 13–​22. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Bompaire, J. 1958. Lucien écrivain. Imitation et création. Paris: Boccard.

Bibliography  277 Bond, H. K. 1998. Pontius Pilate in history and interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bonner, A. 2018. The myth of Pelagianism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Borg, B. 2013. Crisis and ambition. Tombs and burial customs in third-​century CE Rome. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bouvier, B. ed. 1976. Le mirologue de la Vierge. Rome: Institut Suisse. Bovon, F. & Geoltrain, P. eds. 1997. Ecrits Apocryphes Chretiens 1. Bibliothèque de la Pléiade 442. Paris: Gallimard. Bowie, A. ed. 2013. Homer: Odyssey XIII and XIV, Books 13–​14. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Boyarin, D. 1999. Dying for God. Martyrdom and the making of Christianity and Judaism. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Bremmer, J. N. 2001. “The five major Apocryphal Acts: authors, time and readership”. In The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas, edited by J. N. Bremmer, 149–​70. Leuven: Peeters. Bremmer, J. N. 2002. The rise and fall of the Afterlife. New York: Routledge. Bremmer, J. N. 2008a. Greek religion and culture, the Bible and the Ancient Near East. Leiden: Brill. Bremmer, J. N. 2008b. “Pandora or the creation of a Greek Eve”. In Greek religion and culture, the Bible and the ancient Near East, edited by J. N. Bremmer, 19–​34. Leiden: Brill. Brock, S. 1992. Studies in Syriac Christianity: history, literature, theology. Farnham: Ashgate/​ Variorum. Brock, S. 2001. “From Ephrem to Romanos. Interactions between Syriac and Greek in Late Antiquity”. In Greek Literature vol. 9. Greek literature in the Byzantine period, edited by G. Nagy, 1–​13. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Brock, S. 2001 [1984]. “Greek into Syriac, Syriac into Greek (reprinted from Journal of the Syriac Academy III, 1977, 1-​16)”. In Syriac perspectives on Late Antiquity, edited by S. Brock, 1–​16. Farnham: Ashgate. Brown, P. 1988. The body and society: men, women, and sexual renunciation in early Christianity. New York: Columbia University Press. Brubaker, L. & Cunningham, M. B. eds. 2011. The cult of the Mother of God in Byzantium. Texts and images. Farnham, Burlington: Ashgate. Brubaker, L. 1997. “Memories of Helena: patterns in imperial female matronage in the fourth and fifth centuries”. In Women, men and eunuchs. Gender in Byzantium, edited by E. James, 52–​75. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Brügger, C. ed. 2017. Homer’s Iliad. The Basel Commentary, Book XXIV. Berlin: De Gruyter. Buck, D. F. ed. 2003. “Socrates Scholasticus on Julian the Apostate”. Byzantion 73: 301–​18. Bucolo, R. 2009. “La Samaritana al pozzo nel cubicolo A3 della catacomba di S. Callisto tra funzione iconografica e interpretazione patristica”. Rivista di archeologia cristiana 85: 107–​124. Buffière, F. 2010 (1956). Les mythes d’Homère et la pensée grecque. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Bultmann, R. K. ed. 1971. The Gospel of John: a commentary. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox. Burrus, V. 1987. Chastity as autonomy. Women in the stories of Apocryphal Acts. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellon Press. Burrus, V. 2004. The sex lives of saints. An erotics of ancient hagiography. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.

278  Bibliography Cairns, D. 2014. “Ψυχή, θυμός, and metaphor in Homer and Plato”. Études Platoniciennes 11: http://​etude​spla​toni​cien​nes.rev​ues.org/​566, DOI: 10.4000/​ etudesplatoniciennes.566. Cameron, Alan. 1982. “The empress and the poet: paganism and politics at the court of Theodosius II”. Yale Classical Studies 27: 217–​89. Cameron, Alan. 2016. Wandering poets and other Essays on Late Greek literature and philosophy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cameron, Averil. 1991. Christianity and the rhetoric of Empire: the development of Christian discourse. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Cameron, Averil & Hall, S. G. eds. 1999. Eusebius, Life of Constantine: introduction, translation, and commentary. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Canevaro, L. 2018. Women of substance in Homeric epic: objects, gender, agency. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Caprara, M. ed. 2005. Nonno di Panopoli: Parafrasi del Vangelo di S. Giovanni. Canto IV. Pisa: Edizioni della Normale. Carney, E. D. & Müller, S. 2021. “Introduction to thinking about women and monarchy in the ancient world”. In The Routledge Companion to woman and monarchy in the Ancient Mediterranean World, edited by E. D. Carney and S. Müller, 3–​8. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Carotta, F. & Eickenberg, A. 2009. “Orpheus Bakkikos —​the Missing Cross (originally published as “Orfeo Báquico —​La Cruz Desaparecida”)”. Isidorianum 35: 79–​217. Carrubba, R. W. 1993. “The preface to Juvencus’ biblical epic: a structural study”. The American Journal of Philology 114: 303–​12. Carson, J. & Sarris, N. 1997. The collected poems of Odysseus Elytis, translated by Jeffrey Carson and Nikos Sarris, Introduction and notes by Jeffrey Carson. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Carter, W. 2001. Matthew and Empire: initial explorations. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Chaniotis, A. 2008. “The conversion of the Temple of Aphrodite at Aphrodisias in context”. In From Temple to Church, edited by J. Hahn, S. Emmel and U. Gotter, 243–​73. Leiden: Brill. Charlesworth, J. H. 2016. “Exploring the origins of the Descensus ad Infernos”. In Earliest Christianity within the boundaries of Judaism: essays in honor of Bruce Chilton, edited by A. J. Avery-​Peck, C. A. Evans and J. Neusner, 372–​95. Leiden: Brill. Church, F. 1975. “Sex and salvation in Tertullian”. The Harvard Theological Review 68: 83–​101. Chuvin, P. 1991. Mythologie et géographie dionysiaques: recherches sur l’oeuvre de Nonnus de Panopolis. Clermont-​Ferrand: Adosa. Clarke, M. 1995. “Between lions and men. Images of the hero in the Iliad”. Greek Roman and Byzantine Studies 36: 137–​59. Clayton, B. 2004. A Penelopean poetics: reweaving the feminine in Homer’s Odyssey. Oxford: Lexington Books. Cohick, L. H. & Brown Hughes, A. eds. 2017. Christian women in the Patristic world: their influence, authority, and legacy in the second through fifth centuries. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic. Cohoon, J. W. & Lamar Crosby, H. eds. 1989. Dio Chrysostom, vol. 3. London, Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Concannon, C. W. 2014. “‘Not for an olive wreath, but our lives’: gladiators, athletes, and early Christian bodies”. Journal of Biblical Literature 133: 193–​214.

Bibliography  279 Constas, N. ed. 1995. “Weaving the body of God: Proclus of Constatninople, the Theotokos and the loom of the flesh”. Journal of Early Christian Studies 3 (2): 169–​94. Constas, N. ed. 2003. Proclus of Constantinople and the cult of the Virgin in Late Antiquity. Leiden: Brill. Constas, N. 2004. “The last temptation of Satan: divine deception in Greek patristic interpretation of the Passion Narrative”. The Harvard Theological Review 97: 139–​63. Conte, G. B. 1986. The rhetoric of imitation: genre and poetic memory in Virgil and other Latin Poets (tr. C. Segal). Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Conte, G. B. 1992. “Proems in the middle”. Yale Classical Studies 29: 147–​59. Conybeare, C. 2018. “The creation of Eve”. Augustinian Studies 49: 181–​98. Cook, E. F. 1995. The Odyssey in Athens: myths of cultural origins. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Cook, J. G. 1993. “Some Hellenistic responses to the Gospels and Gospel traditions”. Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 84: 233–​54. Cook, J. G. 2011. “Crucifixion and burial”. New Testament Studies 57: 193–​213. Cook, J. G. 2012. “Crucifixion in the West: from Constantine to Recceswinth”. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 16: 226–​46. Coon, L. 1997. Sacred fictions: holy women and hagiography in Late Antiquity. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Cooper, K. 1992. “Insinuations of womanly influence: an aspect of the Christianization of the Roman aristocracy”. The Journal of Roman Studies 82: 150–​64. Cooper, K. 1996. The virgin and the bride: idealized womanhood in Late Antiquity. Cambridge MA London: Harvard University Press. Cooper, K. 2009. “Gender and the fall of Rome”. In A Companion to Late Antiquity, edited by P. Rousseau, 187–​200. Oxford: Wiley-​Blackwell. Cooper, K. 2013. Band of angels. The forgotten world of Early Christian women. London: Atlantic Books. Corbeill, A. 2009. “Weeping statues, weeping gods and prodigies from Republican to Early-​Christian Rome”. In Tears in the Graeco-​Roman world, edited by T. Fögen, 297–​ 310. Berlin: De Gruyter. Cox Miller, P. 1994. Dreams in Late Antiquity: studies in the imagination of a culture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Cox Miller, P. 2009. The corporeal imagination: signifying the holy in Late Ancient Christianity. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Crawford, M. R. 2019. The Eusebian Canon Tables: ordering textual knowledge in Late Antiquity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cribiore, R. 2001. Gymnastics of the mind: Greek education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt. Princeton NJ, Oxford: Princeton University Press. Cribiore, R. 2007. The School of Libanius in Late Antique Antioch. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Cribiore, R. 2008. “Vying with Aristides in the fourth century: Libanius and his friends”. In Aelius Aristides between Greece, Rome, and the gods, edited by W. V. Harris and B. Holmes, 263–​78. Leiden: Brill. Crouzel, H. & Simonetti, M. eds. 1978–​1984. Origène. Traité des principes. 5 vols. SC 252,253,268, 268, 312. Paris: du Cerf. Crusius, O. 1899. “Cento”. Pauly Wissowa 3: 1929–​31. Currie, B. 2016. Homer’s allusive art. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

280  Bibliography D’Ippolito, G. 2003. “Sulle tracce di una koinè formulare nell’epica tardo greca”. In Des Géants à Dionysos. Mélanges de myhologie et de poésie grecques offerts à Francis Vian, edited by D. Accorinti and P. Chuvin, 501–​20. Alessandria: dell’Orso. D’Ippolito, G. 2007. “Omero al tempo di Plutarco”. In Plutarco e la cultura della sua età: Atti del X Convegno plutarcheo, Fisciano-​Paestum, 27–​29 ottobre 2005, edited by P. Volpe Cacciatore and F. Ferrari, 57–​84. Napoli: M. D’Auria. D’Ippolito, G. 2016. “Nonnus’ conventional formulaic style”. In Brill’s Companion on Nonnus of Panopolis, edited by D. Accorinti. 372–​401. Leiden: Brill. Daley, B. E. 2018. God visible: Patristic Christology reconsidered. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Daniélou, J. 1958. “Le symbolisme de l’eau vive”. Revue des Sciences Religieuses, 32 (4): 335–​46. Daniélou, J. 1965. Les symboles chrétiens primitifs. Paris: du Seuil. Davies, J. 2002. “Crossed texts, crossed sex: intertextuality and gender in Early Christian legends of holy women disguised as men”. Journal of Early Christian Studies 10: 1–​36. De Jong, I. 1987. Narrators and focalizers: the presentation of the story in the Iliad. London: Bristol Classical Press. De Jong, I. 2001. A narratological commentary on the Odyssey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. De Jonge, C. C. 2012. “Dionysius and Longinus on the sublime: rhetoric and religious language”. The American Journal of Philology 133: 271–​300. De Lacy, P. 1974. “Plato and the intellectual life of the second century”. In Approaches to the Second Sophistic, edited by G. Bowersock, 4-​10. Pennsylvania: APA. De Stefani, C. 2008. “La Parafrasi di Giovanni di Nonno e la Metafrasi dei Salmi dello Pseudo-​Apollinare: un problema di cronologia”. In Nonno e i suoi lettori, edited by S. Audano, 1–​16. Alessandria: dell’Orso. De Stefani, C. & Magnelli, E. 2011. “Callimachus and Later Greek poetry”. In Brill’s Companion to Callimachus, edited by B. Acosta-​Hughes, L. Lehnus and S. Stephens, 534–​65. Leiden: Brill. De Temmerman, K. 2014. Crafting characters: heroes and heroines in the ancient Greek novel. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Deacy, S. 2008. Athena. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Del Corno, D., Maletta, M., & Tissoni, F. eds. 1997. Nonno di Panopoli, Le Dionisiache (Canti 1-​12). Milano: Adelphi. Delumeau, J. 1995. History of paradise: the Garden of Eden in myth and tradition. New York: Continuum. DeMarco, D. C. 2014. “The presentation and reception of Basil’s Homiliae in hexaemeron in Gregory’s In hexaemeron”. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 17 (2): 332–​52. Dijkstra, J. H. F. 2015. “Religious violence in Late Antique Egypt reconsidered: the cases of Alexandria, Panopolis and Philae”. Journal of Early Christian History 6: 24–​48. Dirschlmayer, M. 2015. Kirchenstiftungen römischer Kaiserinnen vom 4. bis zum 6. Jahrhundert. Die Erschließung neuer Handlugsspielräume. Münster: Aschendorff. Dirschlmayer, M. 2021. “Women in the family of Constantine”. In The Routledge Companion to women and monarchy in the Ancient Mediterranean world, edited by E. D. Carney and S. Müller, 463–​76. New York: Routledge. Doherty, L. E. 2009. Homer’s Odyssey. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Doroszewski, F. & Jażdżewska, K. eds. 2020. Nonnus of Panopolis in Context III: Old questions and new perspectives. Leiden: Brill.

Bibliography  281 Doultereau, P. N. ed. 1977–​1978. Didyme l’aveugle, Sur la Genèse, 2 vols. SC 233, 244. Paris: du Cerf. Downes, J. M. 2010. The female Homer. An exploration of women’s epic poetry. Newark: University of Delaware Press. Dresken-​Weiland, J. 2010. Bild, Grab, und Wort. Untersuchungen zu Jenseitsvorstellungen von Christen des 3. und 4. Jahrhunderts. Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner. Drijvers, H. J. W. 1992. Helena Augusta. The mother of Constantine the Great and the legend of her finding of the True Cross. Leiden: Brill. Edwards, M. 1975. “Type-​scenes and Homeric hospitality”. Transactions of American Philological Association 105: 51–​72. Edwards, M. J. 2009. We believe in the crucified and risen Lord. Downers Grove. IL: IVP Academic. Effe, B. 1977. Dichtung und Lehre: Untersuchungen zur Typologie des antiken Lehrgedicths. München: C. H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Egan, R. B. 2004. “Eros, eloquence and entomo-​psychology in Plato’s Phaedrus”. In Daimonopylai. Essays in Classics and the classical tradition presented to E. G. Perry, edited by R. B. Egan and M. A. Joyal, 65–​87. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Centre for Hellenic Civilization. Ekenberg, A. 2011. “Initiation in the Apostolic tradition”. In Ablution, initiation, and baptism: Late Antiquity, early judaism, early Christianity, edited by D. Hellholm, T. Vegge, and Ø. Norderval, 1011–​50. Berlin: De Gruyter. Elm, S. 1994. Virgins of God: the making of asceticism in Late Antiquity. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Elm, S. 2012. Sons of Hellenism, fathers of the Church: Emperor Julian, Gregory of Nazianzus, and the vision of Rome. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Elsner, J. 1998. Imperial Rome and Christian triumph: the art of the Roman Empire A.D. 100–​450. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Elsner, J. 2000a. “From the culture of spolia to the cult of relics: The Arch of Constantine and the genesis of Late Antique forms”. Papers of the British School at Rome 68: 148–​84. Elsner, J. 2000b. “The Itinerarium Burdigalense: politics and salvation in the geography of Constantine’s empire”. The Journal of Roman Studies 90: 181–​95. Elsner, J. 2004. “Late Antique art the problem of the concept and the cumulative aesthetic”. In Approaching Late Antiquity. The transformation from early to late empire, edited by S. Swain and M. Edwards, 271–​309. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Elsner, J. 2011. “Image and rhetoric in Early Christian sarcophagi: reflections on Jesus’ trial”. In Life, death, and representation: some new work on Roman sarcophagi, edited by J. Elsner and J. Huskinson, 359–​86. Berlin: De Gruyter. Elsner, J. 2014. “Rational, passionate and appetitive: the psychology of rhetoric and the transformation of visual culture from non-​Christian to Christian Sarcophagi in the Roman world”. In Art and Rhetoric in Roman Culture, edited by J. Elsner and M. Meyer, 316–​49. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Elsner, J. 2017. “Late Narcissus: classicism and culture in a Late Roman cento”. In The poetics of Late Latin literature, edited by J. Elsner and J. Hernández Lobato, 176–​205. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Elsner, J. & Hernández Lobato, J. eds. 2017. The poetics of Late Latin literature. Oxford: Oxford Unviersity Press. Elsner, J. & Huskinson, J. eds. 2010. Life, death, and representation. Some new work on Roman sarcophagi. Berlin, New York: De Gruyter.

282  Bibliography Elsner, J. & Rutherford, I. eds. 2005. Pilgrimage in Graeco-​Roman and Early Christian Antiquity. Seeing the Gods. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Emereau, C. 1918. Études critiques de littérature et de philologie byzantines: Saint Ephrem le Syrien; son oeuvre littéraire grecque. Paris: La bonne presse. Entwistle, C. & Adams, N. eds. 2011. Gems of heaven: recent research on engraved gemstones in Late Antiquity AD 200–​600. London: The British Museum Press. Evans Grubbs, J. 2002. Women and law in the Roman Empire. A sourcebook on marriage, divorce and widowhood. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Evans, J. M. 1968. Paradise Lost and the Genesis tradition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fanfani, G. 2017. “Weaving a song. Convergences in Greek poetic imagery between textile and musical terminology. An overview on Archaic and Classical Literature”. In Textile terminologies from the Orient to the Mediterranean and Europe, 1000 BC to 1000 AD, edited by S. Gaspa, C. Michel and M.-​L. Nosch, 421–​36. Lincoln, NE: Zea Books. Fantuzzi, M. & Hunter, R. L. 2005. Tradition and innovation in Hellenistic poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Faulkner, A. 2014. “Faith and fidelity in biblical epic”. In Nonnus of Panopolis in Context, edited by K. Spanoudakis, 198–​210. Berlin: De Gruyter. Faulkner, A. 2020a. “Davidic hexameters. The generic stance of the Metaphrasis Psalmorum”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou. 265–​74. Berlin: De Gruyter. Faulkner, A. ed. 2020b. Metaphrasis Psalmorum (Oxford Studies in Early Christianity). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fauth, W. 1981. Eidos Poikilon. Zur Thematik der Metamorphose und zum Prinzip der Wandlung aus dem Gegensatz in den Dionysiaka des Nonnos von Panopolis. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Fenik, B. 1968. Typical battle scenes in the Iliad: studies in the narrative techniques of Homeric battle description. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. Ferguson, E. 2009. Baptism in the Early Church: history, theology, and liturgy in the first five centuries. Cambridge; Grand Rapids, MI: W. B. Eerdmans. Ferguson, J. 1974. Clement of Alexandria. New York: Twayne Publishers, Inc. Finberg, S. 1982. “Plato’s Euthyphro and the myth of Proteus”. Transactions of the American Philological Association 112: 65–​70. Finkelberg, M. 2019. Homer and Early Greek Epic. Berlin: De Gruyter. Fitzerald, W. 2016. Variety: the life of a Roman concept. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Flatt, T. 2016. “Vitalia verba: redeeming the hero in Juvencus”. Vigilae Christianae 70: 535–​64. Flood, J. 2011. Representations of Eve in Antiquity and the English Middle Ages. New York: Routledge. Foley, H. P. 2001. Female acts in Greek tragedy. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Foley, H. P. 2005. “Women in ancient epic”. In A Companion to Ancient Epic, edited by J. M. Foley, 105–​18. Oxford: Blackwell. Formisano, M. & Sogno, C. 2010. “Petite poésie portable: the Latin Cento in its Late Antique context”. In Condensing texts, condensed texts, edited by M. Horster and C. Reitz, 375–​92. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Foster, P. ed. 2010. The Gospel of Peter: introduction, critical edition and commentary. Leiden: Brill.

Bibliography  283 Fowden, G. 1990. “The Athenian agora and the process of Christianity”. Journal of Roman Archaeology 3: 494–​501. Fowler, D. P. 1997. “On the shoulders of giants: intertextuality and Classical Studies”. Materiali e Discussioni per l’analisi dei testi classici 39: 13–​34. Fowler, D. P. 2002. “The didactic plot”. In Matrices of genre: authors, canons, and society, edited by M. Depew and D. Obbink, 205–​19. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Friedländer, P. ed. 1912. Johannes von Gaza et Paulus Silentiarius: Kunstbeschreibungen Justinianischer Zeit. Leipzig: Teubner. Friesen, C. J. P. 2015. Reading Dionysus: Euripides’ Bacchae and the cultural contestations of Greeks, Jews, Romans, and Christians. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Fuhrer, T. 2004. “Der alte Mann aus dem Meer: zur Karriere des Verwandlungsküntslers Proteus in der Philosophie”. In Geschichten und ihre Geschichte, edited by T. Fuhrer, P. Michel and P. Stoltz, 11–​36. Basel: Schwabe. Fuhrmann, M. ed. 1977. Christianisme et formes littéraires de l’Antiquité Tardive en occident. Vandoeuvres Genève: Fondation Hardt. Gaca, K. L. 2015. “Ancient warfare and the ravaging martial rape of girls and women: evidence from Homeric epic and Greek drama”. In Sex in Antiquity: exploring gender and sexuality in the ancient world, edited by M. Masterson, N. Sorkin Rabinowitz and J. Robson, 278–​97. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Galinski, K. 1969. Aeneas, Sicily, and Rome. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Gangloff, A. 2006. Dion Chrysostome et les mythes: hellénisme, communication et philosophie politique. Grenoble: Jérôme Millon. Garrison, J. D. 2010. Pietas from Vergil to Dryden. New York: Routledge. Gärtner, H. A. & Liebermann, W.-​L. 1997. “Cento”. Der Neue Pauly 2: 1061–​3. Gavrilyuk, P. 2004. The suffering of the impassible God: the dialectics of Patristic thought. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gazis, G. A. 2018. Homer and the poetics of Hades. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gee, E. 2013. Aratus and the astronomical tradition. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Geisz, C. 2018. A study of the narrator in Nonnus of Panopolis’ Dionysiaca: storytelling in Late Antique epic. Leiden: Brill. Gelzer, T. 2002. “Zur Frage des Verfassers der Visio Dorothei”. In Le Codex des Visions, edited by A. Hurst and J. Rudhardt, 139–​52. Genève: Librairie Droz. Genette, G. 1982. Palimpsestes. La littérature au second degré. Paris: du Seuil. Gigli Piccardi, D. ed. 1990. La Cosmogonia di Strasburgo. Firenze: Giorgio Pasquali. Glei, R. F. 2009. “Der Kaiserin neue Kleider. Die Homercentonen der Eudokia”. In Homer zweiten Grades. Zum Wirkungspotential eines Klassikers, edited by G. Effe, R. F. Glei and C. Klodt, 227–​48. Trier: Wissenschaftlicher Verlag Trier. Glenn, J. 1977. “Pandora and Eve: sex as the root of all evil”. The Classical World 71 (3): 179–​85. Gnilka, C. 1984. Chrêsis. Die Methode Der Kirchenvater im Umgang mit der antiken Kultur. Paulinus Nolanus, Carmen 17. Basel: Schwabe. Goldhill, S. 1991. The poet’s voice: essays on poetics and Greek literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goldhill, S. 2020. Preposterous poetics. The politics and aesthetics of form in Late Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gounelle, R. 2000. La descente du Christ aux enfers. Institutionnalisation d’une croyance. Paris: Institut d’études augustiennes. Gounelle, R. 2008. Les recensions byzantines de l’Évangile de Nicodème. Turnhout: Brepols.

284  Bibliography Gounelle, R. 2013a. “Christian apocryphal literature: an overview”. In The Apocryphal Acts of the Apostles in Latin Christianity, edited by E. Rose, 7–​30. Leiden: Brill. Gounelle, R. 2013b. “Un nouvel évangile judéo-​chrétien? Les Actes de Pilate”. In The Apocryphal Gospels within the context of Early Christian Theology, edited by J. Schröter, 357–​402. Leuven: Peeters. Grand-​Clément, A. 2015. “Poikilia”. In A Companion to Ancient Aesthetics, edited by P. Destrée and P. Murray, 406–​21. Chichester: Wiley-​Blackwell. Graziosi, B. & Haubold, J. eds. 2010. Homer, Iliad, Book 6. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Greatrex, G. 2004. “Aelia Eudocia (Wife of Theodosius II)”. De Imperatoribus Romanis. An online encyclopedia of Roman Emperors. http://​www.roman-​emper​ors.org/​eudoc.htm, accessed August 2, 2004. Green, J. & Tsafrir, Y. 1982. “Greek inscriptions from Hammat Gader: a poem by the empress Eudocia and two building inscriptions”. Israel Exploration Journal 32 (2/​3): 77–​96. Green, R. 2006. Latin epics of the New Testament: Juvencus, Sedulius, Arator. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Green, R. 2008. “Which Proba wrote the Cento?”. The Classical Quarterly 58 (1): 264–​76. Greensmith, E. 2020. The resurrection of Homer in Imperial Greek Epic. Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica and the poetics of impersonation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grethlein, J. “The Best of the Achaeans? Odysseus and Achilles in the Odyssey”. In The winnowing oar—​New perspectives in Homeric Studies, edited by C. Tsagalis and A. Markantonatos, 121–​42. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2017. Griffin, A. H. F. 1992. “Ovid’s universal Flood”. Hermathena 152: 39–​58. Grillmeier, A., Bowden, J. S., Allen, P., Cawte, J., & Hainthaler, T. 1975. Christ in Christian tradition II: from the Council of Chalcedon 451 to Gregory the Great 590–​604. London: Mowbray. Grypeou, E. & Spurling, H. 2013. The Book of Genesis in Late Antiquity: encounters between Jewish and Christian exegesis. Leiden: Brill. Gullo, A. 2020. “The Funerary Poems of Julian the Egyptian”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou, 59–​74. Berlin: De Gruyter. Gutzwiller, K. J. 2010. “Heroic epitaphs of the Classical Age: The Aristotelian Peplos and beyond”. In Archaic and Classical Greek Epigram, edited by M. Baumbach, A. Petrovic and I. Petrovic, 219–​49. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Haas, C. 1997. Alexandria in Late Antiquity. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hadjittofi, F. 2018. “Ποικιλόνωτος ἀνήρ: clothing metaphors and Nonnus’ ambiguous Christology in the Paraphrase of the Gospel according to John”. Vigiliae Christianae 72: 165–​73. Hadjittofi, F. 2020a. “Nonnus’ Paraphrasis of the Gospel according to John as didactic epic”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou. 249–​65. Berlin: De Gruyter. Hadjittofi, F. 2020b. “The poet and the evangelist in Nonnus’ Paraphrase of the Gospel according to John”. Cambridge Classical Journal 66: 70–​95. Hadjittofi, F. & Lefteratou, A. eds. 2020. The genres of Christian poetry in Late Antiquity: between modulations and transpositions. Berlin: De Gruyter. Hanson, J. 1980. “Dreams and visions in the Graeco-​Roman world and Early Christianity”. Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt 23: 1395–​427.

Bibliography  285 Hardie, P. 1985. “Imago mundi: cosmological and ideological aspects of the Shield of Achilles”. Journal of Hellenic Studies 105: 11–​31. Hardie, P. 2007. “Polyphony or Babel? Hosidius Geta’s ‘Medea’ and the poetics of the Cento”. In Severan Culture, edited by S. Swain, S. Harrison and J. Elsner, 168–​76. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hardie, P. 2016. “Reflections on Lucretius in Late Antiquity and Early Modern biblical and scientific poetry: providence and the sublime”. In Lucretius and modernity: Epicurean encounters across time and disciplines, edited by J. Lezra and L. Blake, 187–​202. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hardie, P. 2019. Classicism and Christianity in Late Antique Latin poetry. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Harley-​Mcgowan, F. 2003. “The Maskell Passion Ivories and Graeco-​Roman art: notes on the iconography of crucifixion”. In Envisioning Christ on the cross: Ireland and the Early Medieval West, edited by J. Mullins, J. Ní Ghrádaigh and R. Hawtree, 13–​33. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Harley-​Mcgowan, F. 2015. “From victim to victor: developing an iconography of suffering in early Christian art”. In The art of Empire: Christian art in its imperial context, edited by M. Jefferson and R. M. Jensen, 115–​58. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Harley-​Mcgowan, F. 2019. “Crucifixion in Roman Antiquity: the state of the field”. Journal of Early Christian Studies 27: 303–​23. Harper, K. 2011. Slavery in the Late Roman world, AD 275–​425. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harper, K. 2013. From shame to sin: the Christian transformation of sexual morality in Late Antiquity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Harries, J. 2013. “Men without women: Theodosius’ consistory and the business of government”. In Theodosius II: rethinking the Roman Empire in Late Antiquity, edited by C. Kelly, 76–​89. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harris, J. R. 1898. The Homeric Centones and the Acts of Pilate. London: Clay and Sons. Harrison, S. J. 2007. Generic enrichment in Vergil and Horace. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harvey, S. A. 1990. Asceticism and society in crisis: John of Ephesus and the Lives of the eastern Saints. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Haskins, S. 1992. Mary Magdalene. Myth and metaphor. New York: Riverhead Books. Haugen, K. L. 2020. “Homer in Early Modern Europe”. In The Cambridge Guide to Homer, edited by C. O. Pache, C. Dué, S. Lupack and R. Lamberton, 505–​16. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hawkins, T. 2014. Iambic poetis in the Roman Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hawkins, T. 2016. “Dio Chrysostom and the naked parabasis”. In Athenian comedy in the Roman Empire, edited by C. W. Marshall and T. Hawkins, 69–​87. London, New York: Bloomsbury. Hawley, R. 1995. “Female characterization in Greek declamation”. In Ethics and rhetoric: classical essays for Donald Russell on his seventy-​fifth birthday, edited by D. C. Innes, H. Hine and C. Pelling, 255–​67. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Haynes, K. 2003. Fashioning the feminine in the Greek novel. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Heckel, H. 1999. “Kulturentstehungstheorien II. Griechenland und Rom”. Der Neue Pauly 6: 908–​14.

286  Bibliography Hemelrijk, E. A. 1997. “Jens-​Uwe Krause, Witwen und Waisen im Römischen Reich, vols III and IV”. L’Antiquité Classique Année 66: 627–​9. Hemelrijk, E. A. 2004. Matrona docta: educated women in the Roman elite from Cornelia to Julia Domna. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Hengel, M. 1997. Crucifixion in the ancient world and the folly of the message of the cross. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. Hengel, M. 2000. The four Gospels and the one Gospel of Jesus Christ. London: SCM Press. Herzog, R. 1975. Die Bibelepik der lateinischen Spätantike. München: Fink. Hillner, J. 2019. “Imperial women and clerical exile in Late Antiquity”. Studies in Late Antiquity 3: 369–​412. Hinds, S. 1998. Allusion and intertext: dynamics of appropriation in Roman poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hinds, S. 2014. “The self-​conscious Cento”. In Décadence. “Decline and Fall” or “Other Antiquity”?, edited by M. Formisano and T. Fuhrer, 171–​97. Heidelberg: Winter. Hoch, C. 1997. Apollo Centonarius. Studien und Texten zur Centodichtung der italienischen Renaissance. Tübingen: Stauffenburg. Holmberg, I. E. 1995. “Euripides’ Helen, most noble and most chaste”. The American Journal of Philology 116 (1): 19–​42. Holum, K. G. 1982. Theodosian empresses: women and imperial dominion in Late Antiquity. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Hong, Y. 2014. “Poetic authority and the utility of reproduction in Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days”. CHS Research Bulletin 3: https://​resea​rch-​bulle​tin.chs.harv​ard.edu/​ 2015/​04/​15/​poe​tic-​author​ity-​and-​the-​util​ity-​of-​repro​duct​ion/​ Hopkinson, N. 1994. “Nonnus and Homer”. In Studies in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus, edited by N. Hopkinson, 9–​42. Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society. Hose, M. 2004. Poesie aus der Schule Überlegungen zur spätgriechischen Dichtung. München: Verlag der bayerischen Akademie der Wissenchaften. Hunger, H. 1969/1970. “On the imitation (μίμησις) of Antiquity in Byzantine literature”. Dumbarton Oaks Papers, 23/24: 15–38. Hunt, E. D. 1982. Holy Land pilgrimage in the later Roman Empire, AD 312–​460. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hunter, R. 2008. “Ancient readers”. In The Cambridge Companion to the Greek and the Roman novel, edited by T. Whitmarsh, 261–​71. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hunter, R. 2014. Hesiodic voices. Studies in the ancient reception of Hesiod’s Works and Days. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hunter, R. 2018. The measure of Homer: the ancient reception of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hurst, A. & Rudhardt, J. eds. 2002. Le Codex des Visions. Genève: Librairie Droz. Huskinson, J. 1996. Roman children’s sarcophagi: their decoration and its social significance. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Huskinson, J. 1999. “Women and learning: gender and identity in scenes of intellectual life on late Roman sarcophagi”. In Constructing identities in Late Antiquity, edited by R. Miles, 190–​213. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Hutchinson, G. O. 2009. “Read the instructions: didactic poetry and didactic prose”. Classical Quarterly 59: 196–​211. James, E. 1997a. “Goddess, whore, wive or slave: will the real Byzantine Empress please stand up?”. In Queens and queenship in Medieval Europe, edited by A. J. Duggan, 123–​ 40. Woodbridge: Boydell.

Bibliography  287 James, E. ed. 1997b. Women, men, and eunuchs. Gender in Byzantium. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. James, E. 2005. “The Empress and the Virgin in Early Byzantium: piety, authority, and devotion”. In Images of the Mother of God. Perception of the Theotokos in Byzantium, edited by M. Vassilaki, 1145–​52. Farnham: Ashgate. James, E. 2012. “Is there an empress in the text? Julian’s speech of thanks to Eusebia”. In Emperor and author: the writings of Julian “the Apostate”, edited by N. J. Baker-​Brian and S. Tougher, 47–​60. Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales. James, E. 2017. Mosaics in the medieval world. From late antiquity to the fifteenth century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. James, S. L. & Dillon, S. eds. 2015. A companion to women in the ancient world. Oxford: Blackwell. Janko, R. 1982. Homer, Hesiod, and the Hymns. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Janson, T. 1964. Latin prose prefaces: studies in literary conventions. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Jenkins, R. J. H. 1947. “The bronze Athena at Byzantium”. The Journal of Hellenic Studies 67: 31–​3. Jensen, R. M. 2011. Living water: images, symbols, and settings of early Christian baptism. Leiden: Brill. Jensen, R. M. 2017. The Cross: history, art, and controversy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Johnson, L. T. 1989. “The New Testament’s anti-​Jewish slander and the conventions of ancient polemic”. Journal of Biblical Literature 108: 419–​41. Johnson, S. F. ed. 2006a. Greek literature in Late Antiquity: dynamism, didacticism, classicism. Farnham: Ashgate. Johnson, S. F. 2006b. “Late Antique narrative fiction: Apocryphal Acta and the Greek novel in the late fifth-​century Life and miracles of Thecla”. In Greek literature in Late Antiquity: dynamism, didacticism, classicism, edited by S. F. Johnson, 189–​ 208. Farnham: Ashgate. Jourdan, F. 2010. Orphée et les Chrétiens. La réception du mythe d’Orphée dans la littérature chrétienne grecque des cinq premiers siècles, Tome I, Orphée du repoussoir au préfigurateur du Christ. Réécriture d’un mythe à des fins protreptiques chez Clément d’Alexandrie. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Kahane, A. 1992 “The first word of the Odyssey”. Transactions of American Philological Association 122: 115–​31. Kahlos, M. 2019. Religious dissent in Late Antiquity, 350-​ 450. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kaiser, M. 2016. “Das Mesopentekoste-​Fest. Bezeugung, Charakter, Entstehung”. In Preaching after Easter. Mid-​Pentecost, Ascension, and Pentecost in Late Antiquity, edited by R. W. Bishop, J. Leemans and H. Tamas, 87–​103. Leiden: Brill. Kaiser-​Minn, H. 1981. Die Erschaffung des Menschen auf den spätantiken Monumenten des 3. und 4. Jahrhunderts. Münster: Aschendorff. Kalavrezou, I. 1990. “Images of the other: when the Virgin became Meter Theou”. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44: 165–​72. Kalavrezou, I. 2012. “Representations of women in Late Antiquity”. In A Companion to women in the ancient world, edited by S. L. James and S. Dillon, 513–​ 23. Oxford: Wiley-​Blackwell.

288  Bibliography Kaldellis, A. 2007. Hellenism in Byzantium. The transformations of Greek identity and the reception of the classical tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Karahan, A. 2012. “Beauty in the eyes of God: Byzantine aesthetics and Basil of Caesarea”. Byzantion 82: 165–​212. Karanika, A. 2011. “Homer the prophet. Homeric verses and divination in the Homeromanteion”. In Sacred Words: orality, literacy and religion, edited by A. P. M. H. Lardinois, J. H. Blok and M. G. M. Van Der Poel, 255–​78. Leiden: Brill. Karanika, A. 2014a. “Female voice, authorship, and authority in Eudocia’s Homeric Centos”. In Fakes and forgers of Classical literature, edited by F. J. Martínez García, 95–​ 108. Leiden: Brill. Karanika, A. 2014b. Voices at work: women performance, and labor in Ancient Greece. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Karayannis, A. D. 1994. “The Eastern Christian Fathers (AD 350–​400) on the redistribution of wealth”. History of Political Economy 26: 39–​67. Kateusz, A. 2019. Mary and Early Christian women: hidden leadership. Cham, Switzerland: Palgrave Macmillan. Katz, M. A. 1991. Penelope’s renown: meaning and indeterminacy in the Odyssey. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Katz, P. 2007. “Educating Paula: A proposed curriculum for raising a 4th-​century Christian infant”. Hesperia Supplements 41: 115–​27. Kaufmann, H. 2017. “Intertextuality in Late Latin poetry”. In The poetics of Late Latin literature, edited by J. Elsner and J. Hernández Lobato, 149–​75. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kaufmann, N. 2016. “Nonnus’ Dionysiaca and Late Antique discourse on warfare”. Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 56: 740–​70. Kaufmann, N. 2019. “Slaughter and spectacle in Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica”. The Classical Quarterly 68 (2): 634–​48. Keen, S. 2007. Empathy and the novel. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Keener, C. S. 2003. The Gospel of John: a commentary. Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers. Kelly, C. 2016. “Rethinking Theodosius”. In Theodosius II: Rethinking the Roman Empire in Late Antiquity, edited by C. Kelly, 3–​64. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kennedy, E. J. 2014 (1971). Lucretius: De rerum natura, III. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kerényi, K. 1976. Dionysos: archetypal image of the indestructible life (tr. R. Manheim). Abingdon: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Kessels, A. H. M. & Van der Horst, P. W. 1987. “The Vision of Dorotheus (Pap. Bodmer 29): edited with introduction”. Vigiliae Christianae 41 (4): 313–​59. Kindstrand, J. F. 1973. Homer in der zweiten Sophistik. Uppsala: Uppsala University. Kirk, G. S., Janko, R., & Edwards, M. W. 1991. The Iliad: a commentary. Vol. 5. Books 17–​ 20. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kleingünther, A. 1933. Protos Euretes. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte einer Fragestellung. Philologus suppl. 26. Leipzig: Dietrich. Knecht, A. ed. 1972. Gregor von Nazianz: Gegen die Putzsucht der Frauen. Heidelberg: Winter. Knell, M. 2017. Sin, grace and free will: a historical survey of Christian thought. Vol. 1, The Apostolic Fathers to Augustine. Cambridge: James Clarke. Koch, G. 2000. Frühchristliche Sarkophage. München: C. H. Beck.

Bibliography  289 Köckert, C. 2009. Christliche Kosmologie und kaiserzeitliche Philosophie. Die Auslegung des Schöpfungsberichtes bei Origenes, Basilius und Gregor von Nyssa vor dem Hintergrund kaiserzeitlicher Timaeus-Interpretation. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Koltun-​Fromm, N. 2017. “Jerusalem’s sacred stones from Creation to Eschaton”. Journal of Late Antiquity 10: 405–​31. Koning, H. 2010. Hesiod: the other poet. Leiden: Brill. Koskenniemi, E. 1994. Apollonios von Tyana in der neuntestamentlichen Exegese. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Koskenniemi, E. 2019. Greek writers and philosophers in Philo and Josephus. A study of their secular education and educational ideals. Leiden: Brill. Kostiou, K. 2014. “Από την παρωδία στο pastiche: ζητήματα ορολογίας και θεωρίας: μια «ειδολογική» προσέγγιση του ποιήματος «Τι είπε η γκαμήλα (παστίτσιο)» του Γιώργου Σεφέρη”. In Συνέχειες, ασυνέχειες, ρήξεις στον ελληνικό κόσμο (1204–​2014): οικονομία, κοινωνία, ιστορία, λογοτεχνία: Ε’ Ευρωπαϊκό Συνέδριο Νεοελληνικών Σπουδών της Ευρωπαϊκής Εταιρείας Νεοελληνικών Σπουδών Θεσσαλονίκη, 2–​5 Οκτωβρίου 2014: πρακτικά =​Continuities, discontinuities, ruptures in the Greek World (1204–​ 2014): economy, society, history, literature: 5th European Congress of Modern Greek Studies of the European Society of Modern Greek Studies: proceedings edited by K. Dimadis, 635–​60. Thessaloniki: European Society of Modern Greek Studies. Krause, J.-​U. 1994–​1995. Witwen und Waisen im Römischen Reich (4. vols.). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Kruger, K. S. 2001. Weaving the Word: the metaphorics of weaving and female textual production. Selinsgrove, PA: Susquehanna University Press. Kuhlmann, W. 1973. Katalog und Erzählung. Studien zu Konstanz und Wandel einer literarischen Form in der Antiken Epik. PhD diss., Freiburg. Kuhn-​Treichel, T. 2016. Die Alethia des Claudius Marius Victorius. Berlin, New York: De Gruyter. Kuhn-​Treichel, T. 2017. “Involved narrating in Eudocia’s Homeric Centos”. Medievalia et Humanistica 43: 65–​79. Kuhn-​Treichel, T. 2020. “Poetological name-​dropping: explicit references to poets and genres in Gregory Nazianzen’s poems”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou, 93–​108. Berlin: De Gruyter. Kuryluk, E. 1991. Veronica and her cloth: history, symbolism and structure of a “true” image. Cambridge MA, Oxford: Blackwell. Kyriakidis, S. 1992. “Eve and Mary: Proba’s technique in the creation of two different female figures”. Materiali e Discussioni per l’analisi dei testi classici 29: 121–​53. Laato, A. 2017. “Adam and Eve rewritten in Vergil’s words: Cento of Proba”. In The Adam and Eve story in Jewish, Christian and Islamic perspectives, edited by A. Laato and L. Valve, 85–​117. Winowa Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lamberton, R. 1986. Homer the theologian: Neoplatonist allegorical reading and the growth of the epic tradition. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Lampe, G. W. H. 1984. “The trial of Jesus in the Acta Pilati”. In Jesus and the politics of his day, edited by E. Bammel and C. F. D. Moule, 173–​82. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lasek, A. M. 2013. “Hymnische Elemente in der Visio Dorothei”. Symbolae Philologorum Posnaniensium Graecae et Latinae 23 (1): 45–​56. Lausberg, H. 1990. Elemente der literarischen Rhetorik. Ismaning: Hueber.

290  Bibliography Lefteratou, A. 2016. “Late Antique epiphanies: the Man Born Blind in Eudocia’s Centos and Nonnus’ Paraphrase”. In The Gods of Greek hexameter poetry: from the archaic age to late Antiquity and beyond, edited by J. Clauss, A. Kahane, and M. Cuypers, 274–​93. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Lefteratou, A. 2017a. “From Haimorrhoousa to Veronica? The weaving imagery in the Homeric centos”. Greek Roman and Byzantine Studies 57 (2): 1085–​119. Lefteratou, A. 2017b. Mythological Narratives. The bold and faithful heroines of the Greek novel. Berlin, New York: De Gruyter. Lefteratou, A. 2019. “Stitching with Homer. Contextualizing the Homeric Centos within the quotation habit in the Imperial and Later Periods”. Byzantion 89: 331–​58. Lefteratou, A. 2019–​2020. “Centonic variations on a biblical theme. Preliminary case-​ studies of semantic discrepancies”. Incontri Triestini di Filologia Classica 15: 257–​86. Lefteratou, A. 2020a. “Deux chemins d’apprentissage: le didactisme dans les Centons Homériques”. In Poésie, bible et théologie de l’Antiquité Tardive au Moyen Âge (IVème-​ XVème s.) Actes di Colloque international, Strasbourg 25–​27 janvier 2018, edited by M. Cutino, 201–​20. Berlin: De Gruyter. Lefteratou, A. 2020b. “The lament of the Virgin in the I Homeric Centos: an early threnos”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou, 275–​92. Berlin: De Gruyter. Lefteratou, A. 2022a. “The eastward perspective: the cosmic and earthly dimensions of Jesus’ Passion according to Nonnus”. Studies in Late Antiquity 6 (4): 681–​706. Lefteratou, A. 2022b. “Jesus” Socratic trial in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis of St John’s Gospel”. Millenium 19 (1): 219–​45. Lefteratou, A. 2023. “The Samaritan Woman in Eudocia and Nonnus”. In Nonnus of Panopolis in Context IV: poetry at the crossroads, edited by B. Verhelst, 295–​320. Leuven: Peeters. Lefteratou, A. forthcoming-​a. “The Cana Wedding in Eudocia and Nonnos: poetics, rhetoric, and exegesis”. In Studies in Nonnus’ Paraphrasis, edited by G. Agosti and A. Rotondo. Lefteratou, A. forthcoming-​b. “Epic and biblical beginnings: God, cosmos, and sin in Sibylline Oracles I, 1-​64 and I Homeric Centos 1–​91”. In Ἀρχή and origo: the power of origins, edited by A. Walter and A. Vergados. Turnhout: Brepols. Lefteratou, A. forthcoming-​c. “Jesus’ baptism in the Scamander: Homeric intertextuality and Christian ritual in Eudocia’s Homeric Centos”. In Orality and literacy in the ancient world. Orality and narration. Performance and mythic-​ritual poetics, edited by A. Bierl, B. Bouvier and O. Cesca. Leiden: Brill. Lefteratou, A. & Hadjittofi, F. 2020. “Generic debates and Late Antique Christian poetry”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou, 3–​36. Berlin: De Gruyter. Leppin, H. 1996. “Aelia Eudocia”. Der Neue Pauly 4: 168–​9. http://​dx.doi.org/​10.1163/​ 1574-​9347_​dnp_​e404​250. Leppin, H. 2012. “Christianisierung im Römischen Reich: Überlegungen zum Begriff und yur Phasenbildung”. Zeitschrift für Antikes Christentum 16: 247–​78. Leppin, H. ed. 2015. Antike Mythologie in Christlichen Kontexten in Der Spätantike. Berlin: De Gruyter. Liebeschuetz, J. H. W. G. 1979. Continuity and change in Roman religion. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lightfoot, J. L. ed. 2007. The Sibylline Oracles: with introduction, translation, and commentary on the first and second books. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Bibliography  291 Lignadis, T. ed. 1989 (1971). Το Άξιον Εστί του Ελύτη. Εισαγωγή, σχολιασμός, ανάλυση. Athens: Χ. Μπούρας. Limberis, V. 1994. Divine heiress: the Virgin Mary and the creation of Christian Constantinople. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Livrea, E. 1997a. “I due Taziani in un’inscriptione di Afrodisia”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 119: 43–​9. Livrea, E. 1997b. “L’imperatrice Eudocia Santa?”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 119: 50–​4. Livrea, E. 1998. “L’imperatrice Eudocia e Roma: per una datazione del de S. Cypr”. Byzantinische Zeitschrift 91: 70–​91. Livrea, E. & Accorinti, D. 1988. “Nonno e la crocifissione”. Studi italiani di Filologia Classica 6 (2): 262–​78. Loney, A. 2019. The ethics of revenge and the meaning of the Odyssey. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Loofs, F. ed. 1905. Nestoriana. Die Fragmente des Nestorius, gesammelt, untersucht und herausgegeben von F. Loofs. Mit Beiträgen von S.A. Cook und G. Kampffmeyer. Halle a.S.: Niemeyer. Loukatos, D. S. 1979. Χριστουγεννιάτικα καὶ τῶν γιορτῶν. Athens: Philippotes. Lovatt, H. 2013. The epic gaze: vision, gender, and narrative in ancient epic. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ludlow, M. 2020. Art, craft, and theology in fourth-century Christian authors. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ludwich, A. ed. 1897. Eudocia Augusta, Proclus Lycius, Claudianus, Carmina, Blemyomachia. Leipzig: Teubner. Mac Góráin, F. 2018. “Untitled/​arma virumque”. Classical Philology 113: 423–​48. MacCormack, S. G. 1981. Art and ceremony. Berkeley CA, London: University of California Press. Maciver, C. 2012a. Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica: engaging Homer in Late Antiquity. Leiden: Brill. Maciver, C. 2012b. “Representative bees in Quintus Smyrnaeus”. Classical Philology 107: 53–​69. Maciver, C. 2017. “A Homeric afterlife in Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica?”. In Reading the way to the Netherworld. Education and representations of the beyond in Later Antiquity, edited by I. Tanaseanu-​Döbler, A. Lefteratou, K. Stamatopoulos and G. Ryser, 123–​36. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Magnelli, E. 2005. “Esiodo ‘epico’ ed Esiodo didattico: il doppio epilogo di Dionisio”. Appunti Romani di Filologia 7: 105–​8. Maguire, H. 1981. Art and eloquence in Byzantium. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Maltomini, F. 1995. “P. Lond. 121 (=​PGM VII), 1-​221: Homeromanteion”. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 106: 107–​22. Markschies, C. 2015. “Präzisierung und Autorisierung -​oder: ein Blick auf den antiken Umgang mit biblischen Texten als Vor-​und Frühgeschichte heutiger Standards von Zitat und Paraphrase”. In Zitat, Paraphrase, Plagiat: Wissenschaft zwischen guter Praxis und Fehlverhalten, edited by C. Lahusen and C. Markschies, 209–​28. Berlin: Berlin-​ Brandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Marrou, H. I. 1948. Histoire de l’education dans l’antiquité. Paris: du Seuil. Mastrangelo, M. 2016. “Toward a poetics of Late Latin reuse”. In Classics renewed: reception and innovation in the Latin poetry of Late Antiquity, edited by S. McGill and J. Pucci, 25–​46. Heidelberg: Winter.

292  Bibliography Matera, F. J. 1986. Passion narratives and Gospel theologies: interpreting the Synoptics through their passion stories. New York: Paulist Press. Mathews, T. F. & Muller, N. E. 2016. The dawn of Christian art in panel and paintings. Los Angeles: The J. Paul Getty Museum. Mavroudi, M. 2012. “Learned women of Byzantium and the surviving record”. In Byzantine religious culture: studies in honor of Alice-​Mary Talbot, edited by D. Sullivan, E. Fisher and S. Papaioannou, 53–​84. Leiden: Brill. Maxwell, J. L. 2006. Christianization and communication in Late Antiquity: John Chrysostom and his congregation in Antioch. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mayer, W. 1999a. “Constantinopolitan women in Chrysostom’s circle”. Vigilae Christianae 53: 265–​88. Mayer, W. 1999b. “Female participation in the late fourth-​century preacher’s audience”. Augustinianum 39: 139–​47. McClanan, A. 2002. Representations of Early Byzantine Empresses: image and empire. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. McClure, L. 1999. Spoken like a woman: speech and gender in Athenian drama. Princeton: Princeton University Press. McDonald, J. 2020. “The significance of meter in the Biblical Poems of Gregory Nazianzen (Carmina 1.1.12–​27)”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou. 109–​24. Berlin: De Gruyter. McDonald, L. M. 1994. Christianizing Homer: the Odyssey, Plato, and The Acts of Andrew. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McDonald, L. M. 2000. The Homeric epics and the Gospel of Mark. New Haven: Yale University Press. McGill, S. 2002. “Tragic Vergil: rewriting Vergil as tragedy in the Cento Medea”. The Classical World 95 (2): 143–​61. McGill, S. 2005. Vergil recomposed: the mythological and secular centos in Antiquity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McGill, S. 2007. “Virgil, Christianity, and the Cento Probae”. In Texts and culture in Late Antiquity: inheritance, authority, and change, edited by J. H. D. Scourfield, 173–​94. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. McGill, S. 2012. Plagiarism in Latin Literature. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McGill, S. 2016. Juvencus’ Four Books of the Gospels: Evangeliorum Libri Quattor. Abingdon: Routledge. McGill, S. 2017. “Latin poetry”. In The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, edited by S. F. Johnson, 335–​60. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McGill, S. & Pucci, J. eds. 2016. Classics renewed: reception and innovation in the Latin poetry of Late Antiquity. Heidelberg: Winter. McGuckin, J. A. 2004. Saint Cyril of Alexandria and the Christological Controversy. New York: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press. McGuckin, J. A. “The influence of the Isis Cult on St Cyril of Alexandria’s Christology”. Studia Patristica 24: 191–​9. Mcintosh Snyder, J. 1981. “The web of song: weaving imagery in Homer and the lyric poets”. The Classical Journal 76: 193–​6. McLynn, N. 2014. “Julian and the Christian professors”. In Being Christian in Late Antiquity: A Festschrift for Gillian Clark, edited by C. Harrison, C. Humfress and W. Sandwell, 120–​36. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Bibliography  293 Mecella, L. 2015. “L’amministrazione di Taziano e Proculo e il destino dei Lici tra Teodosio e Arcadio”. In Governare e riformare l’impero al momento della sua divisione: Oriente, Occidente, Illirico, edited by U. Roberto and L. Mecella, https://​books.open​edit​ion.org/​ efr/​2788?lang=​en. Roma: École française de Rome. Meerson, M. 2018. “Secondhand Homer”. In My lots are in thy hands: sortilege and its practitioners in Late Antiquity, edited by A.-​M. Luijendijk and W. E. Klingshirn, 138–​ 53. Leiden: Brill. Meinel, F. 2009. “Gregory of Nazianzus’ Poemata Arcana: ἄρρητα and Christian persuasion”. Cambridge Classical Journal 55: 71–​96. Mette, H. J. 1936. Sphairopoiia: Untersuchungen zur Kosmologie des Krates von Pergamon. München: Beck. Middleton, F. 2015. Homeric horizons: imagining the material text in the Homerocentones, Ilias Latina and Batrachomyomachia [revised 2020 manuscript] PhD diss., Cambridge University. Miguélez Cavero, L. 2008. Poems in context: Greek poetry in the Egyptian Thebaid 200–​600 AD. Berlin: de Gruyter. Miguélez Cavero, L. 2009. “Gesture and gesturality in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus”. Journal of Late Antiquity 2: 251–​73. Miles, G. 2016. “Incarnating Proteus in Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius of Tyana”. Ancient Narrative 13: 139–​57. Montiglio, S. 2011. From villain to hero: Odysseus in ancient thought. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Moreschini, C. & Sykes, D. A. eds. 1997. St Gregory of Nazianzus. Poemata Arcana. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Morgan, K. A. 2000. Myth and philosophy from the Presocratics to Plato. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Morgan, T. 2015. Roman faith and Christian faith: pistis and fides in the Early Roman Empire. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Morrison, A. D. 2007. The narrator in Archaic Greek and Hellenistic poetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mossman, J. 2005. “Women’s voices”. In A Companion to Greek tragedy, edited by J. Gregory, 362–​5. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Most, G. 2008. “On the authorship of the Christus Patiens”. In Quaerite faciem eius semper. Studien zu den geistesgeschichtlichen Beziehungen zwischen Antike und Christentum. Dankesgabe für Albrecht Dihle zum 85. Geburtstag aus dem Heidelberger Kirchenväterkolloquium, edited by A. Jördens, H. A. Gärtner, H. Görgemanns and A. M. Ritter, 229–​40. Hamburg: Kovač. Mueller, M. 2007. “Penelope and the poetics of remembering”. Arethusa 40: 337–​62. Murnaghan, S. 1987. Disguise and recognition in the Odyssey. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Musäus, I. 2004. Der Pandoramythos bei Hesiod und seine Rezeption bis Erasmus von Rotterdam. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Nagy, G. 1996. Poetry and performance. Homer and beyond. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nagy, G. 1999 (1976). The best of the Achaeans. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Nagy, G. 2008. Homer the Classic. Washington, D.C.: Harvard University Press. Nasrallah, L. S. 2010. Christian responses to Roman art and architecture: the second-​century Church amid the spaces of Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

294  Bibliography Neary, D. P. 2017. Doctrinal controversy and the Church economy of Post-​Chalcedon Palestine. PhD diss., Cambridge. Nesselrath, H.-​G. 2007. “Das Evangelium nach Homer. Bemerkungen zu Sprache, Metrik und Lexik in einer Langfassung der christlichen griechischen Homer-​Centonen”. Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 48–​49: 43–​53. Nestle, E. & Aland, K. eds. 1993. Novum Testamentum Graecum. 27th edition. Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft. Niehoff, M. R. ed. 2012. Homer and the Bible in the eyes of ancient interpreters. Leiden: Brill. Nordenfalk, C. 1973. “The Diatessaron miniatures once more”. The Art Bulletin 55: 532–​546. Norderval, Ø. 2011. “Simplicity and power”. In Ablution, initiation, and baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity, edited by D. Hellholm, Vegge, T. and Ø. Norderval, 947–​72. Berlin: De Gruyter. O’Meara, D. J. 1982. Neoplatonism and Christian thought. New York: State University of New York Press. O’Connell, P. A. 2019. “Homer and his legacy in Gregory of Nazianzus’ On his own Affairs”. Journal of Hellenic Studies 139: 147–​71. O’Loughlin, T. 2010. “Harmonizing the truth: Eusebius and the problem of the Four Gospels”. Traditio 65: 1–​29. Onians, J. 1980. “Abstraction and imagination in Late Antiquity”. Art History 3: 1–​24. Onorato, M. 2020. “The poet and the light: modulation and transposition of a Prudentian ekphrasis in two poems by Sidonius Apollinaris”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou, 75–​92. Berlin: De Gruyter. Otten, W. & Pollmann, K. eds. 2007. Poetry and exegesis in premodern Latin Christianity. Leiden: Brill. Ousterhout, R. 2006. “Sacred geographies and holy cities. Constantinople as Jerusalem”. In Hierotopy. The creation of sacred spaces in Byzantium and Medieval Russia, edited by A. Lidov, 98–​109. Moscow: Indirk. Overduin, F. 2015. Nicander of Colophon’s Theriaca. Leiden: Brill. Pantelia, M. C. 1993. “Spinning and weaving: ideas of domestic order in Homer”. American Journal of Philology 114: 493–​501. Papadopoulou-​Belmehdi, I. 1992. Le chant de Pénélope. Poétique du tissage féminin dans l’Odysée. Paris: Belin. Papagiannis, G. 2013–​2014. “Ρωμανού του Μελωδού Κοντάκιον Εἰς τὴν Σαμαρείτιδα. Νέα κριτική έκδοση με παρατηρήσεις”. Βυζαντινά 33: 11–​59. Park, A. 2014. “Parthenogenesis in Hesiod’s Theogony”. Preternature: Critical and Historical Studies on the Preternatural 3: 261–​83. Paschalis, M. 2020. “The ‘profanity’ of Jesus storm-​calming miracle (Juvencus 2.25–​42) and the flaws of Kontrastimitation”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou, 191–​ 208. Berlin: De Gruyter. Pavlovskis, Z. 1989. “Proba and the semiotics of the narrative Virgilian cento”. Vergilius 35: 70–​84. Peltomaa, L. M. 2001. The image of the Virgin Mary in the Akathistos Hymn. Leiden: Brill. Pelttari, A. 2014. The space that remains: reading Latin poetry in Late Antiquity. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

Bibliography  295 Pépin, J. 1982. “The Platonic and Christian Ulysses”. In Neoplatonism and Christian thought, edited by D. J. O’Meara, 3–​ 18. Norfolk, VA: International Society for Neoplatonic Studies. Peppard, M. 2016. The world’s oldest church: Bible art, and ritual at Dura Europos. New Haven: Yale University Press. Peradotto, J. 1990. Man in the middle voice: name and narration in the Odyssey. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Petersen, W. L. 1994. Tatian’s Diatessaron: its creation, dissemination, significance, and history in scholarship. Leiden: Brill. Petridou, G. 2015. Divine epiphany in Greek literature and culture. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Platt, V. 2011. Facing the gods: epiphany and representation in Graeco-​Roman art, literature, and religion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pollmann, K. 2001. “The transformation of the epic genre in Christian Late Antiquity”. Studia Patristica 36: 61–​75. Pollmann, K. 2017. The baptized Muse: Early Christian poetry as cultural authority. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Pomeroy, S. 1995 (1975). Goddesses, whores, wives, and slaves: women in Classical Antiquity. New York: Schocken Books. Pontani, F. 2018. “Hellenic verse and Christian humanism: from Nonnus to Musurus”. International Journal of the Classical Tradition 25 (3): 216–​40. Preskowitz, M. B. 1997. Spinning fantasies: rabbis, gender, and history. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Price, R. & Graumann, T. eds. 2020. The Council of Ephesus of 431. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Prieto Domínguez, Ó. 2010. De alieno nostrum: el centón profano en el mundo griego. Salamanca: Editiones Universidad del Salamanca. Prieur, J.-​M. 2006. La croix chez les Pères (du IIe au début du IVe siècle). Strasbourg: Université Marc Bloch. Pucci, P. 2018. The Iliad -​The poem of Zeus. Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. Purves, A. 2013. “Memorials, tombs, and the γέρας θανόντων: the (Im)prmanence of mortuary architecture in the Iliad”. In Homeric durability: telling time in the Iliad, edited by L. F. Garcia, Jr. Washington, D.C.: Center of Hellenic Studies. Quiroga Puertas, A. J. 2019. The dynamics of rhetorical performance in Late Antiquity. Abingdon: Routledge. Radin, A. P. 1988. “Sunrise, sunset: “hmos” in Homeric epic”. American Journal of Philology 109 (3): 293–​330. Rahner, H. 1963. Greek myths and Christian mystery. New York: Harper & Row. Rapp, C. 2006. “Spiritual guarantors at penance, baptism, and ordination in the Late Antique East”. In A New History of Penance, edited by A. Firey, 121–​48. Leiden: Brill. Raudvere, C. ed. 2018. Nostalgia, loss, and creativity in South-​East Europe. Political and cultural representations of the past. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan /​Springer. Reece, S. 2009. Homer’s winged words: the evolution of early Greek epic diction in the light of Oral Theory. Leiden: Brill. Reitz, C. 2020. “Divine council scenes in ancient epic”. In Structures of epic poetry, vol. I: foundations. Vol. II.1/​II.2: configuration. Vol. III: continuity, edited by C. Retiz and S. Finkmann, 719–​46. Berlin: De Gruyter.

296  Bibliography Rensberger, D. 1984. “The politics of John: the trial of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel”. Journal of Baltic Studies 103: 395–​411. Reuling, H. 2006. After Eden: Church Fathers and Rabbis on Genesis 3:16–​21. Leiden: Brill. Rey, A.-​L. 1996. “Homerocentra et littérature apocryphe chrétienne: quels rapports?”. Apocrypha 7: 123–​34. Rey, A.-​L. ed. 1998. Centons homériques. Paris: du Cerf. Reynolds, B. K. 2012. Gateway to heaven: Marian doctrine and devotion, image and typology in the Patristic and Medieval Periods. New York: New City Press. Richards, J. 2013. Arachne’s daughters: towards a feminsit poetics of creative autonomy. PhD diss., UCL: London. Richardson, N. J. ed. 2010. Three Homeric Hymns: to Apollo, Hermes, and Aphrodite. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Riess, W. 2012. “Rari exempli femina: female virtues on Roman funerary inscriptions”. In A Companion to women in the ancient world, edited by S. L. James and S. Dillon, 491–​ 501. Oxford: Wiley-​Blackwell. Rist, J. 1985. Platonism and Christian heritage. London: Variorum. Robbins, V. K. 1987. “The woman who touhed Jesus’ garment: socio-​rhetorical analysis of the Synoptic accounts”. New Testament Studies 33: 502–​15. Robbins, V. K. 2012. “Precreation discourse and the Nicene Creed: Christianity finds its voice in the Roman Empire”. Religion & Theology 18: 1–​17. Roberts, M. J. 1985. Biblical epic and rhetorical paraphrase in Late Antiquity. Liverpool: F. Cairns. Roberts, M. J. 1989. The jeweled style: poetry and poetics in Late Antiquity. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Rochais, G. 1981. Les récits de résurrection des morts dans le Nouveau Testament. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Roddy, K. 2000. “Politics and religion in Late Antiquity: the Roman imperial adventus ceremony and the Christian myth of the Harrowing of Hell”. Apocrypha 11: 147–​79. Roisman, H. 2006. “Helen in the Iliad, causa belli and victim of war: from the silent weaver to public speaker”. American Journal of Philology 127: 1–​36. Rondholz, A. 2012. The versatile needle: Hosidius Geta’s cento Medea and its tradition. Berlin, Boston: De Gruyter. Ross, A. J. 2016. Ammianus’ Julian: narrative and genre in the Res Gestae. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rossum-​Steenbeek, M. 1998. Greek readers’ digests? Studies on a selection of subliterary papyri. Leiden: Brill. Rothschild, C. K. 2014. Paul in Athens: the popular religious context of Acts 17. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Rotondo, A. 2008. “La voce (phone) divina nella Parafrasi di Nonno di Panopoli”. Adamantius 14: 287–​310. Rotondo, A. 2017. Ascoltare, vedere, credere. Itinerarium fidei nella parafrasi di Nonno di Panopoli. Arazzi: Rubbettino. Rousseau, P. 1995. “Learned women and the development of a Christian culture in Late Antiquity”. Symbolae Osloenses 70: 116–​47. Rousseau, P. ed. 2009. A companion to Late Antiquity. Chichester: Wiley-​Blackwell. Rudhardt, J. 1986. “Pandora: Hésiode et les femmes”. Museum Helveticum 43: 231–​46. Russel, D. A. & Wilson, N. G. eds. 1981. Menander the Rhetor: edited with translation and commentary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Salanitro, G. ed. 1981. Osidio Geta. Medea: introduzione, testo critico, traduzione ed indici. Roma: dell’Ateneo.

Bibliography  297 Salanitro, G. 1997. “Osidio Geta e la poesia centonaria”. Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt, II. 34.3.2 (3): 2314–​60. Sandnes, K. O. 2011a. The Gospel “according to Homer and Virgil”: cento and canon. Leiden: Brill. Sandnes, K. O. 2011b. “Seal and baptism in Early Christianity”. In Ablution, initiation, and baptism: Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity, edited by D. Hellholm, T. Vegge and Ø. Norderval, 1441–​81. Berlin: De Gruyter. Sandnes, K. O. 2019. “A respectable Gospel: the Passion ‘according to Homer’ in Eudocia’s Homerocentones”. SVENSK EXEGETISK ÅRSBOK 81: 25–​48. Sandnes, K. O. 2020. Jesus the Epic Hero the theology of empress Eudocia’s Homeric Gospel. Plymouth: Lexington Books. Scheidegger Lämmle, C. 2015. “Einige Pendenzen. Weben und Text in der antiken Literatur”. In Weben und Gewebe in der Antike. Materialität –​Repräsentation –​Episteme –​Megapoetik /​ WeavingandFabricintheancientworld.Materiality–​Representation–​Episteme–​Metapoetics, edited by H. Harich-​Schwarzbauer, 167–​208. Oxford, Philadelphia, PA: Oxbow Books. Schembra, R. 2002. “Il riuso cristiano del modello omerico negli Homerocentones”. In Omero tremila anni dopo, edited by F. Montanari, 505–​10. Roma: Storia e Letteratura. Schembra, R. 2006. La prima redazione dei centoni omerici: traduzione e commento. Alessandria: dell’Orso. Schembra, R. ed. 2007a. Homerocentones. Turnhout: Brepols. Schembra, R. 2007b. La seconda redazione dei centoni omerici. Alessandria: dell’Orso. Schembra, R. 2020. Centoni Omerici: il Vangelo secondo Eudocia. Alessandria: dell’Orso. Schenk, C. 2017. Crispina and her sisters: women and authority in early Christianity. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Schmitt, J.-​C. ed. 2001. Ève et Pandora. La création de la première femme. Paris: NRF-​Gallimard. Shottenius-​Cullhed, S. 2016a. Proba the Prophet. The Christian Virgilian Cento of Faltonia Betitia Proba. Leiden: Brill. Schottenius-​Cullhed, S. 2016b. “Reading textual patchwork”. In Weben und Gewebe in der Antike. Texts and Textiles in the ancient world: Materialität –​Repräsentation –​ Episteme –​Metapoetik /​Materiality –​Representation –​Episteme –​Metapoetics, edited by H. Harich-​Schwarzbauer, 235–​43. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schottenius-​Cullhed, S. 2016c. “In bed with Virgil: Ausonius’ Wedding Cento and its reception”. Greece & Rome 63: 237–​50. Sciarrino, E. 2006. “The introduction of epic in Rome: cultural thefts and song contests”. Arethusa 39: 449–​69. Scully, S. 2015. Hesiod’s Theogony: from Near Eastern creation myths to Paradise Lost. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sellew, P. 1989. “Achilles or Christ? Porphyri and Didymus in debate over allegorical interpretation”. The Harvard Theological Review 82: 79–​100. Ševčenko, N. 2011. “The service of the Virgin’s Lament revisited”. In The cult of the Mother of God in Byzantium: Texts and Images, edited by L. Brubaker and M. B. Cunningham, 247–​62. Farnham: Ashgate. Sharrock, A. & Morales, H. eds. 2000. Intratextuality. Greek and Roman textual relations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shoemaker, S. J. 2004. Ancient traditions of the Virgin Mary’s Dormition and Assumption. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shoemaker, S. J. 2011. “A mother’s passion: Mary at the Crucifixion and Resurrection in the earliest Life of the Virgin and its influence on George of Nikomedeia’s Passion Homilies”. In The cult of the Mother of God in Byzantium: texts and images, edited by L. Brubaker and M. B. Cunningham, 53–​67. Abingdon: Routledge.

298  Bibliography Shorrock, R. 2001. The challenge of epic: allusive engagement in the Dionysiaca of Nonnus. Leiden, Boston: Brill. Shorrock, R. 2011. The myth of paganism: Nonnus, Dionysus and the world of Late Antiquity. Bristol: Bristol Classical Press. Sidgwick, E. 2015. From flow to face: the Haemorrhoissa motif (Mark 5:24b -​34parr) between anthropological origin and image paradigm. Leuven: Peeters. Sieber, F. 2017. “Words and their meaning. On the chronology of the Paraphrasis of St John’s Gospel”. In Nonnus of Panopolis in Context II: poetry, religion and society. edited by H. Bannert and N. Kröll, 156–​65. Leiden: Brill. Simelidis, C. 2009. Selected poems of Gregory of Nazianzus: I.2.17; II.1.10, 19.32. A critical edition with introduction and commentary. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Sironen, E. 1990. “An honorary epigram for Empress Eudocia in the Athenian agora”. Hesperia 59: 371–​4. Small, P. J. 1997. Wax tablets of the mind. Cognitive studies of memory and literacy in Classical Antiquity. New York: Routledge. Smolak, K. 1979. “Beobachtungen zur Darstellungsweise in den Homerzentonen”. Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik 28: 29–​49. Snyder, J. M. 1981. “The web of song: weaving imagery in Homer and lyric poets”. Classical Journal 76: 193–​6. Sowers, B. P. 2008. Eudocia, the making of a Homeric Christian. PhD diss., University of Cincinnati. Sowers, B. P. 2016. “Amicitia and late antique nudge: reading Ausonius’ reading community”. American Journal of Philology 137: 511–​40. Sowers, B. P. 2020. In her own words: the life and poetry of Aelia Eudocia. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Spanoudakis, K. ed. 2014a. Nonnus of Panopolis in Context I: poetry and cultural milieu in late antiquity with a section on Nonnus and the modern world. Berlin: De Gruyter. Spanoudakis, K. 2014b. “The shield of salvation: Dionysus’ shield in Nonnus Dionysiaca 25.380–​527”. In Nonnus of Panopolis in Context I, edited by K. Spanoudakis, 333–​71. Berlin: De Gruyter. Spanoudakis, K. 2017. “The Staphylus episode. Nonnus and the Secret Gospel of Mark”. In Nonnus of Panopolis in Context II: poetry, religion and society, edited by H. Bannert and N. Kröll, 216–​54. Leiden: Brill. Springer, C. P. E. 1988. The gospel as epic in Late Antiquity: the Paschale Carmen of Sedulius. Leiden: Brill. Squire, M. 2013. “Apparitions apparent: ekphrasis and the parameters of vision in the Elder Philostratus’s Imagines”. Helios 40 (1–​2): 97–​142. Squire, M. ed. 2017. Morphogrammata /​The lettered art of Optatian. Figuring cultural transformations in the Age of Constantine. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink. Staats, R. 1987. “Pontius Pilatus im Bekenntnis der frühen Kirche”. Zeitschrift für Theologie und Kirche 84: 493–​513. Staats, R. 2011. “Das Taufbekenntnis in der frühen Kirche”. In Ablution, initiation, and baptism. Late Antiquity, Early Judaism, and Early Christianity, edited by D. Hellholm, T. Vegge, Ø. Norderval and C. Hellholm, 1553–​84. Berlin: De Gruyter. Stamatopoulou, Z. 2017. Hesiod and classical Greek poetry: reception and transformation in the fifth century BCE. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stemberger, G. 2014. “Jews and Graeco-​Roman culture from Alexander to Theodosius II”. In The Jewish–​Greek tradition in Antiquity and the Byzantine empire, edited by J. K. Aitken and J. Carleton Paget, 15–​36. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Bibliography  299 Stemplinger, E. 1912. Das Plagiat in der griechischen Literatur. Leipzig: Teubner. Stevenson, J. 2005. Language, gender, and authority from Antiquity to the Eighteenth Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stewart-​Sykes, A. 2001. From prophecy to preaching: a search for the origins of the Christian homily. Leiden: Brill. Sticca, S. 1984. Il Planctus Mariae nella tradizione dramatica del Medio Evo. Sulmona: Teatro Club. Strauss Clay, J. 1983. The wrath of Athena: gods and men in the Odyssey. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Strauss Clay, J. 1993. “The education of Perses: from “mega nepios” to “dion genos” and back”. Materiali e Contributi per la storia della narrativa greco-​latina 31: 23–​33. Strauss Clay, J. 2003. Hesiod’s Cosmos. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Streete, G. C. 2006. “Buying the stairway to heaven: Perpetua and Thecla as early Christian heroines”. In A Feminist Companion to the New Testament Apocrypha, edited by A.-​J. Levine and M. Mayo Robbins, 186–​205. London, New York: T & T Clark International. Stroumsa, G. G. 2008. “The scriptural movement of Late Antiquity and Christian monasticism”. Journal of Early Christian Studies 16: 61–​77. Stroumsa, G. G. 2016. The Scriptural universe of Ancient Christianity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Struthers Malbon, E. 1989. “The Jewish leaders in the Gospel of Mark. A literary study of Marcan characterization”. Journal of Biblical Literature 108: 259–​81. Sykes, D. A. 1970. “The Poemata Arcana of St. Gregory Nazianzen”. The Journal of Theological Studies (n.s.) 21: 32–​42. Tanaseanu-​Döbler, I., Lefteratou, A., Ryser, G., & Stamatopoulos, K. eds. 2017. Reading the way to the Netherworld. Education and the representation of the Beyond in Later Antiquity. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Taylor, C. G. 2018. Late Antique images of the Virgin Annunciate spinning: alotting the scarlet and the purple. Leiden: Brill. Thomas, E. 2011. “‘Houses of the dead’? Columnar sarcophagi as ‘micro-​architecture’”. In Life, death and representation: some new work on Roman sarcophagi, edited by J. Elsner and J. Huskinson, 387–​435. Berlin: De Gruyter. Thraede, K. 1962. “Epos”. Rivista di Archeologia Cristiana 5: coll. 983–​1042. Tipp, J. W. 2012. “Paul’s Areopagus speech of Acts 17:16–​34 as both critique and propaganda”. Journal of Biblical Literature 131: 567–​88. Tischendorf, C. ed. 1987 (1876). Evangelia Apokrypha. Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag. Tomadakis, B. N. 1978 (1993). Ἡ Βυζαντινὴ ὑμνογραφία καὶ ποίησις. Εἰσαγωγὴ εἰς τὴν Βυζαντινὴν φιλολογίαν, Β’ τόμος. Athens: Pournaras. Tommasi, C. O. 2016. “Coping with ancient gods, celebrating Christian emperors, proclaiming Roman eternity: rhetoric and religion in Late Antique Latin panegyrics”. In Emperors and the divine –​Rome and its influence (Collegium 20), edited by M. Kahlos, 177–​90. Helsinski: Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies. Tosi, R. 1991. La donna è mobile e altri studi di intertestualità proverbiale. Bologna: Pàtron. Tougher, S. 1998. “In praise of an empress: Julian’s Speech of thanks to Eusebia”. In The propaganda of power: the role of panegyric in Late Antiquity, edited by M. Whitby, 105–​ 23. Leiden: Brill. Tronchet, G. 2016. “Dion précurser du centon? Homère sur mesure dans le Discours aux Alexandrins”. In Dion de Pruse: l’homme, son oeuvre et sa postérité, edited by E. Amato, 385–​420. Hildesheim: Georg Olms Verlag. Tsagalis, C. 2004. Epic grief: personal lament in Homer’s Iliad. Berlin: De Gruyter.

300  Bibliography Tsironis, N. J. 1998. The lament of the Virgin Mary from Romanos the Melode to George of Nicomedia. PhD diss., Kings College London/​University of London. Tulier, A. 1997. “Grégoire de Nazianze et le Christus Patiens”. Revue des Études Grecques 110 (2): 632–​47. Turcan, R. 1966. Les sarcophages romains à représentations dionysiaques. Essai de chronologie et d’histoire religieuse. Paris: Boccard. Undheim, S. 2017. Borderline virginities: sacred and secular virgins in Late Antiquity. Abingdon: Routledge. Unger, D. J. & Dillion, J. J. 1992. St. Irenaeus of Lyons. Against the Heresies. Translated and annotated. Vol. 1, Book 1. New York /​Mahwah: The Newman Press. Usher, M. D. 1997. “Prolegomenon to the Homeric Centos”. American Journal of Philology 118 (2): 305–​21. Usher, M. D. 1998. Homeric stitching: the Homeric Centos of the Empress Eudocia. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Usher, M. D. ed. 1999. Homerocentones Eudociae Augustae. Leipzig: Teubner. Vamvouri Ruffy, M. 2019. “Plutarch in Macrobius and Athenaeus”. In Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Plutarch, edited by S. Xenophontos and K. Oikonomopoulou, 17–​36. Leiden: Brill. Van Den Berg, R. M. 2014. “Proclus on Hesiod’s Works and Days and didactic poetry”. Classical Quarterly 64: 383–​97. Van Deun, P. 1993. “The poetical writings of the Empress Eudocia: an evaluation”. In Early Christian poetry: a collection of essays, edited by J. Den Boeft and A. Hilhorst, 273–​82. Leiden: Brill. Van Kooten, G. 2017. “The last days of Socrates and Christ: Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, and Phaedo read in counterpoint with John’s Gospel”. In Religio-​philosophical discouses in the Mediterranean world: from Plato, through Jesus, to Late Antiquity, edited by A. Klostergaard Petersen and G. Van Kooten, 219–​43. Leiden: Brill. Van Kooten, G. 2022. “Bleeding blood, not ichor –​Christ the “Gottmensch”: a comparison of the Johannine incarnate God of love with the Homeric Aphrodite and the Platonic Daimōn of Love”. In Über Gott Festschrift für Reinhard Feldmeier zum 70. Geburtstag, edited by J. Dochhorn, R. Hirsch-​Luipold und I. Tanaseanu-​Döbler, B. Hirsch und T.R. Niles. 631–​71. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Van Loon, H. 2009. The dyophysite Christology of Cyril of Alexandria. Leiden, Boston: Brill. Van Noorden, H. 2015. Playing Hesiod: the Myth of the Races in Classical Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Van Noorden, H. 2021. “Hesiodic rhapsody: the Sibylline Oracles”. In Reception in the Greco-​Roman world: literary studies in theory and practice, edited by M. Fantuzzi, H. Morales and T. Whitmarsh, 344–​70. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Van Nortwick, T. 1979. “Penelope and Nausicaa”. Transactions of the American Philological Association 109: 269–​76. Van Oyen, G. 2013. “The Protevangelium Jacobi: an apocryphal Gospel?”. In The Apocryphal Gospels within the context of Early Christian theology, edited by J. Schröter, 271–​304. Leuven: Peeters. Verdenius, W. J. 1970. “Homer the educator of the Greeks”. Mededelingen der Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen, afd. Letterkunde. Nieuwe Reeks 33 (5): 207–​31. Vergados, A. ed. 2013. The Homeric Hymn to Hermes: introduction, text and commentary. Berlin: De Gruyter.

Bibliography  301 Vergados, A. 2020. Hesiod’s verbal craft. Studies in Hesiod’s conception of language and its ancient reception. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Verhelst, B. 2019. “Greek biblical epic: Nonnus’ Paraphrase and Eudocia’s Homerocentones”. In Structures of epic poetry, vol. 3, edited by C. Reitz and S. Finkmann, 53–​78. Berlin: De Gruyter. Verhelst, B. ed. 2023. Nonnus of Panopolis in Context IV: poetry at the crossroads. Leuven: Peeters. Vernant, J.-​P. 1979. “A table des hommes. Mythe de fondation du sacrifice chez Hésiode”. In La cuisine du sacrifice en pays grec, edited by M. Detienne and J.-​P. Vernant, 37–​132. Paris: Gallimard. Vian, F. 1959. Recherches sur les Posthomerica de Quintus de Smyrne. Paris: C. Klincksieck. Vian, F. 1980. “L’epopée grecque”. Actes du Xe congrès de l’Association Guillaume Budé, Paris (Rapport presenté devant le congrès de Toulouse, 8–​12 april 1978), 49–​81. Paris: Budé. Vian, F. 1990. Les Dionysiaques, Tome 9, Chants XXV -​XXIX. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Vian, F. 1997. “Μάρτυς chez Nonnos de Panopolis: étude de sémantique et de chronologie”. Revue des Etudes Greques 110: 143–​60. Viladesau, R. 2006. The beauty of the cross: the Passion of Christ in theology and the arts from the catacombs to the eve of the Renaissance. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Viljamaa, T. 1968. Studies in Greek encomiastic poetry of the early Byzantine period. Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica. Volk, K. 2002. The poetics of Latin didactic: Lucretius, Vergil, Ovid, Manilius. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wade, J. 2019. “Athena, patroness of the marketplace: from Athens to Constantinople”. In Memories of utopia: the revision of histories and landscapes in Late Antiquity, edited by N. Bronwen, and K. Simic, 232–​50. Abingdon, New York: Routledge. Wagner-​Hasel, B. 2020 (2000). The fabric of gifts: culture and politics of giving and exchange in Archaic Greece (tr. E. Theodorakopoulos). Lincoln, NE: Zea Books. Walker Bynum, C. 1995. The resurrection of the body in Western Christianity, 200–​1336 AD. New York: Columbia University Press. Warner, M. 2016 (1976). Alone of her sex: the myth and the cult of the Virgin Mary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wasyl, A. M. 2020. “The late Roman Alcestis and the applicability of generic labels to two short narrative poems”. In The genres of Late Antique Christian poetry: between modulations and transpositions, edited by F. Hadjittofi and A. Lefteratou, 169–​90. Berlin: De Gruyter. Webb, R. 2006. “Logiques du mime dans l’Antiquité Tardive”. Pallas 71: 127–​36. Webb, R. 2010. “Between poetry and rhetoric: Libanios’ use of Homeric subjects in his Progymnasmata”. Quaderni Urbinati di Cultura Classica (n.s.) 95 (2): 131–​52. Weisstein, U. 1978. “Collage, montage, and related terms their literal and figurative use in application to techniques and forms in various arts”. Comparative Literature Studies 15: 124–​39. Weitzmann, K. 1979. Age of spirituality: Late Antique and Early Christian art, third to seventh century. New York: Metropolitan Museum. Wessel, S. 2004. Cyril of Alexandria and the Nestorian controversy: the making of a saint and of a heretic. Oxford: Oxford University Press. West, M. L. 1997. The east face of Helicon. West Asiatic elements in Greek poetry. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

302  Bibliography Wharton, A. J. 1992. “The baptistery of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem and the politics of sacred landscape”. Dumbarton Oaks Papers, (Homo Byzantinus: Papers in Honor of Alexander Kazhdan) 46: 313–​25. Wheeler, G. 2002. “The introit from Homer to Apollonius”. The Classical Quarterly 52 (1): 33–​49. Wheeler, S. 1995. “Imago mundi: another view of the creation in Ovid’s Metamorphoses”. American Journal of Philology 116: 95–​121. Wheeler, S. 2007. “More Roman than the Romans of Rome: Virgilian (self-​) fashioning in Claudian’s Panegyric of the consuls Olybrius and Probinus”. In Texts and culture in Late Antiquity: inheritance, authority, and change, edited by J. H. D. Scourfield, 97–​133. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales. Whitby, Mary 2007. “Nonnus’ Paraphrase of St. John’s Gospel and ‘Eudocia’s’ Homeric centos”. In Texts and culture in Late Antiquity: inheritance, authority, and change, edited by J. H. D. Scourfield, 195–​231. Swansea: The Classical Press of Wales. Whitby, Mary 2016. “Nonnus and Biblical Epic”. In Brill’s Companion to Nonnus of Panopolis, edited by D. Accorinti, 215–​39. Leiden: Brill. Wickham, L. 1989. “Pelagianism in the east”. In The making of orthodoxy: essays in honour of Henry Chadcwick, edited by R. Williams, 200–​15. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wiles, M. F. 2011. The spiritual Gospel. The interpretation of the fourth Gospel in the early Church. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilken, R. L. 1967. “The Homeric cento in Irenaeus, ‘Adversus Haereses’ I, 9,4”. Vigiliae Christianae 21: 25–​33. Wilken, R. L. 2003 (1984). The Christians as the Romans saw them. New Haven: Yale University Press. Winstead, K. A. 1997. Virgin martyrs: legends of sainthood in late medieval England. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Wolf, G. 1998. “From mandylion to Veronica”. In The holy face and the paradox of representation. Papers from a colloquium held at the Bibliotheca Hertziana, Rome and the Villa Spelman, Florence, 1996, edited by H. Kessler and G. Wolf, 153–​80. Bologna: Nuova Alfa. Wolfe, J. 2020. “Homer in Renaissance Europe (1488–​1649)”. In The Cambridge Guide to Homer, edited by C. O. Pache, C. Dué, S. Lupack and R. Lamberton, 490–​504. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yasin, A. M. 2012. “Sacred space and visual art”. In Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, edited by S. F. Johnson, 935–​69. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Young, F. M. 2009. From Nicaea to Chalcedon: a guide to the literature and its background. 2nd ed. London: SCM Press. Ypsilanti, M. & Franco, L. 2020. Nonnus’ Paraphrase between poetry, rhetoric and theology. Leiden: Brill. Zilling, H. M. 2015. “Die Mimesis des Heros: pagane Helden in christlicher Deutung”. In Antike Mythologie in christlichen Kontexten der Spätantike, edited by H. Leppin, 139–​ 66. Berlin: De Gruyter. Zografou, A. 2013. “Un oracle homérique de l’Antiquité Tardive: un livre-​miniature à usage oraculaire”. Kernos 26: https://​journ​als.open​edit​ion.org/​ker​nos/​2211.

Index of Locorum For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages.  [The present Index lists the texts discussed in the body text and their main parallels. Those interested in Homeric reception can trace some of the major themes reworked by using the index (e.g. Penelope weaving, Patroclus’ funeral etc.). However, given the nature of the cento poetry the parallel Homeric passages are listed here depend on their relevance for the analysis and are not exhaustive] Tables are indicated by t following the page number Biblical Texts (Apocrypha and Canon)  1 Peter 2:24:  144–​45 1 Tim 4 :7:  154 1 Cor  1:23:  137–​38 15:21-​22:  108–​9 9:24-​25:  154 Apocrypha Acta Pilati B:  64, 146, 147, 157–​58, 181–​82, 191 Apocryphal Acts of John 97.7:  142 Acts of the Apostles:  39, 45, 115 Descensus:  162, 181–​82, 187–​88 Ephesians  5:24-​32:  81–​82 7:10:  42–​43 Galatians 3:27-​28:  54 Genesis  1:16:  107–​8 3:  121, 62, 105, 107–​9 Job 38:17:  164–​65 John  1:29, 1:36:  157–​58 3: 90 4:  90, 95 18:37: 259n.109 19:17:  156, 169 19:24: 155 19:25: 64 19:30:  161–​62 19:34:  149–​50 19:36-​38:  170–​71 Luke  1:26-​38:  57–​58 8:  73–​74, 75, 83–​84 22:44: 163 22:63-​65:  146 23:31: 156

Mark  5:35-​38:  75 5:25: 72t Matthew  9:17-​18:  71t 27:27-​30:  153–​54 27:24:  149–​50 Philippians 2:5-​8:  147–​48, 182 Protevangelium of James:  57–​58, 59–​60 Psalms  118:12: 147 106:16:  164–​65 23-​7-​10:  164 24:7:  164–​65 Romans 5:19:  108–​9 Song of Songs 4:4:  169 Authors and Works  Akathistos hymn:  191–​93 [Apollinaris] Metaphrasis Psalmorum:  10–​11, 37–​38, 42–​44, 49–​50 protheoria 1-​42:  42–​43, 49–​50 Met. Pss. 2.41:  167–​68 Aristophanes Peace 1090:  14 Aulius Gellus Attic Nights Praef. 6:  17–​18 Ausonius Carmen Nuptialis:  7–​8, 10, 16, 17–​18 Basil Hexaemeron: 110 Callimachus Frag. 380:  110–​11 Cento Alcesta:  56–​57 Cento Medea: 10 Christus Patiens:  10–​11, 138–​39 Didymus Commentary on Ecclesiastes 281 quoting Porphyry:  144–​45, 171 Dio Chrysostom Oration 32.82-​84 (to the Alexandrians) cento:  10, 17–​18 [Dorotheus] Visio Dorothei:  37–​38, 41–​44, 187

304  Index of Locorum Egeria:  66–​67, 138 Ephrem Syrian:  64, 90–​91 Eudocia  Apologia Vat. suppl. Gr. 388:  98, 114, 180–​ 81, 185–​86, 187 Saint Cyprian:  62, 98, 191 Eusebius Eclogae Propheticae: 164 Gregory of Nazianzus  Arcana 1:  111–​12 Arcana 4:  41–​42, 111–​12 Carmen 1.2.1-​7:  111 Carmen, De virginitate 1.1.58:  112 Carmen 2.1.39.70-​85:  41–​42 ‘Hesiodic Cento’ 1150-​1125 (Knecht):  112 Hesiod:  41, 42–​43, 110–​11 Opera:  122–​23 376-​380:  112 299-​316:  122–​23 703-​703:  125–​26 Theogony:  105–​6 27:  38–​39 568-​569:  108 Homer  9–13, 48–​49, 187–​88, passim Iliad  1.1-​3:  124, 129 1.481-​483:  24 2.264-​267:  153 2.271: 20 2.468: 20 2.780: 146 3.197-​198:  157 3.399-​411:  84–​85 5.128: 114 5.140-​141:  133 6.46: 174 6.441: 176 6.345-​348:  85 6.490-​491:  87 7.89:  155–​56 8.24: 160 8.68:  21–​22, 158 9.537: 124 9.707:  21–​22 10.324: 119 15.141:  35–​36 16.259-​262:  25–​26, 146 16.440-​442:  176–​77 16.855-​856:  162 17.742-​746:  170 18.72: 65 18.352-​353:  168 18.464-​465:  75 18.471: 121

18.483-​488:  117 19.107: 75 19.36 :  20 19.33: 168 19.304: 124 19.284 :  65 20.196-​197:  176 20.297-​298:  150 20.297-​299 :  150 20.303: 132 21.107-​110:  17–​18 21.521-​52:  129 21.524: 124 22.20:  173, 174 22.179: 176 22.380:  19–​20 22.408-​409:  75 22.440-​450:  87 22.482-​483:  65 23.33:  155–​56 23.327-​328:  155–​56 24.85: 67 24.166: 75 24.207: 26 24.414-​425:  168 24.637-​638:  85 24.743-​745:  65 24.794: 170 24.797: 170 Odyssey  1.7:  130–​31 1.6: 131 1.34:  130–​31 1.334 80 2.1  21–​22 2.38: 32 2.56:  33, 132 2.118: 84 2.62-​65:  173, 174–​75 2.170-​171:  35–​36 2.230-​232:  132 2.271-​273 :  32, 75 2.310-​311:  33 3.232:  35–​36 4.136: 58 4.143-​8:  87 4.397: 150 4.221-​224:  166 4.431-​32:  94 4.397:  150–​51 4.444-​445:  130 4.532 :  27 4.788: 67

Index of Locorum  305 4.794: 77 5.8-​10:  33 5.28:  58–​59 5.77-​79:  58–​59, 111–​12 5.137-​139:  58–​59 5.230-​231:  63 6.15: 58 6.66-​67:  92 6.148:  119, 173 6.150-​159:  93–​94, 173 6.210-​228:  63 6.283-​289:  92 6.306: 58 7.67-​69:  80 7.115-​116:  117, 118 9.108-​109:  121 9.241-​242 :  170 9.305: 170 10.105: 119 11.155-​156:  65, 132 11.202-​203:  65 11.272: 124 11.427-​429:  124 11.445:  74, 84–​85 11.489-​490:  174, 175 11.576 :  162 12.166: 24 12.179: 158 13.81-​89:  24 13.115: 24 13.240-​241:  114 14.177: 35 15.20:  126, 124, 125 15.130-​134:  75, 100–​1 15.407-​408:  121 15.417-​418:  84 16.15-​16 :  65 16.31-​32:  68 16.161: 150 16.196-​198:  94 17.287: 124 17.583-​584:  59 18.1+​21.327:  22 18.157:  35–​36 19.107-​111:  75, 80, 91–​92 19.252: 68 19.312: 68 21.207-​209:  35–​36 21.327: 22 22.99:  35–​36 22.175 :  157 22.200 :  158 22.211: 157

22.411-​418:  87, 132, 160 23.31: 160 23.62: 75 23.98-​105:  92, 93 23.163-​165:  35–​36 23.188: 173 23.213-​214:  59 23.323-​222  65 24.93:  174, 175 24.126: 92 24.200-​207 :  124 24.331:  45, 81–​82 Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite 58-​64 [as cento], 14 Homerocentones I [Eudociae]  1-​6:  100–​1, 105 8-​33:  117 39-​47:  119 47-​57:  121 67-​89:  124 87-​89:  128 90-​96:  130 94:  34–​36 96: 35 107-​137:  75, 132 110-​112:  33 197:  35–​36 201-​202:  161 211-​216:  58 215:  177–​78 228: 32 230: 33 259-​263:  59 295:  60–​61 328:  150–​51 368: 32 447-​452 :  25, 117 453-​457:  63 460: 20 711: 22 735-​745:  21–​22, 24 756-​814:  74 800-​815:  77 1011-​1035:  85 1036-​1052:  85, 87 1062-​1070:  92 1080-​1088:  91, 93 1080-​1101:  91, 93 1128-​1152:  94 1307-​1333:  80 1315-​1319:  79, 80 1415-​1416:  33 1430: 20

306  Index of Locorum Homerocentones I [Eudociae] (cont.) 1620-​166:  20 1828-​1836:  146 1830-​1833:  25–​26 1837: 147 1840-​1841:  148–​49 1843-​1851:  150 1844: 150 1850:  150, 178 1854-​1856:  153 1864-​1866:  155–​56 1868-​1876:  157 1882-​1894:  158 1927-​1938:  160 1940-​1948:  162 1957-​1958:  34 1969-​1975:  166 1969-​1976:  166 2040-​2049:  168 2050-​2076:  65 2084-​2094:  170 2122-​2133:  173 2133-​2145:  174 2147-​2158:  176 2179-​2184:  67 2227-​2231:  68 2237-​2238:  69–​70 2315-​2319:  45, 81–​82 2353-​2354:  35–​36 Homerocentones II  208-​210:  128 547-​563:  74 567-​578:  78 898-​940:  92–​93 909–​911:  91–​92 1323-​1337:  80 1686:  161–​62 1780: 173 Irenaeus Adversus Haeresis 1.9.4:  15 Isidor of Seville Etymologies 1.39:  7 Jerome Epistle 53.7:  15, 53–​54 Julian, Encomium Eusebiae 2, 15, 17:  53, 82 Juvencus Evangeliorum Libri Quattor 8-​11, 15-​20:  38–​39 Libanius Epistle 990.2-​5 (on Tatian):  47–​48 Lucian  Prometheus 1.18:  139 Symposium 17:  10 Nonnus  Dionysiaca :  10–​11, 167–​68 Paraphrasis  1.1-​2:  38 1.29: 115

18.12-​14:  146–​47 19.11:  151–​52 19.31: 159 19.51:  38, 151–​52 19.83:  147, 148–​49 19.89-​93:  159 19.107 :  149–​50 19.202:  170–​71 2.9:  61–​62 3.139:  151–​52 6.177-​180 :  175 20.7:  170–​71 Origen Contra Celsus:  122, 141–​42, 166–​67 Patricius Hypothesis AP 119:  37–​38, 44, 45, 98–​99 Paulinus of Nola Epistle 32.10:  39, 141 Petronius Satyricon 132 (on Cento):  10 Pindar Olympian 6.85: 10 Plato  Euthyphro 15d3:  122 Alcibiades 150d:  116 Timaeus 36b-​c:  105–​6, 159 Plutarch  Mulierum Virtutes, Moralia 242e:  53–​54 Porphyri  De antro Nympharum 8:  60 See also Didymus Proba  [scribe] praef. 3-​14:  39–​40, 49–​50 Cento  1-​8:  40–​41 14-​26:  40–​41 54-​56:  114 183-​185,  10 171:  127–​28 238:  125–​26, 128 253-​274:  120 298-​309:  127–​28 300-​317:  127–​28 332:  129–​30 Proclus Constantinople Homily to the Theotokos 1.1:  55–​56 Ps-​John Chrysostom, Homiliy to the Samaritan PG 59.540:  90–​91 Ps-​Justin Cohortatio ad Grarcoes 227b-​d:  118 Quintus Smyrnaeus Posthomerica:  19, 20, 26, 65, 185–​86 Romanos Melodist:  90–​91, 192–​93 Scholia in Aristophanes Nubes 449 (on cento):  14, 16 Scholia in Dionysius Thrax 5 (on cento):  16 Sibylline Oracles:  100–​1, 121, 122–​23

Index of Locorum  307 Siria the poet:  56–​57 Socrates Ecclesiastical History 16:  15–​16 Sozomen Ecclesiastical History 5:  15–​16

Tertullian Prescriptions against the Heretics 39:  15 Tzetzes Chiliades: 7 Virgil:  3–​4, 10, 39–​40, 49–​50

Index of Rerum For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on occasion, appear on only one of those pages. Figures are indicated by f following the page number allegory, passim, 23–​24, 36–​37, 39–​40, 41, 90–​91, 108, 113, 116, 118, 125, 126, 134, 139, 155, 169–​70, 171–​72, 179, 184–​85, 187–​88, 193–​94 Antioch (and Eudocia), 53 Apollinaris of Laodicea, 7–​8, 15–​16 appropriation/​intertextuality, 14 Chrêsis (Gnilka) /​The use of pagan authors by Christian exegetes, 107, 134–​35 ‘composite citations’ (Adams), 17–​18 cut-​up techniques, 2 defamiliariation /​Verfremdung, 12–​13 imperial quotation practice, 27 imitatio/​ aemulatio, 7–​8, 11–​12, 38 Intertextuality (see also appropriation; cento) allusion vs intertext (Hinds), 4–​5, 13, 18–​19 hypertext vs hypotext (Genette), 2–​3, 13 intratextuality (Sharrock and Morales), 13 parody, 2, 7–​8 pastiche, 2, 112, 184 plagiarism, 9 quotation practice, 13–​14 Usurpation vs Kontrastimitation (Thraede), 11–​12, 25, 34–​35, 180–​81, 187–​88 asceticism (and virginity), 41–​42, 54, 55–​56, 100, 113, 191–​92 Athens (and Eudocia), 96–​97, 116 Augustine, 108, 138 and original sin, 109 Bible apocrypha and canon, 58, 59, 64, 67, 69f, 79, 84, 97–​98, 143, 189–​90 biblical exegesis, 144 passim, 4, 5–​6, 15, 57–​ 58, 59–​60, 61, 63–​64, 73, 78, 79, 83–​84, 90–​91, 103, 105, 107–​8, 110–​11, 116, 123, 138–​39, 143, 145, 148–​49, 153 gospel harmony, 137, 138–​39, 143, 145

typology, passim, 113–​14, 128, 134–​35, 140, 147, 155–​56, 157, 164, 167–​68, 180–​81, 182, 191 visual exegesis/​material culture, 56, 69–​70, 77, 78, 83–​84, 90–​91, 95, 102–​3, 140, 144–​45, 147 biblical characters (selection) Adam and Eve, passim, 108, 109, 111–​12, 113, 156, 172, 182 Angels, 38–​39, 41, 69f, 111–​12 Christ, 19–​20, 37–​38, 64, 101–​2, 109, 131–​32, 137–​38, 141, 144–​45, 165, 166–​67, 173–​ 74, 176, 187–​88 David, 147, 180–​81, 182, 191, passim Gabriel, passim, 32, 57–​58, 59 God the Father, passim, 33, 34–​35, 58–​59, 64, 75, 130, 131, 155, 161, 178, 179–​80 Haimorrhoousa, passim, 83–​84 Holy Spirit, 112 (as the Muse, 90–​91, 110, 115, 193, 244) Jairus’ and his daughter, 74 passim, 24–​25 John the Baptist, 7, 25, 32, 140 Judas, 19–​20, 26, 27–​28, 33, 130–​31 Mary, Mother of Jesus, passim, 53–​54, 55–​ 56, 57–​70 weaving the flesh, 57–​58, 59–​60, 64, 84 Peter, 7, 32, 140, 145 Pontius Pilate, 145–​52 Samaritan Woman, passim, 91–​95 Satan /​Devil /​Serpent, 91–​92, 93, 108, 110, 119–​21, 122, 171–​72, 192 Sinful Woman/​Mary Magdalene, passim, 64, 79 Borges, J., 184 Cassia the hymnographer, 53–​54 cento, (definition) passim, 7–​8, 9–​10, 14–​15 centos in Byzantium/​medieval, 3–​4, 7–​8, 9, 14–​15, 17, 98–​99

310  Index of Rerum cento, (cont.) centos in Early Modern Period, 7–​8, 9, 188–​89 Cento technique vs cento genre, 2–​4, 7–​8, 9 Christian vs mythological centos, 10–​11, 12–​13, 15 spolia /​spoliation aesthetics, 49–​50, 195 (see also Bible: material culture) theory of cento, 13 (see also appropriation) Chaucer, G., 105 Christianisation, 5–​6, 38–​39, 138, 188–​89 Basileia (Holum), 97 Constantine, 38–​39, 138, 192 of Homeric/​classical terms (Schembra), 19–​20, 32, 35 imperial Christianity/​Christian triumph, 11–​ 12, 38, 39, 43, 116, 140, 151–​52 Christian themes/​concepts: apologetics, 15–​16, 40–​42, 45, 49, 50, 107–​8, 114, 118–​19, 122, 134, 151–​52, 160, 184–​85 ascension, 67, 69–​70, 102–​3 baptism and baptismal connotations, 25, 40–​41, 63 Chalcedon Council of 451, 96 Christian ethical values: e.g., humility, obedience, meekness, forgiveness, passim, 32, 83–​84, 108–​9, 146, 147, 155, 160, 161, 178, 180–​81 Christology, passim, 55–​56, 97, 99, 105, 138, 141, 153–​54, 155–​56, 171, 182, 187–​ 88, 191–​92 Christ’s soul, 165 dyophysitism, 169 impassibility, passim, 155, 169–​70, 191–​92 low Christology, 147–​48 miaphysitism, 96, 192–​93 psilanthropism, 154 Council of Ephesus of 431, 97, 99–​100, 182–​ 83, 191–​92 Cyril of Alexandria, passim, 97, 109, 144–​45 Nestorius, 97, 144–​45, 147–​48, 154 Theodoret of Cyrrhus, 14–​15, 169 Crucifixion, passim, 137–​38, 155–​58 cosmic resonances, 143–​44, 153 descensus, passim, 162–​78, 187–​88 (see also apocrypha) eschatology, 36–​37, 63–​64, 173–​74 eucharist, 27–​28, 90–​91, 101–​2, 149–​50, 166, 169–​70 Fall, 114, passim, 10–​11, 96, 178, 191–​92 free will and sin, 109, 132 garment of the flesh, 20, 63, 131–​32 (see also Mary; weaving)

Gentiles /​ethne (Christianization of), 85, 78, 79, 91, 105–​6, 115, 137–​38, 144, 148–150, passim hell (harrowing of), 163–​64, 171 hexaemeron, passim, 109–​10 Holy Family, 64 Lamb of God, 26, 101–​2, 137 martyrdom, 54, 120, 144–​45, 148 Messiah, 154, 161, 173 miles Christi /​Shield, 118 myrrh bearers, 169 Nativity, 60 Nicene-​Constantinopolitan Creed, 35, 45, 134, 138–​39, 192–​93 homoousios/​consubstantial, 35 orthodoxy vs heresy, 122, 192–​93 plan of Salvation/​Oeconomia, 34–​35, 91, 93–​ 94, 108–​9, 144–​45 resurrection of the body Salvation, passim, 111–​12, 129–​30, 133 Trinity, 35, 41–​42, 64 universalism, 116, 190 classicising poetry, passim, 51–​52, 64, 97–​98, 105–​6, 121, 183, 186–​87. See also paideia Constantinople (the ‘University’), 96–​97 ekphrasis, 24, 117, 186 Eliot, T.S., 1, 184 Elytis, O., 137 epic poetry. See also Homer biblical epic, 3, 38, 148 as cultural currency, 51–​52, 187 didactic epic, 4–​5, 186–​87, 188–​89 (see also Hesiod) didactic plot (Fowler), 111–​12, 113–​14, 116 East vs West, 7–​8, 10, 49–​50, 51–​52 epic Kunstsprache, passim, 51–​52, 135–​36, 179, 181–​82, 186 memorization, 14, 186 orality (the Parryan paradigm), 12–​13, 47 performance, 12–​13, 47 epic style assemblies, 32, 34–​35, 129–​30 formulae, passim, 19–​23, 51 formulaic adjectives, passim, 19–​20 formulaic lines, 20 interformularity (Bakker), 13 typical scenes, 21 introit, 115, 129, 136 (see also biblical characters (selection): Angel; pagan gods, Demigods, Heroes (selection): Muse) simile, 51, 146 (Late antique) epic style

Index of Rerum  311 cumulative aesthetics (Elsner), 13–​14 (see also cento: spolia/​spoliation) didacticism/​moralizing, 110–​11 episodic structure, epyllion, 10–​11 paradox (Averil Cameron), 27–​28, 169–​70, 182–​83, 192–​93 Progymnasmata /​rhetorical training used in Late Antique Epic ekphrasis, 19, 24–​25, 45, 51, 60, 68, 78, 89, 110, 117–121, 134, 155, 166, passim Jeweled Style (Roberts), 24–​25, 186 Enargeia, 25, 110, 120 encomium, 17–​18, 79, 83, 98 ethopoeia, 66, 79, 103, 151–​52, 153–​54, 161–​ 62, 174, 179–​80, 187–​88, 191, passim gnomae, 23 goos, 65 (see also lament) panegyric, 49, 82 prosopopoeia, 21–​22, 112 psogos –​invective, 26, 33 self-​consciousness/​self-​disclosure, 41–​42, 48–​49, 114 epic themes/​concepts: ambrosia, 131–​32 Αnagnorisis, 59, 68, 81–​82, 92–​93, 115, passim, 126–​27, 150, 179–​80, 187–​88 Arma, 51–​52 (see also kleos) Assemblies, 32, 34–​35, 129–​30 Ate, 100–​1, 127–​28 Athla/​games, 155, 156 disguised hero (Odysseus), 22, 23–​24, 176, 179–​80 duel, 84–​85, 162, 168, 172 Elysium, 122 epiphany, 123–​24, 148–​49, 150 fame /​kleos, 38–​39, 82, 155–​56, 161–166, 175, passim Father(s) and son(s), 34 gaster (as pun on metis), 128 gesta (vitalia gesta), 39 heroic death and funerary games, 17–​18, 146, 149–​50, 163, 165–​66, 180–​81 hospitality and gift-​giving, 33, 60, 79, 82, 93–​94, 150 Ηybris/​transgression, 20, 33, 108, 124–​28, 130, 155 Ιchor /​divine vs human blood, 141–​42, 166–​67 laments, 22, 64–​67, 84, 87, 99, 168, 181–​ 82, 186 menis, 124, 128, 129, 134–​35, 180 (see also pagan gods, Demigods, Heroes (selection): Achilles) Nekyia /​katabasis, 162, 165–​66, 175, 187–​88 (see also Christian themes/​concepts: descensus)

nostos, passim, 35–​37, 58–​59, 130, 187–​88 (see also pagan gods, Demigods, Heroes (selection): Odysseus) Polytlas /​the suffering wandering hero, 22, 35–37, 111–​12, 161–​62, 176, 187–​88 protos heuretes (Patricius), 49 sacrifices, 27–​28, 33 sophrosyne/chastity, 58–59, 82–85, 125–127, 92 spondai, 148–​49 Telemacheia, 28–​29 thymos, 165, 193–​94 Titanomachy, 146, 178 weaving, 5–​6, 14–​15, 38–​39, 54, 56–​57, 88–​89 genres drama, esp. tragedy, 54, 145, 186–​87 epic, 3–11, 19, 23, 28, 38–40, 43–50, 185–188 (see also epic poetry) hybrid genres, 114 intrageneric (Harrison), 13 transgeneric combination (Pollmann), 114 Hellenistic poetry, 14, 19, 186–​87, 192 holy land, 91, 96–​97, 138 Homer Homer as Theologian, 39, 183, 189, 193–​94 Homer in the schoolroom, 14, 51, 185–​86 Homeromanteion, 18–​19 ichor, 141–​42, 166–​67 Julian’s School Edict, 15–​16 Kleos, 66, 181–​82, 185–​86 lament, 65, 66 narratology, 4–​6, 100–​1 pagan gods, Demigods, Heroes (selection) Achilles, 25, 26, 34, 67, 81–​82, 128, 150 (see also epic themes/​concepts: menis) 175, passim Achilles’ shield, (Shield) passim, 118–​19 (see also ekphrasis) Agamemon, 81, 101, 127, 150–​51, 153–​54, 175 Andromache, 173 Aphrodite, 141–​42, 192 (see ichor) Athena, 32–34,78, 82, 96, 116 Calypso, 63, 118, 119, 124 Clytemnestra, 127, 128, 136 Dionysos, 137–​38, 139

312  Index of Rerum pagan gods, Demigods, Heroes (selection) (cont.) Epicaste, 136 Fertility Goddesses, 192 Hades, 142, 153, 163–170, 184–​85, 187–​88 Hector, 25, 59, 66, 86–89, 155–​56, 158, 169–178, passim Hermes, 63–​64, 126 Muse, 111–​12 Nausicaa, 58, 63, 93, 120, 123, 173 Odysseus, 21–24, 28, 32–35, 58, 61, 66, 79, 82, 86, 92–95, 119, 120, 126, 131, 134–​35, 147–​48, 152, 153–​62, 173, 180, 188, passim (see also disguise; epic themes/​concepts: gaster; epic themes/​concepts: nostos), passim Odysseus on the mast, 160, 179–​80, 183, 187–​88

Pandora, 108 Patroclus, passim, 65, 146, 148–​49, 156 Penelope, passim, 93–​94, 100–​1, 124, 125, 136 (see also Nekyia /​katabasis: sophrosyne; Nekyia /​katabasis : weaving) Poseidon, 151–​52, 177–​78 Prometheus, 137–​38, 139 Proteus, 120, 131–​32, 150–​51 Thetis, 58, 65, 67–​68, 168, 173, 178 Zeus, 116, 130, 149, 158 (distributes good and evil, 116), 129–130 (boule), 163 (rain of blood) Pulcheria, 55, 89, 96, 102, 147–​48, 192 Serena, wife of Stilicho, 56 Second Sophistic, 51–​52, 56–​57 Theodosius II, 96, 99, 102