Approaches to the text. From pre-gospel to post-baroque 9788862276955, 9788862276962

Table of contents :
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION :READING TEXTS OF THE PAST
AD FONTES ! ON APPROACHING‘BIBLICAL’ MANUSCRIPTSOLDER THAN THE BIBLE
THE LIBRARY OF THE APOSTLE PAULAND HIS FOLLOWERS
Political approachesto Byzantine liturgical texts
PATRISTIC AND THEOLOGICAL MANUSCRIPTSIN TWELFTH-CENTURY NORWAY :FROM MANUSCRIPT BOOKS TO FRAGMENTS*
MULTIPLE TEXTS.FOLKLORISTIC APPROACHESTO EARLY MODERN VERBAL CULTURE
UTOPIAN ENGLISH :TRANSMITTING AND ADAPTING THE TEXTOF UTOPIA IN EARLY MODERN ENGLAND
POETICS, STYLOMETRICSAND ATTRIBUTION STUDIES :PERIODICITY IN MARLOWE
WANDERING THROUGHTHE SHADES OF NIGHT :CAIN AND THE TRAGIC WORLD OF RICHARD II
THE ‘TEMPERATURES’ OF CORIOLANUS
« A most strange story » (5.1.119) :1Circumscription in The Tempest
PETTER DASS IN A WIDER WORLD :RECONSIDERINGTHE SECOND CATECHISMAL HYMNON THE LORD’S PRAYER,HERRE GUD ! DIT DYRE NAVN OG ÆRE
INDEX OF NAMES

Citation preview

APPROAC H E S TO T HE TE Xt FROM PRE-GOSPEL TO POST-BAROQUE edi t e d b y roy er i k s e n a n d peter you ng

e arly m o de rn a n d m odern studies · 9.

PIS A · R OMA FABRIZ IO SERRA E DIT O RE 2014

EARLY MODERN AND MODERN STUDIES

E

« arly Modern and Modern Studies » publishes monographs, collections of essays, and scholarly editions. It aims to create a forum for international scholars who study the art and intellectual expressions of Early Modern European cities and their role in the creation of a shared European cultural and social space in a period of expansion and increased confrontation. The important themes and cultural expressions discussed, and the wider relevance of Early Modern art forms and cultural statements in contemporary society, make the series into a valuable resource for specialists as well as for the general reader. While the interdisciplinary series studies the cultural expressions of Early Modern cities, the initial focus inevitably falls on the culture of Renaissance Italian city states and their lasting influence on European culture to the present. Today novel and interdisciplinary approaches to Early Modern Europe increase our awareness of how its urban culture was a major vehicle for creating the preconditions for the rise of a critical public sphere and toleration. The negotiations between the forces of dynamic societal change and the forces resisting change, produced the democratic life-world that is the essential mental and material habitat of contemporary Europeans. The programme thus focuses on the interplay between epistemological and artistic processes of formation and new ways of expressing human needs and preoccupations in the evolving public spheres of urbanised society. Contributions in the series are therefore concerned with the changing role of genres, modes and media of communication in these developments, including the novel forms old and new institutions assumed in Early Modern societies.

EA R LY M O D E R N A N D M OD E RN S T UD IE S a se rie s dire cte d b y roy erik sen 9.

APPROAC H E S TO T HE TE Xt FROM PRE-GOSPEL TO POST-BAROQUE edi t e d b y roy er i k s e n a n d peter you ng

PIS A · R OMA FABRIZ IO SERRA E DIT O RE 2014

The publication of this volume is aided by contributions from The Faculty of Humanities and Education, and multikul, University of Agder. * Sono rigorosamente vietati la riproduzione, la traduzione, l’adattamento, anche parziale o per estratti, per qualsiasi uso e con qualsiasi mezzo effettuati, compresi la copia fotostatica, il microfilm, la memorizzazione elettronica, ecc., senza la preventiva autorizzazione scritta della Fabrizio Serra editore®, Pisa · Roma. Ogni abuso sarà perseguito a norma di legge. Proprietà riservata · All rights reserved © Copyright 2014 by Fabrizio Serra editore, Pisa · Roma. Fabrizio Serra editore incorporates the Imprints Accademia editoriale, Edizioni dell’Ateneo, Fabrizio Serra editore, Giardini editori e stampatori in Pisa, Gruppo editoriale internazionale and Istituti editoriali e poligrafici internazionali. Uffici di Pisa: Via Santa Bibbiana 28, I 56127 Pisa, tel. +39 050 542332, fax +39 050 574888, [email protected] Uffici di Roma: Via Carlo Emanuele I 48, I 00185 Roma, tel. +39 06 70493456, fax +39 06 70476605, [email protected] www.libraweb.it issn 1828-2164 isbn 978-88-6227-695-5 (brossura) isbn 978-88-6227-696-2 (elettronico)

CONTENTS Introduction : Reading Texts of the Past (Roy Eriksen, Peter Young)  

Årstein Justnes, Ad fontes ! On Approaching ‘Biblical’ Manuscripts Older than the Bible Tor Vegge, The Library of the Apostle Paul and his Followers Apostolos Spanos, Political Approaches to Byzantine Liturgical Texts Espen Karlsen, Patristic and Theological Manuscripts in Twelfthcentury Norway : from Manuscript Books to Fragments Tom Pettitt, Multiple Texts. Folkloristic Approaches to Early Modern Verbal Culture Per Sivefors, Utopian English : Transmitting and Adapting the Text of Utopia in Early Modern England Roy Eriksen, Poetics, Stylometrics and Attribution Studies : Periodicity in Marlowe Joseph Sterrett, Wandering through the Shades of Night : Cain and the Tragic World of Richard II Morten Bartnæs, The ‘Temperatures’ of Coriolanus Muriel Cunin, « A most strange story » (5.1.119) : Circumscription in The Tempest Peter Young, Petter Dass in a Wider World : Reconsidering the Second Catechismal Hymn on the Lord’s Prayer, Herre Gud ! dit dyre Navn og Ære

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Index of Names

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INTRODUCTION : READING TEXTS OF THE PAST  

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he contributors to the present collection endeavour in their various approaches to texts, produced between the first and the eighteenth century, to reduce the estrangement most modern readers experience in their encounters with the intellectual and material products of past centuries and their particular modes of signification. They illustrate the fact that although « Print is flat, code is deep », 1 a fact that becomes high­ lighted to an even greater degree in oral and manuscript transmission. Despite the fact that the articles are disparate in their approaches and in the choice of objects of study and subjecs, a number of common themes appear, and they are all intrinsically linked with the textual work carried out by humanist scholars active throughout the Early Modern period in their editing and interpretation of extant works from pagan and Christian Antiquity. All textual and visual representations in social space have an aesthetic function and possess the potential to change and reshape that space or field by means of its engagements with or interventions in it. There is therefore no essential difference between utterances or representations made in a general cultural context and on particular occasions now or in the past, the communicative processes to a considerable extent remain similar or are intimately related, even though their modes of representation or their authors’ place in history and their generic choices differ. A term like ‘hypertext’ therefore can describe medieval, early modern or contemporary modes of communication. In the face of this combined difference and sameness the contributors who belong in a variety of disciplines work with the methods peculiar to their field and no attempt has been made to impose the same methodological formula. This ‘freedom’ does not however imply that they do not group into areas of related theoretical, methodological, thematic, or formal interest. Some contributors work on manuscripts from Antiquity and the Middle Ages, but from different perspectives ; others work on Early Modern texts from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries, but analyse how writers from the Early Modern period reuse and reformulate  

 

 

 

1

  N. Katherine Hayles, Print is Flat, Code is Deep : The Importance of Media Specific Analysis, « Poetics Today », 25 : 1 (Spring 2004), pp. 67-90.  

 

 

 

10 roy eriksen · peter young the dynamic forms of the previous periods. That there should be a division between these causing communication break-down and preventing knowledge transfer is ahistorical and a fabrication of the biased mind. Careful philological study and explication de texte are indispensable tools when tackling texts that are no longer immediately open to be processed and digested by many scholars or the general reader. Patient and meticulous examination of the texts and the conventions and contexts that shaped them is to a large extent the fruit of the rigorous methods developed by Early Modern Humanists in their studies of the extant exemplars of the ancient world, texts both spiritual and secular. The excellent and daring philologist and philosopher Lorenzo Valla subjected The Donation of Constantine to critical scrutiny and in the treatise De falso credita et ementita Constantini Donatione declamatio (1439-1440), established that it contained irrefutable philological evidence that the deed had been composed in the 8th century, and not during the reign of Constantine. 1 The style and vocabulary were clearly centuries younger. Naturally, Valla’s findings were resented by the Church. Similarly, the French humanist and classicist Isaac Causabon (1559-1614) subjected a group of texts attributed to Hermes Trismegistos to philological scrutiny. The Corpus Hermeticum were was long believed to have been written by a contemporary of Moses until Casaubon’s systematic philological analysis in De rebus sacris et ecclesiasticis exercitationes xvi (1614) established that the vocabulary and style of the treatises belonged to the third and fourth centuries ad. The tools developed by these scholars, and the famous Desiderius Erasmus whose monumental work on the various extant texts of the New Testament in particular, revolutionised biblical studies, caused much controvery, for example with Luther, anticipating the controversies created by exponents of Higher Criticism in the 19th Century. The authors in this volume do not aspire to such momentuous effects by their approaches to the very varied kinds of text which are their objects of study, but their work is nevertheless related to questions first raised by early modern humanists and theologians. They focus on the texts themselves, both materially and in terms of choices of genre, while at the same time considering the immediate and wider contexts and conventions of communication that produced them.  

1

  Salvatore Camporeale, Lorenzo Valla : umanesimo, riforma e controriforma : studi e testi, Roma, Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, 2002, pp. 150-152.  

 

introduction : reading texts of the past 11 A great many early texts belonging to our written tradition are religious texts, being scriptural, ritual or devotional. These writings were composed by means of rhetorical techniques aimed at preserving the texts intact so that they could be copied by scribes or memorised easily for oral transmission. They therefore share similarities and techniques of transmission with secular oral poetry, whose compositional techniques and rhetorical tropes of praise and persuasion formed the basis of the discipline of rhetoric as codified in classical ‘arts’ of rhetoric. In order to open these texts to present and future generations, the study of the formal patterns and the metaphorical language used in our oldest extant scripted texts is particularly valuable. Approaches to the Text, therefore, is aimed at bringing to light the continuities in our scripted and oral traditions, and thus to reduce the divisions and strangeness wrongly attributed to works composed in a distant past. Thus six contributions, those by Justnes, Vegge, Karlsen, Spanos, Sterret and Young deal directly and indirectly with religous texts or texts in which an understanding of the particular character of conventions that produced texts written early in our era conditions medieval, early modern and pre-Baroque compositions in prose, verse or drama in equal measure. Four contributors deal specifically with composition and four contributions deal with classical or revived classical rhetoric in early modern drama. Thus the various articles interlock in their objects of study and their approaches to texts produced at different points during a time-span of more than 1500 years. The volume’s first contribution, ‘Ad fontes ! On Approaching ‘Biblical’ Manuscripts Older than the Bible’, takes us back to texts scripted and assembled at the very beginning of the Christian era. In it Årstein Justnes argues that we should distinguish between two levels when describing and characterising the ‘biblical’ texts from Qumran : A surface level where we allow anachronistic and post-canonical labels and a deeper level where we do not, using instead labels that are calibrated for historical analyses. Moreover, he proposes that a strict historical perspective on the ‘biblical’ texts should urge us to move from canonical categories to a more inclusive language. Drawing on insights from new (material) philology, he emphasises that the ‘biblical’ manuscripts from Qumran should also be studied in situ, rather in an idealised ‘biblical’ context. Tor Vegge’s contribution, The Library of the Apostle Paul and his Followers, belongs to the same era and engages with early Christian book history. He discusses the contexts of literary texts in Roman and Greek anti­quity, focusing in particular on a material or media-specific analysis of the writings of Paul the Apostle. How did books and manuscripts  

 

 

12 roy eriksen · peter young and their circulation relate to the apostle’s literary activity ? Paul’s learning and the writings he composed would presuppose access to a wellstocked library, where classical texts, and in Paul’s case classical Jewish writings, could be studied and used as resources for his work as writer and preacher. Three contributions bring us forward to the Middle Ages and the continuation of medieval forms in later ages, vitalising the particular contexts that produced them and their functions in their respective societies and ages. Apostolos Spanos’s object of investigation belongs in the sphere of the Byzantine Empire, while the manuscript fragments examined by Espen Karlsen were written in pre-colonial medieval Norway. The forms of the ballad analysed by Tom Pettitt, in the volume’s fifth article, are found across Northern Europe from the Middle Ages to the twentieth century. In the article Political Approaches to Byzantine Liturgical Texts Apostolos Spanos discusses cases of political and dynastic use of hymnology, when the deeply religious character of Byzantine society gave way to a political system that has been characterized as a « political theology ». Established as early as the fourth century, this ideology was based on a close relation between the Byzantine Empire and the Kingdom of Heaven and, thus, between God and the Emperor. Byzantine emperors used this ideology to strengthen their own power and the legitimacy of their dynasty. To this end, imperial propaganda exploited, for example, the canonisation of emperors or royals and the composition of liturgical texts as a means of consolidating their power in the minds of their subjects. Espen Karlsen’s Patristic and Theological Manuscripts in Twelfth-Century Norway : From Manuscript Books to Fragments is a contribution to a hitherto understudied field in the book history of pre-colonial and pre-re­ formation Norway, as it can be retrieved and reconstructed by means of fragments of manuscripts for the most part found in the bindings of post-reformation account books. The oldest extant materials belong to patristic and theological books used in medieval Norway, and the fragments Karlsen discusses here are from the twelfth century, although earlier fragments exist. Most of them bear witness to continental influence, but some appear to have been copied locally in Norway, which strongly suggests the existence of one, even two, Norwegian centres of early book production. Although originally an oral medieval form, the ballad continued to be a living popular element in post-medieval societies even to our own  

 

 

 

introduction : reading texts of the past 13 days, as illustrated by Tom Pettitt’s contribution to the volume : Multiple Texts: Folkloristic Approaches to Early Modern Verbal Culture. The study of traditional ballads, Pettitt proposes, provides a window onto earlymodern textuality both directly, in that several national traditions have texts surviving from that period, and indirectly, in that textual processes discernible in better-documented recent traditions can with some confidence be extrapolated back to it. Pettitt provides a range of examples of textual processing from English, Danish, Scottish and Swedish traditions, recorded, respectively, in the twentieth, nineteenth, eighteenth and seventeenth centuries. Regardless of the century or language chosen, the principles of the « ballad machine » are seen to yield similar results, offering important information about the provenance, delivery, and handing down of ballads in Northern European culture. Whereas four contributors analyse prose, and two discuss compositions in verse, four contributions focus on drama texts written for and produced on the English early modern stage. The last group of four do, however, choose to approach plays and dramatic verse from widely differing avenues of investigation, ranging from philology and topomorphology to metaphor analysis and poetics. The use of scriptural metaphors as a guide for interpretation and communication in literature is a basic ingredient in medieval and early modern literature. Joseph Sterrett’s article, Wandering through the Shades of Night : Cain and the Tragic World of Richard II explores the opening and closing references to Cain in Shakespeare’s Richard II and links these references to both a general ‘landscape’, setting or mood that Shakespeare uses for this story of deposition and death. Cain, Sterrett argues, should therefore be seen to function as a kind of literary shorthand both for the impact made by the memory of regicide and for the moral ambiguity that surrounds the act of sovereign expediency. In the article, ‘A most strange story’ (5.1.119) : 1 Circumscription in The Tempest, Muriel Cunin seeks to disentangle the various strands of meaning in the polysemous term, « circumscription » in classical rhetoric and early modern art theory. The rhetorical and technical term designates etymologically 1) the act of « writing around » (oed), 2) evokes confinement, and 3) is regarded by Alberti in his De pictura as the first stage of painting. Cunin applies this notion to Shakespeare’s generically complex play The Tempest, where Prospero acts as a stage director, magician, and arch 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

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  All references are to The Oxford Shakespeare : The Complete Works, edited by Stanley Wells, Gary Taylor, Oxford, University Press, 1986.  

14 roy eriksen · peter young plotter trying to impose his own central, fixed-point perspective while his kingship of vision is constantly questioned. In The ‘Humours’ of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus, Morten Bartnæs discusses the intricate interplay between thermal imagery, humoral physiology and rhetoric in Shakespeare’s Coriolanus. The author provides a reasoned historical outline of the central late Renaissance poetical notion of stylistic frigidity (frigidum), pointing out the little-studied pervasiveness of humoral theory in the language and action of the play, and argues that the careful deployment of a style marked by frigidum has a key function in the play’s trial scene, adducing a novel but historically well-based context for the protagonist’s surprisingly low-key performance in the tragedy’s finale. Whereas Cunin discusses the implications of circumscriptio, Roy Eriksen in Poetics, Stylometrics and Attribution Studies : Periodicity in Marlowe, focuses on the compositional ideal inherent in the classical rhetorical term « periodos », as used by Christopher Marlowe in a passage on composition in Tamburlaine, Part One (1588) : « one poem’s period » (V.ii.106). He argues that stylometrics, when focused on the frequency and distribution of inscripted textual features based on the specific aesthetic templates codified in periodic rhetoric and recommended in poetic treatises, may provide a firm basis for attributing and dating early modern drama texts, in this case the much disputed B-text of Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, extant in the edition of 1616. Familiar to the majority of Norwegians, Petter Dass’s (1647-1707) cate­ chismal hymn on the Lord’s Prayer is typically known only in its drastically abridged form in the Norwegian Hymn Book. However, Peter Young argues in his contribution that the complete work yields topomorphical levels of number, emblem and structure indicating a reassessment of Dass’s usual placing in seventeenth-century Norwegian baroque. In particular, Young sees in the Hymn a reflection of the baroque obsession with emblems, which was particularly in evidence in seventeenth century Denmark. Further, in addition to his acknowledged role in the formation of a North Norwegian cultural consciousness, his hymn situates Dass in the context of a wider intellectual transnational cultural community of the North Sea countries, and the British Isles in particular. The present interdisciplinary volume aims to suggest the connectedness and interplay between different epistemological, artistic and communicative processes embedded in texts composed over a period of more than 1500 years. More specifically, the authors study genres, modes, and means of signification and communication, which contributed to shap 

 

 

 

 

 

introduction : reading texts of the past 15 ing the processes that established a shared and differentiated European cultural and social field. For in spite of the differences between the circumstances influencing the writers who produced the texts approached here, the core issues involved largely remain the same.  

Roy Eriksen · Peter Young

16

roy eriksen · peter young Contributors in alphabetical order

Morten Bartnæs (Cand. Philol) is Research Fellow in the University of Agder, Kristiansand, where he has recently finished a dissertation discussing the use of thermal imagery in Scandinavian literature. He has published articles on thermal metaphors and the particular rhetorical tropes they engender in the writings of Torquato Tasso, William Shakespeare, Sigmund Freud, in distinguished international journals and book series. Muriel Cunin (PhD) is Senior Lecturer at the University of Limoges, France. She is the author of Shakespeare et l’architecture. Nouvelles inventions pour bien bâtir et bien jouer (Paris, Honoré Champion, 2008), and several articles on early modern literature. Cunin has co-edited, with Martine Yvernault, Monde(s) en mouvement : Mutations et innovations en Europe à la fin du Moyen Age et au début de la Renaissance (Limoges, Pulim, 2012).  

Roy Eriksen (PhD) is Professor of English Renaissance Literature and Culture at University of Agder, Norway. He publishes in English and Italian Renaissance Studies, e.g. The Forme of Faustus Fortunes (1987), The Building in the text (2001), and edited volumes such as Form and the Arts (2003) and Ashes to Ashes (2006), Imitation, Representation and Printing (2009). Eriksen is currently working on monographs on Marlowe, and on Alberti and Quattrocento Urbanism. This monograph L’Edificio testuale : dal Quattrocento italiano al Seicento inglese is forthcoming.  

Årstein Justnes (Dr. theol) is Associate Professor in Biblical Studies, Institute for Religion, Philosophy and History, University of Agder, Norway. His research interests include the Dead Sea Scrolls, the New Testament, and Mindfulness. He has published The Time of Salvation : An Analysis of 4QApocryphon of Daniel ar (4Q246), 4QMessianic Apocalypse (4Q521 2), and 4QTime of Righteousness (4Q215a) (Peter Lang, 2009), and edited three books in Norwegian in his fields of interest : Dødehavsrullene : Deres innhold, historie og betydning (Høgskoleforlaget, 2009), Hellige skrifter i verdensreligionene (with Jens Braarvig ; Høgskoleforlaget, 2011), and Ny bibel, nye perspektiver (with Hallvard Hagelia and Tor Vegge ; Portal, 2011).  

 

 

 

 

Espen Karlsen (Fil dr.), is a Latinst and Research Librarian in The National Library of Norway, Oslo, where he is Keeper of the incunabula

introduction : reading texts of the past 17 collection. His main field of research is Medieval and Renaissance Latin and he is editor of Collegium medieval. Interdisciplinary Journal of Medieval Research. His most recent publication is the edited collection Latin Manuscripts of Medieval Norway. Studies in Memory of Lilli Gjerløw (Oslo, Novus Press, 2013), to which he also a contributor.  

Tom Pettitt (PhD) is an adjunct Research Professor at the Centre for Medieval Literature and the Cultural Sciences Institute of the University of Southern Denmark, Odense. His interests focus on English and European folk traditions of the late-medieval and early-modern periods (customary drama ; folktales ; legends ; song and ballads), both as cultural achievements in their own right, and their relationships with canonical literature and theatre history, not least the plays of Marlowe and Shakespeare. A recent extension of interests encompasses the way features of medieval and folk traditions are re-emerging in digital culture with the close of the intervening Gutenberg Parenthesis.  

 

 

Per Sivefors (Fil. Dr.) is Lecturer in English Literature in Linnaeus University, Sweden. He has published articles om Thomas Nashe, John Lyly and Christopher Marlowe, the last of whom was also the topic of his PhD dissertation, The Deligitimised Vernacular : Language Politics., Poetics and the Plays of Christopher Marlowe (2004). His research interests include early modern dream narratives, masculinity and urban culture. He has previously edited Urban Preoccupations : Mental and Material Landscapes (2007) and Urban Encounters: Representation and Experiènce in the Early Modern City (2013) in this series.  

 

Apostolos Spanos (Dr. theol) is Associate Professor of Byzantine Studies at the University of Agder, Norway. His main research interests are Byzantine innovation, the relationship between State and Church in Byzantium, Byzantine liturgy and Greek paleography. His publications include Codex Lesbiacus Leimonos 11. Annotated Critical Edition of an Unpublished Byzantine Menaion for June (Berlin, 2010), Was Innovation Unwanted in Byzantium ? (2013), Imperial sanctity and politico-ecclesiastical propaganda in Byzantium (Ninth-Fifteenth century) (2010),  ‘To Every innovation anathema’( ?). Some preliminary thoughts on the study of Byzantine Innovation (2010).   

 

Joseph Sterrett (PhD) is Assistant Professor of Literatures in English, Aarhus University, Denmark. His research interests are Shakespeare, tolerance and religious conflict, sovereignty and immunity, social per-

18 roy eriksen · peter young formance, seventeenth-century Metaphysical poetry. He is General Editor, Scintilla : The Journal of the Vaughan Association. Among his publications are The Unheard Prayer : Religious Toleration in Shakespeare’s Drama (2012), a volume co-edited with Peter Thomas, Sacred Text-Sacred Space : Architectural, Spiritual, and Literary Convergences in England and Wales (2011), and articles on Late-Elizabethan literature. The edited volume Prayer and Performance is forthcoming.  

 

 

Tor Vegge (Dr. theol.) is Professor of New Testament Studies, University of Agder, Norway. The main topics of research are schools and education in Antiquity, and the importance of literary texts in Early Christianity. Some publications are The Literacy of Jesus the Carpenter´s Son. On the literary style in the words of Jesus, in « Studia Theologica », 59 (2005) ; Paulus und das antike Schulwesen. Schule und Bildung des Paulus (bznw 134), De Gruyter, 2006 ; Polemic in the Epistle to the Colossians, in Oda Wischmeyer, Lorenzo Scornaienchi (eds), Polemik in der frühchristlichen Literatur. Texte und Kontexte (bznw bd. 170), De Gruyter, 2010.  

 

 

 

Peter Young (PhD) is Professor Emeritus in English at the University of Agder, Norway. He has also taught in universities in Africa and England, being the first academic to introduce serious study of African authors in Norway. As well as early modern English literature, his research interests include anglophone African literature, its use of English, and the transition from oral to written forms of expression. His current research interests include the contexts for the work of the Elizabethan prose writer Thomas Deloney and the cultural contacts between the British Isles and Norway in the late 17th and 18th Century.

AD FONTES ! ON APPROACHING ‘BIBLICAL’ MANUSCRIPTS OLDER THAN THE BIBLE  

Årstein Justnes 1. Introduction

T

he so-called ‘biblical’ scrolls and fragments from Qumran (also known as the Dead Sea Scrolls) are not only older than the Hebrew Bible or the Old Testament, 1 they are even older than the codex and the first lists of Jewish authoritative writings. 2 At the time of the scrolls we know of no collection of texts corresponding to the Hebrew Bible and no standard ‘biblical’ text ; 3 we encounter the ‘biblical’ texts from Qum­ ran in multiple versions. 4 Despite this, the majority of Qumran scholars  

 

   

 

1   The Qumran ‘biblical’ manuscripts comprise about 25 per cent of the total (about 220 out of nearly 900), cf. Philip Davies, Qumran Studies, in The Oxford Handbook of Biblical Studies, ed. J. W. Rogerson, Judith M. Lieu, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2008, pp. 99-107, p. 100. 2   Cf. Giorgio Camassa, Friedrich Hild, Buch, in Der Neue Pauly : Enzyklopädie der Antike, Band 2 ; Herausgegeben von Hubert Cancik, Helmuth Schneider, Stuttgart-Weimar, Verlag J. B. Metzler, 1997, pp. 809-816, p. 811 : « Die Rolle hatte als normale Buchform bis ungefähr zum 2.Jh. n. Chr. Bestand, existierte aber neben dem Codex noch weiter, durch den sie seit dem 4.-5.Jh. n. Chr., von Sonderfällen abgesehen, endgültig verdrängt wurde ». In contrast to the evolving Christian community the Jewish community kept using scrolls for their Holy Scriptures (David Trobisch, The First Edition of the New Testament, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2000, p. 76). For a short introduction to the history of the codex, see Trobisch, First Edition, cit., pp. 69-71. It is not until the time of Josephus and 4 Ezra that we find regular lists of authoritative writings. Josephus lists 22 writings (Contra Apionem 1 :8) while 4 Ezra lists 24 (4 Ezra 14 :45). 3   Torleif Elgvin, Sixty Years of Qumran Research : Implications for Biblical Studies, « seå », 73, 2008, pp. 7-28, p. 8 : « We now see the masoretic text of a specific biblical book as one text among others in the late Second Temple period. The (proto-)masoretic version does not necessarily represent the earliest or best text of the book in question ». Eugene Ulrich, Our Sharper Focus on the Bible and Theology Thanks to the Dead Sea Scrolls, « cbq », 66, 2004, pp. 1-24, p. 11 : « There was no ‘Masoretic Text’ in antiquity, nor was there a category of ‘ProtoMasoretic Text’. Indeed, there does not appear to be any evidence prior to the end of the first century of our era that any Jewish group showed awareness or concern about the various text forms or that their texts differed from those preserved in the temple at Jerusalem » ; p. 12 : « … neither the mt, the sp, nor the lxx is ‘a text’ : they are chance, varied collections of the individual scrolls that some leaders of each of the three groups happened to have after life settled down between and after the Jewish Revolts ». 4   Cf. for instance Ulrich, Sharper Focus, cit., p. 9 : « We … have surviving manuscript evi 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

20 årstein justnes have primarily been interested in these texts qua biblical texts. 1 They have often been treated, characterised, published, and studied separately in a canonical literary environment or in other idealised contexts. In this article I will discuss several fundamental problems : How do we approach these texts as historians ? How are we to describe, characterise and organise them ? Should they be treated differently than other texts ? Do they always belong together ? How should they be interpreted ? Basically, I will argue (1) that we need to distinguish between two levels when we describe and characterise these texts : A surface level (where we allow anachronistic and postcanonical labels) and a deeper level (where we do not allow anachronistic and postcanonical labels, but use labels that are calibrated for a historical analysis) ; (2) that a strict historical perspective on the ‘biblical’ texts should urge us to move from canonical categories to a more inclusive language. Drawing on insights from new (or : material) philology, I will emphasise that also the ‘biblical’ texts from Qumran should be studied in their material and historical context, 2 and not only in an idealised ‘biblical’ context.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

dence that over half of the books of the Hebrew Bible circulated in variant literary editions at the time of the origins of Christianity and rabbinic Judaism … the texts were pluriform, not witnesses to a pure ‘original text’, and … there were concurrent variant editions of many books … ». 1   Cf. James C. Vanderkam, Questions of Canon Viewed through the Dead Sea Scrolls, in The Canon Debate, ed. Lee M. McDonalds and James A. Sanders, Peabody, Hendrickson, 2002, pp. 91-109, p. 95 : « … what are identified as ‘biblical’ manuscripts are often treated separately by scrolls scholars, with some focusing all or almost all of their scholarly labors on them. It seems to me that this segregation of texts is not a valid procedure in that it does not reflect what comes to expression in the ancient works found at Qumran ». Cf. also Eugene Ulrich, Methodological Reflections on Determining Scriptural Status in First Century Judaism, in Rediscovering the Dead Sea Scrolls : An Assessment of Old and New Approaches and Methods, ed. Maxine L. Grossman, Grand Rapids, mi, Eerdmans, 2011, pp. 145-161, pp. 154-155. 2   Cf. for instance Liv Ingeborg Lied, Nachleben and Textual Identity : Variants and Variance in the Reception History of 2 Baruch, paper at the Sixth Enoch Seminar, Milan 2011 : « From the perspective of new philology, literary works do not exist independently of their material embodiment. Rather, the physical form of the text is an integral part of its meaning. In the study of a given literary text it is important to look at the material context (e.g., the entire codex), surrounding texts, as well as features of form and layout of the text – also when the text in focus is a copy of an earlier text witness. A main principle of new philology is that physical objects like codices and manuscripts come into being at particular times and places and for particular purposes, and that we cannot interpret the texts without taking into consideration how these contexts are part of their meaning. Moreover, as these physical objects continue to circulate and exist over time, the new contexts the manuscripts enter into will also leave their traces on them. These traces are regarded as interesting in their own right. In other words, new philology suggests that texts should be studied in situ – linguistically, materially and socio-historically ».  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2. Canonical ‘Curses’ The first statement to make about the Bible at Qumran is that we should prob­ ably not think of a ‘Bible’ in the first century b.c.e. or in the first century c.e., at Qumran or elsewhere. 1 Eugene Ulrich  

Among Jews and Christians, canon lists and the invention of the codex are usually considered a blessing. For the believer it is indeed conven­ ient to have ‘the word of God’ in one book. For Qumran scholars, however, the canon is at best a mixed blessing that at times blurs our vision and creates a whole range of challenges. Let me briefly mention three :  

2. 1. Terminological Problems Even professionals sometimes speak as if they are dealing with codices and canonical collections of texts when they approach pre-canonical times – a time where there are only scrolls or fragments of scrolls to be found. 2 And the scholarly discussion is unavoidably affected by a rich amount of unclear terminology : ‘the Old Testament’ (which primarily refers to the texts’ worth in relation to the Christian scriptures), ‘Bible’ (which makes one think of a modern book or a codex, or a collection of canonical texts [in contrast to other texts ?]), 3 ‘biblical’ (which places scrolls and fragments in a [canonical] collection), 4 ‘rewritten Bible’ (which signals the rewriting of [‘books’ from] a canonical collection of texts), 5  

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Eugene Ulrich, The Bible in the Making : The Scriptures at Qumran, in The Community of the Renewed Covenant : The Notre Dame Symposium on the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Eugene Ulrich, James A. VanderKam, Notre Dame, in, University of Notre Dame Press, 1994, pp. 77-93, p. 77 ; reprinted in Eugene Ulrich, The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Origins of the Bible, Grand Rapids, mi, Eerdmans, 1999, pp. 17-33, p. 17. 2   See for instance Udo Schnelle, Paulus: Leben und Denken, Berlin/New York, Walter de Gruyter, 2003, pp. 100-101: «Die Bibel des Paulus war die griechische Übersetzung des Alten Testaments, die Septuaginta». I owe this example to Tor Vegge. 3   Cf. Ulrich, Sharper Focus, cit., p. 2, who says that the ‘biblical’ manuscripts from Qumran give us « a more authentic picture of the Bible at the time of Jesus and of Rabbi Hillel ... ». 4   We should also mention the misguiding derivatives ‘after-biblical’, ‘post-biblical’, and ‘biblical era’, etc. 5   Cf. George W. E. Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism and Christian Origins : Diversity, Continuity, and Transformation, Minneapolis, Fortress, 2003, p. 12 : « The term ‘Rewritten Bible’ is probably anachronistic, because we cannot always be certain that what was rewritten was considered to be ‘Bible’ at the time it was rewritten ». Most scholars seem to treat ‘rewritten Bible’ as a genre or a textual strategy. Anders Klostergaard Petersen, Rewritten Bible as  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

22 årstein justnes ‘S/scripture’ (an authoritative or canonical ‘collection’ ?), 1 ‘S/scriptures’ (writings belonging to an authoritative or a canonical ‘collection’ ?), 2 and ‘authoritative writings/texts’ (an expression difficult both to define 3 and to use 4).  

 

 

 

 

 

a Borderline Phenomenon – Genre, Textual Strategy, or Canonical Anachronism ?, in Flores Florentino : Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez, ed. Anthony Hilhorst, Émile Puech, Eibert Tigchelaar, Leiden, Brill, 2007, pp. 285-306, p. 287 prefers ‘Rewritten Scripture’ (originally introduced by James C. VanderKam) : « By Scripture I do not mean a canonically homogeneous collection of writings that have been completely demarcated or formally closed. Nor do I think of texts the wording of which has been ultimately laid down. The idea is to capture the essence of Vermes’ concept [Rewritten Bible] while making it more fluid, so that the plurality of different text forms as well as the dynamic processes that eventually lead to the formation of various canons is taken into account. In this essay Scripture simply means any Jewish composition to which a particular group of people imputed a particular authority ». 1   Because of the anachronistic nature of the concept ‘Bible’, several scholars prefer to use ‘s/scripture’ to refer to authoritative texts in the pre-canonical period. John Barton, Canonical Approaches Ancient and Modern, in The Biblical Canons, ed. J. M. Auwers, H. J. de Jonge, Leuven, University Press and Peeters, 2003 (« betl », 163), pp. 199-209, p. 202 uses ‘scripture’ as a label for the authority of texts within communities of faith. 2   Cf. for instance Davies, Qumran Studies, cit., p. 100 : « writings with canonical status », or George Aichele, The Control of Biblical Meaning : Canon as Semiotic Mechanism, Harrisburg, pa, Trinity Press International, 2001, p. 25 : « texts that are authoritative but not necessarily exclusive ». 3   Mladen Popović, Prophet, Books and Texts, Ezekiel, Pseudo-Ezekiel and the Authoritativeness of Ezekiel Traditions in Early Judaism, in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism, ed. Mladen Popović, Leiden, Brill, 2010 (« jsj », Suppl. 141), pp. 227-251, p. 249 : « To be authoritative is a status or quality that a text can acquire, but also lose, over time. This status depends, to a large degree, on the acceptance by a larger group of people of the normative claims made by the text and its author(s)/scribe(s). One also needs to distinguish between different levels of authority for different texts ». Paul Ricoeur, The ‘Sacred’ Text and the Community, in Figuring the Sacred : Religion, Narrative, and Imagination, translated by David Pellauer, ed. Mark I. Wallace, Minneapolis, Fortress, 1995, pp. 68-72, p. 69 understands the term ‘authoritative’ differently from most Qumran scholars : « … ‘authoritative’ means that there is discrimination between the text that constitutes the founding act of the community and those who are excluded from this founding function. Even if they have a kind of kinship they may be excluded in this way ; the Gospel of Thomas is very close, but it does not belong to the story of the way in which the community interpreted itself in the terms of those texts. This is what I should call authoritative but not necessarily sacred, because it is a hermeneutical act to recognize oneself as founded by a text and to read this text as founding ». 4   Cf. Mladen Popović, Introducing Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism, in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism, ed. Mladen Popović, cit., pp. 1-17, p. 1 : « There is the question of which specific texts were authoritative and in which respect : for example, regarding halakah or because they address the present and the future. Other aspects relate to how the number of manuscripts found at Qumran is indicative of a text’s authoritativeness, or whether specific scribal practices reflect different levels of authority. Why were some texts more authoritative than others ? For whom and in what contexts were texts authoritative ? And what are our criteria for determining the extent to which a text was authoritative ? In short, what do we mean by ‘authoritative’ ? ». As Popović’s reflections and questions show,  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

‘ biblical ’ manuscripts older than the bible

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2. 2. The Essential Categories ‘Canon’ and ‘Canonical’ The noun canon and the adjective canonical mean different things in the scholarly literature, depending on whether the terms refer to the time before or after the Jewish biblical canon was finalised :  

(a) When working with the time before the canonical process of the Jewish Bible was finalised, some scholars use the terms to distinguish between different degrees or types of authority 1 or to characterise the writings recognised and interpreted at Qumran. 2 (b) After the canonical process of the Jewish bible reached an end, words like canonical or non-canonical tend more to mark a division be­ tween writings that are outside or inside the canon (sometimes even implying holy or unholy). 3  

 

 

The concept of ‘canon’ obviously functions best when used in relation to codices or lists of authoritative texts (cf. b). When we work with scattered scrolls with different functions, status and roles, it is much more difficult to demarcate a collection, a ‘canon’ or a whole within which to place the most ‘important’ texts. In other words, a distinction between the question of texts’ authority is complex, and it has to be linked to the different functions the different texts had in different situations (and at different times). The label also raises another major question : If some texts are labelled authoritative, how are we to describe, characterise, and value the other texts ? 1   Elgvin (Qumran Research, cit., p. 8) tries to make a distinction between ‘actual and formative canon’ and ‘formal canon’. 2   Davies, Qumran Studies, cit., p. 100 : « A number of religiously authoritative writings were … recognized and interpreted by the authors of the Scrolls, so that we can correctly speak of ‘scriptures’, and certainly of scrolls and scroll collections that would have formed an ‘open’ canon of writings that were regarded as definitive of Judaism – that is, of Judaism as understood by their readers ; and while most of these scriptures were so regarded by all Jews, some were recognized as such only by certain Jewish groups. Among the Qumran scrolls, we can identify with some certainty both categories, but we cannot be certain of the criteria for canonical status, or of the boundaries between ‘canonical’ and ‘non-canonical’ ; without a fixed canon, in fact, such boundaries were probably blurred (probably more so than in modern Protestant Bibles with their ‘Apocrypha’) ». 3   Cf. Dimitris J. Kyrtatas, Historical Aspects of the Formation of the New Testament Canon, in Canon and Canonicity : The Formation and Use of Scripture, ed. Einar Thomassen, University of Copenhagen, Museum Tusculanum, 2010, pp. 29-44, p. 29 : « … Athanasius (ca. 296-373), bishop of Alexandria from 328 and writing soon after 350, used the very word canon for the collection of authoritative books to the exclusion of all others. These books, he argued, ‘are fountains of salvation’, and concluded : ‘Let no one add to them ; let nothing be taken away from them’ ».  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

24 årstein justnes canonical and non-canonical texts is hardly profitable at Qumran. 1 The whole project of making Qumranic canon-lists or Qumran ‘Scrip­ ture’/‘Bible’ is fundamentally anachronistic. 2  

 

2. 3. Anachronistic Quests The quest for authoritative scripture(s) in the Dead Sea Scrolls has often been a quest for the Masoretic canon, or a modified version of it. While it is indeed an interesting fact that fragments of all the books of this canon, with the sole exception of Esther, have been found at Qumran, it is by no means clear which conclusions these data allow. Contrary to what has often been claimed, this does not confirm the Masoretic canon, only the existence of most of its ‘books’. The statistical material seems to lead us to other syntheses. 3 The canonical perspective on the scrolls early led to negative characterisations of Qumran writings that differed – in one way or another – from the canonical books (cf. names like Pseudo Daniel, Pseudo Ezekiel, Pseudo Jeremiah, etc). Likewise ‘biblical’ texts that differed from the Mas­ oretic text were characterised negatively. 4  

 

1

  Cf. for instance Vanderkam, Questions, cit., p. 91 : « As nearly as we can tell, there was no canon of Scripture in Second Temple Judaism. That is, before 70 C.E. no authoritative body of which we know drew up a list of books that alone were regarded as supremely authoritative, a list from which none could be subtracted or to which none could be added ». 2   Cf. Philip R. Davies, Scribes and Schools : The Canonization of the Hebrew Scriptures, Louisville, Westminster / John Knox Press, 1998 (« Library of Ancient Israel »), pp. 153-154 who lists several criteria for what constitutes a canonical text at Qumran : (1) multiple copies ; (2) citation of contents as authoritative ; (3) the extent to which the text has been fixed ; (4) the extent to which a writing has generated interpretative literature. (Cf. also Davies, Qumran Studies, cit., p. 100.) 3   There is much to learn from Ulrich’s (Sharper Focus, cit., p. 9) attempt to create a « collection of Scriptures » based on «the number of copies found and the number of times the books were quoted as authoritative » : « There is very strong evidence that the five books of the Torah, plus Psalms and Isaiah, were then regarded as Scripture. There is strong evidence that the Minor Prophets, Daniel, and 1 Enoch and Jubilees were regarded as Scripture ; some evidence for Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Job ; only weak evidence for the Former Prophets, Proverbs and the small scrolls of Ruth, Canticles, and Lamentations ; negligible evidence for Qoheleth, Ezra and Chronicles ; and no evidence for Esther and Nehemiah. Other recent studies on the collection during the periods of nascent Christianity and rabbinism agree with that picture ». 4   The two Isaiah scrolls from Qumran, 1QIsaa and 1QIsab, illustrate this : « Since we ‘knew’ what the biblical text was supposed to look like, what we saw was that 1QIsab confirmed that the mt ‘faithfully preserved the original text’ (and we were quite relieved) ; 1QIsaa, on the other hand, was accused of being a ‘vulgar’ or even a ‘worthless’ manuscript because it diverged so widely from the textus receptus. Two factors, however, prove that accusation false. First, 1QIsaa had been carefully wrapped in linen and sealed inside a protective pot 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘ biblical ’ manuscripts older than the bible

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3. Labels, Categories, Perspectives The question of the character of the texts found at Qumran is closely tied to how we describe them. It is easy to create both homogeneity and diversity among the texts simply by the way we use essential concepts. Molly Zahn’s recent study Talking about Rewritten Texts : Some Reflections on Terminology opens with some reflections that are useful for our study :  

 

Names are not just names ; they are not simply convenient labels that we stick on the front of semantic shoeboxes to indicate the contents inside. On the one hand, names and categories are manifestations of our worldviews, re­ flecting conscious and subconscious aspects of language, culture, and circumstance. On the other hand, and perhaps less obviously, names and categories affect how we think ; they actually influence the way in which we understand the things denoted by those labels. Once an object or phenomenon is given a particular name or placed in a particular category, we approach that object or phenomenon with specific expectations in mind regarding what sort of thing it is. 1  

 

 

Since the labels we use strongly affect our way of thinking and understanding, the use of names, categories and labels needs to be calibrated so that they are in harmony with the approaches and perspectives schol­ ars use when studying the texts. What can be a good and decent use of terminology from one perspective, can be misleading from another. And since there is no universal way to characterise the different texts, we some­times need to combine several sets of labels, simply in order to have a conversation about the texts and to navigate the material. tery jar, ensuring its excellent preservation. 1QIsab had not been so protected and is thus fragmentary. Why carefully preserve a ‘vulgar’ or ‘worthless’ scroll in contrast to a ‘perfect’ or ‘authentic’ scroll if those really were the views of the community that possessed them ? Second, as numerous other scrolls were discovered and deciphered, the same pattern continued to unfold in large quantity » (Ulrich, Sharper Focus, cit., pp. 3-4). 1   Molly M. Zahn, Talking about Rewritten Texts : Some Reflections on Terminology, in Changes in Scripture : Rewriting and Interpreting Authoritative Traditions in the Second Temple Period, ed. H. von Weissenberg, J. Pakkala, M. Marttila, Berlin/New York, de Gruyter, 2010 (« Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für de alttestamentliche Wissenschaft », 419), pp. 93-119, p. 93. Cf. also Ulrich’s (Sharper Focus, cit., p. 11) useful reflections : « If we wish to see clearly, we must formulate our questions properly and make sure that our categories for interpreting the evidence are correct and appropriate. We are heirs to the centuries of debates, clarifications, distinctions, and decisions that have resulted in our current views of the biblical text and canon. But to understand antiquity properly, we must try to see ancient reality on its own terms and not anachronistically superimpose on it our current categories ».  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

26 årstein justnes When we approach the ‘biblical’ texts from Qumran we need to distinguish between at least two levels : A surface level (where we allow anachronistic and postcanonical labels, for pragmatic reasons) and a deeper level (where we do not allow anachronistic and postcanonical labels, but use terminology that is calibrated for the different scholarly approaches to the texts). 1 At the deeper level I basically suggest a move from canonical categories to a more inclusive language that also is sensitive to canonical texts’ pre-canonical functions. Regardless of perspectives, it is extremely difficult to avoid taking words like ‘biblical’ or ‘bible’ in one’s mouth when dealing with these texts. We need them simply in order to navigate the material. Furthermore, many of the ‘biblical’ texts from Qumran are so fragmentary that they can only be described at a surface level. 2 We can see that they contain ‘biblical’ material, but we often know little – if anything – about how these fragments functioned in their original context. They are ‘biblical’ fragments, but they did not necessarily belong to a ‘biblical’ scroll. 3 Despite being useful at surface level, concepts like ‘Bible’ and ‘biblical’ are, however, misleading for a whole range of reasons if used as ana­ lytical terms in historical analyses : – they de facto create artificial clusters of texts within the Qumran ‘library’, which in turn function as forces of their own, with collective power and influence. – they tend to mask the complexity existing among the writings characterised by these labels. The significantly varying numbers of ‘biblical’ scrolls and fragments found at Qumran speak against characterising them by a common, ‘global’ label. 4 – they introduce tensions and dualisms among texts that were found  

 

 

 

 

 

1   Zahn does not seem to distinguish between different levels of use. Cf. Zahn, Talking, cit., p. 94 : « While our views about the nature of ‘scripture’ in the Second Temple period have changed, however, the labels we use to describe the textual phenomena of this period have been slow to catch up. Terms like ‘parabiblical’, ‘apocryphal’, ‘pseudo-x’, and even ‘Bible’ and ‘biblical’ imply an older model in which it was generally assumed that most of the canon of Hebrew Scripture, especially the Torah, was fixed prior to the late Second Temple period, and that the Masoretic Text (mt) for the most part constituted the earliest and most authoritative witness to this canon ». 2   Cf. the index of passages in djd 39 (Oxford, Clarendon, 2002), pp. 185-201. 3   Despite this, they still count as a ‘biblical’ scroll in the statistics, where the tiniest ‘biblical’ fragments have the same statistical impact as the great Isaiah scroll. Cf. djd 39, pp. 165-183. 4   It is a paradox that a work that is found 30 times at Qumran (Deuteronomy) and a work that is found once (Ezra) are often characterised the same way.  

 

 

27 ‘ biblical ’ manuscripts older than the bible side-by-side in the Qumran caves, and divides texts that must have been closely linked with each other. 1  

The concept of scripture is almost equally problematic, for many of the same reasons, 2 and scholars struggle to make it compatible with the Qumran material. If we use a narrow definition, it becomes more or less synonym with ‘bible’. 3 If we define it as broadly as Zahn does, it is difficult to think of texts from Qumran not to be regarded as scripture.  

 

In the context of the academic study of religions … “scripture” or “scriptures” … can … refer more generally to any text or group of texts considered sacred and authoritative by a particular religious tradition. Thus, the “scripture” of any given subset of Second Temple Judaism properly includes all the texts considered sacred by that group, whether or not they later came to be part of “the Bible”. 4  

4. From Idealised Contexts to Historical Context : Preliminary Observations  

When we analyse the texts as historians, we need a terminology that is attentive to canonical texts’ pre-canonical functions, and labels that are compatible with each other and provide the same – or at least – related information about the texts. We need to focus more on the historical 1   Cf. Emanuel Tov, The Biblical Texts from the Judaean Desert : An overview and Analysis of the Published Texts, in The Bible as Book : The Hebrew Bible and the Judaean Desert Discoveries, ed. E. D. Herbert, E. Tov, London, The British Library and Oak Knoll Press in association with The Scriptorium : Center for Christian Antiquities, 2002, pp. 139-166, p. 143 : « … the texts from the Judaean Desert show that very little distinction, if any, was made between the writing of biblical and non-biblical texts and more generally, of sacred and non-sacred texts ». 2   Problematic, too, is the expression ‘collection of Scriptures’. Ulrich (Sharper Focus, cit., p. 9) uses it almost as a synonym to ‘canon’, and seems to presuppose a pre-canonical collection of Scriptures : « In the first century, what was the shape of the collection of the Scriptures that would eventually become the canon ? ». Cf. also Eugene Urich, Qumran and the Canon of the Old Testament, in The Biblical Canons, ed. J. M. Auwers, H. J. De Jonge, Colloquium Biblicum Lovaniense, Leuven, Leuven University Press and Peeters, 2003 (« betl », 163), pp. 57-80, p. 62 : « the Qumran scriptural evidence is generally applicable for the text and canon [better : collection] of late Second Temple Palestinian Judaism » (emphasis mine). 3   Strictly speaking, there is no concept of scripture, understood as a collection of texts or as a term for « holy authoritative texts », in the Qumran texts. At this point the translation A New Translation : The Dead Sea Scrolls, ed. Michael O. Wise, Martin G. Abegg, and Edward M. Cook, San Francisco, HarperSanFrancisco, 2005 is at times misleading, cf. 1QS 6 :7 ; 11Q13 4 2 :2,10,11,15,16.   Cf. Zahn, Talking, cit., p. 97.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

28 årstein justnes context of the texts than idealised contexts, and to move from canonical categories to a more inclusive language. This is indeed difficult, but a work not without promises : If we manage to approach the ‘biblical’ texts from Qumran as something more than biblical texts, they might also reveal more than biblical things.  

4. 1. An Experiment : From Canon to Literary Milieus  

One of the main characteristic features of the Qumran ‘library’ is its plurality. Most of the ‘biblical’ books seem to have been part of living streams of tradition that were developing and evolving. 1 In the Pesher of Habakkuk (1QpHab) the different versions of the prophetical scroll are used as an exegetical resource. The author can for instance quote one version of a passage and expound it by alluding to another version of the text. 2 The scribal freedom may partly be explained as some kind of authoritative interpretation. 3 The ‘biblical’ scrolls and fragments were found side by side with writings of different origin and from different milieus – ‘apocryphal’, ‘pseudepigraphal’, ‘sectarian’, and ‘non-sectarian’ texts, and left scholars with traces of a really interesting literary milieu, where also the ‘biblical’ texts naturally belonged. There are several ways in which the ‘biblical’ texts can be brought into dialogue with this material. In the following, I will restrict myself to present one model that I will briefly explain below :  

 

 

 

1   Davis, Qumran Studies, cit., p. 100 : « The manner in which what in retrospect we loosely term ‘biblical’ scrolls were transmitted, revised, glossed, and commented on suggests that our modern reverence for a canonical text as verbally sacrosanct does not apply to the writers of the Qumran scrolls. We do have, in most cases, multiple copies of each book (mostly in fragments) ; … no two copies are exactly the same. Often the differences are minor, but sometimes not ». Note, however, that, according to Ulrich (Sharper Focus, cit., pp. 12-13), there are no sectarian variants in the ‘biblical’ scrolls. 2   Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism, cit., p. 11. 3   Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism,cit., p. 21. See also p. 11 : « At the turn of the era, the text of many of the biblical writings was not finally fixed, and scribal and exegetical practice allowed a great deal of interpretive freedom. This fact needs to be related to a paradox evident in both rabbinic and early Christian exegesis : a precise, word-for-word interpretation of the text went hand in hand with scribal manipulation of that text ».  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘ biblical ’ manuscripts older than the bible Categories Law

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Texts The ‘scroll’ of the Torah/the Pentateuch, ‘Rewritten bible/scripture’, ‘parabiblical’ texts from Qumran, other law texts from Qumran, etc. ‘Biblical’ Prophets, ‘Rewritten bible/scripture’, ‘parabiblical’ texts from Qumran, Pesharim, 1 etc. ‘Biblical’ Psalms, other psalm texts, ‘apo­ cryphal’ psalms, liturgical works from Qumran, etc.

Literary Milieus Prophets (examples) Psalms 1

(1) By ‘literary milieus’ I mean groups of texts that are related to each other thematically or literary, and that most probably were read in dialogue with each other. These texts may be of different age and status, and may reflect different perspectives on related themes and traditions. (2) Several texts from Qumran refer to two grand categories of texts, the law and the prophets. 2 Much has been written about these as canonical or idealized categories. 3 In the scheme above I approach them more inclusively and treat them as pointers to larger literary milieus. 4 I have also included Psalms as an example of another literary milieu.  

 

 

1   The so-called pesher literature is a particular genre among the Qumran-texts. It is a kind of line-by-line commentary (from a contemporary perspective) mainly to prophetical writ­ ings. There are pesher-commentaries to Isaiah, Hosea, Micah, Nahum, Zephaniah, Habakkuk, the book of Psalms and Genesis. There are also more thematic pesher-commentaries that combine several texts from different ‘biblical’ books. 2   Note the following examples : « Moses and all his servants the prophets » (1QS 1 :3) ; « the law … and the prophets » (1QS 8 :15-16) ; « the commandments of God through Moses and also through the anointed of the spirit » (cd 5 :21-6 :1) ; cf. also cd 7 :15-17. Also the fragmentary 4QMMT seems to reflect two (and not three, as claimed by Elisha Qimron and John Strugnell, djd x, p. 59 note 10, and Davies, Qumran Studies, cit., p. 101) categories : the law and the prophets. 3   According to John Barton (The Significance of a Fixed Canon of the Hebrew Bible, in Hebrew Bible/Old Testament : The History of Its Interpretation, ed. Magne Sæbø, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996, pp. 67-83) the authoritative writings of the Jews were sorted under two, not three, headings or categories. There is no evidence for a tripartite canon prior to the end of the first century c.e. Cf. also Ulrich, Methodological Reflections, cit., p. 150 : « … the Qumran evidence, though not conclusive, strongly suggests that the collection was still bipartite up to the end of the first century c.e. : we find in the scrolls a heavy emphasis on the Torah and the (Latter) Prophets, including Jubilees and 1 Enoch, but virtually no attention to the Former Prophets and Writings ». 4   Cf. also Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism, cit., p. 185 : « The Torah, the Prophets, and the  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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(3) Broad categories like ‘Bible’ or ‘Scripture’ do not play a role in this model. Accordingly, ‘law’, ‘prophets’, and ‘psalms’ should not be re­ garded as subordinated to these categories. (4) The different categories do not denote a collection of writings in the strict sense, but are flexible and dynamic concepts : (a) There are no watertight bulkheads between the categories or between ‘biblical’ texts and other texts. 1 In the ‘Qumran library’ 4QReworked Pentateuch (4Q158 and 4Q364-367) is for instance obviously part of the same literary milieu as other versions of the Pentateuch. Likewise the pesher literature is closely tied to the ‘biblical’ prophets, and the ‘biblical’ psalms are closely linked with other psalm collections and liturgical works. 2 (b) The categories have the potential to include different versions of the same ‘biblical books’ (for instance so-called vulgar texts) and works from different streams of traditions (‘apocryphal’, ‘pseudepigraphal’, ‘rewritten’ works and ‘pseudo’ works). 3  

 

 

 

Writings did not exist in isolation, but were inextricably associated with interpretive traditions. Some of these traditions conflicted with or even contradicted one another and were authoritative for some persons and groups and not for others ». 1   In this way we will avoid ‘identity crises’ like the ones described in Emanuel Tov, From 4QReworked Pentateuch to 4QPentateuch ( ?), in Authoritative Scriptures in Ancient Judaism, ed. M. Popović, cit., pp. 73-91, pp. 90-91 : « … the four manuscripts 4Q364-367 analyzed in the shadow of 4Q158, ‘4QBiblical Paraphrase,’ were first named 4QPentateuch Paraphrase or 4QPP. Their first identity crisis was the change from 4QPP to 4QReworked Pentateuch, or 4QRP. The second identity crisis occurred when it was realized that this nonbiblical composition might actually reflect a group of Scripture texts, possibly to be named 4QPentateuch ». Cf. also Natalio Fernádez Marcos, Rhetorical expansions of Biblical traditions in the Hellenistic Period, « Old Testament Essays », 15/3, 2002, pp. 766-779, p. 769 : « It should be emphasised that in the Qumran documents there is no scribal separation or distinction between the Biblical and non-Biblical material but that new contents are introduced without a sense of discontinuity ». 2   Cf. Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism, cit., p. 21 : « Scriptura was not sola. A given text or a set of texts was accompanied by traditional interpretation, which might have been developed in comparison with other texts and which was formulated in light of one’s historical situation ». 3   Zahn, Talking, cit., p. 101 : « It has often been assumed – sometimes more explicitly and more often, I think, tacitly – that rewritten or parabiblical texts did not have the status of scripture, as if the very fact of being derived from a biblical book precluded a work from being seen as sacred or authoritative ». Cf. Nickelsburg, Ancient Judaism, cit., p. 21 : « The precise relationship between the tradition and its narrative recasting varies, and in given cases it is difficult to determine. In the case of Jubilees, the author presents his book as revelation ; the angels who stand in God’s presence dictate the patriarchal stories to Moses,  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘ biblical ’ manuscripts older than the bible

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5. Concluding Remarks After many years of interest for canon and authoritative scriptures, it may be time to focus more on the texts’ pre-canonical functions. The Dead Sea Scrolls gives us a unique opportunity to study ‘biblical’ texts in other contexts and as parts of other clusters and milieus of texts than canonical ones. Such an approach has the potential of revealing new aspects of the texts. It allows biblical texts to be more than biblical, and it even allows the ‘non-texts’ and ‘pseudo-texts’ to be part of literary milieus that they were excluded from when they received their ‘canonical’ names. interspersing them with laws that are engraved on heavenly tablets. Thus the author claims divine authority for his version of the Torah ». See also George J. Brooke’s (Between Authority and Canon : The Significance of Reworking the Bible for Understanding the Canonical Process, in Reworking the Bible : Apocryphal and Related Texts at Qumran, ed. E. G. Chazon et al., Leiden, Brill, 2005 [« stdj », 58], pp. 85-104, pp. 89-90) : « … the reworking of earlier tradition may have been viewed by some Jews in the latter half of the Second Temple period as a standard way through which any composition might lay some claim to authority. In the case of the books of Chronicles this eventually led to them acquiring canonical status ; and the same happened to the Book of Jubilees in some religious communities. Over against modern views of rewritings as self-evidently secondary and plagiaristic, in early Judaism such imitation with its own form of exegetical innovation was entirely justifiable as a claim to authoritative voice of the tradition ».  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE LIBRARY OF THE APOSTLE PAUL AND HIS FOLLOWERS Tor Vegge

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he Catacombs of St. Domitilla outside Rome contain one of the oldest known images of Paul. The image, dating from the fourth century ce, shows Paul with a capsa (gr. teuchos), a book box filled with manuscripts, scrolls, and Paul himself holding a scroll in his hands. 1  

Paul, fourth century ce (Catacombs of St. Domitilla). 2  

1

  For this image see Norbert Zimmermann, Zur Wiederentdeckung des Fossors Diogenes, « Bollettino Monumenti, Musei e Gallerie Pontificie », 29 (2011), pp. 119-151. 2   Image from Die Malereien der Katakomben Roms, 2 vols., edited by Joseph Wilpert, Freiburg, Herdersche Verlagshandlung, 1903, Vol. 2, Taf. 182.  

 

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More than two hundred years earlier, in the New Testament writing Paul’s Second Letter to Timothy, the author lets Paul the Apostle talk about his manuscripts :  

Do your best to come to me soon […]. When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, also the books (biblia), and above all the parchments (membranai). (2 Tim 4 :9 and 13)  

Paul’s Second letter to Timothy is seen by several scholars as a deutero-Pauline text authored by a student of Paul about the year 100 ce, and maybe written in Ephesus. 1 The text depicts the fictive Paul in Rome, and the fictive addressee could be perceived as staying in Ephesus. Second Timothy shows features characteristic of literary last wills known from antiquity. 2 Even if it remains unclear what « Paul’s books and parchments » here might have referred to, it gives us an opportunity to ask how books and manuscripts related to Paul’s literary activity, and in a more heuristic form to conduct a quest for the Pauline library. In this connection the term « library » will from the outset have to be a somewhat loose designation for the writings belonging to the literary tradition that Paul shows an active relation to. The issues in this essay also relate to the question of a supposed Pauline school and of how Paul and his students or followers approached texts and manuscripts important to them, a discussion aimed at increasing our understanding of the dynamics of teaching, learning and text production within the Pauline school. In the following we will first turn to the question of libraries and schools, then point to the importance of books, manuscripts and writing within the schools before we turn to a sketch of the Pauline library and the literary activity taking place in interaction with this library.  

 

 

 

 

 

Libraries For certain ends writings would be collected into libraries. Public libraries were built in cities, some of them were located in gymnasiums. 3  

1

  Udo Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002 (« Uni Taschenbücher », 1830), p. 380 ; Benjamin Fiore, The Pastoral Epistles : First Timothy, Second Timothy, Titus, Collegeville, Minneapolis, The Liturgical Press, 2007 (« Sacra Pagina Series », 12), p. 20. 2   See Klaus Berger, Formgeschichte des Neuen Testaments, Heidelberg, Quelle & Meyer, 1984, pp. 76f. ; Benjamin Fiore, The Function of the Personal Example in the Socratic and the Pastoral Epistles, Roma, Biblical Insitute Press, 1986 (« Analecta biblica », 105), pp. 162f. For 2 Timothy see Benjamin Fiore, The Pastoral Epistles, cit., pp. 8f. 3   Carl Wendel, Bibliothek, in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum, 2, Stuttgart, An 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the library of the apostle paul 35 Schools used libraries, a private person could build a library, and Jewish and Christian groups whose religious identity were closely linked with texts were likely to have a collection of writings at hand. 1 Paul’s practice is marked by a literary activity that normally would require access to the written texts that he presupposes, quotes, alludes to and refers to. A library of a rhetorical or a philosophical school could consist of the writings of the founder of the school, other philosophical writings and manuscripts written by the present teacher and students of a school, and other texts of different genres. The teacher of rhetoric Theon of Alexandria (first century ce), in his Progymnasmata (‘literary execises’) refers to a variety of literary works and he probably had access to a library containing those texts. Among others, he mentions orators like Isocrates, Lysias and Demosthenes, as well as Homer, the historian Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon, and then Plato, Aristotle, and Theophrastus. He is also able to quote from Epicurus’ Letter to Idomeneus. 2 No less impressive is the overview and presentation of literature that Quintilian (first century ce) in his Institutio oratoria recommends as reading for the orator. He mentions an extensive list of poets, historians and philosophers, both Greek and Roman. 3 There is no reason to doubt that such teachers and authors had access to libraries containing this literature and that they made active use of it in their teaching. The Greek author Diogenes Laertius wrote a work, probably sometime in the third century ce, in English called Lives of eminent philosophers, where he presents the individual philosophers organised according to the various schools ; he passes on some information on the lives of the individual philosophers, and writes about their teaching and writings. In his presentation of the philosophers’ teachings Diogenes would have been dependent on existing libraries. He refers to writings and renders lists of books attributed to the different philosophers. When writing about the death of the head of a school and the handing over to the next  

 

 

 

ton Hiersemann, 1954, pp. 231-274 ; Konrad Vössing, Bibliothekswesen B : Griechenland, Rom, christliche Bibliotheken, in Der neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike, 2, Stuttgart-Weimar, J. B. Metzler, 1997, pp. 640-647, pp. 640-643 ; Boris Dreyer, Medien für Erziehung, Bildung und Ausbildung in der Antike, in Handbuch der Erziehung und Bildung in der Antike, edited by Johannes Christes, Richard Klein and Christoph Lüth, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006, pp. 223-250, 290-295, pp. 233-234. 1   Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church. A History of Early Christian Texts, New Haven-London, Yale University Press, 1995, p. 141 and 144 ; Konrad Vössing, Bibliothekswesen, cit., pp. 643-646. 2   Theon Alexandrinus, Progymnasmata, 66-72. 3   Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, i.8 ; x.1.27-131.  

 

 

 

 

36 tor vegge generation, Diogenes is on occasion able to render the last will of the head teacher. Epicurus left books and property :  

Let them make Hermarchus trustee of the funds along with themselves, in order that everything may be done in concert with him, who has grown old with me in philosophy and is left at the head of the School. And when the girl comes of age, let Amynomachus and Timocrates pay her dowry, taking from the property as much as circumstances allow, subject to the approval of Hermarchus. Let them provide for Nicanor as I have hitherto done, so that none of those members of the school who have rendered service to me in private life and have shown me kindness in every way and have chosen to grow old with me in the School should, so far as my means go, lack the necessaries of life. [21] All my books to be given to Hermarchus. 1  

The testament of Theophrastus, the successor of Aristotle leaves property, money, and books, and contains instructions :  

All will be well ; but in case anything should happen, I make these dispositions. I give and bequeath all my property at home to Melantes and Pancreon, the sons of Leon. It is my wish that out of the trust funds at the disposal of Hipparchus the following appropriations should be made […]. Next, to rebuild the small cloister adjoining the Museum at least as handsomely as before, and to replace in the lower cloister the tablets containing maps of the countries traversed by explorers […]. The whole of my library I give to Neleus. The garden and the walk and the houses adjoining the garden, all and sundry, I give and bequeath to such of my friends hereinafter named as may wish to study literature and philosophy there in common. 2  

 

The envisaged context is the school for the common and cooperative study of literature and philosophy. The school has a library, this particular library also containing maps. The books were given to Neleus, it was however not Neleus, but Straton, another pupil, who succeeded Theophrastus as head of the school, and Diogenes is also able to cite the last will of Straton :  

I leave the school to Lyco, since of the rest some are too old and others too busy. But it would be well if the others would co-operate with him. I also give and bequeath to him all my books [biblia], except those of which I am the author, […] 3  

1   Diogenes Laertius, Lives of eminent philosophers, 10.20-21. Translations of Greek texts in the present essay are taken from the Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge, ma-London, Harvard University Press, unless noted otherwise. Ancient works are for the most part named according to Patrick H. Alexander, The sbl Handbook of Style, Peabody, Hendrickson, 2 1999.   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 5.51-52. 3   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 5.62.

the library of the apostle paul

37

This testament also envisages cooperative study. Here the school head’s own writings are singled out. In the Greek text for the sentence « except those of which I am the author » the verb has a plural form and the sentence could perhaps better be rendered : « except those which we ourselves have written ». 1 Significant for our discussion here is the existence of the books in the school library and that the school head and his students, or perhaps also fellow teachers/scholars, wrote books. Why the two parts of the library were distinguished to that extent the books written by « themselves » were not left to together with the other books, is unclear. It should be noted that Diogenes in addition to the last will of Epicurus only cites testaments from the Peripatetic (Aristotelian) school. Those might have been the only ones he had access to, and we can assume that other schoolmasters arranged the handing over of school and library in a similar way in their wills.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Library in Herculaneum Under the lava and volcanic ash that on the 24th August in the year 79 ce covered Herculaneum, a library was discovered in the 17th century by excavators. The library was found in a grand villa probably once owned by Piso, consul in the 50’s bce, and the father-in-law of Julius Caesar. The library contained several hundred manuscripts, mainly Epicurean writings, among them writings of Epicurus, his main work De natura (On Nature) in several copies, further works by the Epicurean Demetrius Lacon and other Epicureans. Many of the texts are written by the renowned Epicurean Philodemus of Gadara 2 (in today’s Jordan), who might also have been the owner of a large part of the library. Philodemus came to Athens and studied with Zeno of Sidon, the head of the Epicurean school. He left Athens around 88-86 bce for Italy, where Piso became his patron. 3 The year of Philodemus’ death is unknown, but he may have stayed in Italy under the protection of his patron and friend for several decades. It can be determined that the base stock of the library  

 

1

  Fritz Jürß translates : « außer meinen eigenen Handschriften » (Diogenes Laertios : Leben und Lehre der Philosophen, übersetzt und hg. von F. Jürß, Stuttgart, Reclam, 1998). 2   Harlow Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World. Philosophers, Jews and Christians, London, Routledge, 2000, p. 46. 3   W. Benjamin Henry, Philodemus, On Death. Translated with an introduction and notes by W. Benjamin Henry, Atlanta, Society of Biblical Literature, 2009 (« Writings from the GrecoRoman World », 29), pp. xiii-xiv.  

 

 

 

 

 

38 tor vegge in Herculaneum is older than the villa itself, and Philodemus may have brought his own library from Athens to Herculaneum. 1 The villa belonged to the wealthy family of Piso, and members of the family may have read and studied philosophy, but the family may also have hosted (and the pater familias may have been the patron of ) a philosophical school in their villa. The manuscripts in the library indicate the library to have been « a working library ». 2 There were copies also of Philodemus’ own writings, and some manuscripts seem to have been his drafts, 3 and some have the signs of working copies being either carelessly written or showing traces of additions and corrections. 4 There was a vital Epicureanism in southern Italy, and the content of the library and character of the manuscripts « indicate that the villa was probably a centre of Epicurean activity, the gathering place of an Epicurean circle whose philosophical purpose was served by such a library ». 5 At the time of the destruction by the volcano the villa may have been owned by Piso’s heirs, 6 who kept the library and an interest in Epicurean philosophy.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Library of the Peripatetic School The Aristotelian library was renowned in antiquity, and its fate and function were discussed. The fate of the library and the ancient comments on it is especially interesting with regard to the function of written texts in the philosophical schools. According to the ancient geographer Strabo, Aristotle was the first to build a systematic collection of books, and to teach the systematic arrangement of a library. 7 Aristotle probably collected books suited to the study and scholarly work of his school. It is already mentioned that Theophrastus the successor of Ari­stotle left his library to Neleus, one of his students. 8 The library of  

 

1   W. Benjamin Henry, op. cit., p. xiv. See also Michael Erler, Die Schule Epikurs, in Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie (Begr. von Fr. Ueberweg) Bd. 4 : Die Hellenistische Philosophie, edited by Hellmut Flashar, Basel, Schwabe, 1994, pp. 203-379, 292f. Further to the characteristics of this library and the writings in it : Harlow Gregory Snyder, op. cit., pp. 46-50. 2 3   Harry Y. Gamble, op. cit., p. 188.   W. Benjamin Henry, op. cit., p. xiv. 4   Harlow Gregory Snyder, op. cit., pp. 47-48. 5   Harry Y. Gamble, op. cit., p. 188. 6   W. Benjamin Henry, op. cit., p. xv ; Harry Y. Gamble, op. cit., p. 187. 7   Strabo, Geographica, 13.1.54. See Stefan Maul, Bibliotheksgebäude - Bibliothekswesen A : Ägypten und Mesopotamien, in Der neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike, 2, Stuttgart-Weimar, J. B. Metzler, 1997, pp. 634-640, p. 634. 8   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 5.51-57 ; on the library : 52. See John Patrick Lynch, Aristotle´s School. A Study of a Greek Educational Institution, Berkely-Los Angeles-London, University of California Press, 1972, pp. 100f.  

 

 

 

 

 

the library of the apostle paul 39 Theophrastus also contained the library he had taken over from Aristotle. 1 The actual successor of Theophrastus as head of the school, Straton, left the school and his library to Lyco. Now, it happened that the libraries of Aristotle and Theophrastus were lost from the school in the third generation. Neleus, not becoming the new school head, moved the library from Athens. At the same time the Peripatetic (Aristotelian) school seems to have experienced a significant decline in the number of students and a loss of influence. There may have been several reasons for this regression and it might in part have been caused by internal issues in the school. Further the school had fallen out of favour because of its connections to the Macedonian kings. Aristotle was a teacher of Alexander, who later became the conqueror. 2 John Patrick Lynch assumes that copies of more of the writings remained in the school. 3 The school’s decline was, however, already in antiquity connected to the loss of the library. Strabo wrote :  

 

 

 

the result was that the earlier school of Peripatetics who came after Theophrastus had no books at all, with the exception of only a few, mostly exoteric works, and were therefore able to philosophise about nothing in a practical way, but only to talk bombast about commonplace propositions, whereas the later school, from the time the books in question appeared, though better able to philosophise and Aristotelise, were forced to call most of their statements probabilities, because of the large number of errors. 4  

The philosopher and biographer Plutarch, however, judged differently and wrote that members of the Peripatetic school became ingenious scholars in spite of the fact that they lacked detailed knowledge of the writings of Aristotle and Theophrastus. 5 Further, according to Strabo, the library was bought and brought back to Athens, but shortly thereafter brought to Rome, when Athens in the year 86 bc was plundered by Sulla and the Romans. 6 The appearance of the library in Rome seems to  

 

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  Strabo, op. cit., 13.1.54 ; Plutarch, Sulla 26.   Aristotle himself was not Athenian. He came from Stagira in Northern Greece and already his father had resided with the king of Macedon as physician and friend (Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 5.1). 3   John Patrick Lynch, op. cit., pp. 147ff. As explanation for the regression Lynch also points to lack of institutional structures in Lyceion, and the fact that the leading figures were not citizens of Athens, and further that the school already in the times of Aristotle was criticised for its connections with Macedonia. 4 5   Strabo, op. cit., 13.1.54.   Plutarch, Sulla, 26. 6   Strabo, op. cit., 13.1.54. See John Patrick Lynch, op. cit., pp. 161f. 2

 

40 tor vegge have led to a revival of interest in the Aristotelian writings, philosophy and scholarship, now based in Rome. 1 Accounts of the Aristotelian library may be applied and interpreted in different ways. Of relevance for our interest is that the importance of a library for a school was discussed already in antiquity. Plutarch’s opinion, being a teacher and author of a large number of books himself, may point specifically to the works of Aristotle and Theophrastus and may not mean that the Peripatetics managed without books and manuscripts altogether. Strabo’s evaluation implies that proper philosophical study was dependent on books, in fact a library of manuscripts important within the particular school. 2 In a Peripatetic school, a library may have contained manuscripts and books of different kinds and by different authors, but the scholars and students would certainly have favoured books written by Aristotle and Theophrastus. That philosophers also read books expressing different philosophical views is attested by discussions and references in the written literature. Seneca cites the Cynic Demetrius, whom he holds in high esteem, 3 and he refers repeatedly to Epicurus also with approval. 4 Seneca read Epicurus :  

 

 

 

 

I am still turning over the pages of Epicurus, and the following saying, one I read today, comes from him : ‘To win true freedom you must be a slave to philosophy’ […]. Quite possibly you’ll be demanding to know why I’m quoting so many fine sayings from Epicurus rather than ones belonging to our own school. But why should you think of them as belonging to Epicurus and not as a common property ? 5  

 

 

Epictetus also knew Epicurean teaching. 6 Plutarch comments on the teaching of the Stoics, 7 and Cicero certainly seems familiar with a wide  

 

1   Strabo, op. cit., 13.1.54. Plutarch reports that after the library (bibliothēkē) had come to Rome a teacher of literature (grammatikos), Tyrannius, prepared all and that the Rhodian Andronicus got copies from him (Plutarch, Sulla, 26). See further John Patrick Lynch, op. cit., 202f. 206. 2   Further to the history of the library Harlow Gregory Snyder, op. cit., pp. 66-69, and the types of literary work related to and dependant of the Aristotelian texts, op. cit., pp. 3 69ff.   Seneca, De beneficiis, 7.1. 4   See e.g. Seneca, Epistulae morales, 7.11 ; 18.9 ; 27.9. 5   Seneca, Epistulae morales, 8.7-8 (translation Campbell in Seneca. Letters from a Stoic. Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium. Selected and translated with an introduction by Robin Campbell, London, Penguin Books, 2004). Seneca goes on talking about the brilliant (philosophical) lines that are to be found in the poets, the tragedians and even in farces (8.8-10). 6   Epictetus, Dissertationes, 3.7.17f. 7   Plutarch, Moralia (De profectibus in virtute), 75C-76B.  

 

the library of the apostle paul 41 range of literature. In one and the same library different philosophies were represented. Jewish Libraries One might expect that Jewish manuscripts and books, in Hebrew, Aramaic or Greek would have been widespread and that libraries would be found in synagogues and study houses. Catherine Hezser writes, « except for the Qumran community, perhaps, there is no evidence of a mass production of biblical manuscripts among ancient Jews ». 1 When it comes to rabbis and their students for whom Torah study was essential, the high costs would have prevented at least some of them from owning a Torah scroll. 2 Further, according to Hezser it is uncertain « how frequently biblical scrolls were permanently kept at synagogues and study houses. What is clear, however, is that Torah scrolls are frequently mentioned in connection with these sites in rabbinic sources ». 3 Despite the reasonable assumption that there were some kind of library, collections of books and scrolls in the synagogues in the first century ce, the evidence is meagre. Peter Müller presumes that in most synagogues the selection of writings was narrow, but that the Pentateuch, Isaiah and the Psalms nevertheless were to be found also in the minor synagogues. 4 The rabbinic sources, however, « do not specify whether the Torah scrolls would be kept at or brought to the synagogue », and the dating of the sources is also insecure. 5 Our perception of possible Jewish libraries is further questioned by the uncertainty of the character and functions of synagogues in the first centuries bce and ce. Evidence referred to above seems to indicate that a library was of prime importance for the schools, and not least for a school such as the Aristotelian, where general knowledge and specialised knowledge, were systematically collected. 6 But in other schools too, written texts seem to  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Catherine Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2001 (« tsaj », 81), p. 146. 2 3   Catherine Hezser, op. cit., p. 147.   Catherine Hezser, op. cit., p. 163. 4   Peter Müller, Verstehst du auch, was du liest ? Lesen und Verstehen im Neuen Testament, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1994, p. 48. 5   Catherine Hezser, op. cit., p. 163. 6   See Ulrich v. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Antigonos von Karystos, Berlin, Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, 1881, pp. 284-286 ; Pierre Hadot, What is Ancient Philosophy ?, Cambridge, ma-London, Harvard University Press, 2002, p. 139.  

 

 

 

 

42 tor vegge have been important and to a greater or lesser degree seen as vital for a proper philosophical learning. Schools – Philosophical School The libraries mentioned above were related to schools and some remarks on structures and functions of advanced schools may help to put the discussion of written texts and libraries in context. The schools of antiquity were private enterprises, and attendance at a school depended on individual initiative. Schools were by no means embedded in anything similar to modern complex public school and welfare systems, and there were no faculties or universities for advanced rhetorical and philosophical education to belong to. 1 Certainly rhetorical and philosophical schools of Hellenistic times were seen as representing alternative ways to formation. Both, however, were literate education based on elementary education in reading and writing, and through rhetoric and philosophy wisdom was supposed to reveal itself in well-formed speech. Both employed the competence learned in the more advanced literate exercises, the progymnasmata, 2 on the basis of which schools offered perfection in the art of rhetoric. Such a literate education could be supplemented with a philosophical education. Others might prefer at an earlier stage to choose a philosophical line concentrating on wisdom as insight and moral progression as an alternative to rhetoric being a preparatory to participation in the public domain. The philosophical schools of Antiquity are often thought of as school traditions : the Platonic school or the Academy, The school of Aristotle or the Peripatetic school, the Stoic school, and the Epicurean, to name the prominent ones. But when asking precisely where these school traditions actually existed one must think of the minds of persons pursuing a philosophical life by reading and learning, 3 more or less closely affili 

 

 

 

1

  Henri-Irénée Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, London, Sheed and Ward, 1956, pp. 194-212 ; Konrad Vössing, Schule und Bildung im Nordafrika der römischen Kaiserzeit, Bruxelles, Latomus, 1997, pp. 25-26 ; Pierre Hadot, op. cit., pp. 97-102 ; Konrad Vössing, Studium : Rom – Republik und Kaiserzeit, in Handbuch der Erziehung und Bildung in der Antike, edited by Johannes Christes, Richard Klein and Christoph Lüth, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006, pp. 136-145, 277-280 ; Tor Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen. Schule und Bildung des Paulus, Berlin-New York, Walter de Gruyter, 2006 (« bznw », 134), pp. 77-82. 2   On the progymnasmata in literary education see Tor Vegge, op. cit., pp. 123-185. 3   Tor Vegge, op. cit., p. 96.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

the library of the apostle paul 43 ated with groups of specialists, and further of these groups of specialists themselves : philosophical schools as groups of students and teachers, not as a department or faculty belonging to a university, but rather as free-standing groups gathered around teachers, where teachers taught and students listened, read, were trained in philosophical reasoning and guided in moral progression, where topics were discussed, and where different sorts of literature were read and texts written in different genres. Such groups sometimes belonged to a somewhat more established tradition where one could count a succession of teachers. The group might also to some extent have based its common life in formal agreements. As for books, Hubert Cancik listing the characteristics of ancient philosophy writes : « The school […] owns a library and the founder’s manuscripts ». 1 Even if some schools were fairly established, we should also assume the existence of smaller school groups, without property of their own and without formal organisation. 2 The teaching could be carried out in rented rooms, in some columned hall (stoa), in the shadow of a tree or even on a sidewalk. In so far as the teaching carried out in these schools displayed acknowledged learning, the teaching was embedded in the lite­rary tradition even if the daily access to books and libraries may not have been as easy as in schools with their own libraries.  

 

 

 

 

 

Books and Manuscripts in the Libraries In the sources, as already indicated, rhetorical and philosophical schools were associated with books. Some of the references to books and manuscripts directly and indirectly give impressions of the importance of libraries for the schools, and the sources seem to suggest that a library was a prerequisite for proper rhetorical and philosophical teaching and learning. Epicurus, according to Diogenes Laertius, got acquainted with philo­ sophy through reading the works of Democritus. 3 In the case of Zeno, he tells us that Zeno’s father was a travelling merchant, and that Zeno read literature that his father brought him from Athens. 4 Coming to Athens himself, Zeno visited a bookstore, where the bookseller just then read from Xenophon’s Memorabilia :  

 

 

1

  Hubert Cancik, The History of Culture, Religion, and Institutions in Ancient Historio­ graphy : Philological Observations Concerning Luke´s History, « jbl », 116 (1997), pp. 673-695, p. 2 688. See also Pierre Hadot, op. cit., p. 95.   Tor Vegge, op. cit., pp. 96-107. 3 4   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 10.2.   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 7.31-32.  

 

 

44

tor vegge

Now the way he came across Crates was this. He was shipwrecked on a voyage from Phoenicia to Piraeus with a cargo of purple. He went up into Athens and sat down in a bookseller’s shop, being then a man of thirty. As he [the bookseller] went on reading the second book of Xenophon’s Memorabilia, he was so pleased that he inquired where men like Socrates were to be found. [3] Crates passed by in the nick of time, so the bookseller pointed to him and said, ‘Follow yonder man.’ From that day he became Crates’ pupil, showing in other respects a strong bent for philosophy, though with too much native modesty to assimilate Cynic shamelessness. 1  

According to the satirical writer Lucian of Samosata (c. 120-180 ce), the bag of a Cynic philosopher contains papyrus rolls : « Your wallet will be full of lupines, and of papyrus rolls written on both sides (opisthografōn bibliōn) ». 2 The bag, a simple cloak, a stick, the beard and the tanned, even sunburned, skin were typical of the Cynic philosopher. In another satire, Hermotimus, Lucian lets Lycinus meet Hermotimus, a student of Stoic philosophy on his way to a lecture by his teacher. Lycinus notes Hermotimus carrying a book, and though his further comment is satirical, it must nonetheless be founded on common conceptions. Lycinus has observed Hermotimus, he says, for 20 years frequently going to his professor, bent over a book taking notes of past lectures. 3 An anecdote (chreia) of the Stoic Kleanthes makes clear that he found life good even in old age as long as he could write and read : « When some one twitted him on his old age, his reply was, ‘I too am ready to depart ; but when again I consider that I am in all points in good health and that I can still write and read, I am content to wait’ ». 4 A listing of the writings of the individual philosophers is a recurring element in the work of Diogenes Laertius. In the introduction to his work, he comments that some philosophers wrote nothing at all except some letters. 5 This comment implies that it was considered un­ usual for a philosopher not to have written anything. Again according to Diogenes Laertius, the known writings of Antisthenes, a student of Socrates and founder of Cynicism, consisted of ten volumes. 6 The Peripatetics composed numerous writings, and the bibliography of Theophrastus 7 is even more impressive than Aristotle’s, 8 even if the writings of Aristotle contained 445 270 lines altogether and the writings of Theo 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

2

3

4

  Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 7.2-3.   Lucian, Hermotimus, 1 and 2. 5   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 1.16. 7   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 5.42-50.

  Lucian, Vitarum auctio, 9.   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 7.174. 6   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 6.15. 8   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 5.22-27.

the library of the apostle paul 45 1 phrastus only 230 808. Many were written in the Platonic school, and by the Stoics. Diogenes tells us that Chrysippus authored more than 705 works. 2 This amount was reached due to the fact that he frequently argued on the same topic, wrote down anything that struck his mind, and frequently made corrections to his works and cited numerous authorities. 3 Epicurus, however, surpassed them all with his 300 scrolls, and Diogenes attests that his writings were extraordinary in that there were no citations from other authors in his writings, and that they show a distinguished quality. 4 Epicurus may have been Diogenes Laertius’s favourite author. The recurring listing of authors’ writings and what Diogenes was able to give based on research of his own, or on existing records, seem to presuppose the existence of libraries. And further, that it seemed relevant to him to dedicate the amount of space to them in an account of the philosophers lives, points to the importance of libraries for teaching and learning in the schools.  

 

 

 

Work in the Library The repertory of genres and forms used in philosophical schools seems to have been extensive. There were collections of aphorisms and proverbs, didactic poems and philosophical hymns, symposia and memorabilia, essays, diatribes, protreptics, literature of counselling and deliberation, text books, treatisies, and letters. 5 To distinguish sharply between them would be a difficult task, but just listing them indicates that libraries normally contained books of different genres. Aristotle had been a student of Plato, but founded his own school. In this school they may have studied texts by Plato, but Aristotle’s own writings soon became important in the school library. Aristotle created a new form of scholarly writing and gradually a huge number of books were written within the Aristotelian school. Aristotle seems to have created the genre, which in Greek was called ‘synagoge’ (collection). Such a synagoge collected material for a certain topic in a systematic way. 6 Texts, which can be attributed to another genre, the ‘pragmateia’ (diligent study ; treatise), were intended for internal use in the school. A ‘pragmateia’ con 

 

 

1

  Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 4.4-5 ; 11-14.   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 7.180 and 189-202. 3 4   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 7.180.   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 10.26-27. 5   Michael Erler, Philosophische Literaturformen, in Der neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike, 9, Stuttgart-Weimar, J. B. Metzler, 2000, pp. 871-877, p. 871. 6   See John Patrick Lynch, op. cit., p. 89. 2

 

46 tor vegge tained notes, which could regularly be modified and enriched. Aristotle and his colleagues and students probably worked extensively with such texts. The results of discussion and work were integrated in the written works as additions and improvements. 1 Later the writings of Aristotle were studied and commented on, in principle in the same way as the literature of school founders were studied in other schools, but in this school there existed an extraordinary interest in « crafting, fine tuning and commenting upon their texts ». 2 This kind of literary and scholarly work indicates that a library was an integral and indispensable part of the teaching and learning in the school. The Stoic philosopher Epictetus (55-135 ce), from Hierapolis in Phrygia, Asia Minor, taught in Rome until the year 89, when together with other philosophers he was expelled from the city. After that he taught in Nicopolis, a polis (city) in western Greece. Epictetus’s Enchiridion and his Diatribai (diatribes), also called Dissertations, have come down to us. The Diatribai were actually written in Greek by a Roman student of his, Flavius Arrianus, and are based on Arrian’s stenographic « records of actual lectures and discussion ». 3 Arrian says himself that they are hypomnemata (memoranda/notes) of what was said. There were other books available in the school of Epictetus 4 and it may be assumed that Epictetus himself used notebooks and made notes and drafts in the course of his own study and teaching. But the Diatribai are based on Arrian’s notes, and its setting or motivation may have been the continuation of Epictetus’s teaching and school. They may also have been approved by Epictetus himself. The Enchiridion is a short compendium of some main topics in his teaching that might have been compiled by Arrian on the basis of the Diatribai. It can be assumed that those books went into the library of the school. Finally in these comments on Hellenistic philosophers’ use of written texts in the schools I would like to refer to a statement putting the study of books in relation to the concept of moral formation, that Cynic and Stoic philosophers saw as the essential aim of philosophy. According to Epictetus, spending time studying books in the library would not lead to the desired philosophical formation :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   See op. cit., 91. Further on the work with texts, manuscripts and comments in the Aristotelian school Harlow Gregory Snyder, op. cit., pp. 66-92. 2   Harlow Gregory Snyder, op. cit., p. 66. 3   Stanley K. Stowers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans, Chico California, 4 Scholars Press, 1981 (« sblds », 57), p. 54.   Epictetus, op. cit., 1.4.22 and 28f.  

 

the library of the apostle paul

47

But if he [a student] has striven merely to attain the state which he finds in his books and works only at that, and has made that the goal of his travels, I bid him go home at once and not neglect his concerns there, since the goal to which he has travelled is nothing ; but not so that other goal – to study how a man may get rid of his life of sorrows and lamentations, and of such cries as “Woe is me !” and “Wretch that I am !” and of misfortune and failure, and to learn the meaning of death, exile, prison, hemlock ; that he may be able to say in prison, “Dear Crito, if so it pleases the gods, so be it”. 1  

 

 

 

 

Philosophical Letters At least since Rudolf Bultmann’s, Der Stil der paulinischen Predigt und die kynisch-stoischen Diatribe, 2 the question of a certain diatribal style in Paul’s letters has been discussed now and then. Bultmann suggested that a style marked by rhetorical questions and imagining a dialogue with a fictitious interlocutor, such as used in the philosophical teachings of e.g. Epictetus, is also reflected in Paul’s letters. The style is called ‘diatribal’, mainly because Epictetus’s discourses also go under the designation ‘diatribes’. Among the meanings of the Greek word diatribe one finds ‘study’, ‘interlocution’, and ‘school’. Stanley K. Stowers in The Diatribe and Paul´s Letter to the Romans followed up on this, however stressing the school setting of the philosophical diatribe somewhat more than Bultmann had done. 3 One significant aspect is that the style and dynamics of the teaching are reflected in the writings, as also in the letters of Paul. As far as the style reflected in Paul’s letters can be assessed as philosophical, they may be perceived as philosophical letters. Among philosophers’ writings there are numerous letters, as attested by Diogenes Laertius. 4 Diogenes even provides some letters. Stanley K. Stowers considers the letter to have been « one of the most characteristic means of expression for ancient philosophy ». 5 The extensive writing of  

 

 

 

 

1

 

  Epictetus, op. cit., 1.4.22-24.   Rudolf Bultmann, Der Stil der paulinischen Predigt und die kynisch-stoischen Diatribe, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1910 (« frlant », 13). 3   Stanley K. Stowers, The Diatribe, cit. 4   Diogenes Laertios mentions e.g. letters of Plato (op. cit., 3.61), Aristotle (5.27), Theophrast (5.50), Demetrios (5.81), Diogenes (6.80), Krates (6.98), Ariston, Stoic from Chios (7.163) (the authorship of some was discussed), Sphairos (7.178), and Epicurus (10.28). Also from some philosophers, who otherwise had written nothing, there were at least letters (Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 1.16). 5   Stanley K. Stowers, Letter Writing in Greco-Roman Antiquity, Philadelphia, Westmin2

 

 

48 tor vegge letters in philosophical groups began, according to Stowers, with the disciples of Socrates, of which only letters by Plato survive. Then follow letters of Epicurus and of Stoics, of which most are lost. A collection of fictitious Cynic letters has survived, and then there is Seneca’s collection Epistulae morales from the first century ce. Somewhat later there are letters written by Neoplatonists and by literate Christians. 1 According to Diogenes Laertius there existed a collection of letters by Crates, the Cynic, a student of Diogenes (fourth century bce), a book called Letters (biblion epistolai). The letters themselves contained, again according to Diogenes, « excellent philosophy ; the style is often close to Plato ». 2 Letters were collected. They probably found their places in libraries and were read and studied along with other philosophical literature. Such collections and the form or genre ‘philosophical letter’ seem especially relevant for a comparison with the letters of Paul and other early Christian letters.  

 

 

 

 

Paul’s Teaching and Writing Paul’s letters were soon collected ; 3 presumably Paul himself kept copies of his letters, and later his students supplemented the collection with further epistles written in his name. This collection resembles collections of philosophical letters.    

ster Press, 1986 (« lec », 5), p. 38. See also M. L. Jr. Stirewalt, Studies in Ancient Greek Epistolography, Atlanta, Scholars Press, 1993 (« sblrbs », 27). 1   Stanley K. Stowers, Letter Writing, cit., pp. 39-40. See also Klaus Berger, Hellenistische Gattungen im Neuen Testament, in anrw, 2.25/2, Berlin-New York, Walter de Gruyter, 1984, pp. 1031-1432 and 1831-1885, p. 1133, note 87. 2   Diogenes Laertius, op. cit., 6.98 (My translation). 3   David Trobisch, Die Entstehung der Paulusbriefsammlung. Studien zu den Anfängen christlicher Publizistik, Freiburg-Göttingen, Universitätsverlag Freiburg-Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989 (« ntoa », 10) ; Ernest Randolp Richards, Paul and First-Century Letter Writing. Secretaries, Composition and Collection, Downers Grove, InterVarsity Press, 2004, pp. 210ff. Harry Y. Gamble refers to the letter of Polycarp (early second century CE), chapter 13, where Polycarp writes to the Christian community in Philippi that he will send them the letters of Ignatius. It seems that Polycarp wrote the letter shortly after Ignatius had left Philippi and before Ignatius’ death. Obviously Polycarp, then, had a collection of Ignatius’ letters soon after their composition, and he is able to make copies and send a copy of Ignatius’ collected letters to the Philippians (Harry Y. Gamble, op. cit., pp. 110f.). « The dispatch to Philippi of the text of the collected letters would have constituted a de facto publication of the collection as such » (p. 111). By analogy Gamble supposes Paul’s letters to have been collected and copied much in the same way. Paul’s letters were, however, « far more likely to have been valued, collected, published, and distributed in a shorter time than those of Ignatius. […] Paul […] was survived by a cadre of associates who had been intimately involved in his literary activity » (p. 111).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the library of the apostle paul 49 A presupposition for the further consideration is that Paul’s writings, his activity as a writer, were closely connected to his teaching, on one hand the social aspects of it such as his living conditions and his relations to other people : patrons, associates, supporters, co-workers and those who might have seen themselves as or have been his students. His co-workers, like Timothy and Titus, belonged to a circle, that was effectively a circle of students around Paul. The teaching and the dialogues in this circle were preconditions for his writing. But the more concrete, practical conditions of his teaching should also be taken into consideration : writing equipment like papyrus and notebooks and access to literary resources such as texts and important books. Paul differs in some aspects from some later Christian writers as Harry Y. Gamble describes them :  

 

 

Christian writers from the middle to the end of the second century – Justin, Clement, Irenaeus and Tertullian, to name only major figures – knew and used a great many texts, scriptual and nonscriptual, Christian and non-Christian, and this invites the question where and how they had access to these books. It is scarcely conceivable that all the texts each used belonged to him individually ; they must have relied heavily, if not exclusively, on collections in their local communities. 1  

 

Paul used other texts extensively, but for his part he seems almost exclusively to cite writings in the Jewish tradition. This is seen by some as an indication of Paul’s ignorance of Greek literature. But Paul, like other Jews learning the Greek literary language, became familiar with some Greek authors : Homer, but also Euripides, Isocrates, and Menander were used in the schools. 2 A few possible allusions to, and perhaps one citation from, Greek literature may be traced in the Pauline letters. 3 They might stem from his literary education and from his participation in a literary culture present in his web of social relations (in synagogues, in his relations to patrons, associates and their social circles). In Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians (15 :33) the citation – « bad company ruins good morals » – could originate in the lost comedy Thais by Menander,  

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Harry Y. Gamble, op. cit., p.152.   Teresa Morgan, Literate education in the Hellenistic and Roman worlds, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998 (« Cambridge Classical Studies »), 69 ; Raffaella Cribiore, Writing, Teachers, and Students in Graeco-Roman Egypt, Atlanta, Scholars Press, 1996 (« asp », 36), p. 49. 3   See Stanley E. Porter, Paul and His Bible : His Education and Access to the Scriptures of Israel, in As It Is Written. Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture, edited by Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Stanley, Leiden-Boston, Society of Biblical Literature, 2008 (« SBLSymS », 50), pp. 97-124, p. 104f. 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

50 tor vegge or in Euripides, or he could simply have met the expression as a proverb. 1 There might also be allusions to Greek literature that we do not immediately recognise. The overwhelming impression is, however, that Greek classical literature is absent in Paul’s writings. In relation to the observation that Paul’s letters in some respects display Greek-Hellenistic literary formation, and may even be classified as philosophical letters, 2 it is significant that Jewish literature has replaced the Greek classics as the important and recognised literature with which one naturally dealt in one’s own teaching and writing. Christopher D. Stanley has shown that Paul interacted with the Jewish literary tradition in the same way as his contemporary Greek authors did with Greek classical literature. Stanley concludes : « a careful consideration of the evidence reveals a near identity of conceptions between Paul and his Greco-Roman contemporaries regarding the acceptable parameters for citing literary texts ». 3 Also the one possible citation from Menander (or Euripides) is introduced in a familiar way ; the text could be cited without being marked as a quotation. 4  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paul’s Library In so far as we have no direct evidence, a way to sketch Paul’s library will be to look at his references to other literature, that is Jewish literature as indicated above. The term ‘library’ will have to be a somewhat loose designation for the writings belonging to the literary tradition that Paul shows an active relation to, but it indicates further the assumption that books and manuscripts belonged to the preconditions of Paul’s teaching and writing. Paul’s use of Jewish writings that later became known as the Old Testament, or the Jewish Bible or simply as Scripture, is of course discussed by scholars in different ways. 5 Of the more influential contributions has  

1

  A. Lindemann supposes « daß Paulus nicht einen bestimmten Autor zitiert, sondern eine zum Sprichwort gewordene Sentenz » (Andreas Lindemann : Der erste Korintherbrief, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2000 [«hnt», 9. 1], p. 353). 2   See David Hellholm, Enthymemic Argumentation in Paul : The Case of Romans 6, in Paul in His Hellenistic Context, edited by Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Minneapolis, Fortress Press, 1995, pp. 119-179 ; Tor Vegge, op. cit., pp. 343-424. 3   Christopher D. Stanley, Paul and Homer : Greco-Roman Citation Practice in the First Century ce, « nt », 32 (1990), pp. 48-78, p. 77. 4   Christopher D. Stanley, Paul and Homer, cit., p. 55. 5   For an overview see Christopher D. Stanley, Paul and Scripture : Charting the Course, in As It Is Written. Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture, edited by Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Stanley, Leiden-Boston, Society of Biblical Literature, 2008 (« SBLSymS », 50), pp. 3-12.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the library of the apostle paul 51 been Richard B. Hays’ Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul. Hays’ approach reads Paul’s letters « as literary texts shaped by complex intertextual relations with Scripture ». 1 Hays explores the functions of the allusions to scriptures in Paul’s writings, seeking to understand how Paul interpreted the scriptures important to him, which according to Hays were the writings later known as the Old Testament of the Christian Church, which Paul used in their Greek translations. 2 Interesting for the question of Paul’s library is further the investigation by Dietrich-Alex Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge des Evangeliums. Koch investigates the quotations from Scripture (the later Old Testament of the church), and discusses also the quotations and their distribution in the different scriptures. Most frequent are quotations from the Torah, if the five books of the Pentateuch are taken as a unity. In regard to individual books, quotations from Isaiah and the Psalms are most frequent. Not least significant in this connection is that several books belonging to the later canon of the Jews and the Christian Church are not quoted at all. Those are Numbers, Joshua, Judges, 1 and 2 Samuel, 2 Kings, Ruth, Song of Solomon, Ecclesiastes, Lamentations, Esther, Ezra, Nehemiah, and 1 and 2 Chronicles, and perhaps most surprising Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel. There are also no quotations from writings later known as Apocrypha, writings one could have expected Paul to be familiar with such as : 1-4 Maccabees, Wisdom, and Ben Sira. 3 The overview by Koch considers the direct quotations, while the obvious or possible allusions are not listed. There seems to be several such allusions in Paul and also to writings not extant in the list of quoted works. Koch also maintains that Paul interacts with Greek translations of the Hebrew texts. 4 A seldom questioned presupposition seems to accompany investigations of Paul’s use of Scripture, namely that Paul was familiar with all the writings that got into the collection of Greek translations called the Septuagint (lxx), 5 or that came to constitute the Jewish Bible, or the Christian Old Testament. 6 In fact we do not know that Paul ever used  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, London, Yale University Press, 2 1989, p. xi.   Richard B. Hays, op. cit., pp. x-xi. 3   Dietrich-Alex Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge des Evangeliums. Untersuchungen zur Verwendung und zum Verständnis der Schrift bei Paulus, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1986 (« BHT », 69), p. 33. The absence of Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel is by Koch related to the perception that these books also played a relatively minor role in contemporary Judaism (p. 46). 4   Dietrich-Alex Koch, op. cit., 48. 5   The selection and order of the OT writings in the later latin Bible Vulgata are in accordance the lxx. 6   Hays writes : « [Paul’s] Scripture was the body of writings that constituted Israel’s sacred  

 

 

 

52 tor vegge 1 or knew all those writings. Therefore in a minimalistic sketch based on direct quotations, Paul’s library would have consisted of the Pentateuch (the Torah), the Book of Isaiah and the Psalms, as well as Hosea, Habakkuk, Malachi, and Joel (the last four maybe as part of a « Twelve Prophets scroll »), Proverbs, 1 Kings, and Job. 2 If we consider the allusions the number would increase, 3 and also the Apocrypha would be included. The picture becomes even more complex when perceptions such as presuppositions concerning world view and ethos elaborated on in the texts are taken into account. For the issues treated in this essay the obvious quotations seem a safe and unequivocal basis for discussion. Of further manuscripts we may only speculate. But as a writing literate he would have had some notebooks and drafts at his disposal.  

 

 

 

 

Paul and his Access to Books Where would Paul then have kept, and how would he have transported, or where would he have had access to the literature he is interacting texts, which Christians later came to call the Old Testament ». Richard B. Hays, op. cit., p. x. Similar Koch (Dietrich-Alex Koch, op. cit., p. 1), and several introductions to Pauline thought and to the New Testament, see e.g. Udo Schnelle who states « Die Bibel des Paulus war die griechische Übersetzung des Alten Testaments, die Septuaginta ». (Udo Schnelle, Paulus. Leben und Denken, Berlin/New York, Walter de Gruyter, 2003, p. 100). Also Stanley Porter (Stanley E. Porter, Paul and His Bible, cit.) writes of « Paul and the use of the Old Testament » (p. 118) even if he discusses the concept of the Seputagint (lxx) and states : « There is, in fact, no evidence that there was anywhere a collection of Greek manuscripts spanning the entire Old Testament in Paul’s day » (p. 121), and further « that the canonical status of many books was still rather fluid » (p. 114). Porter seems, though, to presuppose a concept of an « entire collection of Jewish Scriptures » (p. 121) and even writes of « biblical texts » (p. 121). Peter Müller is clearly cautious in his use of these designations : « Die Rede vom ‘Alten Testament’ ist nicht im Sinne des uns vorliegenden Kanons von Schriften zu verstehen ; dieser Kanon bestand in urchristlicher Zeit als fest umrissene Größe noch nicht, sondern war insbesondere in seinem dritten Teil, den Schriften, variabel ». (Peter Müller, op. cit., p. 73). 1   For this observation and its significance I thank Årstein Justnes. See his contribution in the present publication and his discussion of terms as ‘Bible’, ‘biblical’, ‘Scripture’, ‘Old Testament’, and ‘canon’ in relation to the Qumran texts. 2   See Dietrich-Alex Koch, op. cit., p. 33, and P. Müller who points to a similar pattern for the New Testament at large (Peter Müller, op. cit., pp. 72ff.). 3   For a recent discussion of quotations and allusions also including general and methodological questions see the articles in As It Is Written. Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture, edited by Stanley E. Porter and Christopher D. Stanley, Leiden-Boston, Society of Biblical Literature, 2008 (« SBLSymS », 50) : Steve Moyise, Quotations, pp. 15-28 ; Stanley E. Porter, Allusions and Echoes, pp. 29-40 ; Christopher D. Stanley, Paul’s “Use” of Scripture : Why the Audience Matters, pp. 125-155.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the library of the apostle paul 53 with in his teaching and his writings ? This depends on how we perceive the contexts of Paul’s activity, if we view him as being mainly itinerant, or if we take into account that he stayed for longer periods in Ephesus, Corinth and Rome. Stanley Porter remarks that « carrying around a large bag of scrolls for reference in letter composition would have been rather cumbersome (and thus impossible) in Paul’s travels ». 1 Porter therefore supposes Paul or one of his early Christian colleagues to have « compiled an anthology of significant biblical texts » and « this would not have been a foreign compositional aid to Paul, given his Greek and Jewish backgrounds ». 2 I find it probable that Paul carried some manuscripts and some notebooks with him. If we further presume that his literary activity, his teaching and writing took place when and where he stayed for somewhat longer periods, we should consider the possibility that he had access to manuscripts and libraries in those locations. 3 The former Pharisee now teaching the gospel may have had a strained relationship with the synagogues, but Paul did not abandon Judaism as such 4 – he saw the Christ faith as a completion of Judaism (Galatians 3-4) 5 – and a major part of his colleagues and the members of the Christian groups he was associated with, were Jews. He would still have had opportunity to cultivate the contact with Jewish literary culture. As pointed out above, the evidence for widespread Jewish books and manuscripts is sparse. We may assume that some synagogues, like the one in Ephesus (Acts 19), kept a collection of books, and that some well-to-do Jews had private libraries. There might therefore have been some prosperous associates of Paul who had libraries in their houses. Some of those persons functioned as patrons for the groups of believers, some of them were associates and co-workers of Paul, like Priscilla and Aquila. As in the case of Philodemus and Piso, Paul may together with pa 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

2   Stanley E. Porter, Paul and His Bible, cit., p. 121.   Ibidem.   We may assume that Christian communities established some sort of libraries for the reading in the services. See Martin Hengel, Die Evangelienüberschriften, Heidelberg, Carl Winter Universitätsverlag, 1984 (« Sitzungsberichte der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse », 1984/3), pp. 37-40. 4   See Alan F. Segal, Paul the Convert. The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1990 ; Martin Hengel, Der vorchristliche Paulus, in Paulus und das antike Judentum, edited by Martin Hengel and Ulrich Heckel, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1991 (« wunt », 58), pp. 177-291, 248ff. ; Pamela Michelle Eisenbaum, Paul Was Not a Christian. The Original Message of a Misunderstood Apostle, New York, HarperOne, 2009. 5   See James D. G. Dunn, The New Perspective on Paul, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2005 (« wunt », 185), p. 48. 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

54 tor vegge trons or colleagues –  admittedly on a far smaller scale –  have built a library, that constituted the working conditions for study, teaching and writing. The place to be considered first is Ephesus, where Paul according to Acts stayed for more than two years, taught in the synagogue, later in the « school » of Tyrannus (Acts 19), and where also his associates Priscilla (Prisca) and Aquila lived (1 Corinthians 16,19 ; Acts 18), and where Paul wrote at least the First Epistle to the Corinthians, but probably more. In Acts we are presented to an Alexandrian Jew by the name of Apollos, « an eloquent man, well-versed in the scriptures » (Acts 18 :24). Apollos had come to Ephesus, where he met Priscilla and Aquila, themselves Jews having lived in Rome. Having heard Apollos teaching in the synagogue, they « took him aside and explained the way of God to him more accurately ». Apollos then went on to Achaia and was able to refute « the Jews in public, showing by the scriptures that the Messiah is Jesus » (Acts 18 :24-28). According to Acts Apollo’s eloquence and teaching were based in his literate formation, his acquaintance with manuscripts and with scriptures important to Jews in Alexandria, Ephesus and Corinth. And Priscilla and Aquila’s further teaching of him presumably comprised interpretation of scriptures, which would require knowing the scriptures by heart or the use of manuscripts. Priscilla and Aquila were tradespeople, who had become acquainted with Paul in Corinth, where they had come because of the Emperor Claudius’ decision that Jews had to leave Rome (Acts 18 :2). They became companions of Paul and travelled with him to Ephesus (Acts 18,18f.). We do not learn if Priscilla and Aquila actually possessed a library, but they seem to have been well off. They had a house big enough to host a congregation (ekklesia) in Ephesus (1 Corinthians 16 :19) and in Rome (Romans 16 :3-5). 1 We may assume that they at least had easy access to books and manuscripts. If Paul himself did not possess an extensive library he might well have had access to one through people like Priscilla and Aquila.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Library and the School of Paul The letters authored by Paul handed down to us seem to have been written approximately within the last 10 years of his life. 2 Those years,  

1   By the time the Epistle to the Romans was written, Priscilla and Aquilas had moved back to Rome from Ephesus. 2   See, Jürgen Becker, Paulus. Der Apostel der Völker, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1992, p. 114,

the library of the apostle paul 55 including the stays in Ephesus, Corinth and Rome, were the intensive periods of Paul’s teaching and writing, 1 even if some of his letters may have been finished during the travels. The teaching and writing involved engagement with books and manuscripts. That this was the case is attested in his writings, as in the quotations from literature commented on above. 2 The circumstances of his activity may have included a library as I have suggested. A library of some kind should be seen as a precondition of Paul’s teaching and writing. For Paul, teaching and dialogue with students in the context of a library, were essential to his own writing. These elements constituted the school of Paul. Paul himself probably had but a weak perception of being the founder of a school, while his successors would have regarded him as one. The Pauline school is still to be considered a hypothesis when a concrete meaning of the concept ‘school’ is presupposed, understood as a circle of students and their teacher rather than a broader school tradition. For my part, I assume that already in Paul’s lifetime a circle of interested students gathered around him for learning and study, and that this circle persisted after his death ; further that texts were written within this school, among them the writings we know as the Epistles of Paul, some of them letters pseudonymously written in his name. 3  

 

 

 

Concluding Observations According to the sources commented on above, libraries were essential in the schools of philosophy and rhetoric. Books belonged to the conditions of teaching, study, and writing. Schools kept and used writings of earlier teachers, important writings defining the school’s identity and characteristics when it came to learning. The libraries were working lib­ and Trobisch who figures that Paul wrote the letters that came to constitute his collection of letters within a fairly short period of time in Ephesus and Corinth (David Trobisch, op. cit., p. 129f.). 1   For the places of writing the epistles see an introduction to the New Testament as e.g. Udo Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, cit. 2   The closer study of Paul’s elaboration of motives in the Jewish scriptures has been a central topic in New Testament scholarship. 3   Hans Conzelmann suggested that Paul established a school in Ephesus Hans Conzelmann, Paulus und die Weisheit, « nts », 12 (1965), pp. 231-244 ; Hans Conzelmann, Die Schule des Paulus, in Theologia crucis, signum crucis, FS Erich Dinkler, edited by Carl Andresen and Günter Klein, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1979, pp. 85-96. See Tor Vegge, op. cit., pp. 501ff., with references to further literature.  

 

 

56 tor vegge raries. School members commented on the writings in them and used them for reference in their own teaching and writing, themselves working with copies, drafts and notebooks containing passages that eventually might have entered into complete literary works. To sketch such a context seems relevant for the understanding of Paul’s letters and thereby his teaching and writing practice. Out of Paul’s school came letters, letters that soon were collected. For the study and literary work in the school Paul seems to have had easy access to copies of some Jewish writings in Greek. In his letters he quotes Isaiah, Psalms, Deuteronomy, and Genesis most often. These books may have had a function resembling teachers’ texts in Hellenistic schools. The books may have been accessible to him in a library, or in line with the suggestions made in this article, those books, or rather scrolls, constituted the basic stock of his library. He might also have had anthologies of some sort, and further he probably used notes and drafts, and kept copies of his own letters. Those copies would make the first significant addition to Paul’s ‘library’, that would come to be the library of the continuing Pauline school. The sentences in the pseudonymous Second Timothy cited above may be a general reference to Paul’s letters and the concrete context of the literary activity in the Pauline school also as it continued in the following generations :  

Do your best to come to me soon […]. When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, also the books (biblia), and above all the parchments (membranai). (2 Tim 4 :9 and 13)  

In the image of Paul in the Catacombs of St. Domitilla he is depicted as a teacher and philosopher with the prominent accessories of a philosopher, teacher and writer : a manuscript and a collection of books in a book box (capsa). The image indicates the importance of written manuscripts and libraries for the maintenance and development of learning and writing within a school, in this case the Pauline school.  

Literature The translations of the Greeks texts are taken from the Loeb Classical Library, Harvard University Press, unless noted otherwise. Ancient works are for the most part named according to Patrick H. Alexander, The sbl Handbook of Style, Peabody, Hendrickson, 1999.

the library of the apostle paul

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Ancient Texts Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers. Diogenes Laertius, translated by R. D. Hicks, Cambridge, ma-London, Harvard University Press, 1972 (First published 1925) (« lcl », 184). Diogenes Laertius, Leben und Lehre der Philosophen, edited and translated by Fritz Jürß, Stuttgart, Reclam, 1998. Epictetus, The Discourses of Epictetus as reported by Arrian Books i-ii, with an English translation by W. A. Oldfather, Cambridge, ma-London, Harvard University Press, 1998 (« lcl », 131). Lucian, Hermotimus, in Lukian, Hermotimus oder Lohnt es sich, Philosophie zu studieren, edited, translated and commented by Peter von Möllendorff, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000 (« Texte zur Forschung », 74). Lucian, Vitarum auctio, in Lucian, Volume ii, edited and translated by A. M. Harmon, Cambridge, ma-London, Harvard University Press, 1915 (« lcl », 54). Plinius Secundus, Epistulae, in Pliny the Younger, Complete Letters. Translated with an Introduction and Notes by P. G. Walsh, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2006 (« Oxford World Classics »). Quintilian, Institutio Oratoria, in Quintilian, institutio oratoria : M. F. Quintilianus : Ausbildung des Redners. Zwölf Bücher, Lateinisch und Deutsch, 2 vols. (edited and translated by H. Rahn), Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1988 (« Texte zur Forschung », 2-3). Plutarch, Quomodo quis suos in virtute sentiat profectus (De profectibus in virtute), in Plutarch von Chaironeia, Moralphilosophische Schriften, edited and translated by H.-J. Klauck, Stuttgart, Reclam, 1997. Plutarch, Sulla, in Plutarch : vitae parallelae, Plutarch’s lives in eleven volumes, edited and translated by B. Perrin, Cambridge, ma-London, Harvard University Press, 1916 (« lcl », 80). Seneca, De beneficiis, in Seneca : Philosophische Schriften. Lateinisch und Deutsch, five vols., edited and translated by M. Rosenbach, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1995. Seneca, Epistulae Morales, in Seneca. Letters from a Stoic. Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium. Selected and translated with an introduction by Robin Campbell, London, Penguin Books, 2004. Seneca, Epistulae Morales, in Seneca. Philosophische Schriften. Lateinisch und Deutsch, five vols., edited and translated by M. Rosenbach, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1995. Strabo, Geographica, in Strabo, Geographica : The Geography of Strabo in eight volumes, edited and translated by H. L. Jones, Cambridge, ma-London, Harvard University Press, 1917-1932 (« lcl »). Theon Alexandrinus, Progymnasmata, in George A. Kennedy, Progymnas 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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tor vegge mata. Greek Textbooks of Prose Composition and Rhetoric, Atlanta, Society of Biblical Literature, 2003 (« Writings from the Greco-Roman World », 10).  

 

Other Works Jürgen Becker, Paulus. Der Apostel der Völker, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1992. Klaus Berger, Formgeschichte des Neuen Testaments, Heidelberg, Quelle & Meyer, 1984. —, Hellenistische Gattungen im Neuen Testament, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt (anrw), edited by Hildegard Temporini, Wolfgang Haase, 2.25/2, Berlin-New York, Walter de Gruyter, 1984, pp. 1031-1432 and 1831-1885. Rudolf Bultmann, Der Stil der paulinischen Predigt und die kynisch-stoischen Diatribe, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1910 (« Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments », 13). Hubert Cancik, The History of Culture, Religion, and Institutions in Ancient Historiography : Philological Observations Concerning Luke´s History, « jbl », 116 (1997), pp. 673-695. Hans Conzelmann, Die Schule des Paulus, in Theologia crucis, signum crucis, FS Erich Dinkler, edited by Carl Andresen, Günter Klein, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1979, pp. 85-96. —, Paulus und die Weisheit, « nts », 12 (1965), pp. 231-244. Raffaella Cribiore, Writing, Teachers, and Students in Graeco-Roman Egypt, Atlanta, Scholars Press, 1996 (« American Studies in Papyrology », 36). Boris Dreyer, Medien für Erziehung, Bildung und Ausbildung in der Antike, in Handbuch der Erziehung und Bildung in der Antike, edited by Johannes Christes, et al., Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006, pp. 223-250, 290-295. James D. G. Dunn, The New Perspective on Paul, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2005 (« Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament », 185). Pamela Michelle Eisenbaum, Paul Was Not a Christian. The Original Message of a Misunderstood Apostle, New York, HarperOne, 2009. Michael Erler, Die Schule Epikurs, in Grundriss der Geschichte der Philosophie (Begr. von Fr. Ueberweg) Bd. 4 : Die Hellenistische Philosophie, edited by Hellmut Flashar, Basel, Schwabe, 1994, pp. 203-379. Michael Erler, Philosophische Literaturformen, in Der neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike 9, Stuttgart-Weimar, J. B. Metzler, 2000, pp. 871-877. Benjamin Fiore, The Function of the Personal Example in the Socratic and the Pastoral Epistles, Roma, Biblical Insitute Press, 1986 (« Analecta biblica », 105). —, The Pastoral Epistles : First Timothy, Second Timothy, Titus, Collegeville, Minneapolis, The Liturgical Press, 2007 (« Sacra Pagina Series », 12). Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church. A History of Early Christian Texts, New Haven-London, Yale University Press, 1995. Pierre Hadot, What is Ancient Philosophy ?, Cambridge, Massachusetts-London, Harvard University Press, 2002.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, London, Yale University Press, 1989. David Hellholm, Enthymemic Argumentation in Paul : The Case of Romans 6, in Paul in His Hellenistic Context, edited by Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Minneapolis, Fortress Press, 1995, pp. 119-179. Martin Hengel, Der vorchristliche Paulus, in Paulus und das antike Judentum, edited by Martin Hengel, Ulrich Heckel, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1991 (« Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament », 58), pp. 177-291. —, Die Evangelienüberschriften, Heidelberg, Carl Winter Universitätsverlag, 1984 (« Sitzungsberichte der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse », 1984/3). W. Benjamin Henry, Philodemus, On Death. Translated with an introduction and notes by W. Benjamin Henry, Atlanta, Society of Biblical Literature, 2009 (« Writings from the Greco-Roman World », 29). Catherine Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2001 (« Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum / Texts and Studies in Ancient Judaism », 81). Dietrich-Alex Koch, Die Schrift als Zeuge des Evangeliums. Untersuchungen zur Verwendung und zum Verständnis der Schrift bei Paulus, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 1986 (« Beiträge zur historischen Theologie », 69). Andreas Lindemann, Der erste Korintherbrief, Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck, 2000 («Handbuch zum Neuen Testament», 9.1). John Patrick Lynch, Aristotle´s School. A Study of a Greek Educational Institution, Berkely-Los Angeles-London, University of California Press, 1972. Henri-Irénée Marrou, A History of Education in Antiquity, London, Sheed and Ward, 1956. Stefan Maul, Bibliotheksgebäude - Bibliothekswesen A : Ägypten und Mesopotamien, in Der neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike 2, Stuttgart-Weimar, J. B. Metzler, 1997, pp. 634-640. Teresa Morgan, Literate education in the Hellenistic and Roman worlds, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1998 (« Cambridge Classical Studies »). Steve Moyise, Quotations, in As It Is Written. Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture, edited by Stanley E. Porter, Christopher D. Stanley, Leiden-Boston, Society of Biblical Literature, 2008 (« sbl Sympoisium Series », 50), pp. 15-28. Peter Müller, Verstehst du auch, was du liest ? Lesen und Verstehen im Neuen Testament, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1994. Stanley E. Porter, Allusions and Echoes, in As It Is Written. Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture, edited by Stanley E. Porter, Christopher D. Stanley, Leiden-Boston, Society of Biblical Literature, 2008 (« sbl Sympoisium Series », 50), pp. 29-40. —, Paul and His Bible : His Education and Access to the Scriptures of Israel, in As It Is Written. Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture, edited by Stanley E. Porter, Christopher D. Stanley, Leiden-Boston, Society of Biblical Literature, 2008 (« sbl Sympoisium Series », 50), pp. 97-124.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Ernest Randolp Richards, Paul and First-Century Letter Writing. Secretaries, Composition and Collection, Downers Grove, InterVarsity Press, 2004. Udo Schnelle, Einleitung in das Neue Testament, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002 (« Uni Taschenbücher », 1830). —, Paulus. Leben und Denken, Berlin-New York, Walter de Gruyter, 2003. Alan F. Segal, Paul the Convert. The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1990. Harlow Gregory Snyder, Teachers and Texts in the Ancient World. Philosophers, Jews and Christians, London, Routledge, 2000. Christopher D. Stanley, Paul and Homer : Greco-Roman Citation Practice in the First Century ce, « nt », 32 (1990), pp. 48-78. —, Paul and Scripture : Charting the Course, in As It Is Written. Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture, edited by Stanley E. Porter, Christopher D. Stanley, Leiden-Boston, Society of Biblical Literature, 2008 (« sbl Sympoisium Series », 50), pp. 3-12. —, Paul’s “Use” of Scripture : Why the Audience Matters, in As It Is Written. Studying Paul’s Use of Scripture, edited by Stanley E. Porter, Christopher D. Stanley, Leiden-Boston, Society of Biblical Literature, 2008 (« sbl Sympoisium Series », 50), pp. 125-155. M. L. Jr. Stirewalt, Studies in Ancient Greek Epistolography, Atlanta, Scholars Press, 1993 (« sbl Resources for Biblical Study », 27). Stanley K. Stowers, The Diatribe and Paul’s Letter to the Romans, Chico California, Scholars Press, 1981 (« Society of Biblical Literature. Dissertation Series », 57). —, Letter Writing in Greco-Roman Antiquity, Philadelphia, Westminster Press, 1986 (« Library of Early Christianity », 5). David Trobisch, Die Entstehung der Paulusbriefsammlung. Studien zu den Anfängen christlicher Publizistik, Freiburg-Göttingen, Universitätsverlag FreiburgVandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1989 (« Novum testamentum et orbis antiquus », 10). Tor Vegge, Paulus und das antike Schulwesen. Schule und Bildung des Paulus, Berlin-New York, Walter de Gruyter, 2006 (« Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft und die Kunde der älteren Kirche », 134). Konrad Vössing, Bibliothekswesen B : Griechenland, Rom, christliche Bibliotheken, in Der neue Pauly. Enzyklopädie der Antike 2, Stuttgart-Weimar, J. B. Metzler, 1997, pp. 640-647. —, Schule und Bildung im Nordafrika der römischen Kaiserzeit, Bruxelles, Latomus, 1997. —, Studium : Rom - Republik und Kaiserzeit, in Handbuch der Erziehung und Bildung in der Antike, edited by Johannes Christes, et al., Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2006, pp. 136-145, 277-280. Carl Wendel, Bibliothek, in Reallexikon für Antike und Christentum 2, Stuttgart, Anton Hiersemann, 1954, pp. 231-274.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Ulrich v. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, Antigonos von Karystos, Berlin, Weid­ mannsche Buchhandlung, 1881. Joseph Wilpert (Ed.), Die Malereien der Katakomben Roms (2 Volumes), Freiburg, Herdersche Verlagshandlung, 1903. Norbert Zimmermann, Zur Wiederentdeckung des Fossors Diogenes, « Bollettino. Monumenti, Musei e Gallerie Pontificie », 29 (2011), pp. 119-151.  

 

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Political approaches to Byzantine liturgical texts Apostolos Spanos

B

yzantium is known as a civilization imbued with the Christian dogma, practices and ethics. Its political ideology and imperial ideology, stable from the establishment of Constantinople as its capital in the fourth century until the fall of the city to the Ottomans in the fifteenth century, is based on the direct relationship between the kingdom of heaven and the empire, the sacred character of the imperial office and the heavenly source and divine provenance of the imperial authority. Christian ideas and ideals influenced not only the society but also the state, even the law. Let us, for example, recall an early Byzantine law declaring that « Our State is sustained more by religion than by official duties and physical toil and sweat ». 1 This Christianisation of the imperial ideology, also known as Byzantine political theology or political orthodoxy, 2 was to dominate politics in Byzantium by forging a close relationship between state and church, wrongly styled, even by distinguished Byzantinists, as theocracy. 3 This relationship supported, and some times served as a fulcrum for a propaganda that promoted the interests of the state and the church –sometimes unilateral, sometimes common, and in some cases ambivalent. 4 Although a number of individual studies examine the relationship between Byzantine imperial propaganda on one hand and sanctity, hagiog 

 

 

 

 

 

I would like to thank Dr. Vasileios Syros (Finnish Centre of Political Thought & Conceptual Change), for the improvement of my text in terms of language and style. 1   Codex Theodosianus, xvi.2.16 ; quoted from Cyril Mango, Byzantium : The Empire of New Rome, London, Phoenix, 1998, p. 88. 2   See, among others, Hans Georg Beck, Das byzantinische Jahrtausend, Munich, C. H. Beck, 1994/1978, pp. 87-108 ; Francis Dvornik, Early Christian and Byzantine Political Philosophy : Origins and Background, vols. i-ii, Washington d.c., Dumbarton Oaks Center for Byzantine Studies, 1966. 3   See, for example, Steven Runciman, Byzantine Theocracy, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1977. 4   See Apostolos Spanos, Imperial Sanctity and Politico-Ecclesiastical Propaganda in Byzantium (ninth-fifteenth century), in Ritual Dynamics and the Science of Ritual. Volume iii. State, Power, and Violence, edited by Axel Michaels (et al.), Wiesbaden, Harrassowitz, pp. 197-213.  

 

 

 

64 apostolos spanos raphy and ritual on the other, 1 there is still no specialized study dedicated to the Byzantine liturgical texts 2 as media and conduits of political messages. This essay does not aim at exploring the political use of liturgical texts in Byzantium but rather political uses that call for a more comprehensive study on the field. Its main purpose is to highlight something that has not yet received intensive research, namely that a historico-political study of Byzantine liturgical texts may reveal valuable aspects of their composition and function, shedding at the same time light on the political, ecclesiastical and social history of Byzantium. The study focuses on Constantinople, the political centre of the empire, whose control was extremely important for both emperors and pretenders to the throne. 3 Almost all the hymns referred to in this essay (i.e. except for some of the hymns by Romanos quoted in the third part) were included in the liturgical book Menaion, which means that they were performed once a year at least from the ninth century until the end of the Byzantine period. 4 The study focuses on the content of these texts and the political ideas enshrined in them, considering at the same time their effects on  

 

 

 

1

  See Gildert Dagron, Emperor and Priest. The Imperial Office in Byzantium, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2003 ; Dimitri Angelov, Imperial Ideology and Political Thought in Byzantium. 1204-1330, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2007 ; Nikolas K. Gvosdev, An Examination of Church-State Relations in the Byzantine and Russian Empires with an Emphasis on Ideology and Models of Interaction, Lewiston, Edwin Mellen Press, 2001 ; The Byzantine Saint. University of Birmingham, Fourteenth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, edited by Sergei Hackel, London, St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1981, pp. 37-42, 43-50, 67-87 ; Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204, edited by Henry Maguire, Washington, d.c., Harvard University Press, 1997. 2   The term ‘liturgical texts’ refers to hymnographical texts used by the Byzantine Church in the celebration of feasts and saints. One of the case studies presented below considers the use of biblical readings. Most of the texts referred to in this essay are still in use by the Greek Orthodox Church. 3   See, for example, what E. Tounta writes about the conquest of Constantinople as the final and absolute aim of a successful usurpation ; Eleni Tounta, Usurpation, Acceptance and Legitimacy in Mediaeval Europe. An Analysis of the Dynamic Relations between Ritual Structure and Political Power, in Axel Michaels (et al.), op. cit., pp. 447-473, esp. 463-466. 4   Menaion appeared in the ninth century and it was, from the tenth century onwards, the main book used by the Byzantine Church for the celebration of feasts and saints in the yearly ritual cycle. The texts contained therein were performed by the choir on the feast-days of saints and/or feasts commemorated on a fixed date. Its most reliable edition is Mhnai`a tou` o{lou ejniautou`, vols. i-vi, Rome, 1888-1902 (henceforth mr). On the book of Menaion see Apostolos Spanos, Menaion, in Byzantine Codices in Liturgical context. A codicoliturgical approach to cataloguing Byzantine Christian manuscripts. i . The Athens cbm Meeting : Biblical, Liturgical and Hymnographical Codices, edited by Stefan Roye, Turnhout, Brepols (forthcoming) ; Idem, Codex Lesbiacus Leimonos 11. Annotated Critical Edition of an Unpublished Byzantine Menaion for June, Berlin-New York, Walter de Gruyter, 2010 (« Byzantinisches Archiv », 23), pp. 3-16.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts 65 the faithful who attended the ceremonies. It should be made clear from the beginning that it is difficult, if possible at all, to accuse the hymnographers as conscious propagandists of imperial interests. Even so, it is hard to avoid thinking of how the average Byzantine might have understood the content of the hymns, or to forget that in various periods the church had interests that were supported by the promotion of the so-called political orthodoxy. The essay is divided into three sections. The first studies the promotion of political ideology in liturgical texts, while the second is dedicated to the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross as a case-study for such a promotion. The third presents cases of liturgical texts used as means of political propaganda, that is for the support of specific emperors and their political acts and aims. Liturgical Promotion of Political Ideology The Christianized Byzantine political ideology, formed already in the first half of the fourth century by the bishop of Caesarea Eusebius (ca. 314339), 1 was promoted in various ways, both textual and visual. 2 A number of liturgical sources demonstrate that liturgical texts were also used to spread the notion of the special relationship between God and his viceregent on earth, the emperor, as well as the notion of the Byzantines as the new ‘chosen people’ of God. 3 The relationship between God and the emperor, as well as the sacred authority, office and role of the latter could be presented directly or hidden in allusions and metaphors. 4  

 

 

 

1

  As George T. Dennis, Imperial Panegyric : Rhetoric and reality, in Henry Maguire (ed.), op. cit., pp. 131-140, here 132, styled it : « It was Eusebios, in his orations on Constantine the Great, who christianized the imperial ideology and articulated the political orthodoxy that would prevail until the death of the last Constantine ». 2   See Nikolas Gvosdev, op. cit., pp. 39-53 (chapter : The Political Language of Orthodoxy) ; André Grabar, L’empereur dans l’art byzantin, London, Variorum Reprints, 1971 ; George P. Majeska, The Emperor and his Church : Imperial Ritual in the Church of St Sophia, in Henry Maguire (ed.), op. cit., pp. 1-11. 3   « In liturgical and non-liturgical writings of the time, the contrast is often made between Christians, who form a ‘people’ (in Greek, laos) as opposed to the non-Christians who remain divided into tribes and nations (ethnê sic). Christian Romans are to form a single commonwealth, a single polity, a single realm, and being united in faith should also be united in citizenship, in peace, and in concord. […] Those outside were linked to the forces of evil » (Nikolas Gvosdev, op. cit., p. 47). 4   A good example could be Romanos Melodos presenting God as the Lord of Heaven, who, exactly as the emperor on earth, issues documents that distribute privileges and donations, listens to requests and gives to everybody, even to illiterates, the possibility of addressing to Him without the help of professional application-writers ; see Herbert Hunger,  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

66 apostolos spanos A main idea in this ideology was that the establishment of the Roman Empire (that is to say : the Byzantine ; Byzantium was the continuation of the Roman Empire, and the Byzantines called themselves Romans until the last day of their existence) was a part of God’s providence for the salvation of mankind. The divine plan was to save the humans at the same time from polyarchy, with the establishment of the Roman Empire, and from polytheism, with the Incarnation of Christ. This idea was expressed by Eusebius in, among other texts, his Praeparatio Evangelica.  

 

It was the result of divine and ineffable power that, together with his word and along with his teaching of the monarchy of the one God of the Universe, he [God] delivered the human race at one and the same time both from the much-erring, deceitful influence of demons and from the polyarchy of various nations. […] When Christ-God appeared […] events followed what have been prophesied. All the polyarchy in the Roman world came to an end, since Augustus had established a monarchy at the same moment that our Savior appeared on earth. Henceforth and until the present, there were no longer seen, as before, cities waging war on other cities, or peoples combating other peoples, or even life exhausting itself in the earlier confusion. 1  

This incorporation of Pax Romana in the Christian understanding of History as divine providence is also expressed in Byzantine hymnography. It is, for example, the very subject of the following hymn, composed by Kassia the Nun in the ninth century and performed since then on the eve of Christmas :  

When Augustus reigned alone upon earth, the many kingdoms of men came to end ; and when Thou wast made man of the pure Virgin, the many gods of idolatry were destroyed. The cities of the world passed under one single rule, and the nations came to believe in one sovereign Godhead. The peoples were enrolled by decree of Caesar ; and we, the faithful, were enrolled in the Name  

 

Romanos Melodos, Dichter, Prediger, Rhetor –und sein Publikum, « Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik », 34, 1984, pp. 15-24, here 39-42. 1   Qeiva~ me;n ga;r kai; ajporrhvtou dunavmew~ h\n to; a{ma tw`/ aujtou` lovgw/ kai; su;n th`Ê peri; monar 

 

civa~ eJno;~ tou` ejpi; pavntwn qeou` probeblhmevnhÊ didaskaliva/ aujtou` oJmou` kai; th`~ poluplanou`~ kai; daimonikh`~ ejnergeiva~, oJmou` kai; th`~ tw`n ejqnw`n poluarciva~ ejleuvqeron katasth`nai to; tw`n ajnqrwvpwn gevno~. […] ∆Epeidh; parh`n oJ Cristo;~ tou` qeou`, […]  ajkovlouqa tai`~ prorrhvsesin ejphkolouvqei ta; e[rga. Pa`sa me;n aujtivka perihÊrei`to poluarciva ÔRwmaivwn, Aujgouvstou kata; to; aujto; th`Ê tou` swth`ro~ hJmw`n ejpifaneiva/ monarchvsanto~. ∆Ex ejkeivnou de; kai; eij~ deu`ro oujk a]n i[doi~, wJ~ to; privn, povlei~ povlesi polemouvsa~ oujd∆ e[qno~ e[qnei diamacovmenon oujdev ge to;n  bivon ejn th`Ê palaia`/ sugcuvsei katatribovmenon (Karl Mras, Eusebius Werke, Band 8 : Die Praeparatio  

evangelica, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, 1954, 1.4.2-1.4.5 ; trans. Deno John Geanakoplos, Byzantium. Church, Society, and Civilization seen through Contemporary Eyes, Chicago, Chicago University Press, 1984, pp. 131-132).  

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts

67

of the Godhead, when Thou, our God, wast made man. Great is They mercy ; glory to Thee. 1  

 

The idea of the sacral imperium is clearly presented in a number of hymns, in which God is asked to protect the empire, or the Byzantines, from all their ‘godless’ enemies. One example would suffice :  

We bring you in intercession the life-giving Cross of your goodness, O Lord, which you have given to the unworthy. Save the Kings and your city, giving them peace through the Mother of God, O only lover of mankind. 2  

Here it is not the whole empire that should be protected but only Constantinople, the City, as the Byzantines called it. 3 The principal goal of these hymns was to strengthen the morale of those living in the capital. Let us not forget that the defence of the city was often strengthened metaphysically, with the use of relics and icons as means of divine protection against the enemies. 4 There are, of course, a lot of hymns asking God to protect ‘His people’. Furthermore, Byzantine hymnography also refers to the enemies of the empire, or the emperor himself, as enemies of God, who is asked to « wage war on those who war against us ». 5 In some hymns these enemies are clearly qualified as external enemies  

 

 

 

 

1   Aujgouvstou monarchvsanto~ ejpi; th`~ gh`~, hJ poluarciva tw`n ajnqrwvpwn ejpauvsato: kai; sou` ejnanqrwphvsanto~ ejk th`~ ÔAgnh`~, hJ poluqei?a tw`n eijdwvlwn kathvrghtai. ÔÁpo; mivan basileivan ejgkovsmion, aiJ povlei~ gegevnhntai: kai; eij~ mivan despoteivan Qeovthto~, ta; e[qnh ejpivsteusan. ∆Apegravfhsan oiJ laoi;, tw`/ dovgmati tou` Kaivsaro~: ejpegravfhmen oiJ pistoi;, ojnovmati qeovthto~, sou` tou` ejnanqrwphvsanto~ Qeou` hJmw`n. Mevga sou to; e[leo~ Kuvrie, dovxa soi (mr ii, p. 651 ; trans 

lated in The Festal Menaion translated from the original Greek by Mother Mary and Archimandrite Kallistos Ware, with an introduction by Archpriest Georges Florovsky, London, Faber & Faber, 1969 [henceforth : Festal Menaion], p. 254). Cf. Nikolas Gvosdev, op. cit., p. 41, where this hymn is used to illuminate the Byzantine concept of oecumene in comparison to the Roman. On the Byzantine concept of Oecumene see also Byzantium as Oecumene, edited by Evagelos Chrysos, Athens, National Hellenic Research Foundation, 2005. 2   To;n zwopoio;n stauro;n th`~ sh`~ ajgaqovthto~, o}n ejdwrhvsw hJmi`n toi`~ ajnaxivoi~, Kuvrie, soi; prosavgomen eij~ presbeivan· Sw`ze tou;~ Basilei`~ kai; th;n povlin sou eijrhneuvonta~ dia; th`~ Qeotovkou, movne filavnqrwpe (mr i, p. 138 ; trans. by Archimandrite Ephrem at http ://www.anastasis. org.uk/13sep.htm ; last accessed 4 March 2014). 3   On Constantinople as a God-guarded city see Norman Hepburn Baynes, The Supernatural Defenders of Constantinople, « Analecta Bollandiana », 67, 1949, pp. 165-177 (repr. Idem, Byzantine Studies and Other Essays, London, University of London-Athlone Press, 1960, pp. 248-260). 4   « The presence of either the relic of the True Cross, or that of the robe of the Theotokos was considered indispensable for the deliverance of Constantinople when under siege » (Sophia Mergiali-Sahas, Byzantine Emperors and Holy Relics. Use, and misuse, of sanctity and authority, « Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik », 51, 2001, pp. 41-60, here 44). 5   …polevmhson tou;~ polemou`nta~ hJma`~ (mr i, p. 151).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

68 apostolos spanos of the empire. More often than not the enemies could not be historically identified, since they are presented generally as godless barbarians, which, according to the Byzantine mentality, could be applied to any non-Christian enemy, as all ‘nations’ and tribes outside the Byzantine borders were clearly understood as both godless and barbarians. The hymnographers ask God to protect Constantinople or the empire (both are normally presented as God’s holy place) from all these enemies. Let us, for example, consider a hymn on the Beginning of the ecclesiastical year (September 1st) :  

You, O King, Who Are and who abide even to ages without end, accept the supplication of sinners who beg salvation ; and grant, O Lover of mankind, abundance to your land, giving it temperate weather ; as once with David, fight alongside our faithful King against godless barbarians, for they have entered your tabernacles and defiled your all-holy place, O Saviour. But grant victories, Christ God, at the intercession of the Mother of God ; for you are the victory and boast of the Orthodox. 1  

 

 

 

In other texts, the enemies are clearly defined. In a good number of hymns the Muslims are referred to as the enemies whom God is asked to keep away or destroy. As the limbs of the Hebrews who truly disobeyed you, the Master of all, were once fittingly strewn across the desert, so now too, O Christ, as the Psalm says, scatter the bones of the impious and unbelieving Hagarenes 2 at the mouth of Hell. 3  

 

In most cases, the enemies of the emperor are external enemies of the empire ; but not always. There are hymns, in which it is not clear whether the enemies referred to are internal or external. In such cases, even if  

1

  Su; Basileu`, oJ w]n kai; diamevnwn kai; eij~ aijwn` a~ ajteleuthvtou~, devxai duswvphsin aijtouvntwn aJmartwlw`n swthrivan· kai; paravscou, filavnqrwpe, th`Ê gh`Ê sou eujforivan, eujkravtou~ tou;~ ajerv a~ carizovmeno~· tw`/ pistotavtw/ Basilei` sumpolevmei kata; ajqevwn barbavrwn, wJ~ pote; tw`/ Dabi?d· o{ti h[lqosan ou|toi ejn skhnai`~ sou, kai; to;n panavgion tovpon ejmivanan, Sw`ter· ajll∆ aujto;~ dwvrhsai nivka~, Criste; oJ Qeo;~, th`Ê presbeiva/ th`~ Qeotovkou, nivkh ga;r su; tw`n ojrqodovxwn kai; kauvchma (mr

i, p. 8 ; trans. by Archimandrite Ephrem at http ://www.anastasis.org.uk/sep01e.htm; last accessed 4 March 2014). Let it be noted that the book of Euchologion, a formulary for prayers, includes various texts of different types on war or the invation of barbarians (see Eujcolovgion sive rituale Graecorum..., edited by Jacobus Goar, Venetiis, 1730 [repr. Graz, 1960], pp. 642-647). 2   In Byzantine texts Muslims are usually presented as Hagarenes, or sons of Hagar, Ishmaelites, or sons of Ishmael, and Saracens. 3   ÔW~ tw`n ÔEbraivwn ta; kw`la, ejn th`Ê ejrhvmw/ pote;, ajpeiqhsavntwn o[ntw~ soi; tw`/ pavntwn DespovthÊ, ajxivw~ katestrwvqh, ou{tw kai; nu`n ta; ojsta` diaskovrpison tw`n dussebw`n kai; ajpivstwn ∆Agarhnw`n, yalmikw`~ para; to;n a{/dhn, Criste; (mr i, p. 3 ; trans. by Archimandrite Ephrem at http ://www.anastasis.org.uk/sep01e.htm ; last accessed 4 March 2014).  

 

 

 

 

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts 69 not consciously, the hymnographers supported the emperor, as it would be logical to assume that the congregation would identify internal enemies of the emperor, as could be the case with e.g. pretenders to the throne, as the enemies from which God should protect the emperor, or the city. An example :  

Christ our God, who created all things with wisdom and brought them from non-being into being, bless the crown of the year and preserve our city unbesieged ; make glad our faithful Sovereigns by your power, giving them victories against enemies, through the Mother of God granting the world your great mercy. 1  

 

Hymns of such content are scattered in various Byzantine liturgical books, in texts composed to serve various liturgical purposes. In the following pages we will consider the hymnology dedicated to the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross (September 14), which includes most of the elements of the Byzantine political ideology. The Imperial Cross The feast of the « Exaltation of the Precious and Life-giving Cross », as it is usually referred to in the sources, is worthy of attention, as it is the only « great feast » 2 of the Byzantine church that was dedicated to a relic. 3 To underline its importance I may refer to the liturgical rubrics dictating that when the 14th of September is a Sunday the choir should not perform the usual Sunday-hymns on Resurrection but the hymnography  

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Criste; oJ Qeo;~ hJmw`n, oJ ejn sofia/ ta; pavnta dhmiourghvsa~, kai; ejk mh; o[ntwn eij~ to; ei\nai paragagw;n, eujlovghson to;n stevfanon tou` ejniautou`, kai; th;n povlin hJmw`n fuvlatte ajpoliovrkhton· tou;~ de; pistou;~ Basilei`~ hJmw`n ejn th`Ê dunavmei sou eu[franon, nivka~ corhgw`n aujtoi`~ kata; tw`n polemivwn, dia; th`~ Qeotovkou dwrouvmeno~, tw`/ kovsmw/ to; mevga e[leo~. (mr i, p. 7 ; trans.  

by Archimandrite Ephrem at http ://www.anastasis.org.uk/sep01e.htm ; last accessed 4 March 2014) 2   The Byzantine Church had twelve feasts of major importance, namely the Nativity of the Theotokos (Sept. 8), the Exaltation of the Cross (Sept. 14), the Entry of the Theotokos into the temple (Nov. 21), the Nativity of Christ (Dec. 25), Epiphany (the baptism of Christ, Jan. 6), the Presentation of Christ in the temple (Feb. 2), the Annunciation (Mar. 25), the Entry of Christ into Jerusalem (Palm Sunday), the Ascension of Christ (forty days after Easter), the Pentecost (fifty days after Easter), the Transfiguration of Christ (Aug. 6) and the Dormition of the Theotokos (Aug. 15) ; see Festal Menaion, pp. 41-66. 3   All the other ‘Great feasts’ are dedicated to Christ and the Theotokos, or events related to their lives. Let it be noted that in Byzantium the veneration of relics was in fact the veneration of the saint or saints in question ; see John Wortley, The Wood of the Holy Cross, in Idem, Studies on the Cult of Relics in Byzantium up to 1204, Farnham, Ashgate, 2009 (« Study », vi), pp. 1-19, here 15-16.  

 

 

 

 

 

70 apostolos spanos on the Cross, without any other hymnographical interpolation. 1 The establishment of the feast 2 is based on two events of legendary character related to the emperor Constantine I the Great (324-337) : his vision of the Cross and the discovery (inventio) of the Holy Cross by his mother Helena in Jerusalem in ca. 327. A short presentation of these events in necessary before studying the hymnography on the Exaltation. According to Eusebius of Caesarea on the eve of an important battle 3 Constantine had a vision of the Cross in the sky, along with the Greek phrase Touvtw/ nivka (In hoc signo vinces, or By this conquer). The same night Christ appeared to him in a dream and instructed him to use the Cross as a symbol in the battle. By doing so, Constantine was victorious. 4 In 324, he decided to transfer the capital of the Roman Empire from the eternal city to Byzantium, which was named, after him, Constantinople. The next year he gathered the first ecumenical council in Nicaea, to solve the Christological problems that threatened the unity of the church, something also important for the empire, as Constantine seems to have had understood Christianity as a means of cohesion for the empire’s various peoples and cultures. In 326, his mother Helena embarked on a travel to Jerusalem, where under a temple dedicated to Aphrodite, which she destroyed, she found the Holy Cross along with the crosses of the thieves and other relics from  

 

 

 

 

1   According to an eleventh-century manuscript of the Typikon of Hagia Sophia, the socalled Typikon Dresdensis (cod. Dresden A 104), « Dei` de; eijdevnai o{ti eja;n ejsti kuriakhv, ou[te ajnastavsima yavllomen ou[te eJwqino;n eujaggevlion ajnaginwvsketai » ; Bernard Flusin, Les cérémonies de l’Exaltation de la Croix à Constantinople au xie siècles d’après le Dresdensis A 104, in Byzance et les Reliques du Christ, edited by Jannic Durand, Bernard Flusin, Paris, Association des Amis du Centre, 2004, pp. 61-89, here 89. Let it be noted here that the Byzantine Church, unlike the Roman Catholic, considers Ressurection as much more important than Crucifiction ; thus, the replacement of the Ressurection hymns with the hymns on the Cross symbolises the extraordinary significance of the feast. 2   Describing her pilgrimage to the Holy Land, Egeria witnesses to the ritual veneration of the Holy Cross in Jerusalem already in the fourth century (Itinerarium Egeriae, ed. Geyer, 88.1-22). The oldest evidence on its celebration in Constantinople is no older than the seventh century. On the Holy Cross and its veneration see John Wortley, The Wood of the Holy Cross ; Holger A. Klein, Constantine, Helena, and the Cult of the True Cross in Constantinople, in Jannic Durand, Bernard Flusin (eds), op. cit., pp. 31-59. 3   Eusebius does not identify the battle, while another contemporary historian, Lactantius, speaks of the battle of the Milvian Bridge against Maxentius in 28 October 312 (De mortibus persecutorum, 44.5-6). 4   On Constantine’s vision and other appearances of the cross in the fourth century see Jan Willem Drijvers, The Power of the Cross : Celestial Cross Appearances in the Fourth Century, in The Power of Religion in Late Antiquity, edited by Andrew Cain, Noel Lenski, Farnham, Ashgate, 2009, pp. 237-248.  

 

 

 

 

 

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts 71 the Crucifixion. The Cross was then most probably placed in the church of the Resurrection she founded, while a portion of it was transferred to the capital as a gift to Constantine. 1 The akolouthia 2 included in the Menaion for the celebration of the Exaltation is undoubtedly of political importance, due to its numerous references to the emperors and their special role. The central place of the emperor in the feast is demonstrated in its main hymns, namely the apolytikion and the kontakion : 3  

 

   

O Lord, save Thy people and bless Thine inheritance, granding the kings victory over barbarians, and guarding Thy commonwealth with Thy Cross. 4 Lifted up of Thine own will upon the Cross, do Thou bestow Thy mercy upon the new commonwealth that bears Thy Name. Make our faithful kings glad in Thy strength, giving them victory over their enemies : may Thy Cross assist them in battle, weapon of peace and unconquerable ensign of victory. 5  

 

 

In both hymns the idea of God protecting particularly the emperor and the Byzantine state is underlined, along with the concept of Byzantium 1

  On the various legends on the inventio of the Cross see Jan Willem Drijvers, Helena Augusta : The Mother of Constantine the Great and the Legend of Her Finding of the True Cross, Leiden, Brill, 1992 ; Stephan Borgehammar, How the Holy Cross Was Found : From Event to Medieval Legend, Stockholm, Almqvist & Wiksell International (« Bibliotheca Theologiae Practicae », 47), 1991; Andriani Georgiou, Helena: The Subversive Persona of an Ideal Christian Empress in Early Byzantium, «Journal of Early Christian Studies», 21: 4, 2013, pp. 597-624, esp. pp. 600-613. 2   The term akolouthia is used throughout the text for an individual total of hymnographical-poetic texts used by the church to celebrate a saint or a feast on his/her/its proper day. 3   Kontakion and apolytikion are central pieces of hymnography in every Byzantine akolouthia. Their didactic importance is clear in the fact that they are performed, among other places, right before the readings from the Acts/Epistles and the Gospel in the Divine Liturgy. 4   Sw`son, Kuvrie to;n laovn sou, kai; eujlovghson th;n klhronomivan sou, nivka~ toi`~ basileu`si kata; barbavrwn dwrouvmeno~, kai; to so;n fulavttwn dia; tou` Staurou` sou polivteuma (mr i, p. 158 ; trans. Festal Menaion, p. 141). Let it be noted that the text of this hymn is still a subject of religio-political debates in Greece, since the abolition of monarchy in 1974. In Festal Menaion one reads the modern politically correct version : « O Lord, save Thy people and bless Thine inheritance, granding Orthodox Christians victory over their enemies, and guarding Thy commonwealth with Thy Cross » (emphasis added), accompanied by the footnote : « literally, ‘granding the kings victory over barbarians’ ». 5   ÔO uJywqei;~ ejn tw`/ Staurw`/ eJkousivw~, th`Ê ejpwnuvmw/ sou kainh`Ê politeiva/ tou;~ oijktirmouv~ sou dwvrhsai, Criste; oJ Qeov~. Eu[franon ejn th`Ê dunavmei sou tou;~ pistou;~ Basilei`~ hJmw`n, nivka~ corhgw`n aujtoi`~ kata; tw`n polemivwn·  th;n summacivan e[coien th;n sh;n o{plon eijrhvnh~, ajhvtthton trovpaion (mr i, p. 162 ; trans. Festal Menaion, p. 148, where one reads the modern politically correct version : Lifted up of Thine own will upon the Cross, do Thou bestow Thy mercy upon the new commonwealth that bears Thy Name. Make the Orthodox people glad in Thy strength, giving them victory over their enemies : may Thy Cross assist them in battle, weapon of peace and unconquerable ensign of victory).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

72 apostolos spanos as the new chosen people. By the following hymn, the faithful are introduced to the idea of the emperor having been elected and anointed by God and his authority being God-given. Ye faithful Christian kings, forechosen by divine decree, rejoice. Receiving from God the Precious Cross, make this victorious weapon your glory, for by it the tribes of the enemy that rashly seek battle are scattered unto all ages. 1  

The Cross is also presented as a weapon against barbarian enemies, glorifying the imperial power :  

O marvelous wonder ! The length and breadth of the Cross is equal to the heavens, for by divine grace it sacrifies the whole world. By the Cross barbarian nations are conquered, by the Cross the sceptres of kings are confirmed. O divine ladder ! Ny thee we go up to heaven, exalting Christ the Lord in song. 2  

 

 

In a hymn attributed to the emperor Leo VI the Wise (886-912) the cross is hailed for, among other things, having supported the Byzantine emperors to lay down the Muslims :  

… Hail. O Cross, complete redemption of fallen Adam. With thee as their boast, our faithful kings laid low by thy might the people of Ishmael. 3  

All these hymns reflect the military use of the cross by the emperors. It is known form various Byzantine sources that the Byzantine army was escorted by the relic of the True Cross on military campaigns from at least the time of emperor Maurice (582-602) onwards. 4 Its function was, of course, to symbolize the divine support to the army and to strengthen the morale of the Byzantine soldiers. Apart from the abovementioned hymns, there are others where the political messages are presented indirectly, as for example by presenting the Cross as a « divine sceptre », 5 « firm foundation of the inhabited earth », 6  

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   OiJ th`Ê qeiva/ yhvfw/ prokriqevnte~, ajgavllesqe, Cristianw`n pistoi; Basilei`~·  kauca`sqe, tw`/ tropaiofovrw/ o{plw/, lacovnte~ qeovqen Stauro;n to;n tivmion· ejn touvtw/ ga;r fu`la polevmwn, qravso~ ejpizhtou`nta, skedavnnuntai eij~ tou;~ aijw`na~ (mr i, p. 163 ; trans. Festal Menaion, p. 150). 2   “W tou` paradovxou qauvmato~ ! eu|ro~ kai; mh`ko~ Staurou` oujranou` ijsostavsion, o{ti qeiva/ cavriti aJgiavzei ta; suvmpanta· ejn touvtw/ e[qnh bavrbara h{tthntai· ejn touvtw/ skh`ptra ajnavktwn h{drastai. “W qeiva~ klivmako~ ! di∆ h|~ ajnatrevcomen eij~ oujranou;~, uJyou`nta~ ejn a[/smasi Cristo;n to;n Kuvrion (mr i, p. 165 ; trans. Festal Menaion, p. 153). 3   …Caivroi~ Staure;, tou` pesovnto~ ∆Ada;m hJ teleiva luvtrwsi~· ejn soi; oiJ pistovtatoi Basilei`~ hJmw`n kaucw`ntai, wJ~ th`Ê sh`Ê dunavmei ∆Ismahlivthn lao;n krataiw`~ uJpotavttonte~ (mr i, p. 167 ;  

 

 

 

 

4 trans. Festal Menaion, p. 156).   See Holger A. Klein, op. cit., p. 56. 5   ÔW~ skh`prton e[nqeon proskunou`men sou staurovn, Cristev... (mr i, p. 153). 6   Oijkoumevnh~ ajsfavleia (mr i, p. 159 ; trans. Festal Menaion, p. 144). Let it be noted that the word oecumene used here is full of political connotations, as it is related to the ecumenical vision of emperor Justinian I (527-565), which later took the form of what was called by  

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts 73 or « the glory of the faithful, the strength and steadfastness of kings ». 1 Let us now turn to the celebration of the Exaltation itself. The Typikon of the Great Church, that is to say the cathedral of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, 2 includes in full text the six hymns to be sung just before the highest moment of the ceremony, when the patriarch exalts relics of the True Cross to be venerated by the faithful. Four of them refer to the emperors. 3 The first hymn includes a petition to God to rescue the emperors and the city (sw`ze tou;~ basilei`~ kai; th;n povlin), the second is the well-known O Lord, save Thy people referred to above, the third asks God to give victories to the emperors (nivka~ toi`~ basileu`sin hJmw`n dia; th`~ Qeotovkou dwrouvmeno~), while the sixth asks for the emperors to get joy by being victorious over their enemies (eu[franon ejn th`Ê dunavmei sou tou;~ pistou;~ basilei`~ hJmw`n, nivka~ corhgw`n aujtoi`~ kata; tw`n polemivwn). The same ideas are included in the prayer to be read aloud at the very moment of the exaltation. 4 This demonstrates that even the liturgical act of the exaltation was coloured by the imperial ideology. The picture becomes even more interesting if we take into consideration that this is one of the ceremonies that the emperor attended in person. According to the Byzantine Book of Ceremonies, a ceremonial protocol composed by the emperor Constantine VII (945-959), and the Kletorologion of Philotheos, a treatise on court order and a list of offices composed in 899, the emperors attended the service, escorted by their  

 

 

 

 

 

modern scholarship « Byzantine commonwealth » ; see, for example, Dimitri Obolensky, The Byzantine Commonwealth. Eastern Europe 500-1453, London, Phoenix, 2000/1971. 1   Pistw`n ga;r Stauro;~ kauvchma, kai; Basilevwn kravto~ kai; sterevwma (mr i, p. 160 ; trans. Festal Menaion, p. 145). See also : « The Cross is a guardian of the whole earth ; the Cross is the beauty of the Church. The Cross is the strength of kings ; the Cross is the support of the faithful. The Cross is the glory of angels and the wounder of demons » (Stauro;~ oJ fuvlax pavsh~ th`~ oijkoumevnh~· Stauro;~ hJ wJraiovth~ th`~ ∆Ekklhsiva~· Stauro;~ Basilevwn to; krataivwma· Stauro;~ pistw`n to; sthvrigma. Stauro;~ ∆Aggevlwn hJ dovxa, kai; tw`n daimovnwn to; trau`ma ; mr i, p. 164 ; trans. Festal Menaion, p. 152). 2   The Typika (plural for Typikon) were calendars of the saints and feasts celebrated all year round, enriched with instructions on what should be performed on their feast days. On the book of Typikon and its development see Miguel Arranz, Les grandes étapes de la liturgie byzantine : Palestine - Byzance - Russie : Essai d’aperçu historique, in Liturgie de l’église particu-lière et liturgie de l’eglise universelle (Conférences Saint-Serge, Paris, 30 juin - 3 juillet 1975), Rome, 1976 (« Bibliotheca Ephemerides liturgicae. Subsidia », 7), pp. 43-72. 3   Juan Mateos, Le Typicon de la Grande Église. Ms. Sainte-Croix no 40, xe siècle. Introduction, Texte critique, traduction et notes. Tome 1. Le cycle des douze mois, Rome, Pontificium Istitutum Orientalium Studiorum, 1962 (« Orientalia Christiana Analecta », 165), pp. 28-30. 4   See Jacobus Goar (ed.), op. cit, pp. 652-653.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

74 apostolos spanos 1 entourage. Taking into consideration the love of the Byzantines to relics, symbols and symbolisms, one should hardly avoid to think that this feast was a perfect chance for the imperial propaganda to portray the emperor as a God-chosen ruler by promoting the relationship between him and the most important relic of Christianity. But why was the Exaltation of the Cross a feast so important for the Byzantine Church in the first place ? The answer is probably to be found in the special political importance of the cross as a symbol in Byzantium, where it was seen as « the flag, the standard, the banner, waving over the Christian nation ». 2 As a symbol, the cross was from the fourth century onwards directly associated with Constantine the Great, mainly because of his vision mentioned above. Constantine, who was immediately after his death recognised as saint, was understood throughout the Byzantine period as the ideal emperor, whom many of his successors tried either to imitate or to associate themselves, or their dynasty, with. 3 In a hymn on the Cross, the hymnographer Andreas of Crete (ca. 660740) relates the victory of the emperor(s) to the legend of the divine establishment of the cross as an imperial symbol through Constantine : « Give victory to the Orthodox King as You once gave it to Constantine ». 4 The political significance of the Cross is underlined by its use as oath object, as mean of safe conduct, or in imperial ceremonies, 5 as well as by the fact that from at least the tenth century it was treasured in the palace, 6 while relics were only kept in the sacristy of the cathedral of Hagia Sophia. 7 Considering that (at least some) Byzantine emperors used, or  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Constantini Porphyrogeniti imperatoris de cerimoniis aulae byzantinae, edited by J. J. Reiske, vols. i-ii, Bonn,  Corpus  Scriptorum  Historiae  Byzantinae, 1829-1930, p. 782 ; Les traité des Philothée, edited by Nicolas Oikonomidès, Les listes de préséance byzantines des ixe et xe siècles, Paris, cnrs, 1972, pp. 65-235, here 222.17-25. See also Holger A. Klein, op. cit., pp. 48-51. 2   Nikolas Gvosdev, op. cit., p. 48. 3   This is discussed in Paul Magdalino (ed.), New Constantines. The Rhythm of Imperial renewal in Byzantium, 4th-13th centuries, Variorum, Ashgate, 1994. See also Gilbert Dagron, op. cit., pp. 127-157 ; Alexander Kazhdan, ‘Constantin imaginaire’. Byzantine Legends of the Ninth Century about Constantine the Great, « Byzantion », 57, 1987, pp. 196-250. 4   Dwvrhsai tw`/ filocrivstw/ Basilei` to; ni`ko~, wJ~ Kwnstantivnw/ to; trovpaion (mr i, p. 156). On the cross as a symbol of imperial victory see Erich Dinkler, Signum Crucis. Aufsätze zum Neuen Testament und zur Christlichen Aschäologie, Tübingen, J. C. B. Mohr-Paul Siebeck Verlag, 1967. 5   See Sophia Mergiali-Sahas, op. cit., pp. 51-55. 6   John Wortley, The Wood of the Holy Cross, cit., p. 14, argues that « there is strong evidence that from at least the tenth century until 1204 the Holy Wood was conserved in the Sacred Palace, at the ‘Lighthouse’ church ». 7   See John Wortley, Relics in the Great Church, « Byzantinische Zeitschrift », 99, 2006, pp. 631-647.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts 75 tried to do so, politically the influence of relics to their faithful subjects, 1 we have every reason to believe that the Cross did not avoid such a use. There has been, for example, argued that the recovery of the Cross from the Persians was used by the emperor Heraclius (610-641) to counter reactions against his second marriage to his niece Martina. 2 The limits of this essay do not allow the discussion of whether this relationship between the Cross and the emperor supported the interests of the church more than those of the emperor, particularly in periods of ecclesiastical turbulence and theological controversies. What should be said here, on the basis of what has been presented above, is that the average Byzantine citizen attending the feast of the Exaltation was melodically introduced to some of the most central ideas of the imperial ideology. Given the religious character of the Byzantine society and the educational level, it is logical to think that his loyalty to the emperor was affected by that.  

 

Political Propaganda in Liturgical Texts A closer study of Byzantine historical, hagiographical and liturgical sources shows that emperors and usurpers of the throne tried to either legitimize or strengthen their, and their dynasty’s, authority by getting a member of their family canonized or by promoting themselves and their families as directly chosen and protected by God. The aim was of course to exploit the influence of the Christian rite over the Byzantine society, not only by the prestige that the canonization would bring, or by the icons and the hagiographical texts devoted to the new saints, but also through the liturgical texts that would be used to celebrate them. As I have demonstrated elsewhere some preliminary ideas on imperial sanctity, 3 I confine here myself to just one, but very characteristic, example of the importance of liturgical texts in politics. The emperor Basil I (867-886), founder of the Macedonian dynasty, murdered his patron Michael III (842-867), who had named him co-emperor one year earlier. Being of humble origin and as the shadow of the murder followed him, Basil – with the support of the patriarch of Constantinople Photios (858867 and 877-886) – sought to establish a connection between his family and Constantine the Great and to promote, in various ways, the message  

1

  See Sophia Mergiali-Sahas, op. cit., pp. 45-46.   Anatole Frolow, La Vraie Croix et les expéditions d’Heraclius en Perse, « Revue des Études Byzantines », 11, 1953, pp. 88-105, here 104. 3   See Apostolos Spanos, Imperial Sanctity, cit. 2

 

 

76 apostolos spanos that his family was beloved to God. After an abortive effort to sanctify Basil’s son Constantine, who died in premature age, the Macedonian dynasty reached sainthood through Basil’s daughter-in-law Theophano, who died in 893. 1 What is importance for us is that the anonymous author who wrote her Life was also asked to compose two laudatory kanons (this in reality means to compose an akolouthia on her), which he himself admits was a difficult task, as she did not have the typical virtues of a saint. 2 The order of a composition of both a Life and an akolouthia on Theophano demonstrates the significance of the liturgical texts in the promotion of a canonization, in this case a canonization of political interest. Unlike Western Europe, 3 the number of emperors and royals recognized as saints in Byzantium is surprisingly low, 4 which leads to the conclusion that the church was unwilling to participate in the political games and intrigues of the emperors. 5 Even though, it seems that elements of imperial propaganda entered the Byzantine ritual. For the purpose of this essay, it should suffice to highlight two examples : a kontakion composed by Romanos Melodos in the sixth century and the political use of the Epistle and Gospel readings in the wedding ceremony of the emperor Manuel II in 1392. The first case is a hymn that discriminates internal enemies of the emperor Justinian presenting at the same time an imperial violent act in a positive way. It is the kontakion « On Earthquakes and Conflagration », composed by the famous hymnographer Romanos Melodos (d. ca 560). 6  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Ibid., pp. 199-200.   See Gildert Dagron, op. cit., pp. 201-203. 3   On royal sainthood in mediaeval Western Europe see, among others, Gábor Claniczay, Holy rulers and blessed princesses : dynastic cults in medieval Central Europe, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2002. 4   See Apostolos Spanos, Imperial Sanctity, cit., pp. 197-198 ; Apostolos Spanos, Nektarios Zarras, Representations of Emperors as Saints in Byzantine Virtual and Textual Sources, in Hybrid Cultures in Medieval Europe. Papers and Workshops of an International Spring School (Europa im Mittelalter. Abhandlungen und Beiträge zur historischen Komparatistik, 15), edited by M. Borgolte, B. Schneidmüller, Berlin, Akademie Verlag, pp. 63-78. 5   This is also shown in the case of the emperor Nikephoros II Phocas (963-969) who, entering a war against the Arabs, tried in a synod to issue a decree that those who fell during wars would be celebrated as martyrs of the Church ; his proposal was refused by the patriarch and the bishops ; see Apostolos Spanos, Imperial Sanctity, cit., pp. 200-201. 6   See Johannes Koder, Imperial Propaganda in the Kontakia of Romanos the Melode, « Dumbarton Oaks Papers », 62, 2008, pp. 275-291 ; Eva Catafygiotu Topping, On Earthquakes and Fires : Romanos’ Encomium to Justinian, in Eadem, Sacred Songs : Studies in Byzantine Hymnography, Minneapolis, Light & Life Publishing, 1997, pp. 125-138 (originally published in « Byzantinische Zeitschrift », 71, 1978, pp. 22-35). 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts 77 The composition of this hymn is directly related to the Nika riot. 1 The riot, which took place in 11th-19th January 532, was a reaction of the society to the high taxation of Justinian, who needed extra revenues to finance his military campaigns in both the East and the West. A good number of government and public buildings were burned through the riot, which ended in a bloodbath of the rioters in the Hippodrome. The kontakion « On Earthquakes and Conflagration » was commissioned by the emperor Justinian for the reconstruction of the cathedral of Hagia Sophia, which had been burned during the riot. In this hymn Romanos presents the deeds of the rioters as a punishment of God to the Constantinopolitans. Due to the latter’s sins, says Romanos, God sent them first an earthquake, then a famine and finally the Nika riot :  

 

 

 

The Creator delivered a first blow, and a second, but he did not find that men were becoming better – rather, progressively worse. So, he placed despair on the very altar of grace and allowed to burn the hallowed precincts of the churches, just as he once handed the sacred Ark over to the foreigners. The wails of the mob poured out in the city’s streets and churches, for fire would have destroyed everything, if God had not come and given to us all eternal life. 2  

As Romanos styles it, when the inhabitants of the city realized that these ‘plagues’ were the result of their sins, they started praying. The emperor, along with his wife, prayed as well and finally God showed his mercy : the riot, and thus the conflagration, came to an end. 3 Then Justinian started rebuilding the church of Hagia Sophia, which was originally built by the saint-emperor Constantine the Great. In a number of passages Romanos speaks about punishment as a pedagogical means of God for the penance of the faithful ; 4 it is hard to avoid thinking that this functions indirectly as an argument for the harshness in which Justinian suppressed the Nika riot. The content of the hymn studied here could be easily understood by the congregation as follows : If necessary, God punishes us to lead us back  

 

   

 

1   The riot was named after the cry of the rioters ‘Nika !’, Greek for ‘Win !’ ; see Geoffrey Greatrex, The Nika Riot : A Reappraisal, « The Journal of Hellenic Studies », 117, 1997, pp. 60-86. 2   Mivan, deutevran th;n plhgh;n oJ ktivsth~ ejpifevrwn, ajnqrwvpou~ de; euJrivskwn kreivttou~ mh; ginomevnou~, ajlla; kai; ceivrou~ eJautw`n, tovte ajqumivan ejpifevrei eij~ aujth;n th;n travpezan th`~ cavrito~,  

 

 

 

 

 

kauqh`nai sugcwrhvsa~ ta; a{gia ta; th`~ ejkklhsiva~ wJ~ kai; prwvhn ajllofuvloi~ ejkdevdwke kibwto;n th;n qeivan· kai; ejxeceveto oJ qrh`no~ tou` plhvqou~ ejn plateivai~ te oJmou` kai; ejkklhsivai~· ta; pavnta ga;r pu`r dievfqeiren, eij mh; e[scon +Qeo;n to;n parevconta pa`sin+ zwh;n th;n aijwvnion (Romanos,

H. 54.14, trans. R. J. Schork, with modifications in Johannes Koder, op. cit., p. 281). 3   See Johannes Koder, op. cit., pp. 281-282. 4   See Eva Catafygiotu Topping, op. cit., p. 131.

78 apostolos spanos to the way of salvation. Due to our sins we were punished with a senseless riot against the emperor. With our prayers – and, of course, those of the emperor and his wife – God showed his mercy through all that was necessary to be done by the emperor to stop the punishment, that is the riot. Even the bloodbath of the Hippodrome, where some 30,000 to 35,000 people died, is thus presented as a part of God’s providence and mercy. The emperor Justinian builds again the church of Hagia Sophia, getting this way related to the exemplary emperor-saint Constantine the Great, the founder of Constantinople and the first church dedicated to Hagia Sophia. There are more hymns by Romanos including, directly or not, political ideas. 1 The fact that in these hymns Romanos « wrote at a linguistic level that was close to the vernacular language of the sixth century » 2 probably shows a willing to influence as many as possible among the faithful. Given that the popularity of Justinian had reached its nadir during the riot, such texts would undoubtedly support the rebuilding of his imperial image.  

 

 

 

Let us now turn to the use of Epistle and Gospel readings for political purposes. Stephen W. Reinert studies such a case in an article dedicated to the political dimensions of the emperor Manuel II Palaiologos’ (1391-1425) wedding ceremony in 1392. 3 As he points out, the choice of the readings that were performed at the ceremony was, most probably, based on the need for what Reinert calls « broadcasting the desired political message ». This message was directly related to the political turbulence that preceded Manuel’s ascension to the throne. Although he was the second son of the emperor John V (1341-1391), Manuel was named co-emperor in 1373, due to a rebellion by his older brother Andronikos against their father. Three years later Andronikos rebelled again and imprisoned both his father and his two brothers. In 1379 John recaptured his throne but two years later he was forced to recognize Andronikos as his heir. When Andronikos died in 1385, his son John VII claimed the throne. Manuel supported his father who finally prevailed. John V died in 1391 being succeeded by Manuel. As John VII kept claiming that he was the legitimate  

 

 

1

2   Johannes Koder, op. cit., pp. 282-285.   Ibid., p. 280.   Stephen W. Reinert, Political Dimensions of Manuel II Palaiologos’ 1392 Marriage and Coronation : Some New Evidence, in C. Sode, S. Takács (eds), Novum Millenium. Studies on Byzantine History and Culture dedicated to Paul Speck, Ashgate, Aldershot, 2001, pp. 291-303. 3

 

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts 79 heir of the throne, Manuel seems to have used his wedding ceremony in 1392 to promote political messages on his legitimacy. This is how Reinert explains the fact that the readings performed at the ceremony were not those dictated by the Typikon but, instead, two readings full of political connotations. The Epistle reading (Hebrews 12.28-13.8) opens with the phrase « We have been given possession of an unshakable kingdom », 1 which could be easily understood by those present as referring to Manuel having taken possession of the Byzantine empire. The Gospel reading, on the other hand, begins with « He who does not enter the sheepfold by the door but climbs in another way, that man is a thief and a robber », 2 which could be understood as referring to John VII. Thus, it is logical to agree with the conclusion that  

 

 

 

 

 

the epistle and gospel readings were carefully manipulated to stylize Manuel as John V’s legitimate and worthy successor, and John VII as a malevolent pretender whose ambitions were not only illicit, but universally apparent. 3  

Conclusions In the short compass of this essay it was not possible to study neither more liturgical texts of political interest nor more aspects of the subject, as for example : the political sides of the so-called hymns of hate ; 4 hymnography presenting the Byzantine principle of interdependence (synallelia) between state and church ; 5 the feast for the ‘Triumph of Orthodoxy’ (including the study of the Synodikon of Orthodoxy) ; 6 hymnography on the Byzantine ‘political saints’ ; 7 the political usage of the liturgy by the  

   

   

   

   

1

  Basileivan ajsavleuton paralambavnonte~ (Heb. 12.28 ; the Jerusalemite Bible, translation, quoted from Stephen W. Reinert, op. cit., p. 296). 2   ÔO mh; eijsercovmeno~ dia; th`~ quvra~ eij~ th;n aujlh;n tw`n probavtwn ajlla; ajnabaivnwn ajllacovqen ejkei`no~ klevpth~ ejsti;n kai; lhÊsth;~ ( John 10.1 ; trans. John Marsh, quoted from Stephen W. Reinert, op. cit., p. 296). 3   Stephen W. Reinert, Political Dimensions, cit., p. 295. 4   These are hymns where pagans, members of other religions and heretics are discriminated in a way that strengthens the Byzantine identity. See Archimandrite Ephrem (Lash), Byzantine Hymns of Hate, in Byzantine Orthodoxies. Papers from the Thirty-sixth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of Durham, 23-25 March 2002, edited by Andrew Louth & Augustine Casiday, Aldershot, Ashgate, 2006, pp. 151-164. 5   See, for example, Sidney H. Griffith, Setting Right the Church of Syria : Saint Epharem’s Hymns against Heresies, in The Limits of Ancient Christianity. Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honor of R. A. Markus, edited by William E. Klingshirn & Mark Vessey, Michigan, The University of Michigan Press, 1999, pp. 97-114, here 110-112. 6   See Jean Gouillard, Le Synodikon de l’Orthodoxie. Édition et Commentaire, « Travaux et Memoires », 2, 1967, pp. 1-313. 7   See Susan Ashbrook Harvey, The Politicisation of the Byzantine Saint, in Sergei Hackel  

 

 

 

 

80 apostolos spanos church for its own purposes ; the anti-Jewish liturgical texts, particularly those of the week before Easter, and their political effects ; the relationship of liturgical texts to rhetoric, church history and hagiography. The aim of the essay has been to lay the groundwork for a more elaborate study of the Byzantine liturgical texts from a political perspective. The cases studied here demonstrate that at least in some periods hymnographers subtly transformed, consciously or not, the liturgical gatherings into political audiences, by composing texts that strengthened the identity and the morale of their audience, and promoted, even if this was not the original purpose, the imperial image and the ideal of trust and obedience to the emperor. There were also liturgical texts that spread ideas in favour of imperial policies. 1 The texts considered above confirm that « no later than the lifetime of Romanos Melodos, the potential for using the kontakion as a means of mass propaganda was realized by the emperor(s) and the ‘ruling class’ ». 2 This realization was used not only in the sixth century but also in later periods, when new forms of liturgical poetry were invented, mainly those of the kanon, the stichera, the kathisma, the exaposteilarion and the apolytikion. It may be said that these forms were even more suitable for such a use, due to their easier language, understandable to the majority and not only to an educated elite. 3  

 

 

 

 

 

(ed.), op. cit., pp. 37-42 ; Rosemary Morris, The Political Saint of the Eleventh Century, ibid., pp. 43-50. 1   There are also cases of hymns having the opposite content and result. Let us recall a number of hymns composed during or right after Iconoclasm (726-843), which indirectly present the iconoclast emperors as ‘illegal’ or ‘impious’. In a hymn dedicated to the iconophile saint Theophanes Graptos, for example, the anonymous hymnographer uses a very common means of political devaluation by presenting the iconoclast emperor as a tyrannos :« through your teaching, O sung by all, you defeated the tyrant » (Tai`~ didacai`~ tai`~ sai`~, Panaoivdime, ejtropwvsw to;n tuvrannon... ; mr i, p. 387). 2   Johannes Koder, op. cit., p. 290. 3   On the poetry of the kontakion and the kanon see Kariofilis Mitsakis, Buzantinh; uJmnografiva. ∆Apo; th;n ejpoch; th`~ Kainh`~ Diaqhvkh~ e{w~ th;n Eijkonomaciva, Athens, Grigoris, 19862, pp. 171-329, 465-482 ; Kariofilis Mitsakis, The Language of Romanos the Melodist, München, Beck, 1967 (« Byzantinischen Archiv », 11) ; Alexander Kazhdan, A History of Byzantine Literature (650-860), in collaboration with Lee F. Sherry, Christine Angelidi, Athens, The National Hellenic Research Foundation, 1999, pp. 384-407 ; Christian Hannick, Exégèse, typologie et rhétorique dans l’hymnographie byzantine, « Dumbarton Oaks Papers », 53, 1999, pp. 207-218 ; Theocharis E. Detorakis, Klassikai; ajphchvsei~ eij~ th;n Buzantinh;n ÔÁmnografivan, « ∆Epethri;~ ÔEtareiva~ Buzantinw`n Spoudw`n », 39-40, 1972-1973, pp. 148-161 (repr. in Idem, Buzantinh; qrhskeutikh; poivhsh kai; uJmnografiva, Rethymno, 19972, pp. 184-197) ; Nikolaos B. Tomadakis, ÔH glw`ssa ∆Iwsh;f tou` ÔÁmnogravfou, « ∆Episthmonikh; ∆Epethri;~ Filosofikh`~ Scolh`~ Panepisthmivou ∆Aqhnw`n », 23, 1972-1973, pp. 21-42.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

political approaches to byzantine liturgical texts 81 The political use of texts included in akolouthiai on saints and feasts is probably not unrelated to two important changes that occured in the beginning of the eighth century, that is to say just before the crystallization of the liturgical-poetic content of the fixed liturgical cycle : the first is the reduce of public processions and the second the reduction of the significance of the homily as a mode of public speech. 1 Even though this should be examined on the basis of original sources, we could probably assume that the devaluation of these two means of communication, very suitable for propaganda, created a vacuum that new akolouthiai came to fill. A strengthening argument may be found in the tendency of the Byzantines to understand – even identify – themselves, both individually and collectively, through religion. A deeper analysis of the content and the composition of liturgical texts of political content and importance, which will also take into consideration political sides of canonization, hagiography, and cult of icons and relics, 2 will demonstrate the extend of the use of liturgy as a political arena in Byzantium. Apart from shedding light into an area of Byzantine hymnography and liturgy that has not been studied carefully, such a political approach to liturgical texts will afford us the opportunity to get a better picture of the relationship between state and church in Byzantium, the operation of imperial and ecclesiastical propaganda, as well as the official political ideology in comparison, or in juxtaposition, to ecclesiastical or independent political thought.  

 

 

1   See Alexander Kazhdan, People and Power in Byzantium. An Introduction to Modern Byzantine Studies, Washington d.c., Dumbarton Oaks, Center for Byzantine Studies, 1982, p. 88. 2   See for example Apostolos Spanos, Imperial Sanctity, cit. ; Apostolos Spanos, Nektarios Zarras, op. cit. ; Sergei Hackel, op. cit., pp. 37-105 ; Ioli Kalavrezou, Helping Hands for the Empire : Imperial Ceremonies and the Cult of Relics in the Byzantine Court, in Henry Maguire (ed.), op. cit., pp. 53-79.  

 

 

 

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PATRISTIC AND THEOLOGICAL MANUSCRIPTS IN TWELFTH-CENTURY NORWAY : FROM MANUSCRIPT BOOKS TO FRAGMENTS*  

Espen Karlsen i. The Survival of the Manuscripts

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he Latin manuscripts of medieval Norway have received new attention during the last decade. 1 Unfortunately they are almost exclusively preserved as fragments, the reasons for which I will explain below. The fragmentary state of the material may provide one explanation why few scholars have earlier studied this important source and record of medieval Norwegian book culture. The oldest and scarcest material, all liturgical, dates from the ninth and the tenth centuries, whereas the eleventh and in particular the twelfth centuries are more fully represented. The fragments tell a story of an initial importation of books and, from the middle of the eleventh century, the emergence of local copying of Latin books earlier than Old Norse book production, thus providing new insights into the arrival of writing in Norway. Service books were imported or copied during the twelfth century, when many churches in Norway were built and the Norwegian church province was established (Karlsen 2005, pp. 150-151 ; Karlsen 2006, pp. 20-21). There are fragments of books copied in subsequent centuries until the Reformation. 2 The present article will give a glimpse into Latin manuscript culture in medieval Norway in the twelfth century. I will focus on patristic and theological manuscripts, in the following referred to as library books, which in this article do not refer to liturgy. 3 The liturgical material has  

 

 

 

* The plates are usually reduced (measurements are given in the text). Reproductions in colour that are mostly same size are found in Karlsen (2013d). 1   I will here extend my heartfelt thanks to senior archivist Gunnar I. Pettersen of the National Archives (Riksarkivet) in Oslo for all his help and patience in making available to me the manuscript fragments in his care, and to Michael Gullick for willingly sharing his knowledge and his observations on the manuscript fragments. 2   I will here draw attention to the recent volume Latin Manuscripts of Medieval Norway, edited by E. Karlsen (2013a), which serves as a work of reference as far as Latin manuscripts in medieval Norway are concerned. 3   For a definition, see Michael Lapidge (2006, p. 1). Johnsen (1908) published a survey

84 espen karlsen received far more attention, in particular in the important studies by Lilli Gjerløw (1910-1998). 1 The term ‘patristic’ in this article refers to those authors known as the Fathers of the Church, until the times of Gregory the Great († 604) and Isidore of Seville († 637). 2 Why are the sources mostly fragmentary ? In 1519, the prefaces to two books printed for the Norwegian church province, i.e., Missale Nidrosiense (Copenhagen) and Breviarium Nidrosiense (Paris), tell us that imported printed books were already widely used in the province. The purpose of the two Nidaros books was, according to their prefaces, to standardise the liturgy in the province and to replace the very many old and obsolete handwritten liturgical books that were hard to read, as well as printed books imported from other dioceses. The binding of the Nidaros missal is an early example of the reuse of parchment from obsolete liturgical books in Norway. The missal was delivered unbound from the printer, and the surviving copies with contemporary bindings, probably made at Trondheim, contain fragments of liturgical books in large format (Gjerløw 1986, p. 72 ; Schjoldager 1927, pp. 52-55). 3 Thus the arrival of printing immediately led to some old codices being dismembered and the parchment reused for binding purposes. 4 Most fragments are preserved as wrappers on public account books (lensregnskaper) or – cut into smaller pieces – as reinforcements to the spine. Such account books are now in the National Archives (Riks­ arkivet) in Oslo, henceforth referred to as nra. In the nra there are approximately 6000 parchment fragments from medieval books, most of  

 

 

 

 

 

based on surviving documentary evidence of what may be known about the content of ecclesiastical libraries during the late Middle Ages. Johnsen was aware that fragmentary manuscripts in the National Archives in Oslo (Riksarkivet) and other institutions might provide further information about books in medieval Norway. 1   See in particular Karlsen (2013b), and Edwards (2013) in the same volume. 2   It is possible that the Norman monk Robertus de Tumbalena’s commentary on Cantica canticorum, composed in the eleventh century, which is preserved in a fragmentary twelfthcentury manuscript, was in this copy ascribed to Gregory the Great, as was frequently the case during the later Middle Ages, an attribution also given in the edition published in pl, vol. 79. These fragments will be discussed below. 3   Breviarium Nidrosiense, however, was bound in Paris. Another instance of reuse of parchment before the Reformation, is the two account books of the last Catholic archbishop Olav Engelbrektsson from 1537, bound with leaves from a twelfth-century bible copied in England (see Pettersen 2013, p. 43 with plate 2, p. 59). 4   The early printed liturgical books were rendered obsolete already in 1570 when the new Roman missal and breviary appeared and became the norm for the entire Catholic Church with the exception of rites older than 200 years (Harper 1991, p. 156). Thus the printed Nidaros books would have fallen out of use only a bit more than three decades after 1537, if Norway had remained Catholic.

patristic and theological manuscripts 85 1 them in Latin. There are few extant Norwegian public account books bound with fragments earlier than c. 1560, 2 but this does not exclude the likelihood that this may have been usual before 1560. 3 The practice of reusing parchment from medieval codices for binding purposes appears to have been usual, to judge from the preserved material from the 1560s on until the 1640s when the supply of parchment from old books almost came to an end. Few account books are bound with parchment from medieval manuscripts after that date. The province of Nidaros, established in 1152/53, was vast, comprising not only Norway with some areas in present-day Sweden (Båhuslen and Härjedalen), 4 but also Iceland, the Faroes, Orkney and some islands west of Scotland, Man and the Sudreys. 5 The manuscript material discussed in this article is mostly to be connected with mainland Norway. 6 Although many account books bound with fragments were sent to be audited in Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark and Norway until 1814, it is quite clear that many of the fragmentary books were used in Norway before the Reformation. 7 Recent discoveries are in favour of local binding in Norway. 8  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   The collection is small compared to, e.g., the corresponding collection i Stockholm. The reason for this is the destruction of many account books older than 1610 in The Royal Accounts Chamber (Rentekammeret) in Copenhagen in the eighteenth century due to lack of space. 2   The earliest public account book from Norway bound with a fragment is from 1522 (Nordfjord and Sunnfjord) (Karlsen 2013c, p. 28, footnote 4). The earliest public account book bound with a fragment from Denmark that I know of, is from 1509 (Næsbyhoved lensregnskab 1509 ; see Knud Ottosen’s registration of fragments from Denmark on http :// www.liturgy.dk/files/ra108a-test2.htm#RANGE !A70). 3   Unfortunately some of the few extant account books earlier than this date that exist are damaged or rebound. For the plates in the present paper, see p. 114, footnote 2. 4   Jämtland was part of the Swedish province of Uppsala. 5   See Helle (2003, p. 377) ; Orrman (2003, pp. 426-427 ; 430). The area was restricted from c. 1350 on (Hamre 2003, pp. 653-654). An Icelandic reprint of the Nidaros Breviary at Holar 1534 indicates that Iceland at this late time still adhered to the use of Nidaros (Collijn 1914). 6   The loss of manuscripts in Norway was particularly great, whereas from Iceland where the same language was spoken, there are a large number of manuscripts preserved, in particular in the Old Norse vernacular. As the two countries belonged to the same church province, and, for a long time the same state and had a common language, scribes travelled between the two countries and worked in both places. A good example of a book connected to both countries, is the Old Norse Hauksbók (now the Arna-Magnæan manuscripts 371 4to, 544 4to and 675 4to), copied at the initiative of Haukr Erlendsson (born c. 1265 on Iceland, died 1334 in Bergen), who was counselor of the King, law speaker in Oslo c. 1302 and in Bergen 1302-1322. Some parts of the book are in Haukr’s own handwriting. There are at least fifteen scribes altogether, some of which appears to be Norwegian (Helgason 1960, pp. ix-xii). 7   The public account books and their fragments are today housed in the National Archives (Riksarkivet) in Oslo (henceforth abbreviated nra). 8   See in particular Gunnar I. Pettersen (2013), and secondly Espen Karlsen (2013c) who  

 

 

 

 

86 espen karlsen Earlier discussions of the holdings of library books in medieval Norway have mostly been based on documentary evidence and the literary sources drawn upon by medieval authors. 1 This article concerns the remains of copies of such literature in the nra. 2 What is left of them today is mostly leaves and smaller pieces used in the binding of account books from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The almost total loss of such books is disastrous, not only so far as the history of book culture in medieval Norway is concerned, but also for knowledge of the transmission of Latin texts composed in Norway in the Middle Ages. 3 As for the few such texts that have been preserved, they depend on very few textual witnesses surviving abroad and, in two cases, on post-medieval copies. Of the four major works in Latin that have been preserved, the Historia Norwegie, the above-mentioned work of Theodoricus Monachus, the Passio Olaui, 4 and an anonymous account of a Danish and Norwegian expedition to the Promised Land, no Norwegian witnesses survive. 5 The Historia Norwegie is in itself fragmen 

 

 

 

 

both point to convincing evidence of local binding of many account books. It has, however, been argued that account books were bound centrally in Copenhagen (cf. Tortzen 1999, p. 165). To me, it makes much more sense that the account books were bound before being sent by ship to Copenhagen rather than after. This procedure would certainly have been more practical for the receiver ensuring that all parts of the account book were in the right place. Karlsen (2013c) also contains a note on preserved codices. 1   For references, see below. 2   Sørensen (1910) is so far the only published presentation (in Norwegian) of some of this material of which I am aware. He quotes extensively from, and translates, some of the Latin texts, and identifies others. 3   See Mortensen (2005) on the role of Latin in medieval Norway. As far as the Old Norse codices are concerned, it has been emphasised that the loss was greater in Norway than in Iceland. This disparity has been explained as the result of the different linguistic development in the two countries in the late Middle Ages (the linguistic change in Norway was more radical than in Iceland ; see Rindal (2002, p. 804) with further reference to Eyvind Fjeld Halvorsen). It is clear that the scale of loss in Norway is just as great so as far as the Latin manuscripts are concerned, but this cannot be explained by linguistic change. The loss of medieval manuscripts in Norway was, therefore, considerable regardless of language. 4   On the medieval literature on St Olav in Latin and Old Norse, see Mortensen & Mundal (2003). 5   Theodoricus Monachus’ Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensium and the anonymous Historia de profectione Danorum in Hierosolymam (late twelfth century) are both preserved in seventeenth-century manuscripts copied from a now lost medieval codex discovered in Lübeck in 1625 (Skovgaard-Petersen 2002). The Historia Norwegie is only partially preserved in a codex copied in Scotland c. 1500 (Ekrem & Mortensen 2003, pp. 28-31). The main witnesses to Passio Olaui were all copied outside Norway (for a list of manuscripts, see Jiroušková 2010, p. 238). The four major texts in Latin are thus only preserved abroad. Although these works are not represented among the fragments, it is likely that Norwegianowned copies were lost in the century after the Reformation, and that either the parchment  

patristic and theological manuscripts 87 tary and is likely to have been a large work (Ekrem & Mortensen 2003, pp. 9-10). 1 Taking into consideration the fragile transmission history of Latin works in Norway, it is not unlikely that other works of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries may have been lost without leaving a trace. It is odd, however, that no copy of the works known to us is mentioned in medieval documents such as book lists etc. (cf., e.g., Johnsen 1908). 2 For material evidence of Latin books used in medieval Norway, we have, therefore, to rely on fragments of codices. Most of these contain authoritative and learned exegetical texts by the church fathers, in particular Augustine and Gregory the Great, as well as some later ecclesiastical authors. Also included among the patristic works is the sixth century Vitae patrum (‘Lives of the fathers’, i.e., of the desert fathers), a non-exegetical work that is similar in content and compilation to later medieval collections of exempla. In most cases, all that survives from each manuscript is a single or a few fragments. Of the manuscripts discussed or described below, there is only one with several complete leaves or half-leaves surviving, including a copy of Isidore’s Etymologiae. There are more surviving fragments of liturgical books than of other genres. We may assume that a main concern during the first century or so of the establishment of the church and Latin learning in Norway was the provision of books for the liturgy. It seems likely that patristic and other non-liturgical ecclesiastical literature only began to be imported around 1100 or the first half of the twelfth century. 3 This would correspond with the fact that, although  

 

 

was reused for binding or for other purposes such as fireworks (see Pettersen 2013, p. 42 ; Karlsen 2013c, p. 30, footnote 25). It is also possible that the loss of copies of these texts began before the Reformation, due to the political situation prevailing under the unions of the fifteenth century, as a result of which there may have been little or no interest in Norway’s past among the political elite. 1   The shorter texts concern inter alia the legends of the saints Hallvard and Sunniva and a text about the foundation of Lyse monastery outside of Bergen (published by Storm [1880] 1973 ; a more complete text of the Sunniva legend is published by Borgehammar 1997). The legends of Hallvard and Sunniva are preserved in liturgical fragments and the printed Breviarium Nidrosiense (Paris, 1519). Ommundsen (2010) surveys the four different known versions of the Hallvard legend. For a brief account of a journey to the Holy Land by Mauritius, see below. 2   It should also be borne in mind that the number of Old Norse manuscript books that survive from medieval Norway is also low as well (Rindal 2002, pp. 805-807). C. 130 Norwegian codices (complete as well as in fragments) produced before 1370 are still extant (Gunnlaugsson 2013, p. 199). 3   Some scholars have argued that the Latin alphabet was used in written versions of laws in the Old Norse vernacular as early as the first half of the eleventh century (Eithun, Rindal  

 

88 espen karlsen some liturgical books had arrived in Norway by at least 1000 or early in the eleventh century, 1 the composition of Latin literature in Norway only began in the second half of the twelfth century. 2 Since the surviving library books constitute so small a group compared with the liturgical manuscripts, the material does not allow for so many connections to be made between the fragments with regard to scribal identification and scriptoria. The bulk of the fragments of library books fall into two main chronological groups, first, twelfth-century manuscripts and, secondly, manuscripts dating from the late thirteenth or early fourteenth centuries. A couple of late-medieval manuscripts contain versions of earlier texts that are either expanded or abbreviated, or both expanded and abbreviated. I mentioned above that library books mostly belonged to monastic houses and cathedral chapters. 3 A bifolium from a late twelfth- or early thirteenth-century copy of Donatus’ fourth-century popular grammar Ars minor, is remarkable in two ways. First, it was found in a stave church in the small settlement of Lom, and secondly, the copyist was exceptionally negligent of Latin. A copy of Ars minor might (like patristic and theological books) be expected to be connected with a centre. As Christopher Hohler commented :  

 

 

 

this sheet from Lom seems, alas ! to show that Latin was taught widely, stupidly, and incompetently. For it is, as observed, nicely written ; and the copyist has  

 

& Ulset 1994, pp. 9-12 ; Rindal 2002, p. 802), i.e., more than a century earlier than the oldest surviving vernacular material in the Latin alphabet. This presupposes the production of Latin books at an earlier date (Mortensen 2006). As there appear to be no remains of Latin manuscripts copied in Norway earlier than the second half of the eleventh century or c. 1050 as the earliest acceptable date (Karlsen 2003, pp. 64-70), the production of vernacular books before this is highly unlikely. No argument so far has been produced to substantiate the claim that books in Old Norse were written in the first half of the eleventh century. For further criticism, see the extensive footnote 16 in Mortensen (2006, pp. 255-256) with further reference to Helle (2001). 1   One of the earliest extant liturgical manuscripts almost certainly used in Norway is an Anglo-Saxon mass-lectionary (Lec-Mi 1) dating from the first half of the tenth century (Gjerløw 1957, who dated it in the second half of the century ; Dumville (1991, p. 49) suggested an earlier date). One small fragment of this manuscript is now in nra, having been attached to an account book (nra lat. fragmenter 201) and a larger piece of a leaf that also remained locally (now Oslo, Nasjonalbiblioteket : nb Ms. lat. fragm. 9). Other liturgical manuscripts dating from the first half of the eleventh century, mostly of English origin, also survive. 2   There is no evidence of Latin literature composed in Norway prior to 1150 with the possible exception of the account of miracles connected to the tomb of St. Olav (Mortensen & Mundal 2003, p. 359 ; Mortensen 2006, p. 256). The earliest known liturgical texts relating to St. Olav are found in English manuscripts from the eleventh century (Iversen 2000, 3 pp. 405-411).   See the map in Karlsen (2013a, p. 37).  

 

 

 

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made a number of corrections, meaning he looked twice at his model to be sure he had copied it right. The ridiculous errors presumably come, therefore, from his model ; which he must, therefore, have regarded as authoritative. His own knowledge of grammar must have been non-existent, or he would have seen he was writing nonsense and changed things (Hohler 1978, p. 173). 1  

 

The errors in the copy may also point to its being copied outside a large centre and possibly in a small place, such as Lom. 2 Consequently, the possibility that the books may have been used in other contexts than in monastic houses and cathedral chapters cannot be entirely ruled out. Without such clear evidence of its provenance this copy of Ars minor would probably have been assigned to a more important centre (Hohler 1978, p. 174). In what follows, I shall briefly outline the wider European context of book production and ecclesiastical libraries during the twelfth century, and provide a brief introduction to the Norwegian material. Subsections 2.1 and 2.2 will examine the evidence for influence during the twelfth century from Germany and Lotharingia on the one hand, and France and England on the other.  

ii. Twelfth Century Patristic and Theological Manuscripts The twelfth century was the last great age of monastic book production in Europe. Comprehensive collections of patristic and ecclesiastical texts became widespread, and included large exegetical commentaries on biblical texts in several volumes. A canon consisting of inter alia Augustine’s De Genesi ad litteram, In Ioannis evangelium tractatus and Gregory the Great’s Moralia in Iob had for a long time been predominant on the Continent, and during the century after the Norman Conquest 1   This fragment, subsequent to Hohler’s publication, was transferred from nra to the Museum of Cultural History at the University of Oslo (signature : C34738/B305/605, olim nra Løsfunn Lom B 305), together with other fragments found at Lom. 2   The scribe of the fragment from Lom is not the only example among the Norwegian fragments of a scribe who did not understand what he copied. The same goes for two leaves of a notated missal (late eleventh or early twelfth century, written in an English style of handwriting), in which word divisions are absurd (nra lat. fragmenter 202, 1-2 = Mi 3 in Gjerløw’s typewritten catalogue in nra ; Hartzell 2006, no. 230). This indicates that the scribe did not understand what he copied (Gjerløw 1974, pp. 77-81 ; Karlsen 2003, p. 66). The missal may have been copied locally. The two leaves were never used in the binding of account books, but remained locally after the Reformation (Gjerløw 1974, pp. 77-79). However, there are not, to my knowledge, many instances among the Norwegian fragments of scribes who appear to have lacked understanding of what they were copying.  

 

 

90 espen karlsen the same canon also became adopted in England (Ker 1960, p. 8). 1 The twelfth century was also a transitional period in the history of the development of handwriting, as the Caroline minuscule that had been written throughout most of western Europe as well as Norway until 1100, gradually changed its proportions and incorporated new features of style, developing into different varieties of script by the end of the century (Derolez 2003, pp. 57-71). As we shall see, there is evidence in the 1100s of the presence of the same patristic texts in Norway as on the Continent and in England. As is the case for liturgical books, the twelfth century was an exceptionally rich period for the importation and production of library books in Norway (Karlsen 2006, pp. 20-21). The earliest physical evidence of patristic and theological manuscripts in Norway dates from the late eleventh century or c. 1100. These fragments are the remains of manuscripts copied abroad. As with the liturgical manuscripts, it is hard to determine whether these books were brought to Norway a short time after they had been made or somewhat later. To judge from the surviving fragments I think that the importation of such books may have begun early in the twelfth century, before the establishment of a Norwegian literature in Latin in the second half of the century (e.g., the Historia Norwegie and the work of Theodoricus Monachus).  

ii. 1. Library Books in Norway : Germanic and French Influence  

The eleventh-century liturgical material in Norway is predominantly English or English-looking. There are very few witnesses to continental influence with the exception of a small group of liturgical books. The very earliest patristic manuscripts, however, are large format copies of Augustine, Vitae Patrum and Gregory the Great copied on the Continent. The fragment with the designation nra lat. fragmenter Eske 46, 35 is a large double leaf the script of which is a late Caroline minuscule from around 1100 or a bit later (plate 1). It is Germanic in character, possibly from the lower Rhineland. It contains the beginning of Augustine’s De Genesi ad litteram (‘On Genesis word for word’), a work that has been called his « masterpiece of philosophical exegesis » (Gorman 2002, p. 13). 2  

1

 

 

  A recent study of changes in English book culture after the Norman Conquest is Thomson (2006). 2   This fragment is not included among the 195 manuscripts and fragments of manuscripts containing De Genesi ad litteram known to Gorman (2001, pp. 1-5). As Zycha (1894, p. vi) ob-

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Plate 1. Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram (nra lat. fragmenter Eske 46, 35), fol. 1v.

It is a huge work that comprises 501 printed pages in Zycha’s Vienna edition (1894). The format is large (34.5 × 36.5 cm), as was usual for a manuserved regarding the number of manuscripts in the preface to his critical edition, ‘saeculum duodecimum et proxime sequentia libris manu scriptis abundant’ (‘the twelfth and the following centuries abounded with handwritten books’ sc. containing De Genesi ad litteram).

92 espen karlsen script by St. Augustine, and with text in a single column (28.5 × 21 cm). The fact that the text is in one column in a manuscript of this size may be an indication of a date prior to 1100. The other early manuscript of Augustine also belongs to the canon of exegetical texts, from his tracts on the Gospel of St. John (In Iohannis evangelium tractatus). Two fragments are still attached to an account book from a district north of Oslo (Akershus len, Hedmark and Østerdalen 1612). 1 This means that the book they once belonged to may have been used within the borders of the medieval diocese of Oslo. The two fragments are from the same leaf and contain text from tract 99 (plate 2). The fragments both measure approximately 9.2 × 11 cm with thirteen lines each (cf. the lower fragment on plate 2 (incipit : equalis est)). The script is a Caroline minuscule that is hard to date with precision. The manuscript is clearly Continental from either the second half of the eleventh century or first half of the twelfth. A cautious suggestion would be the early twelfth century, as there are some late stylistic features. In Iohannis evangelium tractatus is preserved in many copies today, albeit many of them incomplete (Willems 1990, viii). If the codex contained a complete version of this text, it probably occupied a substantial part of it, if not the complete manuscript (the Latin text occupies 688 pages in Willems 1990). Of a slightly later date is a bifolium with selected episodes from Verba seniorum (nra lat. fragmenter 18), i.e., Book 5 of Vitae patrum. Fol. 2r is reproduced in plate 3. 2 The text on fol. 1 has 41 lines in one column and measures 20 × 16 cm. The second leaf has preserved 40 lines. Approximately 3 cm of the text has been lost from the right margin of fol. 2, probably because the double leaf was larger than the account book. A note on fol. 2v of the double leaf records that the bifolium was removed from an account book from c. 1540 from Akershus, at that time just outside Oslo. The script is a small and compressed late Caroline minuscule. The general aspect of the script is more Germanic than French. It is probably of a later date than the manuscript containing Augustine’s tracts on the Gospel of St. John discussed above. It is a rather more selective version compared with the text published by Migne (and Heribert  

 

 

1   Signature of the account book : nra rk Lensrsk. Akershus len, landskatt 1612, Hedmark og Østerdalen, 31.6, 27). 2   The fact that an account book from c. 1540 is bound with a double leaf supports Pettersen’s suggestion that complete leaves and double leaves were more frequently used for binding account books in the sixteenth century than in the seventeenth (Pettersen 2013, p. 44).  

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Plate 2. Augustine, In Iohannis evangelium tractatus (rk Lensrsk. Akershus len, landskatt 1612, Hedmark og Østerdalen, 31.6, 27), fol. 1r.

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Plate 3. Vitae patrum (Verba seniorum) (nra lat. fragmenter 18), fol. 1v.

Rosweyde before him 1). Many episodes are left out, but in those included there are few major deviations from the printed edition. The two leaves do not have consecutive text.  

1

  Migne’s edition which is the one that is easiest available to modern scholars is a reprint

patristic and theological manuscripts 95 A fourth witness to Germanic influence is a large fragment of a single leaf (plate 4) which is all that survives of a continental copy of the Moralia in Iob (Moral expositions on Iob), the monumental commentary of Pope Gregory the Great on Job that was frequently copied in the twelfth century (for a list of manuscripts, see the Prologomena in Adriaen 19791985, vol. 1). 1 The fragment carries the signature nra lat. fragmenter Eske 52 [2] and was removed from an account book for the church in Brønnøy 1669-1677 (Ministerialbok for Brønnøy 1669-1677). This account book was never sent to Copenhagen. 2 The text is from Book xi, cap. 13 (= Adriaen 1979-1985, p. 2 : pp. 619-620). The fragment measures 24 × 16 cm. The preserved part of the written area is 20.5 × 8.5 with 26 lines (see plate 4). Although this is a large fragment, a significant part of the text has been lost. As for the script, it is clearly continental (e.g., the letters a and g have continental forms). The letters o and e are narrow, typical of very late Caroline script (Derolez 2003, p. 58). There is an added hairline on the letter r ; which is especially pronounced in line 21 in urgentur. In the twelfth century this is a Germanic feature. The script is related to, though not identical with, that of a bible manuscript in Brussels dated 1132-1135, included in Manuscrits dates conserves en Belgique 1, pls. 12-13 (Masai, Wittek & Brounts 1968). The probable date of the fragment is the first half of the twelfth century, perhaps towards the middle of the century.  

 

 

 

As for Germanic or French material in the nra, one of the oldest manuscripts of ecclesiastical literature consists of two fragments (nra lat. fragmenter 59, 1-2) of a leaf from a book in large format containing Hrabanus Maurus’ (780-856) Commentarii in Genesim, 2, chapters 21-22 (= pl 107, cols. 551-554), for a discussion of which see Karlsen (2013d, pp. 227228). The script reflects a French or Germanic model dating from the late eleventh or early twelfth century (for a reproduction, see Karlsen 2013d, plate 13 on p. 253). They were removed from an account book for 1624 from Jæren, south of Stavanger. However, it turns out that there of the edition of Heribert Rosweyde (1569-1629) from Antwerpen 1615. There is as yet no critical edition of Vitae patrum. The Old Norse translation of Vitae patrum, Book 5 (Tveitane 1968, p. 5) is likewise more selective than the text printed by Rosweyde. The anecdotes on this bifolium are also from the same book (5). 1   In the Corpus Christianorum edition it comprises 1811 printed pages (Adriaen 1979-1985). 2   This account book is still in the regional state archive) (Statsarkivet) in Trondheim. It was rebound in 1902 and carries a note about the removed parchment fragment on the inside of the front board. See digitised version on http ://www.digitalarkivet.no.  

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Plate 4. Gregory the Great, Moralia in Iob (nra lat. fragmenter Eske 52 [2]), fol. 1r.

patristic and theological manuscripts 97 are eleven leaves of this manuscript in the Danish National Archives in Copenhagen (dra fragments 3211, 3394, 3406-3411, 3415-3416 and 3479) (cf. Raasted 1960, 148). 1 Possibly one leaf was sent from Denmark to Norway as a wrapper around documents, whereas the others remained in Denmark (cf. Karlsen 2013d, pp. 225 and 231 with footnote 52 for similar cases). The two Oslo fragments of Hrabanus are typical of the Norwegian practice in the 1620s that they are not complete leaves, and the original leaf may have been divided into four pieces. This manuscript differs palaeographically from other fragments of this age in the nra. 2 The provenance of the Copenhagen fragments of Rhabanus is public account books for Varberg (just south of Båhuslen) and Helsingborg (in Scania), both in present-day Sweden. Among the fragments dating from the twelfth century are two pieces of Rufinus’ (344/345-410) Historia ecclesiastica (nra lat. fragmenter 130, 1-2 ; see plate 5). This is the only church history of late Antiquity among the fragments in nra which has been identified so far. Rufinus, who specialised in translating Greek Christian texts into Latin, translated Eusebius’ (c. 263-339) Church History into Latin in a.d. 401 and he continued the work to a.d. 395 by adding two books. He also introduced numerous alterations to Eusebius’ text. In the twelfth century this work of Rufinus was frequently copied. 3 The two fragments were removed from account  

 

 

 

1   Michael Gullick tells me in a letter dated 29 August 2013 that he found a photograf of another fragment (a complete leaf, dra Fr. 3415) of the Hrabanus Maurus manuscript dealt with here in the files of Jørgen Raasted on patristic and theological texts in the Danish National Archives (Rigsarkivet) in Copenhagen. He kindly sent me a xerox copy of the photograph in Raasted’s files, and it is evident that it is the same manuscript as in Oslo. 2   Gullick also tells me that patristic manuscripts that he thinks may be produced locally in Denmark, are of a more refined quality than the ones to which I have suggested Norwegian origin in the present paper and in Karlsen (2013d). 3   Another important church history was not to appear in Latin until the sixth century when Cassiodorus (c. 490-583) translated and compiled Historia tripartita from Greek sources (Vessey 2004, p. 325), a work that was to become the most widespread ecclesiastical history in the Middle Ages. Rufinus’ Historia ecclesiastica was also one of the most influential historical works during the Middle Ages, along with inter alia Historia tripartita, Orosius’ (c. 385-c. 420) Historia contra paganos, the two works of Josephus in Latin translation (Guenée 1980, pp. 301-303). Historia tripartita (or a text based upon it) was used by Theodoricus Monachus in his passage on the fall of Julian in chapter 8) (Karlsen & Vatsend 2003, pp. 239-255). Johnsen (1939, p. 53) had earlier suggested Hugo (i.e., Richard) of St. Victor’s Excerptiones priores as the source, but the text of Theodoricus contains information that is not mentioned by Richard of St. Victor, whereas the information given by Theodoricus closely follows Historia tripartita or a text based upon it. Excerptiones priores should therefore no longer be considered a possible source (as does, e.g., Foerster 2009, p. 110 with footnote 223). The anonymous author of Historia Norwegie may have known Orosius (Ekrem & Mortensen

98

espen karlsen

Plate 5. Rufinus, Historia ecclesiastica (nra lat. fragmenter 130, 1-2), fol. 1r.

books of 1622 for Hedemarken, north of Oslo, which means that the manuscript is likely to have been used somewhere within the diocese of Oslo before the Reformation. 1 The fragments were once conjoint and formed the last ten lines of a two column manuscript of about thirty lines. They both measure 11 × 11.5/12 cm and were part of a manuscript in two columns. The column width is 9.5/10 cm. The preserved text is from Book 5, 18. A date in the first half of the twelfth century, perhaps towards the middle, is likely. Two small strips are the remains of a leaf from a manuscript containing Gilbert of Poitiers’ (Gilbertus Porretanus c. 1080-1154) commentary on the Psalms (nra lat. fragmenter 50, 1-2 ;) (see plate 6). Their provenance is an account book for Hardanger 1636, not far from Bergen. I owe the identification of this as yet unprinted text to Michael Gullick, who collated this fragment with a manuscript in Cambridge (Corpus Christi College 67 fol. 63r). The written space of the two pieces is 15 × 1.5 cm. The script is very small, and conforms to French handwriting of the middle of the twelfth century. Gilbert was one of the most important scholars at the school of Chartres until he moved to Paris in 1147. These  

 

2003, p. 28). Rufinus, Orosius and Historia tripartita were part of the Christian historical works that Cassiodorus regarded as indispensable in his Institutiones, and they were frequently copied during the Middle Ages. 1   There is a note on the two fragments indicating that they earlier had been used on an older account book (see plate 5 Oc tiill same aars d.  .  . Igienn Anno 1606 ; approximately : ‘And for the same year’s .  . . again in the year 1606’).  

 

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Plate 6. Gilbert of Poitiers’ (Gilbertus Porretanus c. 1080-1154) commentary on the Psalms (nra lat. fragmenter 50, 1-2), fol. 1rv.

100 espen karlsen two fragments indicate that the text was known in Norway. However, slightly later Peter Lombard’s commentary on the Psalms became the ‘standard’ commentary by the late twelfth century and largely replaced Gilbert’s work. From approximately the same time or a bit later there are substantial remains of the Etymologiae (or Origines) of Isidore of Seville (†637), a comprehensive Christian encyclopaedia that became a model for later encyclopaedias and one of the most copied texts of the Middle Ages. Some 1000 manuscripts of this text still exist (Guzman 1996, p. 703). Thirty-one fragments from thirteen leaves are the remains of a twelfthcentury manuscript (nra lat. fragmenter 2, 1-8 ; ii, 1-11 ; iii, 1-13) (plate 7). The content falls between Book 3, 5, 6 and Book 20, 6, 2. All of the signatures indicate that this manuscript was probably taken apart and reused for binding purposes in Trondheim, 1 and the manuscript is likely to have been the property of the cathedral chapter or a monastic community in or close to Trondheim. The dimensions of the leaves are 24 × 15 cm with pages in two columns. This is quite small for a book of this kind and date. As the script is rather compressed, the book may have been a one-volume copy of this huge work. The initials are rustic and in red and green. The general appearance of the script is more French than Germanic. There are four fragments of the same leaf of a text of a lexicographical nature (nra lat. fragmenter 1a, 1-4). They are reproduced on plate 8. The text is arranged in two columns, With most of the upper margin missing the leaf now has a height of 28.5 cm and a width of more than 20 cm. The height of the writing space is 21 cm. This was once a large book. There are simple initials in red, green and yellow. Yellow initials are rare at this time and may be a local feature. The letter forms reflect a continental style of handwriting, and the character of the tick-and-point form of medial punctuation points to France (1r, right column, l. 15, reproduced on plate 9 ; 1v, left column, l. 26). The manuscript was probably copied in the fourth quarter of the twelfth century. The place of origin may have been France, but it is also possible that it was copied locally in Scandinavia under continental influence or by a scribe trained on the continent. The text contains lemmata that are interpreted in a manner that reflects Christian teaching. The leaf includes (1r) Ocium, Quies, Litus, Pax eterna, (1rv) ridum,  

 

 

 

1

  The provenance of this manuscript is discussed in detail by Pettersen (2013).

patristic and theological manuscripts

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Plate 7. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae (nra lat. fragmenter 1, 8-9), fol. 7v.

102

espen karlsen

Plate 8. An unidentified text of a lexicographical nature (nra lat. fragmenter 1a, 1-4), fol. 1v.

patristic and theological manuscripts

103

Plate 9. Vitae patrum (Verba seniorum) (nra lat. fragmenter 378, 1-2), fol. 1r.

1v Arena, Sabulum Litus, Portus, Limus. 1 I have not been able to find the text elsewhere, though I have not made a thorough systematic search. The purpose of the text was probably to support the composition of sermons. From the second half of the twelfth century there are two more manuscripts that are copied on a continental model. They are both from the Vitae patrum. Two fragments survive of a manuscript in two columns written in a pointed hand from the second half of the twelfth century (nra lat. fragmenter 378, 1-2), for a reproduction of which see plate 9. The hand reflects a continental model (e.g. the ampersand and the letter a). The fragments are parts of the same leaf and contain text from the Verba seniorum (Vitae patrum V, 11, 13-18), reprinted after Rosweyde by Migne  

1

  Some passages of the text were published and translated into Norwegian by Sørensen 1910, pp. 33-35.

104 espen karlsen (fol. 1r = pl 73, cols. 934c-934d ; fol. 1v = cols. 935a-935c). The manuscript mixes late features (such as forked ascenders on b, d, h, etc.) with rather Caroline ones. The ascender of d is always straight and there are also few abbreviations. The letters, however, are rather compressed, and there are a few instances of biting. The last fragment to be mentioned here consists of two large successive leaves from the same codex (nra lat. fragmenter 24, 1-2) containing Athanasius, De observationibus monachorum (the end ; pl 103, 670c-672b) and the beginning of Vitae patrum Book v (= Verba seniorum), 1, 1-8 (pl 73, cols. 855a-856a). Fol. 1r is reproduced on plate 10. Text in red on fol. 2r marks the transition between Exhortatio Athanasii (as it is entitled in the manuscript) and the Hortationes sanctorum patrum translated by Jerome (according to this manuscript), i.e., the Verba seniorum. The latter text is introduced by a large red initial. The written space is complete and measures 28.5 × 20 cm, the text being in two columns. The book was probably copied in the late twelfth century, but the script is old-fashioned. A striking feature is that the letters are not compressed and are widely spaced. There is a low frequency of abbreviations. The scribe seems to have made an effort to write clearly and with special care, perhaps following the conventions of his exemplar, which may also have had few abbreviations. There is a striking similarity with the lexicographical text mentioned above which has approximately the same written space but with smaller, compressed letters, narrower spacing and more frequent use of abbreviations. The few abbreviations and the broad spacing may reflect the appearance of an older exemplar of the late eleventh century or early twelfth century. The script seems based on a Caroline exemplar that the scribe took great care to imitate. The exemplar probably also had two columns. This manuscript may have been copied locally. It is the general appearance of the script more than specific letter forms, and the dependence the scribe reveals in copying features from an older exemplar, that suggests a local origin. 1  

 

 

ii. 2. Some English and English-style Manuscripts The century after the Norman Conquest has been called the greatest period in the history of English book production, from which are pre1   For some of the same reasons I have suggested a local origin for nra lat. fragmenter 38, 1, a leaf of Hugo de Folieto’s Liber de pastoribus et ouibus (Wifstrand Schiebe & Karlsen 2013).

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Plate 10. Vitae patrum/Athanasius, De observationibus monachorum (nra lat. fragmenter 24, 1), fol. 1r.

106 espen karlsen served large numbers of books (Ker 1960, p. 1). The standard of writing was also high ‘because the letter-forms of the script are essentially simple’ (Ker 1960, p. 1). The books were accurately copied and competently written. From this golden age of English book production there survive the remains of one leaf of a large format copy of Augustine in a round English hand (see below). These fragments are from a competently written English manuscript that contained Augustine’s De ciuitate Dei (nra lat. fragmenter 51, 1-7 ; see plate 11). The seven fragments are small and were part of the same large leaf which, reconstructed, measures approximately 40 × 31/32 cm and had approximately 43 lines in two columns (see plate 6 for the reconstructed leaf ). The leaf contains text from the fourteenth book, chapters 13-17 (fol. 1r corresponds to Dombart & Kalb 1981, p. 33, L. 28-p. 37, L. 2 ; fol. 1v corresponds to Dombart & Kalb 1981, p. 37, L. 3-p. 40, L. 9). Only slightly more than half of the text of the leaf has been preserved. The text is in a small, round hand that is typically English from the first half of the twelfth century. The individual letter forms are typically English, e.g., the letter a has in many cases an ample curving head, especially at the beginning of words. Gullick draws attention to a gospel book written at St. Albans about the middle of the first half of the twelfth century 1 where the hand of the main scribe is quite close to the scribe of this fragmentary leaf (see Mynors & Thomson 1993, pls. 3a, 3c, and 3d). It is surprising that there are no other identified patristic manuscripts from England from the first half of the century, taking into consideration the profound English influence in the liturgical material in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. However, further English or English-style material is present among the fragments that date from the second half of the century, e.g., a commentary on In Cantica canticorum by Robertus de Tumbalena. This is of approximately the same format as the oldest Isidore manuscript mentioned above. It is an incomplete bifolium (nra lat. fragmenter 52, 1-2 ; see plate 12) of the commentary on Canticum canticorum, chapter vii (pl 79, cols. 533-534 and cols. 537-538). 2 This work has frequently been attributed to Gregory the Great and was published under Gregory’s name by Migne in pl 79, which remains the only printed edition. Whether the text in the copy of which these two fragments are the remains was likewise attributed to Gregory or to Robertus de Tum 

 

 

 

 

1

  See Gullick (2013b), no. 6.   In pl it is published under the title Super Cantica canticorum expositio.

2

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107

Plate 11. Augustine, De civitate Dei (nra lat. fragmenter 51, 1-7), fol. 1r.

balena († 1078), the Norman Benedictine to whom it is attributed today, must remain uncertain. As Robertus compiled his text from the commentary of Gregory, it is no wonder that it frequently became attributed

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Plate 12. Robertus de Tumbalena, In Cantica canticorum (nra lat. fragmenter 52, 1-2).

to the latter. The script is English in appearance (see, for example, the form of a and g), though of a later twelfth-century date than the English copy of Augustine, De ciuitate Dei. There are several instances of

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109

the tailed e (ę) which indicate a date before 1200. The punctus flexus, a punctuation sign that indicated a minor medial pause (Parkes 1992, p. 195 and p. 197), is found in this manuscript and indicates a monastic origin, probably a Cistercian one (Parkes 1992, p. 195). The best preserved of the two fragments measures 11 × 16 cm. The manuscript had two columns, each column 5 cm wide. Sixteen lines of text are preserved, probably a less than half of the leaf. Two small fragments also survive from one leaf of another twelfth-century manuscript of Isidore (nra lat. fragmenter 113b, 1-2 ; plate 13). They were used to bind an account book from Strinda and Selbu for the year 1624. This also makes it likely that this account book was bound in the residence of the royal governor in Trondheim. The two fragments fit together Plate 13. Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae (nra lat. fragmenter 113b, 1-2) fol. 1v. and jointly measure approximately 12 × 6 cm. The written space is 12 × 3.5 cm. There are sixteen lines. Most of the leaf is lost. The preserved text is from Etymologiae 17, 6, 26-17, 7, 1 (the left column on the recto) and 17, 7, 17-17, 7, 18 (the right column on the verso). The manuscript probably had two columns and was ruled in hard point. In the printed edition by Lindsay (1911, vol. 2) the text from Etymologiae 17, 6, 26-17, 7, 18 occupies more than four printed pages. 1 The letter a with an ample curving head occurs, especially at the beginning of words. This is  

 

1

  The edition has no pagination.

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Plate 14. Gregory the Great, Dialogi (nra lat. fragmenter 19), fol. 1v.

typical of English script. The degree of compression suggests a date late in the twelfth century, and the script is typically English of that date. Only one fragment has survived of an English style manuscript in two columns removed from an account book from Romsdalen 1605 (nra lat. fragmenter 19 ; plate 14). Trondheim is therefore a possible secondary provenance for the manuscript. Only a small part of the text of the leaf has been preserved and measures 11.5 × 9.5 cm. The fragment contains a part of book i, chapter 4 (Pricoco & Simonetti, 2005. i, p. 32 and p. 36 = pl 77, cols. 168-169) of the Dialogi by Gregory the Great. To judge from the lengthy passage this was a large leaf. The large format is typical for books connected with Trondheim. The script is rounded, with English features, but is perhaps Norwegian and dating from the late twelfth or early thirteenth century.  

patristic and theological manuscripts 111 Three fragments survive of two consecutive leaves (nra lat. fragmenter 37, 1-3 ; plate 15), that contained a commentary on the Psalms of David, Psalm 49 and the beginning of Psalm 50. 1 This commentary is ascribed in pl 21 to Rufinus of Aquileia, but since 1914 it has been correctly attributed to Letbert (Augustinian abbot of Saint-Ruf in Avignon from 1100 until his death in 1110 : Wilmart 1914-1919 ; Gross-Diaz 1996, pp. 117-118). His commentary is known as the Flores Psalmorum. A list of twenty-six manuscripts is supplied by Stegmüller (1950-1980 : iii, no. 5395), and there are several fragments of a copy now divided between Stockholm and Helsinki that suggest this commentary was known elsewhere in Scandinavia (Lehtinen 2005, p. 123, no. 17). 2 The three fragments discussed here were removed from account books from Hardanger len 1647 in western Norway. Fragments 37, 1-2, are conjoint and make up the upper part of fol. 1, whereas Fragment 37, 3, is an almost complete leaf of which a part of the left margin is cut (plate 15). The script is English-like from the late twelfth century. The writing space measures approximately 20 × 12 cm. There are two initials in blue and red. In Gullick’s opinion these fragments were almost certainly written locally (see no. 75 in Gullick 2013b, among the manuscripts and fragments with English features). There are two more English or English-looking manuscripts from the late twelfth or early thirteenth century (nra lat. fragmenter 36, 1 and nra lat. fragmenter 40, 1-2). They represent two different manuscripts of Collectanea in Paulum by Peter Lombard (Karlsen 2013d, 233 with plates 22-23 on pp. 262-263). A fragment of the Historia scholastica of Peter Comestor from the end of the twelfth century may be either French or English (Gullick 2013b, no. 69).  

 

 

 

 

 

iii. Conclusion I have here presented a general and simplified survey with a focus on a few, selected fragmentary manuscripts that are mostly likely to have been connected with larger centres, i.e., monastic houses and cathedral 1   In pl 21 is included an edition of Letbert’s commentary on the first seventy-five Psalms among the writings of Rufinus (under the title In Davidis lxxv Psalmos commentarius), but some manuscripts contain his commentary on Psalms 1-150. 2   Letbert’s Flores psalmorum is also documented in an abbreviated version by a bifolium from the late twelfth century among the fragments at the University Library in Bergen (ms 1549, 4). It is from a continental manuscript of the late twelfth century. The provenance of the fragment in Bergen is unfortunately unknown. It is reproduced in the online catalogue of fragments by Åslaug Ommundsen (http ://gandalf.aksis.uib.no/mpf/).  

112

espen karlsen

Plate 15. Letbert, Flores psalmorum (nra lat. fragmenter 37, 3), fol. 2v.

patristic and theological manuscripts 113 chapters ; though one should not discount the possibility that such literature might have been found elsewhere (Karlsen 2013d, 216-217). The importing of ecclesiastical literature seems to have begun in the very late eleventh century or early twelfth. This accords well with the fact that the second half of the twelfth century saw the composition of non-liturgical texts in Norway, partly in connection with the newly established archbishopric at Nidaros. The early books, copied before 1150, were all apparently imported. The copies themselves may have arrived later in Norway, 1 but one may assume with confidence that such literature must have been available in Norway in the first half of the twelfth century in view of the fact that the dawn of a locally composed literature in Latin in the second half of the century presupposes an earlier importation of the literature dealt with here. It is also evident that ecclesiastical texts were copied locally in the second half of the century. As for the imported ecclesiastical (non-liturgical) books in the first half of the twelfth century and into the second half, there is a clear predominance of Germanic and French material, whereas the English contribution appears rather weak in the first half of the century. In this respect, the ecclesiastical manuscripts differ from the liturgical fragments among which English material for a long time had been predominant. The fragments offer few surprises as to which texts are found. Among the learned exegetical texts copied early are Augustine’s De Genesi ad litteram, Gregory’s Moralia in Iob and Dialogi ; Hrabanus Maurus’ Commentarii in Genesim, 2 Isidore’s Etymologiae, Peter Lombard’s Collectanea in Paulum, Rufinus’ Historia ecclesiastica, and the Vitae patrum (i.e., the part known as Verba seniorum). There are three different commentaries on the Psalms from the twelfth century, i.e., the ones of Gilbert of Poitiers, Lietbert of Saint-Ruf and Peter Lombard. A leaf from a text of a lexicographical nature from the late twelfth century is as yet unidentified. It contains Christian definitions of words. It is reproduced in plate 3, the inclusion of which may lead to its identification. Palaeographically it is in a French-looking hand. Several of the texts mentioned here are known in Old Norse texts of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, e.g., in the Old Norse rendering of the Old Testament called Stjórn. This translation was supplied with  

 

 

 

1   See Gullick (2013a, p. 104) and Rankin (2013, p. 73) on the date at which the imported books may have arrived in Norway. 2   But this manuscripts is more likely to have been used in Denmark, as mentioned above. A later manuscript of Hrabanus is found at nra lat. fragmenter 446, 1-2, recently identified by Michael Gullick.

114 espen karlsen copious commentaries to be used at the royal court under King Håkon V Magnusson (1299-1319). Augustine’s De Genesi ad litteram and De civitate Dei were known to the compilers of Stjórn, as well as the Dialogi of Gregory the Great, and Isidore’s Etymologiae. Petrus Comestor’s Historia scholastica, and Isidore’s Etymologiae play a particularly central rôle (Astås 1987, pp. 459-467 and pp- 473-478 ; Astås 2009, vol. 2, pp. 1305-1324). Sections of Vitae patrum Book 5 (Verba seniorum) were selectively translated into Old Norse (edited by Unger 1877, vol. 2, pp. 489-671 and studied by Tveitane 1968). The selection of episodes was either made by the translator or was already present in his exemplar (Tveitane 1968, p. 9). In this respect the Old Norse translation resembles the oldest Vitae patrum manuscript discussed above. 1 Gregory the Great had a direct impact on Old Norse literature (Wolf 2001 ; Wellendorf 2009, pp. 144-157). His Dialogi were translated into Old Norse and a sermon of his found its way into the Old Norse Homily Book (Haugen & Ommundsen 2010). 2  

 

 

 

List of References Adriaen, Marcus, ed., 1979-1985. Sancti Gregorii Magni Moralia in Iob, cura et studio M. A., Turnholti, Brepols (« Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina », 143, a-c. Vols. 1-3). Astås, Reidar 1987. Et bibelverk fra middelalderen : studier i Stjórn. 1-2. Oslo, Novus forlag. —, ed., 2009. Stjórn. Tekst etter håndskriftene. 1-2. Oslo, Riksarkivet (« Norrøne tekster », 8). Borgehammar, Stephan 1997. Den latinska Sunnivalegenden. En edition. In Selja - heilag stad i 1000 år, edited by Magnus Rindal, Oslo, Universitetsforlaget, pp. 270-292. Brunius, Jan, ed., 2005. Medieval Book Fragments in Sweden. An international seminar in Stockholm 13-16 November 2003. Stockholm, Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien. Collijn, Isak 1914. Två blad af det förlorade Breviarium Nidrosiense, Hólar 1534. « Nordisk tidskrift för bok- och biblioteksväsen », 1, pp. 11-16. Derolez, Albert 2003. The Palaeography of Gothic Manuscript Books. From the Twelfth to the Early Sixteenth Century. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press (« Cambridge Studies in Palaeography and Codicology »). Dombart, Bernardus & Alfonsus Kalb, eds., 1981. Sancti Aurelii Augustini episcopi  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  For a concordance of episodes between the Old Norse version and Vitae patrum Book 5 in pl, see Tveitane (1968, pp. 10-11). 2   A note on the plates : The plates are usually reduced (measurements are given in the text). Reproductions in colour that are mostly same size are found in Karlsen (2013d).  

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De civitate Dei libri xxii. Duas epistulas ad Firmum, addidit Johannes Divjak. Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. [De civitate Dei itself reprinted from the 1928 Teubner edition]. Dumville, David N. 1991. On the Dating of Some Late Anglo-Saxon Liturgical Manuscripts. « Transactions of the Cambridge Bibliographical Society », 10, pp. 40-57. Eithun, Bjørn, Magnus Rindal & Tor Ulset, eds., 1994. Den eldre Gulatingslova. Oslo, Riksarkivet (« Norrøne tekster », 6). Edwards, Owain Tudor 2013. A Memoir of Lilli Gjerløw and her Contribution to Norwegian Liturgical Research. In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 361-380. Ekrem, Inger & Lars Boje Mortensen, eds., 2003. Historia Norwegie. København, Museum Tusculanum Press. Foerster, Thomas 2009. Vergleich und Identität : Selbst- und Fremddeutung im Norden des hochmittelalterlichen Europa. Berlin, Oldenbourg Akademieverlag (« Europa im Mittelalter », Bd. 14). Gjerløw, Lilli 1957. Fragments of a lectionary in Anglo-Saxon script found in Oslo. « Nordisk tidskrift för bok- och biblioteksväsen », 44, pp. 109-122. — 1974. Missaler brukt i Oslo bispedømme fra misjonstiden til Nidarosordinariet. In Oslo bispedømme 900 år. Historiske studier, eds. Fridtjov Birkeli, Arne Odd Johansen & Einar Molland, Oslo, Universitetsforlaget, pp. 73-142. — 1986. The Breviarium and the Missale Nidrosiense (1519). In From Script to Book : A Symposium, eds. Hans Bekker-Nielsen, Marianne Børch & Hans Algot Sørensen, Odense, Odense University Press, pp. 50-77. Gorman, Michael M. 2001. The Manuscript Traditions of the Works of St. Augustine. Firenze, sismel-Edizioni del Galluzzo. Gross-Diaz, Theresa 1996. The Psalms Commentary of Gilbert of Poitiers. From Lectio Divina to the Lecture Room. Leiden, New York & Köln, Brill (« Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History », 68). Gullick, Michael 2013a. A Preliminary Account of the English Element in Book Acquisition and Production in Norway before 1225. In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 103-121. — A Preliminary List of Manuscripts, Manuscript Fragments and Documents of English Origin or the Work of English Scribes in Norway Datable to before 1225. In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 123-197. Gunnlaugsson, Guðvarður Már 2013. Caroline and Proto-Gothic Script in Norway and Iceland. In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 199-213. Hamre, Lars 2003. Church and clergy. In Helle 2003a, pp. 653-675. Harper, John 1991. The forms and orders of Western liturgy from the tenth to the eighteenth century : a historical introduction and guide for students and musicians. Oxford, Clarendon Press. Hartzell, K. D. 2006. Catalogue of Manuscripts written or owned in England up to 1200 containing Music. Woodbridge, Boydell in association with the Plainsong and Medieval Music Society. Haugen, Odd Einar & Åslaug Ommundsen, eds., 2010. Vår eldste bok. Skrift, miljø og biletbruk i den norske homilieboka. Oslo, Novus forlag.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Helgason, Jon, ed., 1960. Hauksbok : the Arna-Magnæan manuscripts 371, 4to, 544, 4to and 675, 4to. Copenhagen, Munksgaard (« Manuscripta Islandica », 5). Helle, Knut 2001. Gulatinget og gulatingslova. Leikanger, Skald. —, ed., 2003. The Cambridge History of Scandinavia vol. 1 : Prehistory to 1520. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Hohler, Christopher 1978. A bifolium from a Latin grammar found under the floor of the church at Lom. In Lom stavkirke forteller. Oslo, Foreningen til norske Fortidsminnesmerkers Bevaring, pp. 170-176 (« Fortidsminner », 65). Iversen, Gunilla 2000. Transforming a Viking into a Saint : The Divine Office of St. Olav. In The Divine Office in the Latin Middel Ages. Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography, eds. Margot E. Fassler & Rebecca A. Baltzer. Oxford, Oxford University Press, pp. 401-429. Jiroušková, Lenka 2010. Textual evidence for the transmission of the Passio Olavi. In Saints and their Lives on the periphery. Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000-1200), eds. Haki Antonsson & Ildar H. Garipzanov. Turnhout, Brepols, pp. 219-239. Johnsen, Arne Odd 1939. Om Theodoricus og hans Historia de antiquitate regum Norwagiensium. Oslo, Dybwad (« Avhandlinger utgitt av Det Norske Videnskaps-Akademi i Oslo ii. Hist.-Filos. », Klasse 1939, No. 3). Johnsen, Oscar Albert 1908. Norske geistliges og kirkelige institusjoners bogsamlinger i den senere middelalder. In Sproglige og historiske af handlinger viede Sophus Bugges minde, Kristiania, H. Aschehoug & co, pp. 73-96. Karlsen, Espen 2003. Katalogisering av latinske membranfragmenter som forsknings­ prosjekt : Del 2. In Arkivverkets Forskningsseminar Gardermoen 2003. Rapporter og retningslinjer 16, Oslo, Riksarkivaren, pp. 58-88. — 2005. Liturgiske bøker i Norge inntil år 1300 – import og egenproduksjon. In Den kirkehistoriske utfordring, ed. Steinar Imsen, Trondheim, Tapir forlag, pp. 147-170. — 2006. Norway i : The collection of Latin fragments in the National Archives of Norway’. In The beginnings of Nordic Scribal Culture, ca. 1050-1300 : Report from a Workshop on Parchment Fragments, Bergen, 28-30 October 2005, ed. Åslaug Ommundsen, Bergen, Centre of Medieval Studies, University of Bergen, pp. 1722 [Also available online : https ://bora.uib.no/handle/1956/2403 (verified 13.04.2011).] — 2013a, ed., Latin Manuscripts of Medieval Norway. Studies in Memory of Lilli Gjerløw. « Nota Bene. Studies from the National Library of Norway », 5. Oslo, Novus Press. — 2013b. Introduction. In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 13-36. — 2013c. Latin Manuscripts of Medieval Norway : Survival and Losses. In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 27-36 — 2013d. Fragments of Patristic and Other Ecclesiastical Literature in Norway from c. 1100 until the Fifteenth Century. In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 215-269. Karlsen, Espen & Kyrre Vatsend 2003. On Theodoricus Monachus’ Use of Late Classical Authors. « Collegium Medievale », 16, pp. 239-264.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Ker, N. R. 1960. English Manuscripts in the Century after the Norman Conquest. Oxford, The Clarendon Press (« The Lyell Lectures », 1952-1953). Lapidge, Michael 2006. The Anglo-Saxon Library. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Lehtinen, Anja Inkeri 2005. From fragments into codices : on reconstitution of theological and philosophical works. In Brunius 2005, Stockholm, Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien, pp. 109-131. Lindsay, W. M., ed., 1911. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi Etymologiarum sive originum libri xx. 2 vols. Oxonii, E Typographeo Clarendoniano. Masai, François, Martin Wittek & Albert Brounts, eds., 1968. Manuscrits datés conservés en Belgique. T. 1, 819-1400. Bruxelles, Éditions scientifiques E. StoryScientia. Mortensen, Lars Boje 2005. Den norske middelalderlitteratur på latin. In Den kirkehistoriske utfordring, ed. Steinar Imsen, Trondheim, Tapir, pp. 139-146. —. 2006. Den formative dialog mellem latinsk og folkesproglig litteratur ca 600-1250. Udkast til en dynamisk modell. In Reykholt som makt- og lærdomssenter i den islandske og nordiske kontekst, ed. Else Mundal, Reykholt, Snorrastofa, pp. 229271. Mortensen, Lars Boje & Else Mundal 2003. Erkebispesetet i Nidaros – arnestad og verkstad for olavslitteraturen. In Ecclesia Nidrosiensis 1153-1537. Søkelys på Nidaroskirkens og Nidarosprovinsens historie, ed. Steinar Imsen, Trondheim, Tapir, pp. 353-384. Mynors, R. A. B. & R. M. Thomson 1993. Catalogue of the Manuscripts of Hereford Cathedral Library. Cambridge, D. S. Brewer. — A text in Flux : St. Hallvard’s Legend and Its Redactions. In Along the oral-written continuum. Types of texts, relations and their implications, eds. Slavica Ranković et al., Turnhout, Brepols, 270-290. Orrman, Eljas 2003. Church and society. In Helle 2003a, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, pp. 421-462. Parkes, Malcolm B. 1992. Pause and effect : An Introduction to the History of Punctuation in the West. Berkeley and Los Angeles, University of California Press. Pettersen, Gunnar I. 2013. From Parchment Books to Fragments : Norwegian Medieval Codices before and after the Reformation. In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 41-65. pl = Patrologiae cursus completus, Series Latina. Ed. J.-P. Migne, Paris, 1844-1864, 221 vols. Pricoco, Salvatore & Manlio Simonetti (edd.). 2005-2006. Gregorio Magno : Storie di santi e diavoli (Dialoghi) 1-2. Milano, Arnoldo Mondadori - Fondazione Lorenzo Valla (« Scrittori greci e latini »). Raasted, Jørgen 1960. Middelalderlige håndskriftfragmenter i Danmark. « Scandia », 26, häfte 1, pp. 145-150. Rankin, Susan 2013. Fragments of a Missal from the Old Minster, Winchester (Oslo, Riksarkivet Mi 14). In Karlsen 2013a, pp. 67-81. Rindal, Magnus 2002. The history of Old Nordic manuscripts ii : Old Norwegian  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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(incl. Faroese). In The Nordic Languages. An International Handbook of the History of the North Germanic Languages i., eds. Oskar Bandle et al., Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, pp. 801-808. Schjoldager, Astrid 1927. Bokbind og bokbindere i Norge inntil 1850. Oslo, Foreningen for Norsk bokkunst, Aschehoug. Skovgaard-Petersen, Karen 2002. Et håndskriftfund i Lübeck ca. 1620. Om den spinkle overlevering af to norske nationalklenodier. « Fund og forskning », 41, pp. 107-127. Stegmüller, Fridericus 1950-1980. Repertorium Biblicum Medii Aevi. 1-11. Matriti, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas. Storm, Gustav [1880] 1973. Monumenta historica Norvegiæ. Reprint. Oslo, Norsk Historisk Kjeldeskrift-Institutt. Sørensen, S. A. 1910. Middelalderske latinske Membranfragmenter i det norske Rigsarkiv. « [Norsk] Historisk Tidsskrift », Række 4, Bd. 6, pp. 23-47. Thomson, Harrison S. 1969. Latin Bookhands of the Later Middle Ages 1100-1500. Cambridge, University Press. Thomson, R. M. 2006. Books and Learning in Twelfth-Century England : The Ending of ‘Alter Orbis’. Walkern, The Red Gull Press (« The Lyell Lectures », 20002001). Tortzen, Chr. Gorm 1999. Middelalderlige håndskriftfragmenter i Danmark. In Levende ord & lysende billeder. Den middelalderlige bogkultur i Danmark. Essays, ed. Erik Petersen, København, Det Kongelige Bibliotek, pp. 163-172. Tveitane, Mattias 1968. Den lærde stil – oversetterprosa i den norrøne versjonen av Vitæ patrum. Bergen & Oslo, Norwegian Universities Press. Unger, C. R., ed., 1877. Heilagra manna søgur. Fortællinger og legender om hellige mænd og kvinder i-ii. Christiania. Vessey, Mark 2004. Jerome and Rufinus. In The Cambridge History of Early Christian Literature, eds. F. Young, Lewis Ayres & Andrew Louth, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, pp. 318-327. Wellendorf, Jonas 2009. Kristelig visionslitteratur i norrøn tradition. Oslo, Novus forlag (« Bibliotheca Nordica », 2). Wifstrand Schiebe, Marianne & Espen Karlsen 2013. A Christian Approach to Vergil’s Eclogues. A Fragment of Hugo de Folieto, De pastoribus et ovibus in Oslo. In Karlsen, ed., 2013a, pp. 271-278. Willems, Radbodus, ed., 1990. Sancti Aurelii Augustini In Iohannis euangelium tractatus cxxiv. Turnholti, Brepols (« Corpus Christianorum. Series Latina », 36, Pars 8). Wilmart, A. 1914-1919. Le commentaire sur les psaumes imprimé sous le nom de Rufin. « Revue bénédictine », 31, pp. 258-276. Wolf, Kirsten 2001. Gregory’s influence on old Norse-Icelandic religious literature. In Rome and the North : the early reception of Gregory the Great in Germanic Europe, eds. Rolf H. Bremmer, Jr., Kees Dekker, David F. Johnson, Paris, Peeters, pp. 255-274.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Zycha, Iosephus, ed., 1894. Sancti Aureli Augustini De Genesi ad litteram libri duodecim, eiusdem libri capitula, De Genesi ad litteram inperfectus liber, Locutionum in Heptateuchum libri septem. Pragae, Vindobonae & Lipsiae, Bibliopola Academiae litterarum Caesareae Vindobonensis (« Corpus scriptorum ecclesiasticorum Latinorum », 28, sect. 3, pars 1).  

 

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MULTIPLE TEXTS. FOLKLORISTIC APPROACHES TO EARLY MODERN VERBAL CULTURE Tom Pettitt

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hether one studies literature in the narrow, canonical sense, or a more encompassing ‘verbal culture’ which also includes folk and popular traditions, textual instability is always a factor to be reckoned with. Its nature, causes and significance nonetheless vary considerably not merely between different periods, but also between different sub-cultures, and different stages in production and mediation, and these multiple factors assumed a particularly interesting configuration in the early-modern period, as they do today. 1 The typographical mediation that is currently, at the close of the Gutenberg Parenthesis, 2 being challenged by digital technology and the internet, was then, as that parenthesis opened, making substantial inroads into important cultural domains at the expense of the scribal and the oral-memorial. 3 These three media inevitably functioned in close juxtaposition, and verbal material was remediated between them in a variety of directions and permutations. Written material was printed, printed material copied in writing, and both written and printed material read aloud from the page or performed from memory and then mediated by memory and performance. Conversely oral performances were recorded in writing or reconstructed from memory and subsequently printed. Because of their obvious importance for literary editing, scribal  

 

 

1   For various aspects, see Leah Sinanoglou Marcus, Cyberspace Renaissance, « English Literary Renaissance », xxv, 1995, pp. 388-401 ; Mark D. West, Catherine J. West, Reading in the Internet Era : Toward a Medieval Mode of Understanding, « The International Journal of the Book », vi, 2009, pp. 71-88 ; David Burnley, Scribes and Hypertext, « The Yearbook of English Studies », xxv, 1995, pp. 41-62. 2   On which see Tom Pettitt, Containment and Articulation : Media Technology, Cultural Production and the Perception of the Material World, Paper presented to Conference, Stone and Papyrus : Storage and Transmission, Media in Transition 6, organized by Communications Forum, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, April 24-26, 2009, full text at http ://web.mit.edu/comm-forum/mit6/papers/Pettitt.pdf 3   I prefer this elaborated term to « oral tradition », which fails to encompass the mediation between performances in the memory of the performers, equally important as the « oral » mediation between performers.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

122 tom pettitt and typographical mediation have been closely studied and their processes are well understood, although scholarly attitudes and editorial fashions evidently change over time. 1 Despite its in many ways wider and deeper significance, oral-memorial mediation in historical contexts has attracted less attention and perhaps less consensus. 2 This contribution will review one particular avenue of approach, without necessarily determining to exactly what conclusions it leads.  

 

1. Approaches Neither the texts surviving from the early-modern period themselves, nor our documentation of their contexts, provides a sufficient basis for research, and we must look elsewhere for enlightenment. One option is the ‘clinical’ approach, which artificially recreates the mediating conditions we wish to understand, and measures their effects. For example in a series of experiments David C. Rubin and his associates had a group of undergraduates listen to a record of a folk ballad, then after an interval checked how much of it they could remember. 3 Given that the aim was to study the cognitive processes involved in memory it may have been legitimate to have the students write down what they remembered, but this undermines the value of the results for understanding the mechanisms of a mediaton of which retrieval from memory in performance is a definitive feature. 4 This reservation does not apply to the experiments of the American medievalist Linda Zaerr, who learned by heart a number of late-medieval English popular romances, then performed them publicly from memory. Juxtaposition of recordings of performances with the texts from  

 

1   See for example Bernard Cerquiglini, Eloge de la Variante : Histoire critique de la philologie, Paris, Le Seuil, 1989 ; G. Thomas Tanselle, Textual Criticism at the Millenium, « Studies in Bibliography », liv, 2001, pp. 1-80 ; Conor Fahy, Old and New in Italian Textual Criticism, in Voice Text Hypertext : Emerging Practices in Textual Studies, edited by Raimonda Modiano et al., Seattle, University of Washington Press, 2004, pp. 401-411. 2   For characteristic discussions see for example Paul Zumthor, The Text and the Voice, « New Literary History », xvi, 1984, pp. 67-92 ; Vox intexta. Orality and Textuality in the Middle Ages, edited by A. N. Doane, Carol Braun Pasternak, Madison, University of Wisconsin Press, 1991. 3   David C. Rubin, Wanda T. Wallace, Barbara C. Houston, The Beginnings of Expertise for Ballads, « Cognitive Science », xvii, 1993, pp. 435-462. 4   For an exercise in the reverse process, deploying what is known about memory to understand ballad variation, see Margalit Fox, Linguistic Reanalysis and Oral Transmission, « Poetics », xiii, 1984, pp. 217-238. On the importance of the melodic component for the recall of the words of songs see Mary Louise Serafine, Robert G. Crowder, Bruno H. Repp, Integration of Melody and Text in Memory for Songs, « Cognition », xvi, 1984, pp. 285-303.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 123 which the narratives had been learnt revealed precisely what mistakes, and what kinds of mistakes, were caused by mediation through memory and performance. 1 The discrepancies corresponded to those which are actually observable between different manuscripts of a given romance, 2 and the same kinds of change will also be discerned in the material examined below, except I would not call most of them ‘mistakes’. The alternative is an ‘ecological’ approach, which observes the behavior of cultural products in their native habitat, in the case of historical explorations, studying more recent, living traditions and juxtaposing them with texts and records of the past : « One of the keys to [the] process of reanimation of the textual remnants of once vibrant traditions is a clear understanding of contemporary performances ». 3 In what follows it will be applied to the short, dramatic, narrative, stanzaic songs, in scholarship designated ballads, encountered in oral tradition over much of Europe in recent centuries. 4  

 

 

 

 

 

 

2. Ballads and Ballad Transmission This material provides a relatively reliable basis for achieving insights into the processes involved in mediation through memory and performance, and the impact it has on verbal material, insights which can, with due caution, be usefully applied to quite different early-modern material – for example the minstrel romances just mentioned, and not least those 1

  Linda Marie Zaerr, The Weddyng of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell : Performance and intertextuality in Middle English popular romance, in Performing Medieval Narrative, edited by Evelyn Birge Vitz et al., Cambridge, D. S. Brewer, 2005, pp. 193-208. 2   Linda Marie Zaerr, Mary Ellen Ryder, Psycholinguistic Theory and Modern Performance : Memory as a Key to Variants in Medieval texts, « Mosaic », xxvi, 1993-1994, pp. 21-35 ; Murray McGillivray, Memorization in the Transmission of the Middle English Romances, New York, Garland, 1990 (« Albert Bates Lord Studies in Oral Tradition », 5). 3   Timothy R. Tangherlini, Performing through the Past : Ethnophilology and Oral Tradition, « Western Folklore », lxii, 2003, pp. 143-149. 4   For pan-European surveys of ballads and ballad research see William Entwhistle, European Balladry, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1939 ; Ballads and Ballad Research : Selected Papers of the International Conference on Nordic and Anglo-American Ballad Research, edited by Patricia Conroy, Seattle, University of Washington, 1978 ; The European Medieval Ballad, edited by Otto Holzapfel, Odense, Odense University Press, 1977 ; Samuel G. Armistead, Ballad, in Medieval Folklore : An Encyclopedia of Myths, Legends, Tales, Beliefs, and Customs, edited by Carl Lindahl and John McNamara, 2 vols., Santa Barbara, abc-clio, 2000, i, pp. 61-71. For Scandinavian ballads a vital resource is The Types of the Scandinavian Medieval Ballad, edited by Bengt R. Jonsson, et al., Stockholm, Svenkst visarkiv, Universitetsforlaget, 1978, a complete catalogue of all 838 Scandinavian songs qualified (in the compilers’ view) as ballads, each provided with a summary in English.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

124 tom pettitt ‘bad’ Elizabethan play quartos which are suspected of in some way deriving from performance rather than the author’s hand. 1 But there is a more direct relevance, in that this genre of narrative song itself existed in the early-modern period, when many of the surviving texts, not least in Scandinavian tradition, were actually written down. 2 The only reliable ‘ecological’ procedure for determining the nature of memorial and oral processes in transmission is the comparative analysis of multiple texts of a given song, 3 but the results are of little value if we do not know their relationship in the chain of transmission. 4 This condition is met by two, related but distinct, approaches. The first is the juxtaposition of sung versions of a song with the original text from which they derive, a procedure feasible with the songs we can be certain originated, decades or century before their recording, as printed, ‘broadside’ ballads. The results will be particularly significant if several different derivative versions display the same kinds of deviation, and if the same patterns of change are encountered in applying the approach to several different songs, as is indeed the case. 5  

 

 

 

 

1

  Thomas Pettitt, The Living Text : The Play, the Players, and Folk Tradition, « Leeds Studies in English », ns. xxxii, 2001, pp. 413-429 ; Idem, Marlowe’s Texts and Oral Transmission : Towards the Zielform, « Comparative Drama », xxxix, 2006, pp. 213-242 ; Lene B. Petersen, Shakespeare’s Errant Texts : Textual Form and Linguistic Style in Shakespearean ‘Bad’ Quartos and Co-Authored Plays, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2010. 2   On the antiquity and origins of the genre see David Colbert, The Birth of the Ballad. The Sandinavian Medieval Genre, Stockholm, Svenskt visarkiv, 1989 ; Bengt R. Jonsson, The Ballad in Scandinavia : Its Age, Prehistory and Earliest History : Some Preliminary Reflections, in The European Medieval Ballad, edited by Otto Holzapfel, Odense, Odense University Press, 1977, pp. 9-15 ; Tom Pettitt, The Late Medieval Ballad, in Medieval Oral Literature, edited by Karl Reichl, Berlin, Walter de Gruyter, 2011, pp. 429-458. 3   That is to say, texts achieved in the recording of multiple performances, as opposed to the multiple texts which can be generated during and after the recording, recently explored by David Atkinson, Genetic Foundations for a Palimpsest Model of the Anglo-Scottish Ballad Text : Evidence from the J. M. Carpenter Collection, « Folklore », cxxi, 2010, pp. 245-267. For a discussions of the multiple performance approach in a wider context of oral tradition studies see Thick corpus, organic variation and textuality in oral tradition, edited by Lauri Honko, Helsinki, Finnish Literature Society, 2000, particularly Lauri Honko, Thick Corpus and Organic Variation : an Introduction, pp. 3-27. 4   This consideration undermines the value of multitextual analyses such as W. Edson Richmond, Den utrue egtemann : A Norwegian Ballad and Formulaic Composition, « Norveg », x, 1983, pp. 59-88. 5   Thomas Pettitt, The Ballad of Tradition : In Pursuit of a Vernacular Aesthetic, in Ballads into Books : The Legacies of Francis James Child, edited by Tom Cheesman, Sigrid Rieuwerts, Bern, Peter Lang, 1997, pp. 111-123 ; Idem, From Journalism to Gypsy Folk Song : The Road to Orality of an English Ballad, « Oral Tradition », xxiii, 2008, pp. 87-117 ; Idem, Written Composition and (Mem)oral Decomposition : The Case of ‘The Suffolk Tragedy’, « Oral Tradition », xxiv, 2009, pp. 429-454. For a somewhat similar approach applied to a Swedish ballad, see Stephen A.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 125 This study illustrates an alternative approach, the comparative analysis of the more closely related multiple texts which are available when a given song has been recorded more than once from a particular singer, or from two or more singers with a known relationship in the line of transmission : say a parent and the child who learnt it from them, 1 or siblings who had the song from the same parent. The changes reveal the impact of only a short segment of the song’s mediation, but should give a reasonable impression of the degree of verbal stability or instability endemic to the tradition, and there is less reason than with the alternative approach to fear that the song has suffered interference from extratraditional factors between the versions compared. 2  

 

 

3. Multiple Performances : Seven Singers, Four Songs  

The multiple texts to be examined were recorded from performances in England, Denmark, Scotland and Sweden, from, respectively, the twentieth, nineteenth, eighteenth and seventeenth centuries. The chronological range offers a useful spread of permutations of certainty and uncertainty : The earlier the material, the closer we are to early-modern conditions, but the less certain we can be on the reliability of the documentation ; the more recent the material, the more the reverse applies.  

 

3. 1. 20th Century England : The Brazil Family and ‘The Old Riverside’  

A happy surprise of recent years has been the revelation that the English Gypsies sustained until almost the end of the twentieth century a song Mitchell, Forging Traditions : Oral and Literary Multiforms of Kämpen Grimborg, « Arv », lvii, 2001, pp. 55-59. 1   Norway offers particularly promising material for this approach as one of the major collectors, Moltke Moe, deliberately (in the 1890’s) sought out descendants of singers who had been recorded several decades earlier. See W. Edson Richmond, Rhyme, Reason and Re-Creation, in Ballads and Ballad Research, edited by Patricia Conroy, Seattle, University of Washington, 1978, pp. 58-67. 2   We remain, of course, at the mercy of the probity and prejudices of collectors, and there are occasionally disturbing hints, like Olav Solberg’s assertion that Norwegian collectors in the late nineteenth century « did not like singers who improvised, but preferred the type of singers who performed their ballads with no, or only few, variations ». Olav Solberg, The Scandinavian Medieval Ballad : From Oral Tradition to Written Texts and Back Again, in Oral Art Forms and their Passage into Writing, edited by Else Mundal, Jonas Wellendorf, Copenhagen, Museum Tusculanum Press, 2008, pp. 121-133, at p. 131.  

 

 

 

 

 

126 tom pettitt tradition as vigorous as that of the more celebrated Scottish Travelers, and that it had been extensively recorded by folk song enthusiasts from the 1960’s onwards, the recordings now becoming available commercially or in institutional sound archives. 1 With very few exceptions the songs belong to the regular tradition of English folk song, which up to the first decade or so of the twentieth century was common to Gypsy and nonGypsy singers alike. But when the latter, under the multiple impact of literacy and the mass media, gradually dropped them the Gypsies, as a result partly of their social isolation, partly of their continuing illiteracy, kept the songs alive. 2 A particularly rich harvest of songs was collected from the Brazil family of Gloucester, and a recently issued collection 3 includes recordings of no less than four of its members, from two generations, singing the very popular ‘The Old Riverside’, encountered by folk song collectors in many parts of England (Roud 564). 4 It is a classic ‘deserted maiden’ ballad, narrating the seduction, repudiation and death of a too trusting village girl. The singers are Harry Brazil (recorded in 1966), his daughter Doris Davis (1966), his brother Danny Brazil (1995), and his sister Lemmie Brazil (1966). 5 (The texts, in my transcription from the recordings, are set out in parallel in the Textual Appendix).  

 

 

 

 

1   On the English Gypsies, and the role of the songs in their culture, in addition to the studies cited below in the course of the textual analysis, see Sam Richards, Westcountry Gipsies : Key Songs and Community Identity, in Everyday Culture : Popular Song and the Vernacular Milieu, edited by Michael Pickering, Tony Green, Milton Keynes, Open University Press, 1987, pp. 125-149. 2   Published recordings of the songs of the English Gypsies (all with accompanying booklets) include Here’s Luck to a Man : An Anthology of Gypsy Songs & Music from South-East England, Musical Traditions Records mtcd320, 2003 ; May Bradley : Sweet Swansea, Musical Traditions Records mtcd349, 2010 ; My father’s the king of the gypsies : Music of English and Welsh travellers and gypsies, « The Voice of the People », 11, Topic tscd 661, 1998 ; Wiggy Smith – Band of Gold, Musical Traditions Records mtcd 307, 2000. 3   The Brazil Family. Down by the Old Riverside, Musical Traditions Records mtcd345-7, 2007. The accompanying booklet, a significant essay on the family and its songs in its own right, with contributions from all the major collectors, is available as Musical Traditions, article mt206, at http ://www.mustrad.org.uk/articles/brazils.htm, and at Peter Shepheard’s Springthyme Archive, http ://mtrecords.co.uk/articles/brazils.htm. 4   Roud Folk Song Index, accessible at the website of the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library, English Folk Dance and Song Society : http ://library.efdss.org/cgi-bin/query. cgi ?cross=off&index_roud=on&access=off. 5   The Brazil Family, cd1, tracks 1-4. Danny Brazil was recorded by Gwilym Davies, the others by Peter Shepheard. Considerations of space prevent discussion of the potentially informative conclusion of Doris Davis’s performance where her memory falters, and there follow further attempts, with comments on the process, by herself and one of the other young women present.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 127 These family variants of the song, almost certainly with a common source in the repertoire of the father of Harry, Danny and Lemmie, display a mixture of stability and change, the latter manifesting itself at two levels : strategically in the presence or absence of complete stanzas (or blocks of two or more stanzas), and tactically (within the stanzas several versions have in common) in deploying variant lines within stanzas or formulations within lines. Comparison with versions by other singers suggests that none of the Brazils have added significant material to the song as they received it. Gypsy singers are reputed to mix material from different songs, sometimes in the course of performance, 1 but that is evidently not the case here. The differences are achieved rather through selective subtraction. All versions share the opening two stanzas narrating the meeting between the man and the girl, and the final four stanzas with her death and his reflections, but the number of stanzas they devote to what happens in between varies greatly. A degree of deliberation, reflecting discrepant attitudes to the content, is suggested by the circumstance that it is the two women singers who omit the most, including two painful stanzas from the post-seduction dialogue. In the first the man reneges on his promise to marry the girl, asserts she is herself to blame, and scornfully tells her to go home and weep ; in the second she responds that she cannot face the disgrace and will instead drown herself. In the absence of these stanzas the shock in the women’s versions is all the greater when, in the murder stanza common to all Brazil versions, he pushes her into the river, making the death a simple homicide. The men retain the residual extenuation that she would have drowned herself anyway – which is what indeed happens in many other versions. As sung particularly by Doris Davis the song has modulated into the quite distinct murdered sweetheart genre : the slaying of a girl by her lover (at a lonely spot) when she is too insistent that he fulfill his promise to marry her. 2 Both women (in this agreeing with Harry Brazil) omit the stanza which explicitly states that seducer and victim spent the night together, while the younger, Doris, also leaves out the distasteful stanza in which  

 

 

 

 

1   Mike Yates, Traveller’s Joy. Songs of English and Scottish Travellers and Gypsies 1965-2005, London, English Folk Dance and Song Society, 2006, pp. 23-24 ; Ewan Maccoll, Peggy Seeger, Travellers’ Songs from England and Scotland, London, rkp, 1977, pp. 12-13 ; 24. 2   For a survey of the genre see my Journalism vs. Tradition in the Early English Ballads of the Murdered Sweetheart, in Ballads and Broadsides in Britain, 1500-1800, edited by Patricia Fumerton, at al., Aldershot, Ashgate, 2010, pp. 75-90.  

 

128 tom pettitt the seducer relishes the prospect of sex with a girl who is so young she must be a virgin. Lemmie, merely by omitting everything between this and the stanza in which the girl is pushed into the river, creates a Bluebeard figure who lures a girl to a lonely spot ostensibly for sex, but actually with the intent of murdering her. All four versions formulate the act of murder with what is in fact a traditional narrative formula : « He took hold of her lily-white hand,/ and he kissed both cheek and chin », 1 its persistence suggesting that such formulas can be a factor in verbal stability rather than improvisation. For a glimpse of the mechanisms involved in verbal change at the detailed level we may focus on the version recorded from Danny Brazil in 1995. This is thirty years later than the other three, and discrepancies are most likely to be the result of his individual treatment of the song as they all received it. His first idiosyncrasy occurs in describing his encounter with the maid, who « ... come placing by my side » (st. 1.4). The others have variant formulations, and it is likely that Danny’s is affected by the « old riverside » phrase he has just used for the location of their meeting (st. 1.2), and which occurs frequently in the song, almost like a refrain. It also has a more substantial impact later on, when Danny’s girl says she would rather « go by the old riverside » (st. 8.3), as opposed to the more logical and probably original formulation deployed by Harry, « go and drown myself » (st. 6.3). The same thing happens again towards the end of the song, when Danny’s seducer sees the girl « floating down with the tide » (st. 10.2), while all the others have merely « floating with the tide » : by this point Danny has already sung « down by the old riverside » four times. In the repudiation scene, Harry Brazil, like some other Gypsy singers, has his seducer tell the girl to go home to her « mother’s house », and she refuses with the same phrase (sts. 5.3, 6.1), while Danny has them both say, « father’s house » (sts. 7.3, 8.1), probably influenced by his retention of the stanza in which they spend the night at « his father’s house » (st. 4.1). These internal contaminations, generated when the formulation of one line is affected by that of another, occur in an otherwise stable verbal context, and give the impression of being a product of inexact recall rather than conscious improvisation. This does not necessarily classify them as imperfections in any aesthetic sense : indeed they contribute to the patterns of verbal repetition which are often seen as one of the genre’s formal felicities.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Flemming G. Andersen, Commonplace and Creativity : The Role of Formulaic Diction in Anglo-Scottish Traditional Balladry, Odense, Odense up, 1985, pp. 161-174.  

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 129 3. 2. 19th Century Denmark : Sidsel Jensdatter (’Elveskud’ 1868)  

Nineteenth-century Denmark was fortunate in having, in the Jutland schoolmaster Ewald Tang Kristensen, a folklorist with principles and practices which matched modern standards : the accurate recording of the text as performed ; identification of the performer and his or her social context ; specifications on the recording situation. 1 One of Tang Kristensen’s major informants was Sidsel Jensdatter of Gjellerup, near Ringkøbing, from whom he recorded many songs, on occasion in multiple versions. The latter include the celebrated ballad, ‘Elveskud’ [‘Elfshot’], with analogues in other national traditions, concerning the young squire who on the eve of his wedding is mortally wounded by an elf-woman whose advances he repulses as he rides through her grove. He returns home and dies, prompting the deaths of both his mother and his betrothed. 2 The lines the two performances have in common are repeated almost verbatim, but together they amount to only nine stanzas out the first’s 23 stanzas and the second’s 22. As this suggests, it is the strategic, narrative differences which are the most interesting here. (I therefore supply in the Textual Appendix parallel stanza by stanza summaries. 3)  

 

 

 

 

 

1   Joan Rockwell, Evald Tang Kristensen : A Lifelong Adventure in Folklore, Aalborg-Copenhagen, Aalborg University Press-Danish Folklore Society, 1982. His material also facilitates, for an earlier period, the comparative study of multiple texts of a ballad sung by two brothers and a sister who all had it from their mother. Hanna Pico Larsen’s One Ballad, Four Singers : An Examination of DgF 40 as Performed by Two Brothers and a Sister, « arv », lx, 2004, pp. 107-143, is undertaken from other perspectives than the present study, but notes that differences (which are small) are probably due to « the influence of faulty memory, as well as personal taste and style in performing » (p. 125). In an earlier study Laurits Bødker had compared these three versions not so much with each other as with their (supposed) broadside original : Laurits Bødker, Skillingsviser og Folketradition, « Folkekultur : Meddelanden Från Lunds Universitets Folkminnesarkiv », iv, 1944, pp. 76-107. 2   Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, 12 vols., edited by Svend Grundtvig, Axel Olrik, Hakon Grüner-Nielsen, et al., Copenhagen, Universitets-Jubilæets Danske Samfund, Akademisk Forlag, 1853-1976, iv.5 (1883), no. 47. 3   Thanks to Kristensen’s documentation we know in which order the two versions were recorded. For a close verbal analysis of multiple texts from Tang Kristensen’s material, versions of ‘Sivard Snarensvend’ sung by two sisters who had it from with their mother (all of whose relationships to songs and singing are usefully documented), see Lene Halskov Hansen, At se viserne for sig. En kilde til forståelse af stabilitet og forandring i visernes ordlyd, in Tradisjonell sang som levende prosess, edited Lene Halskov Hansen, Astrid Nora Ressem, Ingrid Åkesonn, Oslo, Novus, 2009, pp. 69-91, at pp. 82-87. The comparative analysis is undertaken in support of an interesting thesis that a singer’s envisioning of the characters  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

130 tom pettitt The opening episodes of his fateful encounter and his return, and the concluding deaths and funerals, are very similar, except that the first version stumbles prematurely from the first stanza into the second, and towards the end lacks the stanza describing the death of the mother, so that the last stanza specifies three funerals following on only two deaths. Meanwhile the second version inserts a three-stanza exchange in which the returning hero, Sir Peder, seeks to explain away his wounds as the result of a riding accident, but his mother guesses the truth. 1 And when, in a stanza common to both versions, he requests to be taken to bed, it is to his mother he addresses himself in the first version, but his sweetheart in the second. This anticipates the very different trajectories of the central episode. The first version follows the plot typical for this ballad internationally, in which the bride does not arrive until after Sir Peder has died, and has to be informed, usually at the culmination of a series of questions (all but the last receiving evasive answers) prompted by increasing evidence that something tragic has happened. Sidsel Jensdatter however has the mother reveal the truth after just one attempt at concealment, then provide the sweetheart with a narrative of what happened which recycles some of the stanzas of the opening episode in which it was narrated to us. In the second version the betrothed is already present when Sir Peder arrives home, and the main concern is how she is to be supported after his death. He goes so far as to ask his youngest brother to marry her in his place, but she demurs, and in a classic deployment of a ballad formula common to both versions, after he dies before cockcrow, she dutifully dies before dawn. 2 Despite their differences the narrative is achieved in both versions very much in the traditional, balladesque way, with the deployment of the formulas, structural patternings and verbal repetitions which have been claimed to be symptoms of her improvising in performance, 3 but this is undermined by Tang Kristensen’s evidence on the exact circumstances of the two recordings. On the first occasion Sidsel Jensdatter was dissatisfied with her performance, and they agreed to try again a few days later  

 

 

and action in a song is a significant aspect in the process of recollection and performance. (There is a substantial English summary pp.90-91.) 1   Actually the decisive stanza is omitted, but the mother’s disbelief indicates it should be there, and it can easily be supplied from other versions or elsewhere in this text. 2   Andersen, Commonplace and Creativity, cit., pp. 275-283. 3   Sigurd Kværndrup, Den østnordisk ballade – oral teori og tekstanalyse. Studier i Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, Copenhagen, Museum Tusculanums Forlag, 2006, pp. 228 ; 231.  

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 131 when she had had a chance to think it through, which suggests differences will reflect a considerable degree of deliberation. In the event, while the opening and closing episodes are more satisfactory (she gets the first two stanzas right, and remembers to include the mother’s death), the singer produced what ballad editors tend to see as an already existing, distinct variant, achieved by substituting the central episode with a testamentary scene from another song. 1  

3. 3. 18th Century Scotland : Mrs. Brown of Falkland (‘The Lass of Roch Royal’) 1783/1800  

The ballads of Mrs. Anna Gordon Brown are pivotal in the study of Anglo-Scottish ballad tradition in general and for the understanding of the processes of oral transmission in particular. Her substantial repertoire of 35 ballads is one of the first to be explicitly recorded from oral tradition, and uniquely 19 of them were recorded in multiple performances. In 1972 David Buchan published what was undoubtedly one of the most significant ballad studies of the second half of the twentieth century, tracing the ballad traditions of Aberdeenshire from the eighteenth century to the early twentieth, in a comprehensively documented social and cultural context. Its wider significance resided in the central thesis that in authentic, oral-memorial tradition, before the widespread impact of education and literacy, songs were transmitted by an essentially improvisational system, in which a recollected narrative sequence was recreated at each performance deploying a range of structural patternings and verbal repetitions. 2 The ballads of Anna Gordon Brown provided the main evidence both for Buchan and for those who opposed the thesis, but neither the ballads nor the singer were unproblematic witnesses. Mrs. Brown was not an illiterate Gypsy or an impoverished Jutland villager, but the daughter of a university professor and the wife of a Church of Scotland Minister. She was well-read, familiar with published ballad anthologies, and wrote poetry. Buchan sought to resolve this problem with the notion of a bi-cameral mind, in which literacy and oral-memorial traditions could  

1

  Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, cit., iv.5 (1883), 841n.   David Buchan, The Ballad and the Folk, London, Routledge, 1972. For a critical review of the vigorous discussion this gave rise to, in which comparison of the multiple performances played a central role, see Albert B. Friedman, The Oral-Formulaic Theory of Balladry – A Re-rebuttal, in The Ballad Image : Essays Presented to Bertrand Harris Bronson, edited by James Porter, Los Angeles, Center for the Study of Comparative Folklore and Mythology, 1983, pp. 215-240. 2

 

132 tom pettitt exist side by side. It might be more plausible to speak of an androgynous mind, with a male half for the literacy and literature she shared with her father, husband and a largely male cultural network, and a female half for her ballads, which she inherited from an emphatically female tradition, having learnt them from an aunt, a farmer’s wife, who in turn had heard them sung by « nurses and old women » in her neighborhood. 1 Exactly how her memory and voice processed her ballads, including the question of improvisation, can best be determined by comparing the texts of multiple performances, but the suitability of the great majority of them for such analysis remains in doubt. In 1783 the words of 20 of her ballads were written down at the behest of a ballad collector, William Tytler, but when he indicated that he was also interested in the melodies the exercise was repeated, with the musical notation undertaken by her nephew. This second manuscript contained fifteen of the ballads in the first, but later comments by both Mrs. Brown and her father leave open the possibility that the first manuscript may in some way have been used in the production of the second, seriously compromising the latter’s status as a record of independent performances. 2 What follows will therefore be necessarily tentative, pending the clarification we can hope for from Ruth Perry’s forthcoming biography of Anna Gordon Brown, and Sigrid Rieuwerts’ recent edition of all the versions of all of Mrs. Brown’s ballads on the basis of the original manuscripts (not all available hitherto). 3 Fortunately Mrs. Brown was contacted by a new generation of song collectors in 1800, with three instances of multiple texts, under less problematic circumstances, as a result. In 1800 William Jamieson recorded one of her ballads, ‘Bonny Baby Livingston’, which had not been col 

 

 

 

 

1

  Buchan, The Ballad and the Folk, cit., p. 63.   Letter from Anna Gordon Brown to Alexander Fraser Tytler, 23 December 1800, copy in hand of Miss M. Fraser Tytler, Harvard University Houghton Library ms Am 2349, Vol. ix, #85 ; Letter from Thomas Gordon to Alexander Fraser Tytler, 19 January 1793, transcribed Joseph Ritson, Scotish [sic] Ballads, Harvard University Houghton Library ms Eng 1486, #1, pp. 1-4. For comments on the changes involved between these multiple performances see B. H. Bronson, Mrs. Brown and the Ballad, in The Ballad as Song, Berkeley & Los Angeles, California Press, Los Angeles, 1969, pp. 64-78 ; Holger Olof Nygard, Mrs. Brown’s Recollected Ballads, in Ballads and Ballad Research, edited by Patricia Conroy, Seattle, University of Washington, 1978, pp. 68-87. 3   The Ballad Repertoire of Anna Gordon, Mrs Brown of Falkland, edited by Sigrid Rieuwerts, Scottish Text Society, 5th ser., Edinburgh, Scottish Text Society, 2011. Ruth Perry has in the mean time exemplified Mrs. Brown’s treatment of some of her ballads in The Printed Record of an Oral Tradition: Anna Gordon Brown’s Ballads, «Studies in Scottish Literature», 38.1, pp. 71-91, also accessible at http://scholarcommons.sc.edu/cgi/viewcontent. cgi?article=1506&context=ssl. 2

 

 

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 133 lected previously, but shortly afterwards, feeling that it was « imperfect », and finding that « I had the whole story in my memory », Mrs. Brown wrote it out « entire », and sent it to him. 1 This suggests, as in the case of Sidsel Jensdatter, a singer with a concept of a ballad as a relatively stable word-sequence which could be reproduced more or less satisfactorily, and indeed with few exceptions, this is what comparison of the two versions of this ballad suggests. 2 In the same year Mrs Brown also provided a new set of ballads, appropriately enough for Alexander Fraser Tytler, son of the man who requested the earlier collections, in which two of the ballads recorded this time around had already figured. They therefore reveal what had happened to the songs in the keeping of her memory over the intervening 17 years. And their message is mixed. In one case the differences are minor, about on the level encountered in the earlier instances here in stanzas common to two versions of a song. The second case is the melodramatic ballad of ‘The Lass of Roch Royal’, in which another seduced maiden, this time with the child which is the fruit of the liaison, arrives by night at the castle of her lover, only to be rebuffed by his mother. This girl too seeks a watery grave, but the seducer, rather than pushing her in, stands anguished on shore, unable to help. The two versions are different to a degree, and in a way, which would be entirely compatible with a substantial degree of improvisation in performance. Of the 32 stanzas in the 1783 version, 12 (including a couple of half-stanzas) are lost by 1800, but eight new stanzas are added (resulting in a new version of 28 stanzas). Of the 20 stanzas they have in common, 15 (in blocks of two to five stanzas) are pretty well the same, while five convey similar import with different formulations. As my annotations to the parallel texts in the Textual Appendix indicate, the process involves both the loss of existing structural patternings, and the generation of new ones. On the smaller scale, leaving aside adjustment to standard English, or reversals in the order of adjacent stanzas or lines, there are instances of the generation of small-scale verbal repetitions through the contamination of one line by another, as we found in the English Gypsy tradition, for example in the reformulation of the opening question and answer :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Buchan, Ballad and Folk, cit., p. 72.   Flemming G. Andersen, Thomas Pettitt, Mrs. Brown of Falkland : A Singer of Tales ?, « Journal of American Folklore », 92, 1979, pp. 1-24, at p. 9. 2

 

 

 

 

134

tom pettitt

1. O wha will shoe my fu fair foot ? And wha will glove my han ? An wha will lace my middle gimp Wi the new made London ban ?

1. O wha will shoe my fu fair foot ? And wha will glove my hand ? And wha will lace my middle jimp Wi the new made London band ?

3. Her father shoed her fu fair foot, Her mother glovd her han ; Her sister lac’d her middle gimp Wi the new made London ban.

3. Your father will shoe your fu fair foot Your mother will glove your hand, Your sister will lace your middle jimp Wi the new made London band.

 

 

 

 




 

 

 

A similar process has on a couple of occasions effectively generated a new stanza out of an existing one, with inevitable verbal repetitions between them as a result, – as she resolves to set out :  

5. O gin I had a bony ship, An men to sail wi me, It’s I would gang to my true-love Since he winna come to me. 6. Her father’s gien her a bonny ship, An sent he to the stran ; She’s tane her young son in her arms An turnd her back to the lan.

5. But I will get a bonny boat And I will sail the sea For I maun go to Love Gregor Since he canno come hame to me.




 

6. O she has gotten a bonny boat And sailld the sa’t sea fame She langd to see her ain true-love Since he could no come hame.

– when her body is washed ashore :  

26. O cherry, cherry was her cheek And gowden was her hair But clay cold were her rosy lips Nae spark of life was there. 31. O first he kissd her cherry cheek, An then he kissd her chin An sair he kissd her ruby lips But there was nae breath within.




27. And first he’s kissd her cherry cheek And neist he’s kissed her chin And saftly pressd her rosey lips But there was nae breath within.

This may demonstrate that Mrs. Brown could – at least on occasion – improvise in performance, deploying traditional techniques. On the oth-

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 135 er hand the revision could have been undertaken deliberately at some point in the intervening 17 years, perhaps under the influence of another version she had encountered in the meantime. Or she could simply have operated with two distinct versions of the ballad, each of them textually stable, deploying the one in 1783 and the other in 1800. 1 It has also been suggested the 1800 version reflects ‘literary’ interventions from the other chamber of her ‘bicameral’ mind. 2 A lot will depend on whether those other 16 ballads can legitimately be subjected to analysis in this way, and if so the extent and nature of the variation they display.  

 

3. 4. 17th Century Sweden : Ingierd Gunnarsdotter (‘Hemming och Bergtrollet’ [Hemming and the Mountain Troll]) 1670’s  

We owe the fortunate recording of the ballads of Ingierd Gunnarsdotter in the 1670’s to the efforts of the Swedish government, which at a time when the nation was emerging as a north European great power, was endeavoring to establish its independent cultural identity, and evidently saw ballads and other folklore as relevant to this project. A farmer’s wife, born in 1601 or 1602, Ingierd Gunnarsdottir was locally celebrated for her songs, of which she was said to know over 300. The collectors, who found her uncooperative, managed to collect only 45 of them, but luckily for present purposes five were recorded in two versions, one in three, and one in four versions. 3 We may glance briefly at ‘Hemming and the Mountain Troll’ 4 two of whose three recorded versions are very close, encompassing the same number of stanzas, in the same order, with the same content, apart from a few local discrepancies. 5  

 

 

1

  Andersen, Pettitt, Mrs. Brown of Falkland : A Singer of Tales ?, cit., pp. 21-23 ; Nygard, Mrs. Brown’s Recollected Ballads, cit., p. 83. 2   Thomas Pettitt, Mrs. Brown of Falkland’s ‘Lass of Roch Royal’ and the Golden Age of Scottish Balladry, « Jahrbuch für Volksliedforschung », xxix, 1984, pp. 13-31, at pp. 24-30 ; Charles Duffin, Echoes of Authority : Audience and Formula in the Scots Ballad Text, in The Singer and the Scribe : European Ballad Traditions and Ballad Cultures, edited by Richard Firth Green, Amsterdam, Rodopi, 2004 (« Internationale Forschungen zur Allgemeinen und Vergleichenden Literaturwissenschaft », 75), pp. 105-121, at pp. 146-149. 3   Bengt R. Jonsson, Svensk Balladtradition, i, Balladkällor och Balladtyper, Upssala, Almqvist & Wiksell, 1967, pp. 272-281. For completeness sake it must be mentioned that the attribution of these texts to this singer is a result of philological investigation, and to the degree (it seems, fortunately, limited) that this deploys textual comparisons between the multiple versions, the comparative analyses following are vulnerable to objection as circular argument. 4   No. 218 in Sveriges medeltida ballader, edited by B. R. Jonsson, et al., Svenskt Visarkiv, 5 vols. in 7 fascicles, Stockholm, Almqvist & Wiksell International, 1983-2001. 5   Plus the absence, in one version, of the last three lines of st. 21. The first line seems  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

136 tom pettitt The translation of one supplied in the Textual Appendix may, in terms of narrative content, therefore stand for both. It is a pretty wild, northern story. Hemming’s father teaches him to run on skis and to hunt (st. 1). He is betrothed to a maiden, but she is stolen away by a troll-woman (st. 2). When the ploughing season comes around he cannot find his oxen (st. 3), and searching for them he encounters a polar bear, with whom he exchanges blows and taunts (sts. 4-6). He meets the troll-woman (st. 7) and seeks shelter in her home under the mountain (st. 8). When she insults him (st. 9), he responds that he is a king’s son and will marry her « daughter » if he can also have her « red gold » (sts. 10-12). The troll-woman agrees, provided he promises to live with them (st. 13). He accepts (st. 14), but when the troll-woman goes off to collect food for the wedding Hemming and his betrothed run away (st. 15). When the mountain starts to make a noise she faints, but he revives her by rubbing her with snow (st. 16). The trollwife returns (st. 18), and sets off in pursuit (sts. 19-20). Coming to a wayside cross Hemming prays for help (st. 21), and when the troll-woman sees it she collapses (st. 22). She asks him to help her back to her home (st. 23), but he refuses (st. 24). Of this the third version has only 14 stanzas. All but one of them are virtually identical to the corresponding stanzas in the long versions, so that it provides a substantially reduced account of the same events, the subtractions all coming after Hemming’s encounter with the trollwoman. As in the long version he first meets her outside, but their dialogue follows on immediately, and comprises only her scorning him and his response, at which without further ado the Troll-woman sets off in pursuit of provisions. Her home under the blue mountain is not mentioned. It does have the two stanzas describing the couple absconding, but not the troll-woman’s return and pursuit : we are evidently to assume this is the case when Hemming and his beloved arrive at the shore and she is hot on their heels. But there is nothing about the cross or the troll-woman’s destruction. In the last stanza, unique to this version, Hemming raises his hat to the troll-woman in mock thanks : having reached the shore (or crossed water ?) the couple are evidently now in safety. This is a very different version, in content and tone, and so evidence of a quite radical revisionary capacity on the part of a traditional singer.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

to be degenerating into doggerel, but it is not clear if it is the singer’s memory, or the recorder’s comprehension, which is the problem.

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 137 But with the exception of that last stanza it is achieved entirely by omitting stanzas from the long versions, and the similarities between the two long versions indicate that such strategic change was compatible with a tradition evincing considerable verbal stability at the local level. Not that the latter involved rote reproduction. The two long versions, in the smaller scale verbal discrepancies between them, offer evidence of the kind of sub-conscious changes we have seen previously. Swedish balladry too is characterized by structuring patterns reinforced by verbal repetitions, here for example the balance between the hero’s request to the troll-woman for her gold and the girl, and her request to him to help her (sts. 12 & 23). This balance is identical in both long versions, but elsewhere there are verbal discrepancies, and we can see a process of change by which new repetitions are generated between lines by the process of verbal contamination (illustrated here by close translations) :  

18. The crone entered the mountain in and looked in every corner ... 19. The crone rushed from the mountain blue over the dark woods.

The crone entered the mountain blue looked in every corner ... The crone rushed from the mountain blue over the dark woods.


 and

This is a step towards the close repetition of passages describing related events (like entering and leaving) traditional in ballads. We have no way of knowing which version was recorded first, so this could equally be an example of a repetition pattern being lost, but both the loss of existing repetitions and the generation of new repetitions seem to be a feature of oral-memorial mediation. Both processes can be seen in action in the following :  




12. Hear you crone what I say to you one thing will I of you beg That I can have your red gold and the maiden in the bed lying.

Hear you crone what I say to you one thing will I of you beg That I can have your red gold 
 and the maiden in the bed lying.

13. Indeed you can my red gold have and the maiden in the bed lying If you will promise me by your troth here in the mountain to live.

Indeed you can my red gold have and the maiden in the bed lying If you will that promise me here in the mountain to live. 


14. That will I promise you by my troth here in the mountain to live If I knew your red gold with the maid in the bed lay.

Indeed you can by my honour have that I will in the mountain live If I knew your red gold and the maid in the bed lay.

138 tom pettitt The two versions share a triad of verbal repetitions linked to the three-part exchange comprising 1) his request (st. 12) ; 2) her acquiescence if certain conditions are fulfilled (st. 13), and 3) his acceptance (st. 14). This is interlaced with the balance between specifying and assenting to the promise to live in the mountain. There are some supplementary repetitions however, generally of less than a line, that differ between the two versions. So for example going from left to right, we lose (sts. 13 & 14) the repetition between the specifying of the promise and the agreeing to it as being « by my/your troth ». But in the same direction we gain the repeated reinforcing of statements by « Indeed you can » : in the version on the left this phrase is used for one of the statements, but not the other ; in the version on the right, in the usual way, the one line has contaminated the other.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

4. Concluding Comments As indicated at the outset this survey was designed to illustrate a viable avenue to an understanding of oral-memorial mediation in the earlymodern period rather than to achieve definite conclusions. The general similarities observed, despite differences in language and date, suggest that insights achieved in one area can be deployed in others, and, perhaps most importantly, that the better documented recent traditions indeed shed light on the earlier. Three types of verbal change have been observed in two or more of the instances examined. At the most detailed level are the relatively minor changes occurring in the formulation of individual lines, and while some are probably haphazard, it does seem possible to identify a process, probably subconscious, qualifying as systemic. This is the contamination of one line by the formulation of another to create a verbal repetition. It occurs whether or not there are radical changes at the stanzaic level. Other studies by the present writer, invoked earlier, suggest it is the process by which narrative songs in more literary or journalistic styles acquire the stylistic features we associate with the traditional ballad. 1 On the larger scale a striking phenomenon encountered in several instances is the achievement of significant change by the simple device of omitting stanzas or blocks of stanzas. This constructive subtraction achieves a version which is other and more than a simple arithmetic reduction or a mere fragment. 2 The impact and meaning of the retained stanzas change in the absence of those which have been subtracted.  

 

1

  See also Tom Pettitt, The Late Medieval Ballad, cit.   Lene Halskov Hansen, At se viserne for sig, cit., p. 83 ; Gerald Porter, Forgetting as

2

 

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 139 These two processes, verbal contamination and subtraction, can produce an effect which is aesthetically pleasing : a vernacular aesthetic which is legitimately compared to, because resulting from the same processes, as rural or historical timber-framed buildings. In both cases a necessary beauty is achieved not by (self-)conscious artistry, but by coping, consciously or otherwise, with natural forces, be it the strength of timbers of the processes of recollection from memory. There remains, thirdly, the undeniable evidence of quite substantial change between multiple versions from a single performer involving addition and substitution, as well as subtraction. It is clearly deliberate, and like stanzaic subtraction can probably be both deliberated on between performances and decided on spontaneously during performance. Improvisation-in-performance at several levels cannot be fully ruled out, at least for particularly skilled performers. These may be identical with the active tradition-bearers postulated long ago by Carl von Sydow, 1 but the evidence suggests rather that many singers commanded a range of interventionist techniques, the more radical of which they reserved for particular ballads (or parts of ballads), or particular situations. However achieved, such radical change is clearly an organic feature of oral-memorial mediation, as the versions resulting from it seem no less traditional than those from which they derive (and without external documentation is would be difficult to say which is which). We may ultimately be able to distinguish between different levels and intensities of otherwise very similar processes of change. Ballad singers do seem to be able to change track at a macro-level, inserting a large episode, or shifting to a different track, at relatively few, decisive moments. Other traditions may achieve variants by such track-shifting at intermediate moments within such episodes, and within the sub-episodes thus established at increasingly detailed levels, down to the individual verbal formula. In one of his earliest, game-changing studies, the founder of the ‘New Historicist’ approach to early-modern literature, Stephen Greenblatt, formulated his project as « a desire to speak with the dead ». 2 A mere  

 

 

 

 

in(ter)vention : memory and context in very short songs, in Mary-Ann Constantine, Gerald Porter, Fragments and Meaning in Traditional Song, Oxford, Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 2003, pp. 125-140. 1   Juha Pentikänen, Tradition-Bearer, in Folklore : An Encyclopedia of Beliefs, Customs, Tales, Music and Art, edited by Thomas A. Greene, Santa Barbara, abc-Clio, 1997, pp. 802-803. See also more specifically on ballads Eleanor R. Long, Ballad Singers, Ballad Makers and Ballad Etiology, « Western Folklore », xxxii, 1973, pp. 225-236. 2   Stephen Greenblatt, Shakespearean Negotiations : The Circulation of Social Energy in Renaissance England, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1988, p. 1.  

 

 

 

 

140 tom pettitt historical folklorist – more interested in form than meaning ; or aware than form can determine meaning – might venture the humbler hope of merely listening to the dead. With regard to their songs we are unlikely to come closer to that than the cumulative impact of such comparative analyses of multiple texts.  

6 "This is not the promise you made unto me,

3 "Now this is not the promise you made unto me,

4 "This is not the promise you made unto me,

4 He took her to his father's house, his lawful bride to be; They laid there all that long night, 'til daylight did a-repair.

"Knowing, kind sir, to get married to you, my age it is too young." "The younger you are more better you is, more fitner you are for me. As I might say in my own old day, That I married my wife a maid."

2 I asked her if she would take a walk down by the old riverside, and we would sit and we’ll talk a while, and I’ll make you my lawful bride.

3 "Knowing, kind sir, to get married to you, 3 my age it is too young." "For the younger you are more better you is, more fitner you are for me. As I could say in my old days, That I married my wife a maid."

2 I ask her if she would take a walk down by the old riverside, And there we would sit and talk a while, I’d make you my lawful wife.

she come placing by my side.

Sung by LEMMIE BRAZIL (sister of Harry) Rec: Peter Shepheard [66.9.1], at Walham Tump, Glos, 28.12.66

1. 4

1 As I strolled out one fine summers’ morn, down by a riverside; I met a pretty maid, who come tripping along, and she quickly took my eye.

5 The young man he rose and put on his clothes, and said "Fare you well my dear."

2 Now I asked her if she would take a walk down by the old riverside, And there we would stay and talk a while, making her my lawful bride.

and upon her I placed my eye.

1 As I strolled out one May morning, it was down by the old riverside; There I met a pretty young maid,

Sung by DANNY BRAZIL (brother of Harry) Rec: Gwilym Davies, Staverton, Glos, 13.4.95

1. 3

3 Now the young man rose and put on his clothes, saying, "Fare thee well my dear."

2 I asked her if she’d take a walk down by the old riverside, And there we may sit and talk a while, making her my lawful bride.

and on her I place my eye.

1 As I strolled out one May morning, it was down by the old riverside; there I met a fair young maid,

1 As I strolled out one May morning, down by the old riverside; Twas there I met a fair young maid,

Sung by DORIS DAVIES (daughter of Harry) Rec: Peter Shepheard [66.1.6], Eastington caravan site, 6.1.66

Sung by HARRY BRAZIL

Rec: Peter Shepheard [66.1.17] at the Over Bridge site, 6.1.66

1. 2

1. 1

ROUD 564: THE OLD RIVERSIDE. BRAZIL FAMILY VERSIONS MTCD345-7 THE BRAZIL FAMILY: DOWN BY THE OLD RIVERSIDE (2007)

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 141 Textual Appendix

6 Now I'll sail away to some other foreign part, where another girl will take my eye,

9 I'll sail away to some other foreign part, where another girl will take my eye, That I should say in my old days, 7 For fishes swims and swallows dive young men they don't prove true.

5 See how she swims, see how she goes, she goes floating with the tide, 'Tis the room of a maid to have a watery grave, for she had no right to have be my bride.

8 See how she swims, see how she flows, she goes floating with the tide, The room of a maid have a watery grave, she had right to have been my bride.

I married my wife a maid.

9 He catched hold

4 Now I catched hold of her lily-white hand, and I kissed both cheek to chin; He led her down by the old riverside, and I gently pushed her in.

7 He catched hold of her lily-white hand, and he kissed both cheek to chin; He took her down by the old riverside, and he gently pushed her in.

11 Now it’s I'll sail away to another foreign part, where some other girl will take my eye, And there’s nobody shall know the deed I've done, to the girl I left behind.

10 Oh there she goes, and away she flows, she floating down with the tide, In the room of laying in a watery grave, she had a right to have been my bride.

by her lily-white hand, and he kissed her both cheek and her chin; He took her down by the old riverside, and he gently pushed her in.

8 "Do you think I'd go home to my father’s house, to bring him trouble and disgrace? I would rather go by the old river side, and sleep in a lonesome place."

6 "You think I'd go home to my mother's house, to take her trouble and disgrace? I'd rather go and drown myself, for to sleep in some lonesome place."

down by the old riverside; You promised that you would marry me, and make me your lawful bride." 7 "For I promise to marry you, it was only to try your fill; You go home to your father’s house, and there you cry your fill; And tell them all what I've done to you, it was done by your own good will."

down by the old riverside; You promised that you would marry me, and make me your lawful bride."

5 "For to promise to marry such a girl like you, it’s not such a thing I would do; it’s you go home to your own dear mother's house, and there you cry your fill; And tell them all what I've done to you, it was done by your own good will."

down by the old riverside; You promised that you would marry me, and make me your lawful bride."

in another foreign part, and another girl will take my eye There’s nobody knows the deed I've done, to the girl I left behind.

6 I'll sail away

5 See how she swims, see how she floats, she’s gone floating with the tide, The room of a lain on a watery grave, she had a right to have been my bride.

of her lily-white hand, and he kissed both cheek and her chin; He took her down by the riverside, and he gently poked her in.

4 He took hold

142 tom pettitt

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 143 DGF 47: ‘ELVESKUD’: AS SUNG BY SIDSEL JENSDATTER recorded by Ewald Tang Kristensen in 1868, at an interval of a few days. STANZAIC SUMMARY first version second version 47Æ 47R Hr. Peder is out riding in the grove he meets an elfwoman “will you dance with me” “I cannot: my wedding is tomorrow” she stabs him with five poisoned knives he arrives home with both boots filled with blood “Son, why are your boots full of blood?” [“My horse stumbled and crushed me” (cf. Æ 17) “that is not true: an elfwoman has danced with you” “Father, take my horse; brother, fetch the priest” “Sister, make my bed; N. lead me to it”

1.1 1.2 2 3 4 5

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8] 9 6 10 7 (N = Mother) 11 (N = Sweetheart)

“Mother fetch my casket; I’ll distribute my gold” “My son, remember your siblings” “They have house and farm; my sweetheart eats alone” “They have field and meadow; my sweetheart sleeps alone” “My youngest brother: will you wed my sweetheart?” “Gladly, if it is not sinful” “I never went so far even as to kiss her” “I never expected to be betrothed to two brothers”

12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

“My son, what shall we tell your bride?” “speak kindly to her; she will come tonight” At the last stoke of the clock he dies As they laid him on the bier, the bride arrived; She enters the door; his mother is weeping “Sir Peder is out hunting in the rose grove” “are those animals more important than his bride?” “tell me the truth”: “he’s dead” “riding in the rose grove he met an elf” “his horse stumbled and crushed him” “he arrived home with his boots full of blood” “we took him down from his horse; his brother fetched the priest” “when the clock struck, ...” “Please let me see my betrothed”

8 9 10 11 12 13 cf. R 1 14 15 16 cf. R 2 17 cf. R8, reconstructed from this. 18 cf. Æ 5 / R 6 19.1 19.2 cf. R 10.2 20 cf . Æ 10 21

He died before cockcrow; his beloved died before dawn she died in his mother’s arms; his mother died three corpses leave house: Sir Peder; beloved; mother

22

22

23

20 21 22

144

tom pettitt CHILD 76: ‘THE LASS OF ROCH ROYAL’: MRS BROWN’S TWO VERSIONS Child D (1783)

Child E (1800)

1.

O wha will shoe my fu fair foot? And wha will glove my han? An wha will lace my middle gimp Wi the new made London ban?

1.

O wha will shoe my fu fair foot? And wha will glove my hand? And wha will lace my middle jimp Wi the new made London band?

2.

Or wha will kemb my yallow hair? Wi the new made silver kemb? Or wha’ll be father to my young bairn Till Love Gregor come hame?

2.

And wha will kaim my yellow hair Wi the new made silver kaim? And wha will father my young son Till Love Gregor come haim?

3.

Her father shoed her fu fair foot, Her mother glovd her han; Her sister lac’d her middle gimp Wi the new made London ban.

3.

Your father will shoe your fu fair foot Your mother will glove your hand, Your sister will lace your middle jimp Wi the new made London band.

4.

Her brother kemd her yallow hair Wi the new made silver kemb But the king o heaven maun father her bairn, Till Love Gregor come hame.

4.

Your brother will kaim your yellow hair Wi the new made silver kaim And the king of heaven will father your bairn Till Love Gregor come haim.

5.

O gin I had a bony ship, An men to sail wi me, It’s I would gang to my true-love Since he winna come to me.

5.

But I will get a bonny boat And I will sail the sea For I maun go to Love Gregor Since he canno come hame to me.

6.

Her father’s gien her a bonny ship, An sent he to the stran; She’s tane her young son in her arms An turnd her back to the lan.

6.

O she has gotten a bonny boat And sailld the sa’t sea fame She langd to see her ain true-love Since he could no come hame.

7.

O row your boat my mariners And bring me to the land For yonder I see my love’s castle Close by the sa’t sea strand.

8.

She has taen her young son in her arms And to the door she’s gone And lang she’s knocked and sair she ca’d But answer got she none.

7.

8.

She had na been o the sea saillin About a month or more Till landed has she her bonny ship Near her true love’s door.

The night was dark, an the win blew caul An her love was fast asleep An the bairn that was in her twa arms Fu sair began to weep.

23

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 145 9.

Long stood she at her true-love’s door, And lang tirld at the pin At length up gat his fa’se mither Say, Wha’s that woud be in?

9.

10. O it is Anny of Roch-royal Your love, come oer the sea, But an your young son in her arms So open the door to me.

O open the door, Love Gregor she says O open and let me in For the wind blaws thro my yellow hair And the rain draps oer my chin.

11. Awa, awa, you ill woman, You’ve na come here for gude You’re but a witch, or wile warlock Or mermaid o the flude.

10. Awa, awa, ye ill woman, You’re nae come here for good You’r but some witch or wile warlock Or mermaid of the flood.

12. I’m na a witch, or wild warlock, Nor mermaiden, said she I’m but Fair Anny o Roch-royal O open the door to me.

11. I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock, Nor mermaid of the sea, I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal O open the door to me.

13. O gin ye be Anny o Roch-royal As I trust not ye be, What taiken can ye gie that ever I kept your company?

12. Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal And I trust ye are not she Now tell me some of the love-tokens That past between you and me.

14. O dinna ye mind, Love Gregor, she says Whan we sat at the wine, How we changed the napkins frae our necks, It’s na sae lang sin syne?

13. O dinna you mind, Love Gregor When we sat at the wine

15. An yours was good, and good enough, But nae sae good as mine For yours was of the cumbruk clear But mine was silk sae fine. 16. An dinna ye mind, Love Gregor, she says, As we twa sat at dine How we changed the rings frae our fingers But ay the best was mine?

How we changed the rings frae our fingers And I can show thee thine.

17. For yours was good, an good enough, Yet nae sae good as mine; For yours was of the good red gold, But mine o the diamonds fine.

14. O yours was good, and good enneugh But ay the best was mine For yours was o the good red goud But mine o the diamonds fine.

18. Sae open the door now, Love Gregor An open it wi speed, Or your young son that is in my arms For cauld will soon be dead.

15. But open the door now, Love Gregor O open the door I pray For your young son that is in my arms Will be dead ere it be day.

19. Awa, awa, you ill woman, Gae frae my door for shame;

16. Awa, awa ye ill woman For here ye shanno win in

24

146

tom pettitt For I hae gotten another fair love, Sae ye may hye you hame.

Gae down ye in the raging sea Or hang on the gallows-pin.

20. O hae you gotten another fair love For a’ the oaths your sware? Then fair you well now, fa’se Gregor For me you’s never see mair. 21. O heely, heely gi’d she back As the day began to peep She set her foot on good ship-board An sair, sair did she weep. 22. Love Gregor started frae his sleep, An to his mither did say, I dreamd a dream this night, mither, That maks my heart right wae.

17. When the cock had crawn and day did dawn And the sun began to peep Then it raise him Love Gregor And sair, sair did he weep.

23. I dreamd that Anny of Roch-royal The flowr o a’ her kin Was standin mournin at my door But nane would lat her in.

18. O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear The thoughts o it gars me greet That fair Annie of Rough Royal Lay cauld dead at my feet.

24. O there was a woman stood at the door Wi a barn intill her arms But I would na lat her within the bowr For fear she had done you harm.

19. Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal That ye make a’ this din She stood a’ last night at this door But I trow she wan no in. 20. O wae betide ye, ill woman An ill dead may ye die That ye woudno open the door to her Nor yet woud waken me.

st. 25.3

st. 28.1-2

25. O quickly, quickly raise he up, An fast ran to the stran An there he saw her Fair Anny Was sailin frae the lan.

21. O he has gone down to yon shore-side As fast as he could fare He saw Fair Annie in her boat But the wind it tossd her sair.

26. An Heigh Anny! an Hou Anny! O Anny speak to me! But ay the louder that he cried Anny The louder roard the sea.

22. And Hey Annie! and How Annie! O Annie, winna ye bide? But ay the mair that he cried Annie The braider grew the tide.

27. An Heigh Anny! an Hou Anny! O Anny, winna you bide? But ay the langer that he cried Anny The higher roard the tide.

23. And Hey Annie! and How Annie! Dear Annie speak to me! But ay the louder he cried Annie The louder roard the sea.

28. The wind grew loud, an the sea grew rough An the ship was rent in twain, An soon he saw her Fair Anny Come floating oer the main.

24. The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough And dashed the boat on shore Fair Annie floats on the raging sea But her young son raise no more.

25

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 147 25. Love Gregor tare his yellow hair And made a heavy moan Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet But his bonny young son was gone

st. 18.4

29. He saw his young son in her arms Baith tossd aboon the tide He wrang his hands, than fast he ran An plung’d i the sea sae wide. 30. He catchd her by the yallow hair An drew her to the strand, Before he reached the land. 26. O cherry, cherry was her cheek And gowden was her hair But clay cold were her rosy lips Nae spark of life was there. An then he kissd her chin An sair he kissd her ruby lips But there was nae breath within.

And neist he’s kissed her chin And saftly pressd her rosey lips But there was nae breath within. 28. O wae betide my cruel mother And an ill dead may she die For she turnd my true-love frae my door When she came so far to me.

st.20.1-2

32. O he has mournd oer Fair Anny Till the sun was gaing down Then wi a sigh his heart it brast

SMB 218a: ‘HEMMING OCH BERGTROLLET’, AS SUNG BY INGIERD GUNNARSDOTTER IN 1670’S.

Aa Hemming hin Vnge kunde wähl vppå Skijderna löppa

Aa [trans. Tom Pettitt*] Young Hemming was good at running on skis

dän kallades Bagga Swen Först lärde han på Skijde löppa Sedan beeta Hiortar och Rehn.

he was called Bagga Lad First he taught him to run on skis then to hunt deer and reindeer.

2. Hemming åtte en Fästemö Och däth war mycket länge Gygeren stahl henne af kyrckan vth. vnder så stort it tränge.

2. Hemming was betrothed to a maiden and it was for a very long time The Trollwife stole her from the church when it was very crowded.

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tom pettitt

3. Däth lijder så fast åth wåhre tijdh at bönder sku plogen drifwa Hemming tappar sine Oxar bort och vndrar hwart dee skulle blifwa.

3. It was fast approaching the spring time when farmers must drive their ploughs Hemming can’t find his oxen and wonders where they might be.

4. Heming leeter skogh och skiuhl och i dhe trånge yde Finner han på den hwijta Biörn hans vngar låge och didde.

4. Hemming seeks in woods and crannies and in the narrow places He finds the white bear its young cub lay and suckled.

5. Hemming spände sin boge moth footh skiöth Biörnen i sin sijda Dätta skal intet giöra dig så godt som dine vngar didde.

5. Hemming bent his bow with his foot shot the bear in the side “This would not please you as much as to suckle your young cub”

6. Vp då reess den hwita Biörn och klapper honom medh sine loofwer Dätta ey heller dig så godt som du låge hoos din kierast och soffwe.

6. Up then rose the white bear and struck him with its paws ”This would not please you as much as to lie with your beloved and sleep”

7. Hemming leeter bettre fram vth widh den wilde Siöstrande Der finner han på den gambla Gumma som rörde medh Näsa i brande.

7. Hemming seeks further on out by the wild sea shore where he meets the old Woman stirring the driftwood with her nose.

8. Heming gick åth Berget blå

8. Hemming went to the Blue Mountain

fåer see dhe gnister ryka Däth är bettre här inne boo ähn gå vthe och frysa.

and sees the sparks smoking It is better to go inside than stay outside and freeze.

9. Hwadan ästu kakebarn mädan du kommer så seerla Antingen will tu Elden tigga eller herberg om qwälle

9. Where do you come from, cake-fed child since you come so late at night? Either you want to beg for fire, or shelter for the night.

10. Kalla migh intet kakebarn Jagh wil intet så heeta Hwem som migh kallar kakebarn skal ey eftter olyckan leeta.

10. Don’t call me a cake-fed boy I won’t be called that Whoever calls me a cake-fed boy shall not need to seek for misfortune

11. Dy Jagh är intet kakebarn fast digh ähn tyckes så Men Jagh är en kongesohn och mehner din dotter få.

11. For I am not a cake-fed boy although you think that’s so But I am a king’s son and intend to have your daughter

12. Höer du kiering hwad Jagh seyer tig en ting wil Jag af tig tigga Om Jag kan få dit röda Guld och Jungfrun i sängen ligger.

12. Listen you Crone what I say to you one thing I would beg of you Can I have your red gold and the maid who lies in the bed.

13. Fuller kan du mit röda guld få och Jungfruen i sängen ligger

13. Indeed you can have my red gold and the maid who lies in the bed

27

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 149 Om du wil lofwa migh på din troo här ihnj Berget at bygga.

if you will promise me on your troth here in the mountain to live

14. Däth wil Jagh låfwa tigh på min troo

14. That will I promise you on my troth

her ihnj Berget at bygga Om Jagh wiste dit röda Guld medh Jungfruen i sängen ligger.

here in the mountain to live If I knew your red gold lay with the maid in the bed.

15. Kieringen togh på sigh en ruggepelss hoon wille intet frysa Så lopp hoon heela landet om den Bröllopskosten at kiysa.

15. The Crone put on a rugged fur she didn’t want to freeze Then she ran through all the land To choose the wedding food

16. Då togh hemming sin Fästemö vth begynte til at springa Dånade hans wähna Wijff när Berget började skunga.

16. Then Hemming took his betrothed out and began to run His fair wife fainted when the mountain began to sing.

17. Hemming togh lijtet miäller snjö och stryker i hennes Enne Qwicknade hans wähna Wijff och heming loogh åth henne.

17. Hemming took a some soft snow and stroked her bottom his fair wife woke up and Hemming smiled at her.

18. Kieringen kom i berget ihn och lette i hwarje Wråer Borte war hennes röde Guld och Jungfrun i Sängen lågh.

18. The Crone came into the mountain and looked in every corner Gone was her red gold and the maid lying in the bed.

19. Kieringen fohr vhr berget blåå öfwer dee mörke Skoger hwart däth trä i marken stodh boygde sigh nedh til Jorde.

19. The Crone rushed out of the blue mount over the dark woods every tree standing in the field bowed itself to the ground

20. Däth war heming vnge kom moth den salte fiohl Effter kom denn gambla Gumma hennes tunga hengde ned til Jord.

20. It was Young Hemming came to the salt waves After came the old Crone her tongue hung down to the ground

21. Jnnan han kom till Långe broo der som korset stånder herre Gud tröste migh fager Vnger Swen och hielpe mig nu af wånde.

21. Before he got to Longbridge where the cross stands Lord God help me, a fair young man and save me now from harm.

22. När kieringen kom til Långebro och fick see korset stånda Så sprack hoon i stycken sönder och heming blef vthan wånde.

22. When the Crone came to Longbridge and saw of the cross standing there Then she split apart into pieces and Hemming was unscathed.

23. Höör du heming hwadh Jagh seyer tig en ting wil Jagh af tig tigga hielp migh nu i Berget igen at Jagh här icke må ligga.

23. Listen Hemming what I say to you one thing I would crave of you help me back into the mountain so I don’t have to lie here.

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tom pettitt 24. Hör du kiering hwadh Jagh seyer tig medh tine skietne Särker Du äst intet bettre werd ähn liggia til wägamarke.

24. Listen old woman what I say to you with your filthy shift You are unworthy of anything better than lying there as a milestone.

Ac.15. Och det war hemninger Vnge han löffte på sin hatt far nu wäll du gambla gumma haa stor tack.

Ac.15. And that was Young Hemming he raised his hat Farewell now you Old Crone thanks very much

* Thanks to Vibecke Pedersen for advice on the obscurer passages.

29

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 151 *

Situation Verbal Culture of late-medieval and early-modern Europe characterized by textual instability due to conditions obtaining before the opening of the Gutenberg Parenthesis (which suggests the topic may also be relevant for the post-print world) : – attitudes (to author ; to the status of the work) ; – technology of mediation – word as artefact : manuscript copying (& commercial printing) ; – word as as performance : ‘memoral’ transmission ; – resulting in multiple texts for most verbal products.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Research Context Controversy over (‘oral-formulaic’) improvisation-in-performance.

Significance E.g. for – late-medieval romances ; – early-modern ballads/folkeviser ; – Elizabethan stage-plays.  

 

Products surviving in multiple texts : what is their relationship / respective status (e.g. in relation to an original composition) ? Products surviving in single texts : how is this text likely to differ from others extant at the time ? how did it get the way it is ? was it a script for performances or is it a record of a performance ?  

 

 

 

 

 

Contribution To identify and understand the processes involved in memoral tradition.

Approach Analysis of (recordings of ) performances of narrative songs : re-mediation (impact of memoral tradition on an originaly written/printed text) ; multiple performances (by same singer or group of related singers).  

 

152

tom pettitt Materials

20th century England : The Brazil Family (‘The Old Riverside’) 1966/1995 performances by several (mainly illiterate) singers in Gypsy family ; availability of field recordings. 19th century Denmark : Sidsel Jensdatter (’Elveskud’) 1868 performance and context documented by Ewald Tang Kristensen. 18th century Scotland : Mrs. Brown of Falkland (‘The Lass of Roch Royal’) 1783/1800 earliest-available performance transcripts of English (Scots) balladry ; problems : singer’s documented literacy problematic status of texts. 17th century Sweden : Ingierd Gunnarsdotter (‘Hemming och Bergtrollet’) 1670’s three distinct performances recorded (one of several instances from this singer).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Observed Behaviour as between performances or phases within a given performance – relatively stable text with minor verbal variation : sporadic ; systemic : associated with generation of verbal repetitions. – Massive disjunctions encompassing strategic shifts in narrative.  

 

 

References The Gutenberg Parenthesis etc. Foley, John Miles, Navigating Pathways: Oral Tradition and the Internet, «Academic Intersections», 2 (Spring 2008). Oral Tradition and the Internet. Pathways of the Mind, Urbana, etc., University of Illinois Press, 2012, with associated website, The Pathways Project, at http:// www.pathwaysproject.org/pathways/show/HomePage. tp. Opening the Gutenberg Parenthesis : Media in Transition in Shakespeare’s England, Cambridge, Massachussetts Institute of Technology, 2007 (« Media in Transition », 5) http ://web.mit.edu/comm-forum/mit5/papers/Pettitt.Gutenberg% 20Parenthesis.Paper.pdf tp. Containment and Articulation : Media Technology, Cultural Production and the Perception of the Material World, Cambridge, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2009 (« Media in Transition », 6) http ://web.mit.edu/comm-forum/ mit6/papers/Pettitt.pdf.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

folkloristic approaches to early modern verbal culture 153 Medieval Narrative McGillivray, Murray. Memorization in the Transmission of the Middle English Romances, New York & London, Garland, 1990 (« Albert Bates Lord Studies in Oral Tradition », 5). Vitz, Evelyn Birge. Orality and Performance in Early French Romance, Cambridge, Brewer, 1999. Zaerr, Linda Marie. The Weddyng of Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell : Performance and intertextuality in Middle English popular romance, in Performing Medieval Narrative, edited by Evelyn Birge Vitz et al., Cambridge, D. S. Brewer, 2005, pp. 193-208.  

 

 

Ballads Andersen, Flemming G., & Thomas Pettitt. Mrs. Brown of Falkland : A Singer of Tales ?, « Journal of American Folklore », 92 (1979), pp. 1-24. Buchan, David. The Ballad and the Folk, London, Routledge, 1972. tp. The Ballad of Tradition : In Pursuit of a Vernacular Aesthetic, in Ballads into Books : The Legacies of Francis James Child, edited by Tom Cheesman & Sigrid Rieuwerts, Bern, Peter Lang, 1997, pp. 111-23. tp. From Journalism to Gypsy Folk Song : The Road to Orality of an English Ballad, « Oral Tradition », 23. 1 (2008), pp. 87-117, http ://journal.oraltradition.org./ files/articles/23i/07_23.1pettitt.pdf tp. Written Composition and (Mem)oral Decomposition : The Case of ‘The Suffolk Tragedy’, « Oral Tradition », 24/2 (2009), pp. 429-454. http ://journal.oraltradition.org./files/articles/24ii/10_24.2.pdf  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elizabethan Drama Petersen, Lene B. Shakespeare’s Errant Texts : Textual Form and Linguistic Style in Shakespearean ‘Bad’ Quartos and Co-Authored Plays. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2010. tp. The Living Text : The Play, the Players, and Folk Tradition, « Leeds Studies in English », ns. 32 (2001), pp. 413-429. tp. Marlowe’s Texts and Oral Transmission : Towards the Zielform, « Comparative Drama », 39 (2006 for 2005), pp. 213-242.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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UTOPIAN ENGLISH : TRANSMITTING AND ADAPTING THE TEXT OF UTOPIA IN EARLY MODERN ENGLAND  

Per Sivefors

A

sis well known, several of the early editions of Thomas More’s Utopia feature a map image of the fictitious island alongside a sample of the equally fictitious Utopian language and alphabet. Scholars have frequently observed that these additions, together with the various letters that adorn the early editions, give the work a sense of being a collaborative effort as much as a work by More himself. 1 In that sense, they can even be said to represent the self-projection of an entire community of humanists such as Erasmus, Guillaume Budé, Pieter Gillis and Jerome Busleyden. By contrast, the first English translation of Utopia, which was published in 1551 and then reprinted in various forms in 1556, 1597, 1624 and 1639, is a considerably less ambitious affair that never reprints the map or the language sample in full. As a matter of fact, the latter is dealt with by the various publishers in ways that entail not so much successful self-advertisement as failure, in the sense that the language sample, with its different and frequently inconsistent representations in the various editions, reflects either the failed ambitions of the translator, Ralph Robinson, or the sense of loss of past glories as experienced by the More family in the late 1500s. What is notable about this language sample is that it is absent in many of the editions and that this absence is dealt with in markedly different ways. Sometimes the missing language sample is the object of more or less credible excuses, and sometimes it is simply not there at all despite the frequent declarations by printers and publishers that their edition – unlike previous ones – is purged from mistakes. It  

1

  A comprehensive treatment of the prefatory material can be found in Thomas More’s Utopia in Early Modern Europe : Paratexts and Contexts, edited by Terence Cave, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2008, to which the present essay is indebted. See also Peter R. Allen, Utopia and European Humanism : The Function of the Prefatory Letters and Verses, « Studies in the Renaissance », 10, 1963, pp. 91-107 ; Warren W. Wooden, John N. Wall, Thomas More and the Painter’s Eye : Visual Perspective and Artistic Purpose in More’s Utopia, « Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies », 15, 1985, pp. 231-263.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

156 per sivefors is the strategies employed when dealing with these various absences and incarnations that, I will argue, elucidate on the status of the translators, publishers and printers as well as the subsequent reputation of More and his family. Thus, by focusing on the language sample and its various reincarnations in the Utopia translations, the present essay exemplifies the ways in which texts reflect the ambitions of the various people involved in writing, publishing and diffusing them, and how each different edition can be seen as a new field of collaborating and also competing ambitions. Hence, the language sample of the early English versions arguably reflects, in D. F. McKenzie’s succinct words, « the human motives and interactions which texts involve at every stage of their production, transmission, and consumption ». 1 This claim is of course true for all the early editions of Utopia, not least the original Latin ones, which were after all produced by an unusually broad international team of humanists and publishers. To understand the specific treatment of the language sample in the English translation, it is important to first consider the background of it in the Latin editions. In most of these editions, the sample of the Utopian language is placed facing the map of Utopia (Fig. 1). 2 In these early editions, the sample itself consists of a verse in the made-up language, a ‘translation’ of it into Latin and a representation of the Utopian alphabet. 3 The sample shows some indebtedness to Greek, which is consistent with the way in which the inhabitants’ language is described in Utopia itself : the Utopian race « was derived from the Greek because their language, which almost in all other respects resembles the Persian, retains some traces of Greek in the names of their cities and officials ». 4 The verse itself extols the virtues of Utopia as the ideal « philosophical city » (see Appendix 1). As for the ac 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   D. F. McKenzie, Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999, p. 15. 2   By « most editions » I understand the first one of 1516 and the two ones issued by Johann Froben’s press in Basel in 1518. In between these Thomas Lupset supervised the publication of another edition in Paris (1517), which does not include the map or language sample. 3   For specific treatments of the Utopian alphabet in the early editions, see J. Duncan M. Derrett, The Utopian Alphabet, « Moreana », 12, 1966, pp. 61-65 ; Stanley M. Burstein, The Source of the Utopian Alphabet : A Suggestion, « Notes and Queries », i, 56, 2009, pp. 26-27. 4   Thomas More, The Complete Works of St. Thomas More, iv, Utopia, edited and translated by Edward Surtz and J. H. Hexter, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1965, p. 181. It should be added that while some of the words and letters are close to Greek ones, the Persian influence is less obvious. Furthermore, the alphabet on top of the page is arranged according to the order of the Latin alphabet ; see Vibeke Roggen, A Protean Text : Utopia in Latin, 1516-1631, in Thomas More’s Utopia, cit., p. 21.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the text of utopia in early modern england

157

Fig. 1. Map and alphabet sample from the first edition of Utopia (1516).

tual author of it, it is not clear who was responsible, although one of the most significant collaborators in the publication, Pieter Gillis, mentions that he has « caused » the alphabet and verse to be added to the work. 1 In any case, the language sample can be said to add to the visual rhetoric of the work in conforming – largely – with the ambitions of the humanist circle around More. 2 The issue that concerns me in the present article is what happened when this same work was translated into English and published in England. The story of these events begins with an absence, because the language sample is in fact totally absent from the first English edition,  

 

 

 

1   Gillis says in his prefatory letter that « [t]here was only a poem of four lines in the Utopian vernacular which, after More’s departure, Hythlodaeus happened to show me. This verse, preceded by the Utopian alphabet, I have caused to be added to the book » (More, Works, cit., p. 23). 2   It is notable that the most prominent member of this circle, Erasmus, thought that the alphabet page could be removed despite the mentioning of it in Gillis’ letter : « The mention of the alphabets in Pieter Gillis’ preface need cause you no anxiety », he says in a letter to Beatus Rhenanus on the publication of the 1518 edition ; see Desiderius Erasmus, Collected Works of Erasmus, v, edited by Peter G. Bietenholz et al., Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 1979, p. 229. However, the language sample and the map were not only retained but recut in a much more lavish manner than in the original 1516 version.  

 

 

 

 

 

158 per sivefors though not from the next one. Thus, in 1551, some sixteen years after More’s death, Abraham Vele issued a translation of Utopia by Ralph Robinson, who dedicated his work to William Cecil, « one of the twoo principal secretaries to the kyng his moste excellent maiestie ». 1 As a printer, Vele was not a member of the Stationers’ Company and did not belong to the group of printers who had a privilege for certain kinds of products (such as law books or music sheets). His output was not restricted to books like Utopia, but to a variety of publications, including almanacs and tracts. 2 The Utopia translation itself is, unlike the Latin editions which were quartos, in the smaller, handier but also less physically impressive octavo format. The title-page announces that the book has been « written in Latine by Syr Thomas More knyght, and translated into Englyshe by Raphe Robynson Citizein and Goldsmythe of London, at the procurement, and earnest request of George Tadlowe Citezein & Haberdassher of the same Citie ». 3 Very few of the addenda from the original Latin text are included – there is no woodcut map of the island, the margin comments that feature prominently in the Latin text are gone, and, as already pointed out the verse in the Utopian tongue and the Utopian alphabet are also absent. It is of course a matter of speculation what the reason may be for this absence beyond simple printing costs. However, one notable contrast to the Latin original is that this stripped-down version is presented as being the work of men with distinctly merchant jobs – the translator Robinson is identified as a goldsmith and his prompter Tadlowe as a  

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Thomas More, A fruteful and pleasaunt worke of the best state of a publyque weale, and of the new yle called Vtopia, translated by Ralph Robinson, London, 1551, eebo stc 18094, sig. A2r. Cecil, who was a schoolfellow of Robinson’s, his possible employer and the recipient of two appeals for financial assistance from the apparently impoverished translator, was in fact the most common dedicatee of the Elizabethan era apart from the Queen. According to Nigel Wheale, the number of works dedicated to Cecil amounts to « nearly 100 » ; see Nigel Wheale, Writing and Society : Literacy, Print and Politics in Britain 1590-1660, London, Routledge, 1999, p. 63. 2   Cf. the records in the Stationers’ Register of Vele’s activity during the 1560s in A Transcript of the Registers of the Company of Stationers of London ; 1554-1640 a.d., i, edited by Edward Arber, New York, Peter Smith, 1950, pp. 233, 264, 355. I do not necessarily want to imply a purist hierarchy here between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ printers and relegate Vele to the latter category ; my point is rather that Vele’s output is typical of Elizabethan printers in its mixture of what we would regard as ‘high’ and ‘low’ stuff. One should for example remember that as late as 1687, Newton’s Principia Mathematica was printed by Joseph Streater, who was also reputed to be one of London’s leading producers of pornography ; see Adrian Johns, The Nature of the Book, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1999, p. 100. 3   More, A fruteful and pleasaunt worke, cit., sig. A1r.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

the text of utopia in early modern england 159 haberdasher. Arguably, the translation of a Latin work like the Utopia may have been attractive precisely to members of the merchant class, that is, people who were likely to have enough money to buy the original book but not enough Latin to read it. One should remember that the sixteenth century was the time when, in Lucien Febvre’s and HenriJean Martin’s formulation, « scholarly works increasingly came to interest a larger public, one which often had little knowledge of the learned languages, but which had fallen under the influence of the press and had slowly developed a taste for reading ». 1 But if Robinson is identified as a member of the group in society that may have wanted to buy and read the English Utopia, he also describes himself as being uneasy in his undertaking of the translation and as extremely reluctant to publish it. In the dedication to Cecil, Robinson even puts the blame for the publication of the work on his friend Tadlowe, who « ceassed not by al meanes possible continualy to assault me, vntil he had at ye laste, what by ye force of his pitthie argumentes & strong reasons, & what by hys authority so persuaded me, that he caused me to agree & consente to the impryntynge herof ». 2 Despite his clear identification as a merchant, Robinson seems to cultivate a kind of reluctance towards the print medium that has traditionally been associated with the aristocracy of the period. 3 At any rate, a lavishly produced volume, language sample and all, would seem inconsistent with the persona projected in the text – a persona that appears unwilling to engage with the process of publication at all. Hence, if Robinson resisted the idea of publishing his translation, then the absence in the text of the language sample fully reflects that resistance.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Lucien Febvre, Henri-Jean Martin, The Coming of the Book : The Impact of Printing 1450-1800, translated by David Gerard, London, Verso, 1976, p. 271. For more specific discussions of books and their buyers in early modern England, see for example David Cressy, Literacy and the Social Order : Reading and Writing in Tudor and Stuart England, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1980, especially pp. 48-52 ; H. S. Bennett, English Books and Readers, 1475 to 1557 : Being a Study in the History of the Book Trade from Caxton to the Incorporation of the Stationers’ Company, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1952, pp. 54-64. More general perspectives on early modern book ownership can be found in for example Roger Chartier, The Practical Impact of Writing, translated by Arthur Goldhammer, in A History of Private Life, iii, edited by Philippe Ariès, Cambridge, ma, Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1989, especially pp. 127-130, and Alberto Manguel, A History of Reading, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1997, pp. 137-138. 2   More, A fruteful and pleasaunt worke, cit., sig. A5r. 3   This idea of a universal aristocratic contempt for the print medium has been debated, however ; see Steven May’s strongly argued claim to the contrary in Steven May, Tudor Aristocrats and the Mythical Stigma of Print, « Renaissance Papers », 1980, pp. 11-18.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

160

per sivefors The Second Edition : Reinstating the Alphabet  

At this point it is relevant to consider the difference between the 1551 edition and the next, both in terms of Robinson’s changing self-presentation and the fact that the language sample is reinstated, if not exactly in the format that we find in the Latin editions. Let us first consider the circumstances of the publication of the 1556 Utopia. On its title-page this edition is announced as « written in Latine, by the right worthie and famous Syr Thomas More knyght, and translated into Englishe by Raphe Robynson, sometime fellowe of Corpus Christi College in Oxford, and now by him at this seconde edition newlie perused and corrected, and also with diuers notes in the margent augmented ». 1 Compared to the title-page of the previous edition, the change of social class is notable. No longer is Robinson introduced as a goldsmith, but as a fellow of Corpus Christi College – one of the main sites of English humanism in the sixteenth century 2 – and the book has been equipped with margin notes partly taken from the Latin original, as if the idea was to create a more ‘learned’ or respectable impression. 3 In a preface to the work, Robinson once again excuses himself for the first edition which, he insists, was not intended to be published : « Thou shalte vnderstande gentle reader that thoughe this worke of Vtopia in English, come now the seconde tyme furth in Print, yet was it neuer my minde nor intente, that it shoulde euer haue bene Imprinted at all ». The translation was instead done « at the request of a frende, for his owne priuate vse, vpon hope that he wolde haue kept it  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Thomas More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, of the beste state of a publique weale, and of the newe yle, called Vtopia, translated by Ralph Robinson, London, 1556, eebo stc 18095.5, sig. A1r. 2   One could argue that the association of Robinson with Corpus Christi served to identify him as a solid ‘classicist’ : of the three lectureships granted to the college at its foundation in 1517, two were in Latin and Greek. See Joan Simon, Education and Society in Tudor England, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1966, p. 83. 3   It should be added, however, that the marginal notes of this edition are not identical to those of the Latin original ; Robinson evidently added some while deleting others. As scholars have observed, these alterations may have been designed to comply with the then prevalent post-reformation religious climate in England. For example, in the passage on the Utopian clergy, the Latin original has a couple of derogatory parallels to contemporary priesthood (« But What a Mob There Is among Us ! », p. 229 ; « O Priests Far More Holy than Ours ! », p. 231) ; these comments are deleted in Robinson’s translation and replaced with a simple celebratory remark on the Utopian priests. For discussion, see especially Terence Cave, The English Translation : Thinking About the Commonwealth, in Thomas More’s Utopia in Early Modern Europe, cit., pp. 87-103, 96-97.  

 

 

   

   

 

 

 

 

the text of utopia in early modern england 161 1 secrete to hym self a lone ». In fact, Robinson even claims that the book was printed « partly against my wyll ». 2 Nevertheless, Robinson has now decided to put out a second, corrected version of his work, the quality of which he is more confident about : « I trust I haue now in this seconde edition taken about it such paines, yt verye fewe great faultes & notable errours are in it to be founde ». 3 Robinson the goldsmith has thus been corrected and updated by Robinson the Oxfordian, and the text has been embellished (« by him », as the title-page announces). In other words, the second English version of the Utopia appears to conform better with the Latin originals, both because the translation has been revised and more material included, but at the same time, it enables the Robinson to translate himself from London goldsmith to Oxford scholar, with no further help from Tadlowe the haberdasher (who is now reduced to the anonymous state of « a friend »). In addition, the dedication to Cecil has been removed. The reasons behind these changes are less than clear, though several suggestions have been made as to Robinson’s social climbing and its possible political significance in connection with Cecil. 4 It is perhaps in line with such mixed ambitions that the verse in the Utopian language is reintroduced in this edition. Such a decision – if Robinson himself was responsible for it – may indicate a willingness to engage in the kind of humanist game that features so prominently in the early Latin editions. However, unlike in those versions, the verse is not placed before but after the main text, so its impact and rhetorical significance seem considerably reduced. The verse is there, in any case, pre 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. A2r.   More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. A2v. 3   More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. A3v. 4   Thus, David Weil Baker seems to suggest that Cecil was no longer important to Robinson : « In 1556 Robinson eliminated the letter to Cecil (no longer a powerful figure during the Marian period) ». At the same time – and somewhat contradictorily – there is the suggestion that it was Cecil who may have been less than happy about Robinson’s dedicatory venture : « [i]n 1551 Utopia was perhaps the last text that Cecil would have wanted publicly dedicated to himself ». See David Weil Baker, Divulging Utopia : Radical Humanism in Sixteenth-Century England, Amherst, University of Massachusetts Press, 1999, p. 107. The latter idea conforms better with Baker’s argumentation for the English Utopia as a potentially dangerous work in the context of the Ket rebellion in 1549. Yet, in getting that point across, Baker perhaps exaggerates the social distance between Robinson and Cecil – he does for example not mention the fact that Robinson and Cecil were schoolfellows. Given this relationship, what is more plausible is that because the 1556 edition was published during the Marian regime, Robinson may have thought it wise to avoid mentioning the then politically undesirable Cecil – a point which is not incompatible with my suggestion that Robinson was attempting to climb socially. For further discussion of Robinson’s connection with Cecil, see Cave, op. cit., pp. 91-97. 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

162 per sivefors sented as follows : « A meter of.iiij.verses in the Vtopian tongue, briefely touchinge aswell the straunge beginning, as also the happie and wealthie continuance of the same common wealthe ». 1 Then comes the poem, reproduced from the Latin editions and followed by Robinson’s statement, « Which verses the translator, according to his knowledge, and meane vnderstanding in the Vtopian tongue, hath thus rudely englished ». 2 The Latin is in other words intentionally excluded – in his attempts at conforming to the Utopian fiction, Robinson presents his translation from the Latin original as being carried out straight from the Utopian language. It is as if Latin is no longer needed as an integral part of the humanist’s self-presentation. The suppressed real source language is however compromised by Robinson’s characteristic habit of expanding the Latin – the four-line poem even has eight lines in its English version (see Appendix 2). Scholars sometimes tend to see this tendency as a stylistic flaw, although it can also be considered – as does Terence Cave – as a practice fully in line with humanist ideals of copia. 3 If so, the translated poem bespeaks Robinson’s ambition to show himself as a proper humanist even in this short piece. In any case, the fake translation from the Utopian language here becomes a genuine translation from Latin, while still attempting to retain the relationship between suppositious source language and actual target language. Thus, by upholding the fiction of the Utopian tongue, Robinson’s version points to the original ‘translation’ as an actual rather than invented linguistic relationship. As for the representation of the Utopian alphabet, this is, again, wholly absent. In Gillis’ introductory letter to Busleyden, however, we find the claim – which I have quoted previously from other editions – that « [o]nely a meter of .iiij. verses written in the Vtopian tongue, whiche after master Mores departure Hythloday by chaunce shewed me, that haue I caused to be added thereto, wt the Alphabete of the same nation, and haue also garnished the margent of the boke with certen notes ». 4 As pointed out (p. 157, n. 2), a humanist like Erasmus did not think of this reference as a possible inconsistency, but in the 1556 edition it was obvi 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

  More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. S6v.   More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. S6v. 3   See for example Robert Adams’ introduction to his edition of More’s text : « To be sure, Robinson is so anxious to squeeze out every drop of More’s meaning, that he sometimes translates one word by two or four or more » ; see Thomas More, Utopia : A Revised Translation, Background, Criticism, edited and translated by Robert M. Adams, New York, Norton, 1992, 2, p. xii. For an emphatic rejection of the scholarly belittling of Robinson’s style, see Cave, op. cit., pp. 102-103. 4   More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. S5r. 2

 

 

 

 

 

the text of utopia in early modern england 163 ously perceived as such, for there is an explanation added at the end of the book. It is, ostensibly at least, the printer who excuses himself :  

The Vtopian Alphabete, good Reader, which in the aboue written Epistle is promised, herunto I haue not now adioyned, because I haue not as yet the true characters or fourmes of the Vtopiane letters. And no marueill : seying it is a tongue to vs much straunger then the Indian, the Persian, the Syrian, the Arabicke, the Egyptian, the Macedonian, the Sclauonian, the ciprian, the Scythian, &c. Which tongues though they be nothing so straunge among vs, as the Vtopian is, yet their characters we haue not. But I trust, God willing, at the next impression hereof, to perfourme that, which nowe I can not : that is to saye : to exhibite perfectly vnto thee, the Vtopian Alphabete. 1  

 

 

 

Of all the languages enumerated here, it is evidently the Utopian one that represents the most extreme form of ‘otherness’ – much more remote than Arabic, or Scythian, for example. Yet More himself claims, as previously shown in the context of the Latin editions, that the Utopian language « which in all other poyntes is not muche vnlyke the persian tonge, kepeth dyuers signes and tookens of the greke langage in the names of their cityes and of theire magystrates ». 2 In consistency with his claim, and as observed previously there are words in the Utopian language sample that evoke the relatively familiar Greek language. The ‘strangeness’ of the Utopian tongue becomes not only a fiction in line with the title of the work, but a convenient excuse for not implementing any elaborate examples of it into the text, though Vele the printer strives to uphold the ‘real’ nature of the language. It is none the less a peculiar feature of his apology that the Utopian alphabet is implied to be just that – utopian. 3 It is « at the next impression », the even more perfect one, that the alphabet will be presented. In this respect, the first editions of Robinson’s translation can be said to represent both the translator’s and publisher’s increasingly high ambitions, but also the extent to which the realization of such ambitions is indefinitely postponed.  

 

 

 

 

 

The Later Editions : The Iconization of Thomas More  

The later re-issues of Robinson’s translation are far from realizing the ambitions reflected in the editions of the 1550s. Instead, they reveal a 1

  More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. S8r.   More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. M8v. 3   One should perhaps point out here that the first oed record of the word ‘utopian’ in the sense of « involving, based or founded on, imaginary or chimerical perfection ; impossibly ideal, visionary » is from 1623 (Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy). 2

 

 

 

164 per sivefors different cultural and political climate in which More himself has become an icon belonging to the past and Utopia a text upon which the nostalgic yearning for such a past could be inscribed. The next edition, printed by Thomas Creede in 1597, has a conventional statement on the title-page : « And now this third Edition, newly corrected and amended ». 1 The text seems basically derived from the 1556 edition, since it for example includes the marginal comments. However, an important difference is that there is no contemporary material – all the prefaces and dedications added by Robinson are removed. Thus, while the verse in the Utopian language is included (but not the representation of the alphabet), there is no apologizing note from the printer. 2 Although the work claims to be ‘corrected’, the inconsistency of Gillis’ still-included statement on the alphabet is no more considered important enough to require amendment. 3 Nor, in fact, do we find the humanist game of the early Latin editions and, to some extent, in the 1556 version. It is as if Utopia is no longer a slate on which contemporary concerns and humanist ambitions can be inscribed – unsurprising perhaps considering More’s own status as a Catholic saint. At the same time, Utopia itself was clearly uncontroversial enough to be reprinted. But apart from Creede’s ambition to make some profit on the work, there is little in the volume that suggests the social and political dynamic of the previous editions. A more definitive sense of Utopia as a thing of the past can be found in the next edition of Robinson’s translation, printed another twenty-seven years later (1624) by Creede’s successor and former business partner Bernard Alsop and boasting the announcement « And now after many Impressions, newly Corrected and purged of all Errors hapned in the former Editions ». 4 As in the previous edition, the Utopian verse is included, though again the Utopian alphabet is missing while Gillis’ letter  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Thomas More, A Most pleasant, fruitfull, and wittie worke, of the best state of a publique weale, and of the new Yle called Vtopia, London, 1597, eebo stc 18096, sig. A1r. 2   The verse is found towards the end of the text (sig. T4r). 3   The passage in Gillis’ letter reads : « Onely a meeter of foure verses written in the Vtopian tongue, which after maister Moores departure, Hythloday by chance shewed me : that haue I caused to be added thereto, with the Alphabet of the same nation, & haue also garnished the margeant of the booke with certain notes ». See More, A Most pleasant, fruitfull, and wittie worke, cit., sig. T3r. 4   Thomas More, Sir Thomas Moore’s Vtopia : Containing, An excellent, learned, wittie, and pleasant Discourse of the best state of a Publike Weale, as it is found in the Gouernment of the new Ile called Vtopia, London, 1624, eebo stc 18097, sig. A1r. Alsop evidently replaced Creede as a master printer in 1620, after which he was active until 1640 ; see A Transcript, cit., iii, p. 703.  

 

 

 

 

 

the text of utopia in early modern england 165 is left as it is ; there are no further attempts at acknowledging or amending the inconsistency. 1 However, unlike Creede’s edition Alsop’s has a contemporary dedication, this time to More’s great-grandson, Cresacre More, who was the author of a biography on his ancestor. Alsop’s dedication has an almost mournful tone that seems a far cry from the playfulness of the early editions :  

 

 

Howsoeuer (in these wretched daies) the Dedication of Bookes is growne into a wretched respect ; Because the Inducements looke a wrie, sometimes from vertue, pointing at ostentation (which is grosse,) or at flatterie (which is more base,) or else at gaine, which is the most sordid of all other ; yet (worthy Sir) I beseech you be pleased to conceiue of this present. 2  

 

 

The dedication presents Utopia very much as an example of past glories, the « excellencie » of the work being « yet vnparaleld in that nature », only surpassed by its author, « whose remembrance is a myrror to all succeeding Nobilitie ». 3 Despite the publisher’s anxiety to exalt Cresacre More in the present, there is an ambivalence to the flattery, because it seems to be based as much upon the lustre of the family name as on the dedicatee’s virtue : « as this Booke is eternall for the vertue, and shall liue whilest any Booke hath being : so your name and goodnesse may continue amongst vs, euer flourishing and vnwithered ». 4 In other words, both Cresacre More and Alsop’s edition have become monuments to the glory of the More family, particularly More himself. 5 However, the analogy between Utopia and the name of More seems, despite Alsop’s wellwish for the future, to draw attention to the past of the family rather  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  The relevant passage in Gillis’ letter reads : « Only a meter of foure verses written in the Vtopian tongue, which after master Moores departure, Hythloday by chance shewed me : that I haue caused to be added therto, with the Alphabet of the same nation, and haue also garnished the margeant of the booke with certaine notes » (More, Sir Thomas Moore’s Vtopia, cit., sig. T2v). 2   More, Sir Thomas Moore’s Vtopia, cit., sig. A2r. 3   More, Sir Thomas Moore’s Vtopia, cit., sig. A2r. 4   More, Sir Thomas Moore’s Vtopia, cit., sig. A2v. 5   It seems that the celebration of More is also amplified by visual means : the eebo copy of Alsop’s edition includes a commemorative portrait of More himself inserted as frontispiece. The portrait features a Latin verse celebrating the memory of More and is clearly based on an engraving by the Flemish artist Hieronymus Wierix ; see for example the digital reproduction of Wierix’ portrait at the Collections of Göttweig Abbey : http ://www.gssg.at/gssg/displayDocument.do ;jsessionid=0FC1282BF30C6D6108E111491 B537283 ?objId=Eg_012 ; accessed 20 October, 2010. The image of More is not found in the other copies of the 1624 Utopia that I have examined (British Library shelfmark 523.g.26 ; Gothenburg University Library).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

166 per sivefors than to its current significance. Historically, the More name and family were indeed ‘withered’ by the time Alsop reprinted Utopia – Cresacre More’s biography, one amongst several at the time, was, as Clark Hulse writes, « the work of a community which knew that its exile or suppression was permanent ». 1 In his discussion of the emerging cult of Thomas More during the sixteenth century, Hulse understands the biographies of More as a part of that process. The biographies, circulated in manuscript, could even be said to act, in Hulse’s words, as « substitute relics » whose worship of More as a Catholic martyr formed an alternative to the official history of More propagated by the Protestant English government. Consequently, the attempt at hagiographic reinstatement in the dedication only serves to emphasize the lack of influence that Utopia had during the early seventeenth century, since Alsop’s tribute to the More family is so consistently structured around a rhetoric of loss. From such a perspective, Alsop’s edition can be said to perform the function of a relic that centres on More’s presence in the text as well as the necessity of acknowledging the sacred nature of that presence. It is perhaps in consistency with this tendency that the final edition of Robinson’s translation (1639) excludes all the prefatory material to Utopia and only retains the two books of narrative prose plus a short preface by Alsop that once again extols the virtues of Cresacre More and his name. 2 The alphabet and language sample are no longer present even as inconsistencies. The humanist ambitions expressed in the previous editions have now been finally dismissed and relegated to the status of insignificant and therefore expendable paraphernalia. By contrast, Thomas More and his greatness have been transformed into a textual monument that is stripped of the traces of collective aspiration that once surrounded it – indeed constituted an integral part of it. In fact, what we get now is, literally, a monument : a frontispiece image depicting More himself between representations of ‘Prudentia’ and ‘Eloquentia’ (Fig. 2). 3 More is at the centre of the top half, and the shape of his image  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Clarke Hulse, Dead Man’s Treasure : The Cult of Thomas More, in The Production of English Renaissance Culture, edited by David Lee Miller, Sharon O’Dair, Harold Weber, Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1994, p. 217. 2   Alsop claims that it is Cresacre More’s « name, and nature » that deserve to be honoured, as if again acknowledging the precedence of the family over the individual. See The common-vvealth of Vtopia containing a learned and pleasant discourse of the best state of a publike weale, as it is found in the government of the new ile called Vtopia, London, 1639, eebo stc 18098, sig. A2v. 3   This image is not present in the eebo copy, though it is so in e.g. the British Library one (shelfmark 8005.a.29).  

 

 

the text of utopia in early modern england

Fig. 2. Frontispiece from 1639 edition of Utopia.

167

168 per sivefors is mirrored in the shape of the shield carrying the title of the work, as if suggesting that the text is a representation or almost an embodiment of More himself. Any joint efforts or ambitions inherent in the production of the image – which, according to the bases of the columns, « W. Marshall sculpsit » – are now subsumed to the purpose of celebrating More and his text. The image then suggests that the English editions of Utopia successively came to focus on More himself and serve more clearly as representations of the author’s putative greatness. Like the 1624 edition, this last one can be said – pace Hulse – to constitute a substitute relic, though even more consistently so, since it lacks the prefatory material and hence focuses to an even larger extent on More himself. Thus ends in fact the early modern story of Robinson’s translation. The next English Utopia, in Gilbert Burnet’s translation, was not published until 1684, although Robinson’s version was in fact to be re-issued several times from the nineteenth century and onwards. 1 Hence, from aspiring humanist translator to the memory of humanist greatness, the history of the first century of the English Utopia closes not with a sense of accomplishment, but with an ambiguous sense of yearning for the past, despite recurrent claims to textual accuracy. Poised between the promise of future textual perfection and the nostalgia for past humanist achievements, the translation finally seems to be positioned – and indeed, just like its subject – as a work ‘outside’ its time, a book that cannot be published without apologizing references to past or future. In a similar manner, the Utopian language seems to be forever though tacitly confirmed as impossible, as a rhetorically efficient model of perfection that is all the same excluded – except as a temporary promise.  

 

 

1

  For discussion of Burnet’s translation, see Baker, op. cit., pp. 164–173. Robinson’s translation has frequently been reprinted over the last century, in for example the Oxford World’s Classics edition from 1999 (Three Early Modern Utopias : Utopia, New Atlantis and The Isle of Pines, edited by Susan Bruce, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1999, pp. 1-129).  

the text of utopia in early modern england

169

Appendix 1 Translation of the Utopian verse :  

Utopus, my ruler, converted me, formerly not an island, into an island. Alone of all lands, without the aid of abstract philosophy, I have represented for mortals the philosophical city. Ungrudgingly do I share my benefits with others ; undemurringly do I adopt whatever is better from others. After More, The Complete Works of St. Thomas More, iv, Utopia, cit., p. 19.  

Appendix 2 Ralph Robinson’s translation of the Utopian verse :  

My kinge and conquerour Vtopus by name A prince of much renowne & immortal fame Hath made me an yle that earst no ylande was, Ful fraight wt worldly welth wt pleasure & solas. I one of all other without philosophie Haue shaped for man a philosophicall citie. As myne I am nothinge daungerous to imparte, So better to receaue I am readie wt al my harte. After More, A frutefull pleasaunt, & wittie worke, cit., sig. S6v.

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POETICS, STYLOMETRICS AND ATTRIBUTION STUDIES : PERIODICITY IN MARLOWE  

Roy Eriksen

T

his article argues that stylistic analysis, or stylometrics, when foc­ used on the frequency and distribution of inscripted textual features based on specific aesthetic templates, may provide a firm basis for attributing and dating Early Modern drama texts. 1 Moreover, the study of formal style in scripted literary language, expressive of specific poetic strategies recognized and recommended by the literary community in question, such as that of Early Modern England, may serve as a critical tool to establish function and meaning. In this respect the line of analysis here chosen differs from the kind of stylometric analyses that focus on vocabulary frequency, e.g, of invariables, particular spelling habits, special syntactic constructions, or unconscious linguistic features detectable only by means of increasingly popular application of computer-aided me­thods, etc. 2 The present analysis differs in being rooted in intended stylistic feat­ures described and, indeed, recommended in treatises of rhetoric and poetics from Antiquity to the Early Modern period and beyond. The method is therefore contextual while being embedded in verifiable poetic practices. The stylistic and textual phenomenon investigated is ‘periodicity’ in its formal and aesthetic contexts, and the object of investigation here chosen is a highly disputed text in Early Modern scholarship, Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, published in two ma 

 

1

  Stylometrics is a debated field of investigation, employing writer variant and writer invariant. See three approaches to Shakespeare in this field : Jonathan Hope, The Authorship of Shakespeare’s Plays. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1994 ; Michael Egan, The First Part of the Tragedy of King Richard the Second : A Newly Authenticated Play by William Shakespeare, with an introduction, notes and critical commentary, London, Edwin Mellen Press, 2006, and Hugh Craig and Arthur F. Kinney, Shakespeare, Computers and the Mystery of Authorship, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2009; Aristotele, Poetics, trans. Ingram Bywater, in Introduction to Aristotele, ed. Richard McKeon, New Yrok, 1947. 2   Following the lead of John Burrows’s pioneering work in computational stylistics, Craig and Kinney have together with a team of scholars recently undertaken a series of investigations of Shakespearean authorship of eight Renaissance plays, among them Henry VI, Parts 1 and 2.  

 

 

172 roy eriksen jor versions well after the dramatist’s death, one published in 1604, the so-called A text, and a second one published in 1616, the so-called B-text. 1 Both are, to a varying degree and according to critical opinion, versions of a play that was acted on the London stage prior to 1590, when Shakespeare saw and later echoed it in the final scene of King John. Marlowe’s play, then, was probably composed between late 1587 and 1589, 1588 being a reasonable estimate. This probable date places it very close to the composition of Tamburlaine, Parts One and Two. I wish especially to focus on the three central sequences in these variant texts whose authorship and dating have been hotly disputed. These are sequences that partly overlap or partly share materials, in the corresponding parts of the A and B texts. These texts of partly shared materials therefore lend themselves to an investigation that does not depend on taste and fineness of ear, but on measurable and verifiable formal features, which again are historically based in both theory and practice. To decide where continuous narrative breaks into manageable and correlationable units, is a vexed problem in the analysis of narrative. How can we delimit the constituents of a text to establish a stable unit for the purpose of analysing style ? Paul Werth seems to deny this possibility as an objective or interpersonally neutral process, when he claims that sentences are identified as such, that is, as existing within definite boundaries, solely for the purpose of writing and analysis. Referring to Gerald Gazdar’s technical definition of an utterance as « a sentencecontext pair », 2 Werth writes that « a text, like a sentence, is somewhat of an abstraction which is made for the purpose of analysis. What it is abstracted from is its context ». 3 He also argues that  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the sentence, that traditional unit of grammar which is at the centre of mainstream linguistic and logic study, but whose raison d’ être is hardly ever considered, ... is the direct result of a need to segmentalise speech for the purpose of writing. 4  

However, sentences do not exist for the purpose of writing in the first place, because their primary function beyond any doubt is to communicate, whether directly or indirectly. That communication in a literary 1

  For the characteristics of the early editions of the two main variants, I refer to W. W. Greg, Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, 1604-1616. Parallel Texts, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1950 and Christopher Marlowe : Doctor Faustus. A- and B texts (1604, 1616) eds. David Bevington and Eric Rasmussen, The Revels Plays, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 1993. 2   Gerald Gazdar, Pragmatics : Implicature, Presupposition, and Logical Form. New York, Academic Press, 1979. 3   Paul Werth, Text worlds : Representing Conceptual Space in Discourse, London, Long4   Werth, Text worlds, cit., p. 2. man, 1999, p. 1.  

 

 

periodicity in marlowe 173 context also possesses and assumes aesthetic functions or contains intended aesthetic functions, dependent on the length, structure and shape of the text, a fact underscored by Aristotle in the Poetics and The Art of Rhetoric. Moreover, the difficulty of deciding when a textual segment has reached its ‘end’ so that it can be used convincingly in the structural analysis and interpretation of a text, does not exist to the same extent in dramatic dialogue, where the give and take of the process of dialogue segments the text naturally into units, or utterances, when speakers take turns in the process of communication. However, if we consider the segmentation from the poet’s point of view, and particularly that of a dramatic poet, the problem of communicating a message is reduced to the simple questions of disposition and elocution, whereas the task of the reader is to perceive, correlate, and interpret the visible signs on the page, by tracing their order and combination. 1 Sperone Speroni’s thoughtful observation on « il sito delle parole » [the (col)location of the words] may here serve as a guideline. 2 As critics we are readers looking for the formal intention embedded into the flow of the text in order to process the offered information, and Marlowe provides a clue to where we should look to find our bearings when he draws attention to the period, or rather to periodicity, as a shaping force and template in Early Modern texts. In Tamburlaine, Part One he writes revealingly about the difficulty of capturing the full meaning of the scripted products of the poets, when they write on their « admired themes » :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is beauty, saith my sufferings, then ? If all the pens that poets ever held, Had fed the feeling of their masters’ thoughts, And every sweetness that inspir’d their hearts, Their minds, and muses on admired themes If all the heavenly quintessence they still From their immortal flowers of poesy, Wherein, as in a mirror, we perceive The highest reaches of a human wit ; If these had made one poem’s period, And all combin’d in beauty’s worthiness. Yet should there hover in their restless heads  

 

1

  The same is true in various ways of the actor that delivers the speech and the spectator who watches and listens to the speeh being performed. 2   See for instance Remigio Sabbadini, Il Metodo degli Umanisti, Florence, 1886 ; rpt. 1920, pp. 10ff.  

174

roy eriksen One thought, one grace, one wonder, at the least, Which into words no virtue can digest. (V, ii, 102-110 ; my italics)  

As is plain to see, Marlowe here adopts the Greek rhetorical term for a complete and well-balanced sentence (« one poem’s period ») to express the poets’ most accomplished creation, the one capable of containing « heavenly quintessence » and expressing « the highest reaches of human wit », and reminding us that « periodos » is the Greek technical term for the orbit of a planet. The metaphor of the period or orbit therefore is a reference both to an ideal superstructure, existing in the heavens, and a reference to an abstract Euclidean space. Commenting on the « necessary balance of opposites » 1 in Renaissance art, James Mirollo notes its almost universal application :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In literature it ranges from antithesis within a single line of poetry to the alignment of phrases and clauses in a Ciceronian period and from the employment of contrastive plots and ideas in individual plays and poems to the pairing of separate works espousing different concept. (p. 21)

This focus is recorded in the title of treatises like Joannis Sturmii tractatus de Periodis unus, which continues a tradition initiated by the highly influential humanist teacher and writer Gasparino Barzizza, who wrote his De Compositione, prima elocutionis parte (c. 1420). 2 Marlowe’s phrase « one poem’s period » also recalls the term « carmen periodicum » – a periodic poem – used by the venerable humanist Julius Caesar Scaliger. 3 As outlined by George A. Kennedy the doctrine of the period and its origins was Peripatetic, originating in Aristotle’s The Art of Rhetoric, and continued by Theophrastus and Demetrius among others. 4 As early as 1852 Ernst Curtius and L. Lange affirmed that subordination arises from coordination, and all clauses were originally main causes. In line with this principle, and in the light of the psychological resolu 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Michael Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators : Humanist Observer of Painting in Italy and the Discovery of Pictorial Composition, 1350-1450, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1971, p. 21. 2   Cf. Gasparini Barzizzii Bergomatis et Guiniforti Filii Opera, ed. G. A. Furietti, 2 vols., pp. 10ff., R. G. G. Mercer, The Teaching of Gasparino Barzizza With Special Reference to his Place in Paduan Humanism, London, mhra, 1979, and Aldo Scaglione, The Classical Theory of Composition From Its Origins to the Present. A Historical Survey, Chapel Hill, The University of South Carolina Press, p. 134, n19. 3   Julius Caesar Scaliger, Poetices, Lugduni [Lyon], 1560, Liber 4, p. 197, column 2. 4   George A. Kennedy, The Art of Persuasion in Greece, Princeton, University of Princeton Press, 1963, pp. 29-36.  

periodicity in marlowe 175 tion of many a thorny question traditionally afflicting the philosophy of language (a solution inaugurated by H. Steinthal, Grammatik, Logik, Psychologie (1855), we could tentatively adopt the view that periodic style is essentially a literary, intellectual artifact superimposed on the popular syntax, which is naturally unperiodic, grosso modo ‘style coupé.’ 1 But it is no doubt superimposed on discourse also as part of a strategy to communicate more effectively. Aldo Scaglione defines the period « as an organic, membrated whole, to wit a semantic and syntactic sequence in which the constituents are differentiated yet organised according to their unified functions toward a common end ». 2 Scaglione’s definition echoes that of Aristotle in the Rhetoric, where the latter defines it as « a portion of speech that has in itself a beginning and an end and a magnitude which can be easily grasped ». 3 The stipulation that it should not be too extensive to be surveyed at a glance shows that the concept of the period is spatial as well as visual in that it prompts an image « of paths traversed in an orb or circle » on a well-defined plot of land, such as a stadium. 4 The very use of the word ‘period’ implies that there has been a beginning at one point and there will be an ending at another, and that we are as listeners or readers hastening toward a definite goal as runners do after leaving the starting place. When we consider that periodos in Greek also signifies a journey that returns to the point of departure, we see the aptness of the metaphor of the race in a stadium. Thus the first-century Graeco-Roman writer Demetrius compares the constituents in an example of the periodic style to the stones that support and hold up a vaulted dome, which of course is an architectural form built in imitation of the heavenly vault. We note that Demetrius here expands the metaphor of movement within a firmly delimited space to comprise an edifice erected in the same space. The alignment between words in a well-made period and the stones in a well-built vault not only draws our attention to the use of an architectural metaphor in the description of textual structures, it also focuses our attention on the importance of judiciously and ‘dextrously arranged’ words within such well-defined forms. This metaphorical dimension of the period partly explains the essential role of periodocity in Renaissance aesthetics and poetics.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Scaglione, The Classical Theory of Composition, cit., p. 6.   Scaglione, The Classical Theory of Composition, cit., p. 29. 3   The Art of Rhetoric, II.ix.9. 4   The Theory of Composition, p. 30. 2

176 roy eriksen However, Aristotle’s discussion of periodicity in the Rhetoric has been generally misunderstood, his concept of the period is « the basic structural device of the earlier prose of Antiphon and Gorgias, antithesis and parallelism with a two-fold division ». 1 Its « main formal characteristics are iteration within fixed limits and division according to the principle of antithesis ». 2 The unity of the period is firmly based on unity of thought, or dianoia, regardless of the number of parts or members it may consist of, rarely more than five. A complete multi-membered period may contain a number of verbal schemes to create cohesion and enhance its unity of thought or theme. In addition to describing unifying metrical or rhythmical patterns that may mark the beginning and end of a period, Aristotle singles out three types of rhetorical repetition that perform this role : antitheton (antithesis), parisosis (equality of clauses), and paromoisis (« similarity of final syllables … at the beginning and end of the clauses »). 3 Paromoisis may also comprise the repetition of entire words in these positions. For the sake of clarity Aristotle provides a survey of schemes together with concrete examples in Book Three in his discussion of the structural properties the period shares with other verbal creations. 4 This allows us to identify the three basic verbal figures of the period as epanalepsis, epanados, and antimetabole (chiasmus), which significantly are also the basic structural properties of Biblical style, 5 a compositional style all students of theology would have been familiar with. Marlowe’s contemporary, Abraham Fraunce, and author of The Arcadian Rhetorike (1588), explains epanalepsis as « the same sound … iterated in the beginning and ending », and epanados as « regression or turning to the same sound, when one and the same sound is repeated in the beginning and the middle, or middle and end ». 6 Antimetabole (or chiasmus) simply means the inverted repetition of two words. To sum up : 1) epanalepsis (/a ... a/) 2) epanalepsis with antimetabole /chiasmus (/ab ... ba/) ; and 3) epanados with antimetabole and /or epanalepsis (/ab ... a ... ba/)  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

2   Kennedy, op. cit., p. 110.   Eriksen, op. cit., p. 208. 4   The Art of Rhetoric, III.iii.9.   The Art of Rhetoric, III.iii.6 (pp. 388 ; 390). 5   David R. Howlett discusses and illustrates the three primary patterns of iteration in Biblical style : « the first and basic pattern is parallelism, the second but still basic pattern … is chiasmus, a statement followed by a restatement in reverse order », and « the third pattern combines parallelism and chiasmus » (British Books in Biblical Style, Dublin, Four Courts Press, 1997, pp. 3-5). 6   Abraham Fraunce, The Arcadian Rhetorike, London, 1588, i.22, sig. D3verso. 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

periodicity in marlowe

177

Number 3, a combination of the three types of verbal repetition, forms a miniature version of recessed symmetry with central emphasis, that is, a structure that is characterised by verbal links between the beginning, middle, and end of the scripted text. 1 We recognise in this template the structure for the unity of plot in tragedy as defined by Aristotle in the Poetics, a parallel that was not lost on Renaissance writers on poetics, who explain plot unity precisely with reference to Aristotle on the form of the period in the Rhetoric :  

 

Aristotilis libro Rhetoricorum tertio, vbi loquitur de periodo in oratione, habet quiddam, quod simillium est his verbis, quibus vtitvr nunc in declarando, … 2 Aristotle has something that is very smilar to the words that are used here, in the third book of his Rhetoric, where he mentions the use of it in speech, … ; (author’s translation)  

 

In a time in which rhetoric was omnipresent in writing and the arts, being the shared technical language, periodicity is, I would argue, bafflingly understudied as a basis for analysis and interpretation of Renaissance artifacts whether visual or scripted. 3 The use of rhetorical repetitions in the dramatic poetry of Marlowe’s play is not primarily an indication of a will to find an aesthetically pleasing form, but should be seen as an expressions of a wish to communicate and persuade, while pleasing. Repetitions are not « manipulations of language per se », but « modes of expression of feeling in language ». 4 Aristotle stated it rather bluntly : « style expresses emotion ». 5 Drama is primarily about passion and conflicts of interest, Doctor Faustus constituting no exception. On this occasion, however, I wish to focus not on how rhetoric may express emotion, but to argue that the formal characteristics of the period, as here defined, can be applied to the speeches shared by the two main editions of the play, in order to establish which  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

 

  See Alastair Fowler, Triumphal Forms. Structural Patterns in Elizabethan Poetry, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1970, pp. 91-124. Fowler’s pioneering study of recessed symmetry is essential to the understanding of the importance of rhetorical patterning in Elizabethan poetics. 2   Francesco Robortello, In librum Aristotelis De arte poetica explicationes, Florentiae, 1548. 3   Michael Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators : Humanist Observer of Painting in Italy and the Discovery of Pictorial Composition, 1350-1450, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1971, passim. 4   Gerard F. Else, Aristotle’s Poetics : The Argument, New York, 1957, p. 490. 5   The Art of Rhetoric, III.vii.  

 

178 roy eriksen of the two, if any, bear the marks of Marlowe’s mode of composition at speech level. A few examples drawn from the Marlowe canon will first be used to illustrate how repetitions are deployed by the dramatist to turn speeches into ‘extended’ periods, what the theoretician Julius Caesar Scaliger scornfully termed ‘falsos’, because they are not proper periods in a strict sense. 1 Let me nevertheless first give one example of what we expect to find when applying a method of rhetorical pattern recognition to Marlowe’s speeches. In Edward the Second, 3.1.17-18, Warwick offers the following reply : « The king of heaven, perhaps ; no other king./Away ». We note the antithetical structure of the utterance and the use of circular return (epanalepsis), when the word ‘king’ occurs as the first and last noun of the phrase. Marlowe’s style, the ‘mighty line’, is not known solely for its dynamic one-liners ; long speeches abound and better exemplify the powerful and upwards moving and flowing force of his style. And in Tamburlaine the Great and other plays Marlowe establishes a style of speech composition by means of « a poetics by verbal contrivance and artful combination », 2 which was to serve as a model for his contemporaries, Shakespeare being the best example. This style involved treating speeches as if they were complete rhetorical periods, which of course most of them are not. In brief, a speech consisting of several periods, or complete sentences, was given holistic rhetorical patternings that emphasized the speech as a finished verbal segment with a well-defined beginning middle, and end. The letters below (a, b, c, etc) refer to repeated lexical items selected according to the following three ‘rules’ :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1) Identity (grace ... grace ; lord …lord) 2) Derivations and inflexions (come ... coming … came) 3) Synonyms (house ... abode … hovel) 3  

 

Tamburlaine’ five-line speech to Cosroe in Tamburlaine Part One, illustrates the principle at work :  

1

  Julius Caesar Scaliger, Poetices libri septem, Lugduni, 1561, iv.9.c2.   Roy Eriksen, Ars combinatoria. Marlowe and the art of framing, in Shakespeare. Variations sur la lettre, le mètre et la mesure, edited by Dominique Goy-Banquet, Amiens, Presses de L’ufr de Langues, Université de Picardie, 1996, pp. 111-126 (p. 111). 3   Category 3 is never included in the count unless combined with items either from category one or two. 2

periodicity in marlowe

179

Hold thee, Cosroe ; wear two imperial crowns. a b Think thee invested now as royally, c Even by the mighty hand of Tamburlaine, As if as many kings as could encompass thee c With greatest pomp had crown’d thee emperor. b a (2.5.1-5 ; emphases added)  

 

Here we note that the repetitions (abc/cba) encircle the image of sovreignty in the middle line (« the mighty hand of Tamburlaine »). The verb ‘encompass’ strengthens the emphasis on circularity and so does the distribution of the pronoun ‘thee’ in lines 1, 2, 4, and 5, while Tamburlaine alone ‘reigns’ at the centre of the speech in accordance with the conventions of the Renaissance iconography of power. 1 My third example is which also has the virtue of showing how paral­ lelismus, a common feature in biblical style, is combined with those most common in the periodic style, is found in Tamburlaine, Part One, 2.7.1-11 :  

 

 

 

Cosroe. Barbarous and bloody Tamburlaine, Thus to deprive me of my crowne and life. Treacherous and false Theridamas, Even at the morning of my happy state, Scarce being seated in my royall throne, To worke my downfall and untimely end. An uncouth paine torments my grieved soule, And death arrests the organe of my voice, Who entering at the breach thy sword hath made, Sackes every vaine and artier of my heart : Bloody and insatiate Tamburlaine.  

In The Jew of Malta (1589-90), where the villainous protagonist Barabas expresses his joy on learning that the nuns occupying his former house have all been poisoned by his servant, Ithamore :  

How sweet the bells ring now the nuns are dead, That sound at other times like tinkers’ pans !

ab

 

1   A similar large-scale example in the play of this architectural technique is the famous Nature that fram’d us of four elements – speech, which I have discussed elsewhere : Roy Eriksen, What Place Is This. Time and Place in Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus (1616), « Renaissance Drama », xvi, 1985, pp. 49-74.There I discuss Tamburlaine’s description of his quest for infinite knowledge within a strongly marked rhetorical frame constituted by the repeated thematic key-words ‘sweetness / sweet’ and ‘crown’ (pp. 1-2, 29).  

 

 

180

roy eriksen I was afraid the poison had not wrought, c Or, though it wrought, it would have done no good, c For every year they swell, and yet they live : Now all are dead, not one remains alive. ab  

(4.1.2-8)

Barabas’s exultation exhibits, in addition to the thematic antithesis (dead versus alive) which is appropriate for a period, antimetabole (chiasmus) with epanados (ab … c/c … ba). 1 My fourth example is a longer, more complex speech from Tamburlaine, Part Two, that illustrates well Marlowe’s speech construction through a combinatory rhetoric rooted in periodicity. (For greater clarity I have italicised the verbal repetitions and marked them with letters in the right margin.)  

So, reign my son ; scourge and control those slaves, a my son Guiding thy chariot with thy father’s hand. bc Guiding thy chariot As precious is the charge thou undertak’st d undertak’st As that which Clymene’s brain-sick son did guide, When wandering Phoebe’s ivory cheeks were scortched, And all the earth, like Aetna, breathing fire. e fire Be warned by him ; then learn with aweful eye throne : topos To sway a throne as dangerous as his ; of sovreignty For if thy body thrive not full of thoughts As pure and fiery as Phyteus’ beams, e fiery The nature of these proud rebellious jades Will take occasion by the slendrest hair d take And draw thee piecemeal, like Hyppolitus, Through rocks more steep and sharpe than Caspian cliffs. The nature of thy chariot will not bear c thy chariot A guide of baser temper than myself, b guide More than heaven’s coach the pride of Phaeton. a my boys Farewell, my boys ! My dearest friends, farewell ! (Tamburlaine, Part Two, 5.3. 228-245)  

 

 

 

 

 

Here we note how a series of 10 repetitions around the central image of authority (« throne ») form an example of recessed symmetry (a/b/  

1

 

  In Tamburlaine, Part Two, Olympia’s speech at in which she describes a discourse where every period ends with the word ‘death’ and each new sentence begings with ‘death’ describes a series of linked periods strung together and adorned with epanalepses (a … a / a … a / a … a) (4.2.46-49).

periodicity in marlowe 181 c/d/e ...e/d/c/b/a). The eighteen-line speech is Tamburlaine’s final flourish, coming only eight lines before the play ends, and therefore is an appropriate locus for special artifice. Long patterned speeches often conclude with a couplet, and we note how the Phaeton speech, too, is rounded off with a chiastic pattern that almost gives it the finality of a couplet, « Farewell, my boys ! My dearest friends, farewell ! »). The speech is so typical of Marlowe’s style that we could almost say that Marlowe has left his fingerprints on it. The speech also illustrates that rhetorically patterned speeches of this type may be of considerable length, of twenty lines or more. Of course, Marlowe is not the only dramatist to use this technique in work for the stage. Periodicity is practiced by various dramatists and in many plays, but with greatly varying frequency. All dramatists create some example of similar patternings, but apart from Shakepeare who picks up where Marlowe left off in 1593, nobody employs them with a frequency even close to that of Marlowe. As a point of reference and comparison I refer the reader of my investigation of periodicity in speeches in sixteen plays published between Thomas Sackville and Thomas Norton’s Gorbouc (1562) and Samuel Rowley’s When You See Me, You Know Me (1605). 1 In accordance with Aristotle’s discussion, a combination of the three verbal figures produces a pattern chracteristic of periodicity that work across syntactic borders within the speech, and thus are extrasyntactic, even though the template derives from the ornamental apparatus of the period. In the above examples the Aristotelian formula for wholeness has been applied to create a dynamic whole. Despite the dialectic and progressive linearity that naturally inheres in dramatic dialogue, the separate elements in its progressive flow combine to form one well-disposed and framed verbal construct, « one poem’s period » (Tamburlaine, Part One, 5.2.107) to quote the dramatist himself. Such speeches thus display the characteristics of stanzas, the ‘rooms’ of poetry, and therefore can be analysed and discussed in terms of spatial form. When a method of pattern recognition was applied to Marlowe’s plays, it was ascertained that his compositional style is characterized by a sizeable proportion of periodicity ; in Tamburlaine, for example, as many as 30% of the speeches in Part One, and 24% of the speeches in Part Two have structures of this  

 

   

 

 

 

 

1   Roy Eriksen, The Forme of Faustus Fortunes : A Study of The Tragedie of Doctor Faustus (1616), Oslo and Atlantic Highlands, Conn., Solum and Humanities Press, Chapter Six, pp. 213-221.  

182 roy eriksen kind. In Dido the figure is 21 %, The Massacre at Paris 25 %, In Edward the Second 17 %, and in The Jew of Malta, merely 12%. 1 In Doctor Faustus (B text) the percentage is nearly 19 (18.7), and close to that of the Tamburlaine plays which are nearly contemporaneous, that is, a high proportion of speeches has in terms of verbal artifice been treated like periods. With the exception of 2 Henry VI (22%), and 3 Henry VI (23%), Julius Caesar (21%), other plays by Shakespeare and those of other dramatists fall short of such significantly high percentages. 2 Turning now to the central sequences in the A text and the B text of Doctor Faustus, it emerges that the proportion of periodicity, or speeches endowed with the extrasyntactic repetitions of periods proper, vary in the two editions. Also, the figures for Samuel Rowley’s When You See Me, You Know Me differ greatly from those of Doctor Faustus, especially from those of the B text. This is interesting because Rowley has been suggested by many to be the author of the central sequences in the play. The four columns below show : 1) the average length of a structured segment ; 2) percentage of the text covered by structured segments : 3) the number structured segments ; and 4) the number of structured segments of twenty lines or more.  

 

 

 

 

 

Doctor Faustus B text Sequences in B text Sequences in A text When You See Me

1 10.14 9.11 6.50 7.16

2 18.67 19.73 15.15 6.06

3 37 19 10 25

4 5 2 1 –

What emerges quite clearly from the figures is that Rowley’s play is different not only from the B text as a whole and the sequences in it, but also from the sequences found in the A text. If we now direct our attention to a comparison between the central sequences in the two main editions, we note that the average speech length in the A text (6.5 lines) is well below that of the B text (9.1 lines), and that it is well below that of Marlowe’s four last plays (8.6). If we next turn to the materials in the editions that only occur in the respective editions, revealing data appear concerning periodic segment frequency :  

1

  Eriksen, The Forme of Faustus Fortunes, cit., p. 217.   The Spanish Tragedy has less than 8 % (7. 6) and Titus Andronicus less than 13 % (12. 9). See The Forme of Faustus Fortunes, cit., p. 217. 2

periodicity in marlowe

Sequences in B (minus overlapping materials) Sequences in A (minus overlapping materials)

183

1 8.94

2 18.10

3 16

4 1

5.00

10.23

7

–

We note that the percentage of periodic segments in the material parti­ cular to the central sequences in the A text is considerably less than in any Marlowe play. Moreover, the average length of a periodic speech in this material (5.0) is less by far than that of any other Marlowe play, whereas the average length of the material particular to the B text come very close to that of the Marlowe average. These data, I would argue, provide a strong indication that the three central sequences in the main were by the same hand. For whereas many assume that only the opening fifty lines or so in the papal sequence (803 B ff.) were written by Marlowe, the statistical figures for the occurrence of epanalepsis, epanados and antimetabole used as building elements, are seen to support the contrary view that Marlowe wrote all three sequences, not only part of one of them. A pattern-recognition examination of speeches that occur in both of the two main editions may therefore settle the question which of the two editions best preserves Marlowe’s play. In my opinion, the style of the verse in the central sequences of the B text continues to be underrated in criticism. It may not represent the style modern critics would prefer, but it is unmistakingly Marlovian in its speech construction and its imagery. To illustrate how such negative criticism misses the essential use of periodicity in Marlowe’s style, I shall analyse and comment on the exchange between Dr. Faustus and the three courtiers who attack him in a forest after his visit to the Emperor’s court. They have just beheaded Faustus when he is suddenly revived and gives orders for revenge to be exacted, causing the courtiers to panic :  

Benvolio Frederick Faustus

Zounds the Diuel’s aliue agen. Giue him his head for Gods sake. Nay keepe it : Faustus will haue heads and hands. I call your hearts to recompense this deed. Knew you not Traytors, I was limited For foure and twenty yeares, to breathe on earth ? And had you cut my body with your swords, Or hew’d this flesh and bones as small as sand, Yet in a minute had my sprirt return’d,  

 

184

roy eriksen Frederick Faustus Frederick

And I had breath’d a man made free from harme, But wherefore foe I dally my reuenge ? Asteroth, Belimoth, Mephostophilis, Go horse these traytors on your fiery backes. And mount aloft with them as high as heaven. Thence pitch them headlong to the lowest hell. Yet stay, the world shall see their miserie, And hell shall after plague their treacherie. Go Belimothe, and taket his caitife hence, And hurle him in some lake of mud and durt. Take thou this other, dragge him through the woods, Whilst with my gentle Mephostophilis, This Traytor flies unto some steepie rocke, That falling downe, may break the villains bones, As he intended to dismember me. Fly hence, dispatch my charge immediately. Pitie us gentle Faustus, saue our liues. Away. He must needs goe that the Diuell driues. (1443-1471)  

The dramatist here repeats a total of seven words with inversion to either side of the centrally placed peripety in which the idea of rising is followed by an immediate ‘headlong’ fall (1456-57 B). The verbal nexus describing such a rise-fall movement (involving words like ‘mount’, ‘high’ and ‘headlong’) is typical of Marlowe’s idiom and is found in both Tamburlaine and Edward the Second. Mortimer’s last speech in the latter play (5.5.59-66) serves as an illustration of Marlowe’s ‘geometrical’ practice of composition. Mortimer’s speech, too, contains the same imagery that is found in Faustus’s speech. 1 In fact, Marlowe’s propensity to reflect topography or geometrical shape in his speeches, is also found in the papal sequence, for example in Mephostophilis’s description of Rome, a speech found in slightly differing forms in the A and B texts and which I  

1

  As to be expected, Marlowe there too creates a balanced and cyclical design by applying epanalepsis here combined with sinonimia and antithesis : the words used at the peripety of the speech at its very textual centre, They tumble headlong down : that point I touched And seeing there was no place to mount higher Why should I grieve at my declining fall ? (61-63). See also The Forme of Faustus Fortunes, cit., Chapter 6, p. 198 (on Marlowe’s use of ‘headlong’)  

 

 

periodicity in marlowe 185 recently have discussed in relation to Marlowe’s use of maps and architectural metaphors. 1 When in the B text Mephostophilis and Faustus have arrived inside the walls of Rome, Mephostophilis gives a detailed description of the Roman urban landscape to his master :  

 

All’s one, for wee’l be bold with his Venson. But now my Faustus, that thou maist perceiue, What Rome containes for to delight thine eyes. Know that this City stands vpon seuen hils, That vnderprop the ground-work of the same : Iust through the midst runnes flowing Tybers streame, With winding bankes that cut it in two parts ; ouer the which two stately Bridges leane, That make safe passage, to each part of Rome. Vpon the Bridge, call’d Ponto Angelo, Erected is a Castle passing strong, Where thou shalt see such store of Ordinance, As that the double Cannons forg’d of brasse, Do match the number of the daies contain’d, Within the compass of one compleat yeare : beside the gates, of high Pyramides, That Iulius Caesar brought from Affrica. (831-47B ; author’s emphases)  

 

 

 

Here we learn how the Tiber cuts the cityscape in two, underpinning the fact by stressing the principle of bipartition (iust through the midst ; two parts, two bridges, double Cannons), so that actual divided topography of the urbs becomes a template for the speech itself and its distribution of repeated semiotic markers (one-Rome-containes-parts-Bridgespassage // part-Rome-Bridge-passing-contain’d-one). Its repetitional pattern (a-B-c-d-e-f-d-B-e-f-c-a) is typical of the periodicity of Marlovian speeches. It contains both the forward thrust by way of parallelism (parts-Bridges-passage versus part-bridge-passing) and the template of the period, marking the beginning, middle, and end (one-containsRome … Rome-contain’d-one). The emphasis on a complete temporal unit and circularity (« the compass of one compleat year ») adds to the impression that Marlowe has combined his verbal signs in the speech to form « one poem’s period » in the manner he had described in Tam 

 

 

 

 

1   Faustus’s Tour of Rome : Policy, Popery and Urban Planning, in Urban Encounters. Experience and Representation in the Early Modern City, edited by Per Sivefors, Pisa-Rome, Serra, 2013 (« Early Modern and Modern Studies », 8), pp. 71-91.  

 

 

186 roy eriksen burlaine. He appears to be in full control of his thoughts and his words. Then, too, the corresponding speech in the A text fails to reproduce this pattern. If we compare the two versions of Mephostophilis speech, we note that in the A text it has shrunk to fourteen lines and that it has lost some of the rhetorical underpinnings creating the global design in the B text version :  

Tut, tis no matter man, weele be bold with his good cheare, And now my Faustus, that thou maiest perceiue, What Rome containeth to delight thee with. Know that this Citie stands vpon seuen hilles, That vnderprops the groundworke of the same. Ouer the which foure stately bridges leane, That makes safe passage to each part of Rome Vpon the bridge call’d Ponte Angelo, Erected is a Castle passing strong, Within whose walles such store of ordonance are, And double Canons, fram’d of carued brasse, As match the dayes within one compleate yeare. Besides the gates and high piramides, That Iulius Cæsar brought from Affrica. (A 848-861 ; author’s emphases)  

The will to give shape and meaning to the description, so evident in the version of the speech in Doctor Faustus (B), was obviously lost on the person who reproduced it memorially and copied it for the 1604 edition, the so-called A text. 1 The same loss of periodicity is observable in three of the other speeches shared between the A and B Texts. Chorus 2 (778-801 B) which is an artfully patterned speech, is considerably shortened and reproduced with only one example of epanalepsis in 810820 A. Similarly, the clear structure of the protagonist’s short soliloquy (1546-1551 B) is blurred in the A text by the way it is clumsily joined to a line of prose.  

Away you villaine : what, doost thinke I am a horse-doctor ? /What art thou Faustus but a man condemn’d to die ?/ Thy fatall time dooth drawe to finall ende,/Dispaire doth drive distrust vnto my thoughts, Confound these passions with a quiet sleepe :  

 

 

 

1   The opening of the speech, « Tut, tis no matter, man... » would be a tag typical of memorially reconstructed speeches. See Pettitt, Marlowe’s Texts and Oral Transmission : Towards the Zielform, cited at p. 213.  

 

 

periodicity in marlowe

187

Tush, Christ did call the thiefe vpon the Crosse, Then reste thee Faustus quiet in conceit. (Sleepe in his chaire. 1168-74 A)

The tone of the speech and its careful emulation of the Biblical style in its use of parallelism is partially wrecked by the rude and inappropriate line added to it (« Away you villaine : what, doost thinke I am a horsedoctor ? »).  

 

 

 

This ‘reductionist’ tendency is found in other parts of the play as well, in the undisputed material, for the B text does on the whole reproduce certain features of Marlowe’s brand of periodicity in speeches better than does the A text. 1 Thomas Pettitt who brings the methods of folksong studies to bear on the play, has presented empirical data documenting beyond doubt that the A text has been subjected to oral transmission. 2 In spite of Pettitt’s findings, contemporary editors who favour the A text so far seem unwilling to engage with this type of solid empirical evidence, 3 which not only bears on the status of the A text and the longer B text. The evidence, Pettitt summarises, obliges us to conclude – and the emphasised qualifications should be given due significance – that the A-version of Doctor Faustus reflects the impact of oral transmission on a play whose original text, where they have material in common, “is better represented by the B version”. 4  

 

 

 

Pettitt’s findings are telling because they tie in with the clear departures in the A text from certain of Marlowe’s compositional habits which are better reproduced in the material it shares with the B text. So in addition to illustrating how « a single reading in one version must, beyond any possibility of alternative explanation, have preceded the reading in the other », 5 these departures in the A text could be signs of accommodation to new conditions and – possibly – acting in the provinces. W. W. Greg wrote in 1950 about the shorter version that it  

 

 

1

  Eriksen, The Forme of Faustus Fortunes, cit., pp. 220-221, 226.   Tom Pettitt, Marlowe’s Texts and Oral Transmission: Towards the Zielform, «Comparative Drama», ii, 39, 2005, pp. 213-242. See also Pettitt’s analytical method in his contribution to this volume (pp. 121-154). 3   Typical are David Bevington and Eric Rasmussen, eds., Doctor Faustus (A- and B-texts (1604, 1616), cit., p. 15, who do not mention Pettitt’s main findings but make a general reference to « folk plays, especially of the swordplay type ». (p. 82 n. 54). 4   Formulaic Dramaturgy in Doctor Faustus, in Kenneth Friedenreich et al., eds., A poet and a filthy play-maker : New Essays on Christopher Marlowe, New York, ams, 1988, pp. 167-191 (p. 174), and also The Folk Play in Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, « Folklore », xci, 1980, pp. 72-79. 5   David Bradley, From Text to Performance in the Elizabethan Theatre, Cambridge, cup, 1991, p. 9. 2

 

 

 

 

 

188

roy eriksen

[a]ppears to be a version prepared for the less critical and exigent audiences of provincial towns, and prepared not in an orderly manner by making cuts and alterations in the authorized prompt-book, but by memorial reconstruction... (p. 60)

The findings of Pettitt and Greg’s perceptive observation on the A text provide arguments in favour of the so-called B text. 1 Most critics have traditionally attributed the papal scenes to Samuel Rowley and William Birde, 2 because the in 1602 were paid for additions to Doctor Faustus, but also because they find its mixture of anti-Catholic propaganda thought to be unworthy of Marlowe and more in keeping with Rowley’s style and use of Foxe elsewhere. 3 However, as e.g. Clifford Davidson has pointed out, « we have no evidence that these additions [i.e. those of Birde and Rowley] were ever incorporated into either printed version of the play ». 4 We should at least not see in them evidence of the primacy of the A text. Besides Rowley’s candidacy further fades when we remember that Marlowe had already drawn on Foxe’s Barbarossa-episode, which is so central in the papal scenes, in Tamburlaine the Great. 5 Moreover, when we also take into consideration that a stylistic trait frequently claimed to point to Rowley is more typical of Marlowe, that is, inversion combined with a latinate adjective ending in – all, is found elsewhere in Doctor Faustus and other Marlowe plays, Rowley’s candidacy goes up in smoke. 6  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What we are left with is a play that in the so-called central sequences reproduces the main features of Marlowe’s type of speech construction : rhythmically close-knit lines that are organized according to a principle of periodicity. When compared to the shorter and less consistent scenes found in the A text, these features are fewer and do not form rhetorically defined units. The particular features of oral transmission show that  

1

  For the two main versions and their differences see W. W. Greg, Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, 1604-1616, cit., pp. 1-157. 2   Bevington, Rasmussen, eds., Doctor Faustus, A- and B-texts (1604, 1616), cit., pp. 62-72. 3   F. S. Boas, ed., The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus, 2nd. ed. London, 1949, pp. 29-30, Leslie M. Oliver, Rowley Foxe, and the Faustus Additions, « mln », lx, l945, pp. 391-394, and Bevington, Rasmussen, eds., Doctor Faustus (A- and B-texts (1604, 1616), cit., p. 15, and recently the view is repeated by Brian Gibbons. 4   Clifford Davidson, Doctor Faustus at Rome, « Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900 », ix, 1969, pp. 231-239 (p. 232n). 5   W. J. Brown, Marlowe’s Debasement of Bajazeth, Foxe’s Actes and Monuments and Tamburlane, Part i, « Renaissance Quartely », 24, 1971, pp. 38-48. 6   Eriksen, The Forme of Faustus Fortunes, cit., pp. 194-195.  

 

 

 

 

 

periodicity in marlowe 189 memorization and incomplete recollection have put their stamp on the shorter text and made it appear more recent than the manuscript from which the B text was printed. Admittedly, the B text may not in toto be based the author’s manuscript but it is considerably closer to it than the one that served to print the central sequences in the text printed in 1604. Also, the scenes particular to the B text existed prior to the Birde-Rowley additions of 1602 and neither contain the additions for which Birde and Rowley were paid. On the strenght of the empirical here presented, we see that stylometrics, therefore may, when combined with the analytical techniques of studies of oral transmission help us discriminate between plays and playwrights and thus contribute to dating and attributing English play texts of the Early Modern Period.

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WANDERING THROUGH THE SHADES OF NIGHT : CAIN AND THE TRAGIC WORLD OF RICHARD II  

Joseph Sterrett

A

landscape is more than simply a space, as any student of art between Breughel to Turner will have understood. It is a conception of space that has an emotional and, if one is so inclined, ‘spiritual’ fingerprint. It is an interaction of human beings, of artist and audience, to the space that is represented, an expression of how they understand one another and the space which they inhabit. Shakespeare’s drama, as we all know, is spatially defined both in the space it uses for its physical performance – ‘this cockpit’ as it is described in Henry V (1.0.11) 1 – as well as its imaginative endeavour to lay out a larger world : a procedure to which Shakespeare’s company would make explicit allusion in 1599 both in the name and motto of their theatre. The Chorus in Henry V famously addresses this manoeuver when he cajoles his audience to « work » their thoughts (3.0.25), « make imaginary puissance » (1.0.25), to see « The vasty fields of France » (1.0.12) or « see a siege » at Harfleur (3.0.25). In this essay, I want to look at a more subtle landscape drawn in Richard II which no doubt looks forward to the meta-dramatic optimism of Henry V’s Chorus, but one that is keyed to and problematically spiritualised by the figure of Cain. Shakespeare’s Tragedie of Richard the Second opens in an already fallen world. 2 It is a world that looks back to a time and place – now past but not far off – that the logic of the play conceives as paradise. This is the sadness (or « saidness » as Richard Wilson describes it), which sets the mood for the play’s events. 3 It points to the post-Edenic moment so familiar  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  All quotations from Shakespeare are taken from The Norton Shakespeare, eds. Stephen Greenblatt, Walter Cohen, Jean E. Howard, Katherine Maus, New York and London, W. W. Norton & Company, 1997, unless otherwise noted. 2   The title of the 1597 Quarto of Shakespeare’s play was The tragedie of King Richard the second As it hath beene publikely acted by the right Honourable the Lorde Chamberlaine his Seruants. 3   Richard Wilson, A stringless instrument : Richard II and the defeat of poetry, in Shakespeare’s Book : Essays in Reading, Writing and Reception, edited by Richard Meek, Richard Wilson, Jane Rickard, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2008, pp. 103-119.  

 

192 joseph sterrett from its analogue in Genesis 4 that it need only be hinted at to invoke its authority. Shakespeare’s use of the story of Cain as a structural frame for his retelling of the fall of Richard II has been widely recognised, but seldom examined. 1 And yet, the mark of Cain in this play is no mere literary flourish. The tendency of critics to see it as such underrates this structural device that Shakespeare adds to his telling of this story, a device that resonates throughout the play, spiritualising and deepening the tragic perspective of the play. By invoking Cain, Shakespeare expands the story of Richard’s deposition to a drama of global proportions with the ‘garden’ of England a troubled paradise at its centre that is marked by a discourse of sin. Let us begin at the end. In one sense, the final scene in Richard II is a bit of political house cleaning. The Earl of Northumberland enters with a report for King Henry IV that the heads of those who might challenge the new political order have been dispatched to London. « We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy pains », the King responds, « And to thy worth will add right worthy gains » (5.6.6-12). The Earl is followed immediately by Lord Fitzwalter, who reports a similar dispatch of « the dangerous consorted traitors » (13-14), Brocas and Sir Bennet Seely. Harry Percy too enters with news that another opponent, the Abbot of Westminster, has died and also brings the Bishop of Carlisle before the King in chains. King Henry allows the Bishop to live in view of the honour he has shown, but he will live that life away in « some secret place » (25), where he will be silenced and removed from any public role. All of this is a necessary tying up of loose ends for the political story being told, the restoration of order and the firming up of the new monarch’s position. Dramatically, however, all of this is mere spectacle designed, just before the end, to create a false sense of order that prepares a contrast for a more devastating conclusion. It is not the same ‘devastating’ one might use to describe the ending of King Lear, nonetheless it is a lingering and compounded tragic ending, marked by an enveloping image of Cain that is invoked in pointed contrast to the political success attained by Bolingbroke. The presence of Cain is an indication of a mood, or an awareness that the tragedy has only begun. It brings with it a sense of deep unease that underlies, colours and short circuits the political victo 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

  The best examination of Cain in this play is part of a wider examination of the Garden metaphor in the play analogous to the Garden of Eden by Thomas Beringhausen, Banishing Cain : The Gardening Metaphor in Richard II and the Genesis Myth of the Origin of History, « Essays in Literature », 14.3, 1987, pp. 3-14.  

 

 

193 cain and the tragic world of richard ii ries of the history plays that follow, Henry IV Parts 1 & 2 and Henry V. The deaths reported by the Earl of Northumberland, Lord Fitzwalter and Harry Percy were executions (or murders) of policy. 1 The murder (or execution) of Richard brings with it an entirely different tone. For when Exton enters with his more momentous object, the body of Richard, he is met with an altogether different response :  

 

Exton, I thank thee not, for thou has wrought A deed of slander with thy fatal hand Upon my head and all this famous land [...] The guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour, But neither my good word nor princely favour. With Cain go wander through the shades of night, And never show thy head by day or light. (5.6.34-36 ; 41-44)  

« All this famous land », Henry says as he speaks a judgment that falls not just on the one who murdered, but upon the land in which it took place, and presumably all who inhabit it, principally himself. Exton is condemned and marked by his deed, but the nature of his banishment is curious. The word ‘banishment’ itself is absent. He is condemned to « wander », but where is he to go ? To what part of the earth is he banished ? He is certainly cast out from the presence of the King, much as Cain was banished from the presence of the Lord. But Exton is banished, it would seem, in a more metaphysical sense. He is marked spiritually and (we must assume) politically, but he is not ordered to leave the country, as Bolingbroke and Mowbray were explicitly required to do by Richard at the beginning of the play. Indeed, it is King Henry who makes this gesture after Exton leaves the stage, « I’ll make a voyage to the Holy Land/ To wash this blood off from my guilty hand » (5.6.49-50). King Henry therefore confesses his own guilt in the blood of Richard. He is the one who ‘grows’ from this shower of blood, and the mark of Cain rests upon him as much or more than it does on Exton who is his tool in this deed. The world Henry inhabits is within the shades of night and necessitates a moving out through the virtually indistinguishable gestures of pilgrimage or exile to a place elsewhere where absolution might be found. But this world is not one that Shakespeare introduces at the end of the play. When Henry IV tells Exton to walk in « shades of night », it is  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Cf. Aaron in Titus Andronicus 4.2.147.

 

194 joseph sterrett the second occurrence of the phrase in the play. The first had appeared in Mowbray’s response to his sentence of banishment : « Then thus I turn me from my country’s light,/ To dwell in solemn shades of endless night » (1.3.170-71). Cain is a literary frame, it would seem, that Shakespeare imposes on the historical material of his sources (though the tone could have been taken from Hall as we will see). Mowbray’s use of the phrase points outward. He turns away from the « light » of England toward a night beyond. King Henry’s use of the phrase is more ambivalent. It is uncertain where, if anywhere, Exton is banished to or from – a bit like the problem of Cain being banished « from the earth » when he clearly can only go to another part of it. Like his biblical analogue, Exton’s banishment is as much about blessing, or its removal, as it is about place and presence. His ‘sentence’ to wander in « shades of night » is as much a judgment as an utterance, a state like Milton’s Satan who can only be tormented by beauty no matter where he goes. 1 The presence of Cain marks Richard II. This oblique figure of exile and exclusion reveals England as a nation conceived, in spiritual terms, as a fallen world. Jane Kingsley-Smith’s study of exile in Shakespeare is a good example of the literary treatment that Cain is afforded when she notes his presence but largely passes over his implications. Exile, for Kingsley-Smith, is the significant theme that flags the playwright’s shifting emphases, « from loss of language to loss of nation, from loss of beloved to loss of self ». 2 But Kingsley-Smith traces the theme largely in secular terms. Cain is merely a trope in a wider scheme. Mowbray and Exton are analogous ‘scapegoats’ for a larger political design, and King Richard is a metaphorical exile from his people’s hearts and the nation. The model she traces is an important reading, but in minimising Cain she overlooks the effort that Shakespeare makes to spiritualise the story, expanding the scope of the historical moment to parallel a biblical analogue, and underscoring the sense of a ‘tragic’ inevitable, expansive fallen world. Let us look, for a moment, at what the literary figure of Cain represents more widely before turning to the ways in which it was used in late-sixteenth century England and, more specifically, how Shakespeare used it to shape his source material. The story of Cain is like few in Judeo-Christian cultural history. It is a foundational story that bears directly upon how one sees one’s relationship to sin, forgiveness,  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

  Cf. Satan’s song in John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book 9.99-178, esp. pp. 119-122.   Jane Kingsley-Smith, Shakespeare’s Drama of Exile,London, Palgrave, 2003, p. 2.

2

195 cain and the tragic world of richard ii and God (in that order). In any particular historical moment it has been used to visualise these relationships, frequently so familiar that it usually only needed to be referred to through slight references. In Beowulf, for example, the hero takes on the progeny of Cain in physical combat. Spiritual depravity was a lineage passed down through a wayward race and manifested itself through physical deformity and menace located in some wild hell-like place but with the potential to invade communal or domestic space. For Byron, the figure of Cain was the romanticised brooding hero, isolated from society. Even contemporary scholarship is intrigued by the story of Cain. Regina Schwartz finds in it a model for the violent legacy of monotheistic culture and – by extension – a model for religious intolerance and conflict. 1 The story begins with two brothers. One was a shepherd ; the other tilled the earth. They both offered a portion of their labour to the Lord :  

 

 

But vnto Kain and to his offering hee had no regarde : wherefore Kain was exceeding wroth, and his countenance fell downe. Then the Lord said vnto Kain, Why art thou wroth ? And why is thy countenance cast downe, If thou do well, shalt thou not be accepted and if thou doest not wel, sinne lieth at the doore : also vnto thee his desire shalbe subiect, and thou shalt rule ouer him. 2  

 

 

 

It is difficult, from a twenty-first-century perspective, to feel much other than sympathy for Cain at this point. We are not told why one offering is better than another, or what he should do to « do well » ; nonetheless, « sin lieth at the door » should he fail. The story raises more questions than it answers. Why was one offering acceptable and the other not ? Writers and preachers in late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century England were keen to fill the gaps. The commentators for the Douai-Rheims Bible (1609) attributed God’s displeasure to the fact that Cain « wanted [lacked] sincere devotio[n] ». 3 John Hooper, the Protestant martyr and Bishop of Gloucester, fancied Cain to be a liar from the beginning in whose « heart [his evil intentions] hid secretly, expecting and looking for time conuenient, when and howe it may breake forth to serue the turn ». 4  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

  Regina Schwartz, The Curse of Cain : The Violent Legacy of Monotheism, Chicago, The University of Chicago Press, 1997. 2   Genesis 4 : 5-7. All quotations from the Bible are taken from a 1593 copy of The Geneva Bible published by the Deputies of Christopher Barker unless otherwise noted. 3   The Holie Bible Faithfully Translated Into English, Douai, 1609, p. 15. 4   John Hooper, Certeine comfortable expositions of the constant martyr of Christ, M. Iohn Hooper, Bishop of Glocester and Worcester, 1580, 2stc 13743, pp. 62v-63r.  

 

196 joseph sterrett Calvin became equally imaginative, seeing Cain as « untha[n]kful for the benefite of God which he had alredy receyued » eventually « becom[ing] worse [than his brother] by his owne wicked doing ». 1 What we might see as Cain’s anger at his rejection, therefore, could easily change in the early modern mind into a lack of sincerity and pre-existing wickedness. Cain was first murderer, one who exacerbates Eve’s disobedience. While it was through his mother that sin and death entered the world, it was through him and his act that sin began to « rule the worlde » leading inexorably to God’s judgment through the flood. 2 The story of Cain is intimately connected to the earth, and so it was seen in the sixteenth century. The earth cries out against Cain when it receives the blood of Abel (4 :10). Cain is banished from where he is and from the presence of God. As a literary figure he points outward and is a wanderer in the unknown. The earth that he cultivates no longer provides for him as it once did. His deed changes the land itself so that it is part of the curse : « Nowe therefore thou art cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receiue thy brothers bloode from thine hand » (4 : 11). The deed creates a new relationship to the earth as surely as it creates a new relationship with his brother and with God. He must go away « from the earth » as much as « from …[the Lord’s] face ». The earth will no longer bless him nor will it be a willing participant in the harvest – no longer « yeeld[ing] vnto thee her strength ». Most significant of all, perhaps, Cain will no longer know his place. He will be an exile, « a vagabond and a runagate » (4 : 12), « cast out » from an already fallen world outside of Eden to an even further wild beyond. When he complains that the punishment is more than he can bear, that anyone who sees him will now kill him, God puts a mark on him as a protection and warning of a curse that will befall anyone who tries to kill him. But when the Lord sets a mark on Cain, the mark becomes Cain. Cain is the mark in the seventeenth-century mind of one who either remains unforgiven or is unable to conceive, visualise – and therefore accept – the forgiveness of God. And the mark singles Cain out : first murderer, wanderer, exile and exemplary sinner. We begin to discern, therefore, that the figure of Cain represents both an inner and an outer landscape. He marked a particularly potent awareness of a fallen world, an inner space of sin which one had to be con 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Jean Calvin, The institution of Christian religion, London, 1561, pp. 34v-r.   Thomas Cranmer, An aunsvvere by the Reuerend Father in God Thomas Archbyshop of Canterbury… vnto a craftie and sophisticall cauillation, deuised by Stephen Gardiner, 1580, 2stc 5992, p. 406. Cain is mentioned as an analogue to Eve in Hooper, op. cit., p. 62r. 2

197 cain and the tragic world of richard ii stantly vigilant to avoid. Equally, Cain represented an outer land beyond the love of God. In sixteenth-century England, the very name of Cain was odious, 1 frequently found at the start of lists : the lead sinner, the first of wicked hearts, « Caine, Esau, Absolon, the Phariseis ». 2 All forms of sin began to collect around him, if not directly linked to the biblical story then loosely related to his name. Cain was like the rapist Tarquin, a betrayer like Judas, a king-killer like Saul, one who turns his back upon the court, and forsakes his place and his friends. 3 He was a symbol of disunity. 4 At times this could be the spiritual wilderness of the heretic drawn in the rhetoric of religious conflict like the report outlining the arguments of Edmund Campion. 5 Or Cain could be a figure to define a wild (and heathen) physical landscape like John Florio’s English translation of Jacques Cartier’s Shorte and briefe narration of the two nauigations that described the northern territories the explorer encountered as « the lande that God allotted to Caine ». It was unworkable and unyielding, a land of « Stones, and wilde Furres, and a place fitte for wilde beastes »; its men « wilde and vnruly ». 6 Both of these inner and outer landscapes are brought to bear in Shakespeare’s play. When Henry laments the death of Richard, he looks inward (or, one might say, outwardly performs the act of introspection), adopting the religious posture of repentance. But, when he resolves to go on pilgrimage, he completes the gesture of exile that he has projected upon Exton. It applies spiritual definition to the outer landscape and muddies the roles of exile and penitent. Of course, when this same king  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Abraham Fleming, A memoriall of the famous monuments and charitable almesdeedes of the right worshipfull Maister William Lambe esquire somtime gentleman of the chappell, in the reigne of the most renowmed [sic] King Henrie the eight, &c., 1580, 2stc 11047, sig. B1v. 2   Hooper, op. cit., pp. 62v-63r. See also Philipp Melanchthon, A godly and learned assertion in defence of the true church of God, 1580, 2stc 17790, p. 62v. 3   Austin Saker, Narbonus The laberynth of libertie, 1580, 2stc 21593, p. 78. 4   Edward Knight, The triall of truth wherein are discouered three greate enemies vnto mankinde, as pride, priuate grudge, and priuate gaine, 1580, 2stc 15047, p. 31r-v. Cain was also educational material as a negative exemplar of the « inward feare and discomfort » of conscience when one hears « the voyce of God after the doing of […] sinne » ; Hooper, op. cit., p. 94v. Barthélémy Batt even recommended that « It shall bée very profitable to set before children the terrible examples of the wrath of God » ; Barthélemy Batt, The Christian mans closet Wherein is conteined a large discourse of the godly training vp of children, 1581, 2stc 1591, p. 50r. 5   Edmund Campion, The great bragge and challenge of M. Champion a Jesuite co[m]monlye called Edmunde Campion, latelye arriued in Englande, contayninge nyne articles here seuerallye laide downe, directed by him to the lordes of the Counsail, co[n]futed & aunswered by Meredith Hanmer ..., 1581, p.7v. 6   Jacques Cartier, A shorte and briefe narration of the two nauigations and discoueries to the northweast partes called Newe Fraunce, trans. John Florio, 1580, 2stc 4699, pp. 6-7.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

198 joseph sterrett dies at the end of Henry IV, Part 2, the whole gesture and resolve that is recalled from this dramatic moment is revealed to be only a wish, one that vanishes and remains incomplete, and is only fulfilled through the ironic coincidence that the king dies in a room called « Jerusalem ». Indeed it is out of this tension between the roles of exile and penitent that Shakespeare locates his eternally troubled representation of kingly authority, not least in Claudius’s Cain-inspired despair when he asks, « what form of prayer/ Can serve my turn » (Hamlet 3.3.51-2). More can be made of this tension between piety and power by comparing the way Shakespeare structures it through the figure of Cain to Edward Hall’s account, one of Shakespeare’s sources, that does not display this tension. Shakespeare pared down much of the detail in Edward Hall’s chronicle to suit a more efficient dramatic production. Hall emphasised Henry’s crafting of arguments (today we would call it ‘spin’) to stake a convincing claim to the throne and the uncertainties that are inherent to that process. He developed the conspiracy at the Abbot of Westminster’s house in greater detail. Mostly he presented the sheer uncertainty that surrounded the death of Richard and the ‘body’ presented as evidence to convince a sceptical public. King Henry in Hall’s account is a much more questionable character, who at first justifies his claim to the throne with a lie, thinking better of it only after it is pointed out to him that friend and foe alike know the truth. 1 Regarding the murder of Richard, Hall explains that  

 

 

 

 

One writer saieth that kyng Henry sittyng at his table sore sighyng said, haue I no faithefull frende whiche will deliuer me of him whose life wil be my deth, and whose death wil be the preseruacion of my life [ ?] 2  

Shakespeare echoes this scene, but only through the reported language of Exton (5.4.1-5). « [S]ome saye he commanded », Hall says, « other talke that he condescended, many write that he knewe not tyll it was dooen, and then it confirmed. But howe so euer it was, kyng Richarde dyed of a violent death, without any infection or naturall disease of the body ». 3 One version Hall records has Richard starved within full view of regular sumptuous feasts. One is the story of Exton that Shakespeare uses where he fights in the valiant fashion of his noble blood but is unable to overcome the treachery of this gang of murders. Still another has Richard escape to Scotland and die presumably of natural causes, buried in  

 

 

 

 

1   Edward Hall, The vnion of the two noble and illustre famelies of Lancastre [and] Yorke, 2 1548, 2stc 12722, Fol. ixv.   Hall, The vnion, cit., Fol. xivv. 3 r   Hall, The vnion, cit., Fol. xiv .

199 cain and the tragic world of richard ii the Black Friars’ monastery at Stirling. Shakespeare, by contrast, stages only one possibility and gives dramatic certainty to the way in which Richard dies. Significantly in Hall’s version Exton is fraught with guilt once he realises Richard is dead. He sobs, weeps, tears his hair, and cries, Oh Lord, what haue we done, we haue murthered hym whom by the space of xxii yeres we haue obeyed as king, and honoured as our soueraigne lord, now all noble men will abhorre vs, all honest persons will disdaine us, so that during our naturall liues, we shalbe pointed with the finger, and our posterite shall be reproued as children of homicides, ye of Regicides & prince quellers. 1  

Exton’s lament in Hall’s chronicle contains an awareness of being marked for an irrevocable deed, and it is perhaps here that Shakespeare could have got his cue for the use of Cain as a framing symbol for the play. But, Shakespeare transfers the feeling of guilt onto King Henry, leaving Exton largely unreflective on his actions save the King’s response to them. Shakespeare cuts most of Hall’s complicating detail. In its place Cain becomes a troubling and ambivalent image – a kind of spiritual shorthand – for what Hall refers to as the questionable constancy of « mutable comonaltie ». 2 Cain in Richard II is representative of conscience, the inner landscape and a need to repent. But he is also emblematic of murder and exile, which redefines an outer landscape both here and elsewhere. Shakespeare’s Henry, as we noted above, sees the mark of Cain falling upon « all this famous land ». But though it may suit this king to represent the fallen kingdom as a new state of affairs brought about by Exton, this outer fallen landscape has been a constant concern throughout the play. The land of England has been fallen from the start, as we find when we turn, in closing, to the beginning of the play. « [T]his land » (« this dear dear land » as John of Gaunt says) is from the first scene an explicit subject of the play’s dialogue, and its recurrence indicates that it has been fallen all along. The phrase occurs twelve times throughout the play (counting King Henry’s at the end). And the theme is heightened from the first scene. Bolingbroke challenges Mowbray « Or here or elsewhere » in Act One, scene one, to a fight that can barely be contained within territorial limits : « to the furthest verge/ That ever was surveyed by English eye » (1.1.93-94). « [L]ike a traitor-coward », Mowbray  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Hall, The vnion, cit., Fol. xivv.

 

2

  Hall, The vnion, cit., Fol. xvr.

 

200

joseph sterrett

Sluiced out his [the Duke of Gloucester’s] innocent soul through streams of blood ; Which blood, like sacrificing Abel’s, cries Even from the tongueless caverns of the earth To me for justice and rough chastisement (ll. 102-106)  

« I slew him not », Mowbray responds though quickly concedes, « but to my own disgrace / Neglected my sworn duty in that case » (ll. 133-4). His reply is not exactly the « I cannot tell. Am I my brothers keeper ? » of his Biblical counterpart (Genesis 4 :9), but there is an affinity between the rhetorical pattern of a denial followed by a dissemblance that the Norton editors describe as « circumspect ». 1 For, what Mowbray is avoiding to mention (and Gaunt and the Duchess of Gloucester make clear in the next scene) is that Richard himself ordered Gloucester’s murder. This fact complicates the image of Cain that Bolingbroke was projecting upon Mowbray for it blurs their respective roles. Bolingbroke was assuming the role of Abel’s avenger, it would seem, acting in a God-like role in response to the blood that cried out to him from the earth. But Richard, as King in his position of ‘impartial’ judge, is also in a God-like position. Of course, the scheme is flawed for Richard can be anything but impartial. But Bolingbroke’s vengeful desire to kill Mowbray is also out of sync with the analogue it draws upon where God set the ‘mark’ upon Cain specifically to protect him from being killed by others. And, of course, the real ‘god’ in all of this, Richard, casts out both Bolingbroke and Mowbray as a politically dubious expediency. Similarly, when King Henry aligns Exton with Cain at the end of the play, he marks the man and the deed as belonging in a fallen world. But the story of Cain, no matter how much Henry seeks to play the Godlike role, serves only to complicate the agency of sin and the kingdom that is affected by it. For an instant in this play there was a picture of a world united with divine agency. Richard, in Act three, scene two, reassured his fearful cousin, the Duke of Aumerle,  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

… know’st thou not That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, Behind the globe, that lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen […] But when from under this terrestrial ball 1

  See note 6 in the Norton edition for line 134 (p. 986).

 

cain and the tragic world of richard ii

201

He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons and detested sins, […] Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ?  

(3.2.32-42)

Through Richard, Shakespeare imagines a globe where the earth itself can cry out at injustice, but he does so just at the moment he stages extreme political impotence as a rebel army are closing in. John O’ Gaunt, might speak with a voice of prophecy when he foretells that Richard’s « blaze of riot cannot last » (2.1.33). But the England that is the subject of his anaphorically repeated « This » is already marked by the sin of despair, a spiritual condition Shakespeare’s contemporaries would have described as « cleane reiected and comfortlesse by Gods most iust iudgement ». 1 The sin of « This England », it would seem, a land John O’ Gaunt describes as an « other Eden » (2.1.50, 42), is greater than a people can bear.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Hooper, Comfortable expositions, cit., p. 91r.

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THE ‘TEMPERATURES’ OF CORIOLANUS Morten Bartnæs

A

mong the metaphors prevalent in twentieth-century Coriolanus cri ticism, a particular example of thermal imagery holds a surprisingly predominant position. Harley Granville-Barker’s assertion that Shakespeare treats the titular hero « without creative warmth » places itself in the tradition of influential readers like A. C. Bradley and G. Wilson Knight. Whereas the latter described the play’s style as « ice-cold, intellectual, cold as a mountain torrent and holding something of its iron taste », Bradley’s imagery is more restrained – for example when stating that « the hero’s faults […] chill our sympathy ». 1 In many readings, the frequently observed, « unusually frigid style » 2 of the play – and the hero’s emotional habitus, illustrated by Sir Laurence Olivier’s « cold smile » when accepting the agnomen Coriolanus 3 – appear to be of a pervasive nature. Thus, according to Maurice Hunt, Aufidius shares his opponent’s « cold ideal of absolute personal power » ; in Burton Hatlen’s view, the play apparently treats all Coriolanus’s « antagonists no less coolly ». 4 Whereas Virgilia’s ability for « cold, unblinking hostility » has been the object of some controversy, 5 the notion of the wintry makeup of Volumnia – illustrated, e.g., in Granville-Barker’s description of her « chill parting » towards the end of the play 6 – appears to be undisputed. Bearing in mind that the play’s last female character, Valeria, is  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Harley Granville-Barker, Prefaces to Shakespeare, edited by C. Byrne, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1970 [1946], iii, p. 97 ; George Wilson Knight, The Imperial Theme, London, Methuen, 1972 [1931], p. 155 ; A. C. Bradley, Coriolanus, in Coriolanus. Critical Essays, edited by David Wheeler, New York and London, Garland, 1995 [1912/1929], pp. 25-45, 26. 2   Lawrence Danson, Tragic Alphabet. Shakespeare’s Drama of Language, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1974, p. 155. 3   Laurence Kitchin, Mid-Century Drama, London, Faber, 1960, p. 137. 4   Maurice Hunt, Violent’st’ Complementarity. The Double Warriors of Coriolanus, « Studies in English Literature », 31, 1991, pp. 309-325, 316 ; Burton Hatlen, The ‘Noble Thing’ and the ‘Boy of Tears’. Coriolanus and the Embarrassments of Identity, « English Literary Renaissance », 27, 1997, pp. 393-420, 393. 5   Norman Rabkin, Coriolanus. The Tragedy of Politics, « Shakespeare Quarterly », 17, 1966, pp. 195-212, 199 ; cf. John Middleton Murry, A Neglected Heroine of Shakespeare, in Idem, Countries of the Mind, London, Collins, 1922, pp. 31-50, 41ff. and passim. 6   Granville-Barker, op. cit. (note 1 above), p. 113.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

204 morten bartnæs famously described as « chaste as the icicle / That’s candied by the frost from purest snow » (5.3.65f.), 1 and that Bertolt Brecht, the author of the play’s most celebrated adaptation, equally famously compared his poetic practice to that of using refrigerators, 2 one can at the very least conclude that imagery from the realm of coldness shows some degree of adaptability when applied to the style, characters, reception and after-life of Coriolanus. Taken alone, this pervasive concurrence of metaphors might be considered neither unusual nor surprising. However, the « cold ways » of speaking about Coriolanus form a contrast to certain basic characteristics of the play. A perpetual plaything of his ‘choler’, Coriolanus might with equal right be described as Shakespeare’s hottest hero. In his 1912 Academy lecture, Bradley states that the « key » for understanding Coriolanus’s change of mind after having been exiled « lies in [his] idea of burning Rome » – a reading which is eloquently defended in a 1929 postscript. 3 Indeed, Coriolanus, a character sometimes « charged with coldness », as David Wheeler puts it, 4 not only appears to be charged with heat but is also repeatedly charged at with heat – for example, in the citizens’ fervid « It shall be so » at the moment of his banishment (3.3.107) ; in Menenius’s words, they are kindled, not quenched (cf. 3.1.198). Moreover, heat is a central element in the Tribunes’ rhetorical tactics of igniting his rage at the trial : « Being once chafed [inflamed, sc. 5], he cannot / Be reined again to temperance ». (3.3.27f.) Although Wilson Knight’s Alpine simile may aptly summarize this common, critical view, the language of Coriolanus has also been described in contrasting metaphorical terms – e.g., when Granville-Barker states that the play’s words « may be crushed into the lines like fuel to stoke a furnace ». 6 Willing readers may also feel a touch of surprise when finding, in the midst of Ralph Berry’s marble imagery, his quotation from a review of F. R. Benson’s production (1901), which « worked a cold house up, first to warmth and then to  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Unless otherwise noted, Coriolanus is quoted from R. B. Parker’s edition, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1994. Shakespeare’s other works are quoted from The Norton Shakespeare, edited by Stephen Greenblatt et al., New York and London, Norton, 1997. 2   Helmut Lethen, Refrigerators of Intelligence, « Qui Parle », 5, 1992, pp. 73-101, 84 ; Peter von Matt, Brecht und der Kälteschock, « Die neue Rundschau », 87, 1976, pp.613-629. 3   Bradley, op. cit. (note 1 p. 203), pp. 35, 43f. 4   Wheeler, op. cit. (note 1 p. 203), Introduction, p. xviii. 5   Cf. Alexander Schmidt, Shakespeare-Lexicon, edited by G. Sarrazin, Berlin, Reimer, 1902, s.v. ‘chafe’ 1b ; the word’s etymological origin, French chauffer – to warm – appears to be more audible in Renaissance usage than today. 6   Granville-Barker, op. cit. (note 1 p. 203), p. 224.  

 

 

 

 

 

205 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus enthusiasm » ; the same readers may remain unsurprised when learning that Émile Fabre’s production of the play (1933), famous because of its role in the ensuing riots, had its debut during the short-lived government of a Prime Minister with the quaint-sounding name Chautemps. 2 The aim of the present study is to explore Coriolanus’s susceptibility to thermal terms of description – both as central elements in the play’s imagery and in its critical reception. Seeing metaphors as « stories which disguise themselves as single words », 3 my approach combines the frequently ignored attempts at interpreting Coriolanus in terms of its relation to contemporary humoral medicine 4 with more timely, rhetorically-oriented readings. 5 It is my contention that the conceptual (and metaphorical) interplay between rhetorical and medical termini technici – eminently illustrated in Aristotle’s concept of tragic purgation (katharsis) 6 – exerts its influence not only on the language of Shakespeare’s play but also on past and present critical assessments of its temperatures. Furthermore, this interplay can be considered as having a key function in the supplication scene (5.3) which despite its primordial position – Voltaire considered the Coriolanus plot to have « but one scene » 7 – has received relatively little attention. In terms of method, I am indebted to Hans Blumenberg’s work on metaphor, in particular his view of metaphors’ « worldview-constituting » function 8  

   

1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Ralph Berry, The Metamorphoses of Coriolanus, « Shakespeare Quarterly », 26, 1975, pp. 172-183, 176. 2   Felicia H. Londré, Coriolanus and Stavisky, « Theatre Research International », 11, 1986, pp. 119-32. 3   Ralf Konersmann, Vorwort. Figuratives Wissen, in Wörterbuch der philosophischen Metaphern, edited by Ralf Konersmann, Darmstadt, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2007, pp. 7-21, 17, my translation. 4   E.g., John W. Draper, Shakespeare’s Coriolanus. A Study in Renaissance Psychology, « West Virginia University Bulletin. Philological Studies », 3, 1939, pp. 22-36 ; Maurice Hunt, Shakespeare’s Tragic Homeopathy, in Shakespeare. Text, Subtext, and Context, edited by Ronald Dotterer, Selinsgrove, Susquehanna University Press, 1989, pp. 77-84. 5   Cf. the extensive bibliographic notes in Michael West, Myron Silberstein, The Controversial Eloquence of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus – an Anti-Ciceronian Orator ?, « Modern Philology », 102, 2005, pp. 307-331. 6   Concerning the medical background (and implications) of this term, cf. Stephen Halliwell, Aristotle’s Poetics, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1998, pp. 185ff. 7   Voltaire, Oeuvres complètes, lvii [= Correspondance générale, xii], Paris, Renouard, 1821, letter no. 203, p. 292. 8   For an example of the application of this approach, cf. Hans Blumenberg, Shipwreck with Spectator, translated by Steven Rendall, Cambridge, Mass., mit Press, 1997. For theoretical contextualization, cf. David Adams, Metaphors for Mankind. The Development of Hans Blumenberg’s Anthropological Metaphorology, « Journal of the History of Ideas », 52, 1991, pp.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

206 morten bartnæs – and also to the approach of readers with an open eye for the satirical aspects of Shakespeare’s tragedy. 1  

Frigity in Renaissance Aesthetics A strand in the tangle of thermal images used in and about Coriolanus which is of particular interest for my argument is indicated by Lawrence Danson’s use of the term « frigid » as a description of the play’s style. The meaning of this metaphor is elucidated by both its immediate and broader context – viz. the quotation of Wilson Knight’s words about the mountain torrent that directly precedes his use of the term as well as Danson’s own introductory words about the play’s « peculiar stylistic barrenness », its « apparently bare style ». However, Danson’s words about the frigid style of Coriolanus also seem to involve a tinge of aesthetic evaluation – of the same bent as the negative view cautiously intimated in his conclusion that the ‘noble memory’ Coriolanus leaves in the audiences’ minds is « less conducive to imaginative expansion than the memory left by Hamlet or King Lear ». 2 In the first version of Derek Traversi’s interpretation of the play (1937), it is easier to detect the tinge of negative, aesthetic judgment inherent in the term. « Coriolanus has never satisfied the critics. […] [T]hey find it frigid, and they even tell us that Shakespeare’s interest in it flagged ». 3 Traversi’s use of language differs from Danson’s because of its closeness to a semantic facet of « frigid » which in contemporary English appears to have been overshadowed by the word’s more frequent applications. The Oxford English Dictionary records this meaning of « frigid » in the definition « That leaves the imagination cold ; that does not stir the fancy ; lacking fire or spirit […] », and also, under the same heading (3c), mentions the following, obsolete usage : « Formerly also (as L. frigidus), of a reason, argument, etc. : Lacking force or point, senseless, absurd ». Readers familiar with French or Italian might recognize the aesthetic connotation of the English word in the more conspicuous secondary  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

152-166 ; Jean-Claude Monod, La philosophie du xxe siècle et l’usage des métaphores, « Esprit », 315 (= 6, 2005), pp. 26-42. 1   E.g., Oscar James Campbell, Shakespeare’s Satire, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1943, pp. 198-217, James Holstun, Tragic Superfluity in Coriolanus, « English Literary History », 50, 1983, pp. 485-507 ; Steven Marx, Shakespeare’s Pacifism, « Renaissance Quarterly », 45, 1992, pp. 49-95, esp. 79ff. ; Karen Aubrey, Shifting Masks, Roles, and Satiric Personae. Suggestions for Exploring the Edge of Genre in Coriolanus, in Wheeler, op. cit. (note 1 p. 203), pp. 299-338. 2   Danson, op. cit. (note 2 p. 203), pp. 155f. ; 142f. ; 162. 3   Derek Traversi, Coriolanus, « Scrutiny », 6, 1937, pp. 43-58, 43.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

207 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus 1 meanings of froid and freddo. As modern, aesthetic terms, froid and freddo have their origins in Renaissance rhetoric and literary criticism. Torquato Tasso’s Discorsi del Poema Eroico (1594) contains an extensive description of the stylistic vice called « il freddo » ; 2 François de Malherbe is more succinct in his caustic Commentaire sur Des Portes (1606), where the single word « froid » is deemed sufficient to describe the conclusion of one of the victim’s sonnets. Another of Malherbe’s taunts, « frigidius glacie » 3 (colder than ice), reveals the classical origin of the metaphor, and in the treatment of il freddo in his Discorsi, Tasso explicitly draws on classical rhetoricians. His primary source is Demetrius’s On Style, and Tasso’s definition of literary frigidity represents another step in the process of semantic relocation observable between Danson’s and Traversi’s uses of the metaphor. Tasso’s point of departure is Demetrius’s introductory definition : The frigid style « transcends the expression appropriate to the thought ». 4 Tasso also quotes some of Demetrius’s examples, many of which appear to contradict today’s image of frigidity as related with barrenness – e.g., the one about an unknown writer’s disproportionate description of the stone thrown by the Cyclops after Ulysses’s ship : « [A]s the rock was rushing along, goats were browsing on it ». 5 The semantic displacement observable in Tasso’s treatment of il freddo (and also, albeit less patently, in Malherbe’s use of froid) does not only include the implicit dependency on the rhetorical idea of the aptum, the appropriate style for a given occasion – a notion which is absent from the Oed definition. More importantly, Tasso appears to imagine frigidity as related with linguistic overgrowth rather than with the atrophy commonly associated with the cold or frigid style found in Coriolanus. This view of frigidity is perhaps most concisely illustrated by Demetrius’s  

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Cf. Émile Littré, Dictionnaire de la langue française, Paris, Gallimard / Hachette, 1970, s.v. ‘froid’ 7 (« auteur froid », « acteur froid »), 11 (« tragédie [...] froide »), 12 (« Ce dessin est correct, mais il est froid ».) ; Niccolò Tommaseo, Dizionario della lingua italiana, Turin, Soc. l’Unione Tipografico-Editrice, 1861ff., s.v. ‘freddo’ 10 (« Dramma freddo ») ; 23 (« opera [painting, sc.] […] fredda »). 2   Torquato Tasso, Discourses on the Heroic Poem, translated by M. Cavalchini and I. Samuel, Oxford, Clarendon, 1973, pp.195ff. 3   François de Malherbe, Commentaire sur Des Portes, in Oeuvres, edited by L. Lalanne, Paris, Hachette, 1862, 2, pp. 249-473 ; 300, 423. 4   Tasso, op. cit., p. 195, translation altered. 5   Demetrius, On Style, section 114f., in Aristotle, Poetics, edited and translated by Stephen Halliwell ; Longinus, On the Sublime, edited and translated by W. H. Fyfe ; Demetrius, On Style, edited and translated by Doreen C. Innes, based on W. Rhys Roberts’s translation, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press (= « Loeb Classical Library », cic), pp. 309-525 ; 421.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

208 morten bartnæs critique of a line from Sophocles’s Triptolemos, « Chalice unbased is not intabulated » (i.e. « a cup without base is not put on a table ») : « The trivial subject does not allow such magniloquence ». 1 Thus, the classical, and consequently Renaissance notion of stylistic frigidity (psuchrón/frigidum) places itself in the vicinity of concepts like ógkos/tumidum (inflatedness) and tò meirakiódes/puerilitas (childishness). 2 A frigid text is marred by pompous and insipidly prolix or inappropriate language, which cools down its readers because of its violation of the rules of the aptum (and of the more general conception of good taste) ; appropriate English equivalents are ‘bombast’ and ‘fustian’. In order to find evidence for the interference between the classical notion of frigidum and its contemporary counterparts, one does not have to go further than to the aforementioned Oed heading (3c), which includes the examples « frigid fustian » (1729) and « frigid bombast » (1855). The classical notion of frigidum is unequivocally perceptible in Sir Philip Sidney’s critique against « many of such writings as come under the banner of unresistible love » :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[S]o coldly they apply fiery speeches, as men that had rather read lover’s writings, and so caught up certain swelling phrases, which hang together like a man that once told me, “the wind was at north-west and by south” ; because he would be sure to name winds enough […] 3  

 

The popularity of the classical metaphor of frigidity made it a rich seam for polemic imagery – as in the nickname of the Athenian tragedian Theognis, « Snow », in Catullus’s assertion that he has caught a cold from reading a speech by a certain Sestius, and also in Sidney’s words about « figures and flowers, extremely winter-starved ». 4 Concerning the metaphor’s origins, Edward M. Cope’s allusive exposition of Quintilian’s words about the discomfort of battening on cold bits, « words and  

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Ibid. I retain Rhys Roberts’s version of the line from Triptolemos.   For an extensive survey of the use of these terms in classical rhetoric, cf. Kurt Gutzwiller, Psuchrós und ógkos. Untersuchungen zur rhetorischen Terminologie, Zurich, Keller, 1969 and also, on Longinus’s use of the terms, Gabriella Apicella Ricciardelli, To psuchrón, « Helikon », 13-14, 1973-1974, pp. 407-413. 3   Philip Sidney, The Defence of Poesy, in The Miscellaneous Works of Sir Philip Sidney, edited by W. Gray, Boston, Burnham, 1860, pp. 59-124, 118. 4   Suda s.v. ‘Theognis’ ; Catullus 44 ; Sidney, op. cit., p. 119. The two first examples are from LaRue van Hook, Psuchrótes è tò Psuchrón, « Classical Philology », 12, 1917, pp. 68-76 – to my knowledge still the most extensive discussion of the subject in English. Cf. also Ryan J. Stark, Cold Styles. On Milton’s Critiques of Frigid Rhetoric in Paradise Lost, « Milton Quarterly », 37, 2003, pp. 21-30, an article only aesthetically flawed by the author’s constant misnaming of the Ancient Greek term. 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

209 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus phrases that have lost all their savour, and become cold and insipid, ‘flat, stale and unprofitable’ », 1 appears less plausible than the more general explanation suggested by LaRue van Hook : « The listener who is keyed up in warm anticipation of the pleasure and the profit which are to result from an admirable literary production is chilled by disappointment ; his interest is cooled by the forced, inartistic, exaggerated, or inappropriate style of the speaker or writer ». 2 Van Hook’s alluringly straightforward explanation might, however, be accused of a slight anachronism when describing the life-worldly backdrop for the metaphor of frigidum with today’s metaphorical notions of warm anticipation and cooling interest. Although these metaphors may be considered as transcultural elements of human cognition, 3 their life-worldly and linguistic context has changed radically since the demise of the medical paradigm of humoral physiology. Although today’s common knowledge on this subject tends to limit itself to the doctrine of the four temperaments, heat and cold were pillars of humoral thought – together with moisture and dryness. The elements were defined by their relationship to these qualities : fire was dry and hot, earth dry and cold, water moist and cold, air moist and hot. Whereas men were commonly considered as dry and hot and women as cold and moist, these qualities were also applied as a central means of describing other regions of the living and inanimate world. 4 Gail Kern Paster’s critique against the tendency of post-Enlightenment readers « to underestimate the materialism governing pre-Enlightenment thought about the embodied passions » and to find « abstraction and bodily metaphor » where contemporary readers found « materiality and literal reference », 5 might thus also be applied to van Hook’s preference for the abstract notions of « warm anticipation », etc. : From the perspective of classical and Renaissance emotional physiology, a frigid text would be conceived as affecting the readers’ minds in a slightly more literal and concrete way. The epis 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Edward M. Cope, An Introduction to Aristotle’s Rhetoric, London and Cambridge, 1867, p. 287, who quotes Quintilian’s Institutio Oratoria, 2.4.29, « fastidium [movere] velut frigidi et repositi cibi », « to evoke distaste like the one called forth by cold leftovers being served a 2 second time ». (My translation).   Van Hook, op. cit., p. 76. 3   Cf. George Lakoff, Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things. What Categories Reveal about the Mind, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1987 ; George Lakoff, Mark Johnson, Metaphors We Live By, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1980. 4   Zirka Z. Filipczak, Hot Dry Men Cold Wet Women. The Theory of Humors in Western European Art 1575-1700, New York, American Federation of Arts, 1997, pp. 158ff. and passim. 5   Gail Kern Paster, Humoring the Body. Emotions and the Shakespearean Scene, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 2004, p. 26.  

 

 

 

 

210 morten bartnæs temological need for intermediary, metaphorical descriptions and the displacement of the field of action – in this case the cooling-down – from a person’s body to her ‘interest’ would not have been considered as selfevident as it is today. Thus, today’s descriptions of the coldness of Coriolanus are tinged by diverging historical conceptions of coldness as stylistic and physiological phenomena. In some cases, as when David George describes Volumnia’s speeches in the supplication scene (5.3.95-126, 132-83) as « long [and] frigid », 1 one might ask to what extent these historical notions exert their influence not only in the choice of words but also on the more general conception of the scene in question. In order to suggest an answer, a consideration of some aspects in which Coriolanus more patently shows its relationship to humoral theory may prove instructive.  

 

 

Coriolanus and Humoral Theory Titus Lartius’s apparently flattering comparison of Caius Martius with a carbuncle (1.5.28) neatly summarizes central features of the play’s medical imagery. Besides associating Lartius’s use of this deep-red gem in his simile with the imagery depicting Martius as a « thing of blood » etc., 2 one could perhaps more appropriately point at the gem’s double association with glowing heat. Its Latin name, carbunculus, in this specialized meaning a translation from the Greek ánthrax, means « piece of (live) charcoal » – an etymology which is reflected in the belief that the carbuncle could produce light, as it does in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short story. 3 As medical terms, the words ‘carbuncle’ and ‘anthrax’ retain their association with glowing coal (and more generally with heat and fire ; and also a ‘boil’) ; in contemporary English, the echoes of humoral thought are more plainly audible in the word ‘inflammation’. Later in the play (4.5.192), Coriolanus is said to have « scotched […] and notched » his former enemy, Aufidius, like a carbonado steak – a feat that should, I think, not only be ascribed to his abilities as a swordsman but also to his glowing heat in times of battle ; – as indicated in the addition « An he had been cannibally given, / He might have boiled 4 and eaten him too ». Vo 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

  David George, Plutarch, Insurrection and Dearth in Coriolanus, « Shakespeare Survey », 2 53, 2000, pp. 60-72, 72.   E.g., in Parker’s comm. ad loc. 3   Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Great Carbuncle. A Mystery of the White Mountains (1837), in Twice-Told Tales, edited by Rosemary Mahoney, New York, Modern Library, 2001, pp. 112-125. 4   I depart from Parker’s text in ignoring the frequent emendation (« broiled »), which, while vaporizing a comical point, would only apparently strengthen my argument. Cf.  

 

 

 

211 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus lumnia alludes to this heat when, in her rant against Sicinius, she wishes that her son « [w]ere in Arabia, and all thy tribe before him » (4.2.26). Instead of the somewhat unsatisfying explanation given by R. B. Parker ad loc., « i.e. in the desert, where he would be free to slaughter without interference », 1 one could more appropriately consider this region’s climate as the reason for Volumnia’s surprising choice of a battle scene : Its effect on Coriolanus’s choleric temper, already superfluously dry and hot, would have been devastating for any adversary. Volumnia’s desire to manipulate her son’s temperature has solid precedence in Coriolanus, where both the titular hero and the Roman citizens are constant objects of similar schemes. The humoral nature of the citizens’ emotional life is illustrated not only in Brutus’s words about their « variable complexions » (2.1.208), but also in the Third Citizen’s use of classical, fourfold divisions from humoral physiology (thrice in 2.3.17-31). In the actions succeeding the scene where Coriolanus asks for the citizens’ votes, Brutus and Sicinius successfully attempt to ignite both parties. Their plan has already been forged with extensive, metaphoric detail (2.1.239ff.) : The Tribunes intend to light Coriolanus ablaze by confronting him with his views about the populace, and Brutus plans a small, rhetorical climax which starts with the comparison between the citizens and « mules », whose infertility was commonly explained with their coldness, 2 and ends with camels. This speech, as Sicinius continues, will be Coriolanus’s « fire / To kindle their dry stubble ». Sicinius’s next allusion to the choleric hero’s temperature – the odd remark « by his looks methinks / ‘Tis warm at’s heart » after Coriolanus has completed his humiliating task (2.3.148) – has been considered to be needy of paraphrase by several commentators. Both Gomme’s « the consulship is dear to him » 3 and Parker’s  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tucker Brooke’s critique of « [c]ulinary editors, led by Pope » in the note ad loc. in his edition of Coriolanus, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1924. The proper way of preparing a carbonado was hardly a secret to Shakespeare’s audience. 1   This appears to be the common opinion in recent editions, cf. Lee Bliss’s comm. ad loc. in the New Cambridge edition, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2000. Philip Brockbank’s comm. ad loc. in the second Arden edition (London, Methuen, 1976), which quotes several parallels (e.g., Cymbeline, 1.1.168ff. : « I would they were in Afric both together / Myself by with a needle, that I might prick / The goer-back. ») is both more substantial and less conclusive. 2   The thought is found, e.g., in Torquato Tasso’s exposition of Aristotle’s more complicated account in Generation of Animals, 2.8 (748a ff.) in Il mondo creato, 6.1502ff. Torquato Tasso, Aminta, Il re Torrismondo, Il mondo creato, edited by Bruno Basile, Roma, Salerno ed., 1999, p. 736. 3   Quoted by Parker from Andor Harvey Gomme’s comm. ad loc. in his edition of Coriolanus in the Shakespeare Workshop series, London, Ginn, 1969.  

 

 

 

 

212 morten bartnæs suggestion ad loc. of « a malicious reference to the discomfort he has paid for it, playing on heartburn » might be accused of underestimating the image’s potential for being taken literally. Tucker Brooke’s lucid rephrasing, « it warms his heart », 1 seems closer to the point : Repressed « choler » (cf. 2.3.194 etc.), the superfluity of which is soon to be vented, has started building up in Coriolanus. However, Sicinius does not specify which outer signs (« looks ») lead him to assume that his adversary is heating up. The only sign explicitly mentioned in the text – Coriolanus’s statement that wearing the gown of humility is a part that he « shall blush in acting » (2.2.144) – has been connected with the build-up of excessive heat since Aristotle. 2 The success of the Tribunes’ tactics is illustrated in a literal way in the First Senator’s warning to Coriolanus after the announcement of the withdrawal of the citizens’ consent, « Not in this heat, sir, now » (3.1.68) ; the Senate has already learned that the people are « incensed » as well (3.1.34). Brutus’s rejection of Menenius’s call for temperance, expressed with graphic near-literalness in the denunciation of « cold ways » (3.1.220), is followed up by Menenius’s ambiguous « What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent » (3.1.260) – a statement that could both be taken as a near-literal reference to Coriolanus’s oral venting of his choler by way of invectives and as an indication of the reciprocity of the ongoing process of over-heating. In the latter reading, which is more consistent with the image’s metallurgic vein, Coriolanus’s tongue would be imagined as ventilating 3 the forge of the people’s growing rage – an interpretation that finds further support in Menenius’s surprising wish a few lines later (3.1.264) : « I would they were in Tiber ». Instead of pointing out the incongruence between this apparently vicious hope and the mitigated stance towards the citizens shown elsewhere by Menenius, 4 one could recall his words about the Tiber’s « allaying » faculties when poured into « hot wine » (2.1.47) 5 In this case, Menenius could be seen as expressing his  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Brooke, op. cit. (note 4 p. 210f.), ad loc.   In this respect, blushing is contrary to the paleness of ‘cold’ fear, cf. Aristotle, Movement of Animals, translated by E. S. Forster, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1968 (= « Loeb Classical Library », ccxxiii), p. 465 (= 701b) : « [W]hen, owing to heat or cold or a similar affection, an alteration is caused in the region of the heart [...], it gives rise to a considerable change in the body, causing blushing or pallor or shuddering or trembling or 3 the opposites of these ».   For this meaning of ‘vent’, cf. the Oed, s.v., 19. 4   Derek Traversi states the common opinion on Menenius’s words as revelatory of « his own true feelings » concerning the play’s political conflict. Derek Traversi, Shakespeare. The Roman Plays, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1963, p. 246. 5   Cf., e.g., Brockbank’s note ad loc. (« probably alluding to mulled wine »), which also 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

213 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus usual call for temperance – a reading that is also more congruent with the Patrician’s immediately preceding « I would they were abed ! ». In the scenes leading up to and immediately succeeding Coriolanus’s banishment (3.3-4.2), the thermal imagery gradually takes on a more specific character, foreshadowing the theme of burning Rome. Coriolanus’s « The fires i’th’ lowest hell fold in the people » (3.3.68) is the expression of an idea that might already have been intimated in Menenius’s warning against the « Brand to th’end o’th’ world » (3.1.306) that would result if his friend were to lose the rest of his blood at the hands of his countrymen. 1 When Coriolanus is metaphorically pictured as a « gangrened » foot (3.1.309), Sicinius (or, according to other editors, Menenius) chooses a disease commonly associated with the burning of carbuncle, anthrax, Persian (and « hot », and « cold ») fire, etc. 2 Volumnia’s « Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome » (4.1.14) again stresses the reciprocity of the relationship between her son and the citizens. In his 1593 essay on the London plague, Simon Forman distinguishes between the « Black plague » of Saturn and the « Red plague » of Mars. The « sores or carbuncles » of the Martian variant « ar more fierie hote, and red, and doe rise vp and com out quicklie in respecte to those of Saturne […] ». 3 Whether or not it is apposite to see in Volumnia’s tirade yet another instance of the play’s allusive identification of Coriolanus with the Roman war-god, she chooses a decidedly hot disease as an element in a curse appropriate for the citizens, who are again said to have been « incensed » a few pages later  

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

mentions the parallel from The Merchant of Venice, 2.2.167f. : « To allay with some cold drops of modesty / Thy skipping spirit […] ». 1   The ambiguousness of Menenius’s words, which could be read as « firebrand for the Day of Wrath » has linguistic support in Coriolanus (« If he were putting to my house the brand / That should consume it », 4.6.121f.) ; the image also had an oblique resonance in phrases like « (fire)brand of hell » (cf. the Oed, s.v. ‘firebrand’, which, however, disregards the literal usage found in Spenser’s Faerie Queene, 4.2.1ff., where « wicked discord » is described as a « Firebrand of hell first tynd in Phlegeton / By thousand furies and from thence out throwen / Into this world, to worke confusion, / And set it all on fire by force vnknowen »). Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene, edited by Thomas P. Roche and C. Patrick O’Donnell, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1978, p. 579. 2   The interchangeability of these terms is still evident in Blanckaert’s Lexicon Medicum, Halle, Bierwirth, 1748 : « Ignis persicvs, idem quod gangræna, sumitur etiam pro carbunculo seu anthraces ». S.v. anthrax, the lexicon adds carbo (coal) and pruna (live coal) as synonyms. Quoted from the online facsimile edition in Camena, . 3   Forman’s essay is quoted from Barbara H. Traister, The Notorious Astrological Physician of London. Works and Days of Simon Forman, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 2001, p. 44. In a later essay (1607), Forman distinguished between the « pestilence » of Mars and the « plague » of Saturn, cf. ibid., p. 46.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

214 morten bartnæs (4.2.35). Against this background of heat metaphors, Sicinius’s somewhat hazy critique of his adversary, « You show too much of that / For which the people stir » (3.1.54f.), might more adequately be interpreted as a reference to both parties’ inflammable nature than, e.g., as a critique of Coriolanus’s « insolence ». 1 In the vast amount of criticism concerned with the exposition of what Philip Brockbank calls « the dominant dehumanizing word » 2 of Coriolanus, « thing », the readers’ focus has commonly been on the word’s function as an indicator of the protagonist’s distance from or incongruity with private and public life in the young, Roman republic. However, the « thing » is also, in a most literal way, a constituent of this republic – the public thing into which the word dissolves for an audience with enough Latin to recognize the words res and publica. 3 Coriolanus is the « thing of blood » (2.2.107), the « noble thing » (4.5.117), the « kind of nothing, titleless » (5.1.13) which engages in a reciprocal, complementary relationship with the other members of the anti-monarchic experiment called by a name never used by Shakespeare, members who are themselves referred to as « goodly things » (4.6.155), « things created / To buy and sell with groats » (3.2.9f.), « rotten thing » (3.1.180). As a constant element in the thermal interplay between the « things » of the res publica, Caius Martius is the first to be described with the word « ’incensed » (1.10.55). At the same time, Cominius’s speech points towards a theme of Coriolanus which in recent interpretations is frequently referred to as the play’s thematization of « self-devouring » and/or « cannibalism ». 4 Cominius sees his second in command as being incensed  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   For the latter reading, which would have been more convincing if the text had read « at which » or « ’gainst which », cf. John Dover Wilson’s comm. ad loc. in his edition of Coriolanus, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1960. Schmidt mentions this instance of « for » under the heading « in the character or quality of, as » ; I prefer to see it in the vicinity of usages like « red for shame » and « my heart for anger burns ». Cf. Schmidt s.v. ‘for’ 3 ; 10. 2   Brockbank, op. cit. (note 1 p. 211), p. 51. 3   Cf. also the Oed, s.v. ‘public’, s.u. 2 (« public thing »). The Oed only includes examples from the 15th century ; among those of Shakespeare’s contemporaries who used the phrase was John Florio, the translator of Montaigne’s Essays, who renders « Ils en font une chose publique imaginaire ». (« They make him [man, sc.] into an imaginary republic ») with « They make a publike imaginarie thing of it ». Quoted from the online edition of Florio’s translation in the collection « Renascence Editions », . Cotton’s translation of the Essays, published from 1685, still has « They make an Imaginary of a Publick thing ». (Essays of Michael de Montaigne […] Made English, By Charles Cotton Esq., ii, London, D. Brown et al., 1711, p. 312). 4   Cf. Terence Eagleton, Shakespeare and Society. Critical Studies in Shakespearean Drama, London, Chatto and Windus, 1967, pp. 102ff. ; Janet Adelman, Suffocating Mothers. Fantasies of Maternal Origin in Shakespeare’s Plays. Hamlet to The Tempest, New York and London, Routledge, 1992, pp. 146-164.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

215 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus « ’gainst yourself », and ironically suggests manacles in order to be able to « reason safely » with him – surely not without recognizing reason’s already proverbial coolness. However, Cominius’s speech does appear to change more than a name : Coriolanus’s mood has been altered from choler towards temperance. He cryptically states that the audience « shall perceive / Whether I blush or not » after he has washed off the blood covering his face – a statement that with its challenging tone would be more appropriate on the battlefield, but which parodies 1 the common warrior’s boast that no one will see him stricken by the pallor of (cold) fear. Coriolanus, who a few lines earlier has refused the share of the campaign’s booty offered to him by Cominius, now accepts the general’s steed, and subsequently commits the surprising, potentially demeaning act of asking a favour (« give my poor host freedom », 1.10.86), but famously loses a name for the one just achieved. As stated in the sections on memory in Sir Thomas Wilson’s The Arte of Rhetorique (1553), « heate […] doth drawe thinges vnto it (as we may see by the Sunne) the which notwithstanding are soner after dissipated and resolued », 2 but Coriolanus’s sudden forgetfulness when not being able to remember the name  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Today’s use of the word diverges from classical and Renaissance definitions. For a discussion of the term’s different historical applications, cf. Anthony Martin, George Herbert and Sacred ‘Parodie’, « Studies in Philology », 93, 1996, pp. 443-470. In Coriolanus, another example of parody in a Renaissance sense is the titular hero’s adynaton on swimming « with fins of lead », (1.1.177), recognizable as such when calling to mind Alberti’s description of public office (« auctoritates hominum ») as « plumbee […] ale [sic] » (wings of lead). Leon Battista Alberti, Intercenales, edited and translated by Franco Bacchelli and Luca D’Ascia, Bologna, Pendragon, 2003, p. 236. Another example might be the image of Coriolanus striking Corioles « like a planet » (2.2.111f.), a psychological expression which oddly doubles the common image of the warrior as a comet – used by Virgil, Tasso, Spenser, du Bartas and others. For examples, cf. The Poetical Works of John Milton, edited by Henry J. Todd, London, J. Johnson, 1809, ii, p. 431. (On the other hand, the assertion of modern editors that the Folios’ frequent, inverted name form « Martius Caius Coriolanus » (etc.) is Shakespeare’s (or the Folio editors’) error – an apparent, linguistic inaccuracy that could also be seen as reminiscent of parody – does not take into account that this practice was common at Shakespeare’s time. This name form is present in the Greek title of Plutarch’s life as late as in the 1829 Tauchnitz edition. Cf. Plutarchi vitae parallelae. Ad optimorum librorum fidem accurate editae, edited by C. Ch. T. Tauchnitz, Lipsiae [= Leipzig], 1829, ii, p. 252. 2   Thomas Wilson, The Arte of Rhetorique 1560, edited by G. H. Mair, Oxford, Clarendon, 1909, p. 210. Wilson limits his rather chaotic discussion to the cases of excessively « colde and drie » and « hot and moist » temperaments. The quoted passage refers to the latter, but should still apply to Coriolanus’s case of excessive dry-hotness : « For where humours exceede or want, there must needes ensue much weakenesse of remembraunce ». (209f.) According to Thomas Walkington’s The Optick Glasse of Humours, 1607, the dry complexion « possessed a brain with a poor memory ». Charles F. Mullett, Thomas Walkington and His ‘Optick Glasse’, « Isis », 36, 1946, pp. 96-105, 104.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

216 morten bartnæs of his former host might equally be ascribed to his having cooled down in the sense implied in Immanuel Kant’s description of the choleric who « burns up quickly as a straw-fire ». 1 The choleric man’s inner fire – in Coriolanus’s case oddly indicated by his mentioning of « smoking swords » (1.4.11) and by Cominius’s description of the warrior in his encomium (« reeking », 2.2.117) – had the nature-given property of consuming its host. This self-consumption of persons of a choleric temperament is the reason why leanness is considered as its concomitant, bodily feature – as in Cesare Ripa’s Iconologia (1593). 2 In Coriolanus’s case, the war-hero’s choler appears to have burnt momentarily out – resulting not only in the temporary weakness of his memory but also in his wish to alleviate the ensuing coldness with wine (1.10.92). 3 This self-consuming nature of choler is central to the understanding of the play’s apparently unmotivated, sometimes abrupt shifts between fervid anger and (apparent) harmony. Although this feature of Coriolanus has most frequently been discussed in the context of Aufidius’s surprising « my rage is gone » at the end of the play (5.6.147), the theme is well-nigh ubiquitous. In the play’s first scene, it is difficult to see how Menenius’s attempt to « stale » (1.1.89) the rather trite, Aesopian fable can have any calming effect on the mutinous citizens. Bruce Krajewski lucidly – and while criticizing the many readers who direct all their attention to interpreting the fable instead of « examining its purpose at that particular moment in the drama » – takes the perspective of Hans Blumenberg’s view on rhetoric as « a consummate embodiment of retardation » in order to see Menenius’s speech as part of a stalling tactic. 4 However, instead of  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Immanuel Kant, Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, translated by Mary J. Gregor, The Hague, Nijhoff, 1974, p. 154. 2   Furthermore, according to Ripa’s description, the choleric is « supposed to give off a great deal of heat when enraged, which explains the flame on his shield [in the book’s illustration, sc. ». Cesare Ripa. Baroque and Rococo Pictorial Imagery […], edited by Edward A. Maser, New York, Dover, 1991, p. 107. 3   The effects of ‘hot’ wine and the dangers of overheating the brain are nicely brought together in the Problems of (pseudo ?-)Alexander of Aphrodisias, in Renaissance times frequently printed together with the very popular, pseudo-Aristotelian Problems : « The wine being able to ascend, doth burn the brain at the time it is disturbed and distempered by the ague. And we see also many who are in health, if they use much wine to be scarce well in their wits ». Quoted from Wiliam Salmon’s ( ?) translation in [Anon. :] The Works of Aristotle, New-England [sic], [s.e.], 1828, p. 244. This book, primarily devoted to spicy sexual education, is for the most part itself a notorious forgery, but for the quotation’s ‘authenticity’, cf. Physici et medici Graeci minores, edited by J. L. Ideler, Berlin, Reimer, i, 1841, p. 33. 4   Bruce Krajewski, Traveling with Hermes. Hermeneutics and Rhetoric, Amherst, University of Massachusetts Press, 1992, p. 49. Krajewski quotes from Hans Blumenberg’s An  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

217 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus assuming with Krajewski that the retardation achieved by Menenius’s telling of the fable « gives the people time to reconsider their planned activities » (an interpretation that could be accused of overestimating the citizens’ ability for rational thought), one could see it as the first of a number of instances where a predominant, psycho-physiological pattern of Coriolanus is developed : Coriolanus and the Roman citizens are both the objects of abrupt, emotional inflammation ; after some time, their rage burns out – due rather to the physiological process taking place within them than because of the results achieved (or failed) by their actions. Caius Martius’s contemptuous words of farewell to the pacified citizens in the first scene, « you fragments » (1.1.220), – a word most commentators acknowledge as a culinary term – is recognizable as a link in the semantic chain of references to choler’s self-consuming nature when calling to mind Volumnia’s variously interpreted refusal of Menenius’s invitation to eat with her at the height of her distemper : « Anger’s my meat : I sup upon myself / And so shall starve with feeding ». (4.2.53f.) Volumnia’s key phrase is followed up by a number of ironic mirroring effects, the first of which occurs in the ensuing scene between the Roman traitor Nicanor and Adrian the Volsce (who apparently leave the scene for a communal « supper » (4.3.37)). Relating Aufidius’s surprising, 1 implicit breach of his former avowal to kill Coriolanus against the « rotten privilege and custom » of any religious or chivalrous taboo (1.11.19ff.) to the fact that he is finishing his supper 2 would perhaps have seemed far-fetched if it had not been for Menenius’s repeated concerns about Coriolanus’s state of digestion some pages later : « Has he dined, canst thou tell ? » (5.2.34, cf. 5.1.50). In both cases, the rather naïve explanation given by Menenius (and sometimes rather hastily rejected as a symptom of his « pathological fixation with food », etc. 3) – that the mind of a person who has dined well is « suppler » (5.1.51ff.) – is not incompatible with  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Anthropological Approach to the Contemporary Significance of Rhetoric, translated by Robert M. Wallace, in Idem, After Philosophy. End or Transformation ?, edited by Kenneth Baynes, James Bohman, Thomas A. McCarthy, Cambridge, mit Press, 1987, pp. 429-458. 1   It has, among other things, led some readers to the assumption that Aufidius is perfidiously dissimulating his sudden affection – e.g., Rabkin, art. cit. (note 5 p. 203), p. 207. 2   This is evident from the Third Servingman’s comment a few minutes after Coriolanus has gone inside with Aufidius : « They are rising, they are rising » (4.5.239). 3   Arthur Riss, The Belly Politic. Coriolanus and the Revolt of Language, « English Literary History », 59, 1992, pp. 53-75, 74, n. 25. Draper’s suggestion that Menenius is « clearly ignorant to the choleric malady ; for food and drink were especially likely to enflame a tendency to wrath » is more tempting, but still underestimates the ironic potential of the play’s allusions to humoral theory (Draper, art. cit. [note 4 p. 205], p. 29)  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

218 morten bartnæs the view of choler’s self-devouring properties, with which it engages in an allusive interplay. As several readers have noticed, Coriolanus’s excessive choler is apparently absent in the last scene in Rome with his family and friends (4.1). 1 In the reconciliation scene with Aufidius, it has built up again – as indicated in Shakespeare’s allusion to the classical view of a house’s hearth as a sanctuary where fugitives enjoyed the right of asylum. 2 Rather than considering the phrase « I will not hurt your hearth » (4.5.25) as a reference to the « harsh experience of cold to which nature has subjected » the titular hero 3 (« this ice that is Marcius », as a prominent critic puts it 4), it should more appropriately – and together with the two following instances of the word (4.5.80, 5.6.29) – be seen not only as a sign of Shakespeare’s knowledge of this custom but also as an oblique reference to Coriolanus’s mental state during the supplication scene : For him, the hearth is doubly appropriate as a dwelling-place, not only as the proper place for seeking asylum ad focum, but also as a metonymic expression of his regained superfluity of choler, the fiery nature of which is repeatedly alluded to in the succeeding scenes. 5 Back in Rome, Sicinius’s initial description of the exiled, « his remedies are tame » (4.6.2), immediately situates the dramatic conflict of Coriolanus in the context of humoral physiology. 6 In this context, and bearing  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Cf. A. Luis Pujante, ‘No Sense Nor Feeling’. A Note on Coriolanus, 4.1, « Shakespeare Quarterly », 41, 1990, pp. 489f., who sees Coriolanus’s behaviour as motivated by a remark made by North’s Plutarch – but the novelty of his discovery is questioned by the note ad the immediately preceding passage in Plutarch made by Brockbank (op. cit., p. 342, note 1), who would probably see Pujante’s point as self-evident. However, the point is slightly off the mark. The reference to North hardly accounts for the fact that Coriolanus (in Pujante’s words) « appears to be subdued », nor for his words « intended to appease and comfort » his family. North’s three, highly graphic references to ‘fyre’ in the pertinent passage picture Coriolanus in the state of full, inward combustion ; in Shakespeare, he is burnt out. 2   Cf. Encyclopædia of Religion and Ethics, edited by J. Hastings, Edinburgh, Clark, 1974, vi, p. 563, which mentions several examples from classical literature. 3   Parker’s comm. ad loc. Schmidt’s paraphrase s.v. ‘hearth’, « Emblem of home and hospitality » is better, but still insufficient considering the context of North’s translation, « to come as a poore suter, to take thy chimney harthe » (quoted from Brockbank’s edition, p. 345). Plutarch is more elaborate on the subject of the sanctuary of the hearth in his life of Themistocles, section 24, cf. Plutarch, Greek Lives, edited and translated by R. Waterfield, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1998, p. 103. 4   Granville-Barker, op. cit. (note 1 p. 203) in his discussion of this scene, p. 137. 5   For a related instance of flammigerous imagery, cf. Lord Burghley’s words to his son (1584 ?) : « soldiers in peace are like chimneys in summer », quoted in Paul A. Jorgensen, Shakespeare’s Coriolanus. Elizabethan Soldier, « pmla », 64, 1949, pp. 221-235 ; 226. 6   Apart from this, the readings (and attempted emendations) of this and the surrounding lines diverge. My interpretation follows Schmidt’s paraphrase s.v. ‘remedy’ 2 ; cf. also the opinions of Capell and Perring, quoted in H. E. Furness’s Variorum edition of Coriolanus, Philadelphia and London, Lippincott, 1922, pp. 454f.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus in mind Brutus’s previous use of medical jargon in his critique of « cold ways » (3.1.220), it is difficult not to associate the mentioning of Coriolanus’s « remedies » with the « fire i’th’ lowest hell » in his first curse against the people (3.3.68) ; and similarly connect it to the famous Hippocratic aphorism where fire is seen as the last resort : Quae ferrum non sanat, ignis sanat. 1 Whether one should take this as a foreshadowing of Coriolanus’s desire of burning Rome, or as a reference to the idea of incensing the people against their new leaders, there is little doubt as to the thermal implications for Coriolanus, who is seen as the hot, choleric element now absent from Roman public life. Contrary to their would-be Consul, the citizens appear to have « temporized » (cf. 4.6.18). Seen from the perspective of humoral physiology (and of the body politic’s function as a dominant metaphor in Coriolanus), it is tempting to consider the citizens’ present temperance as the result of a purgation process where Coriolanus, the excessively choleric element, has been « vented ». Indeed, a tradition that might be traced back to Plutarch associates the venting of superfluous humours with purgation in the word’s modern, medical sense. 2 At the same time, the text continues the playful use of imagery connected with choler’s self‑consuming character : Coriolanus pictures the citizens of his « cankered » (i.e. gangrenous) country as having « devoured » everything but his name (4.5.92, 77) ; the latter metaphor has been prepared since Menenius’s « [W]ho does the wolf love ? » (2.1.7) The messengers who interrupt the surprisingly sociable conversation between Memenius and the Tribunes are more explicit as to the nature of Coriolanus’s remedy when stating that his army has « consumed with  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  The full text of the aphorism in English : « Those diseases which drugs cannot cure, the knife cures ; those which the knife cannot cure, fire cures ; and those which fire does not cure must be considered incurable ». Quoted from Tracey Elizabeth Rihll, Greek Science, Oxford, Oxford Universtiy Press, 1999, p. 124. 2   Instead of mentioning more recent critical attempts in this direction, which commonly acknowledge Kenneth Burke’s Coriolanus and the Delights of Faction, in Idem, Language as Symbolic Action, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1966, pp. 81-97, as the source of inspiration for the backward view on Coriolanus, one could point at King’s exposition of the line « They vented their complainings » (1.1.206) : « They said they were an hungry [sic] […], but they had all this in them to let out ». A. H. King, Notes on Coriolanus, « English Studies », 19, 1937, pp. 13-20 : 20 ; 1938, pp. 18-25 ; ad loc. Fecal undertones may also be heard in Plutarch, e.g., in the phrase rendered by North as « seditious persones, being the superfluous ill humours that grevously fedde this disease » (quoted from Brockbank’s edition, p. 329, my italics). The italicized words translate, through the intermediary of Amyot’s French version, Plutarch’s períttwma, « that which is over and above, esp. that which remains after the digestion of food […] ». H. G. Liddell, R. Scott, H. S. Jones, A Greek-English Lexicon, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1968, s.v. perísswma.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

220 morten bartnæs fire and took / What lay before them ». (4.6.81) The roles change again : The consumed turns into the consumer, and Coriolanus’s former friends immediately embrace the rather unmotivated image of his campaign as an attempt to annihilate Rome by means of fire (4.6.86, 89, 121, 145). 1 Though inconsistent with the repeated references to the « conditions » offered by the Volscian army (for which there would have been no need if the intention was to burn Rome to extinction), this image pervades the Romans’ notion of the threat represented by Coriolanus, who himself never explicitly states this as his intention. The illogicity of these apparently parallel threats to Rome, where the literalness of North’s relation of the Volscians’ harsh and embarrassing, but scarcely annihilating conditions 2 fades away behind the central metaphor in the medical imagery connected with Coriolanus’s choler, is illustrated by Cominius’s account of his embassy. After having reported – perhaps not without a touch of personal invention – Coriolanus’s gnomic words about leaving « the noisome, musty chaff » unburnt because of « one poor grain or two » (5.1.26f.), Cominius famously describes his eye in a way scarcely consistent with the assumption of universal conflagration as the campaign’s objective. Coriolanus’s eye is « Red as ‘twould burn Rome » (5.1.64) – the simile’s conditional form and its apparent forgetfulness of the fact that this has previously been stated as the protagonist’s explicit, non-metaphorical intention, gives it a quaint note of recantation. In reality, Coriolanus’s choler has already burnt at its highest pitch. His own process towards recantation, which has perhaps already started with the message sent after Cominius (5.1.68), is explicitly thematized by the self-correction in the conversation with Aufidius after Menenius’s embassy (« A very little / I have yielded to », 5.3.16f.). Hereby, Aufidius’s earlier comment on his apparent intransigence towards Menenius’s pleas, « You keep a constant temper » (5.2.92), is surreptitiously exposed as erroneous. In the scene immediately following the women’s embassy, Menenius’s conception of Rome’s imminent calamities has changed significantly. His focus is on the citizens’ throats, which are « sentenced and stay upon execution » (5.4.7f. ; cf. 5.4.56), on their necks (5.4.33), but through an apparent case of dramatic telepathy, the more poignant idea of general combustion remains unmentioned. Considering the common view on Menenius’s role in the first section of this scene – that he  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  The Second Messenger’s report is consistent with Plutarch’s description of Coriolanus’s tactical use of « harme and burning » on the Roman countryside (Brockbank’s edition, p. 350) ; later, Shakespeare departs from Plutarch. 2   Cf. Plutarch’s account in Brockbank’s edition, p. 353ff.  

 

 

221 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus 1 gloatingly takes some delight in depicting the horrors ahead – this represents a slight anomaly if one does not assume that the thermal images of Coriolanus exert their own dynamic. This dynamic is at play when the fire images used immediately after the announcement of the women’s success are redistributed to members of the Roman republic : The messenger himself is as « certain as [he knows] the sun is fire » (5.4.45), and Shakespeare departs from Plutarch in making « triumphant fires » (5.5.3), the last of the play’s references to this element, a feature of the celebration of the women’s return – a rather tasteless one, it might be added, considering the nature of the averted menace.  

 

 

 

 

 

Frigidity as a Remedy in the Reconciliation Scene The reconciliation scene is thus inscribed in a metaphorical context that does not only comprise the realms of humoral medicine and the body politic but also the more specific aspects of the play’s thermal dynamics, where private and public « things » unremittingly blaze up and burn out. As the audience will have noted from his hesitating concessions to Cominius and Menenius, the choleric hero is about to cool down. This process appears to be precipitated by the women’s intervention, although it could well be imagined without their pleas. In this sense, Shakespeare’s rendering of the reconciliation scene has parallels to Menenius’s tale at the play’s beginning : As the central ingredient in his stalling tactic, the tale per se verges on redundancy ; its dramatic justification lies elsewhere – notably in the play’s meta-theatrical thematization of rhetoric. 2 As for the women’s intervention, it seems difficult to deny it a certain, ‘unswerving’ emotive effect on Coriolanus. At the same time, the dramatic means by which this effect is conveyed – to the protagonist and to the audience – are the object of intricate tactics of defamiliarization. This almost Brechtian characteristic of the scene can be observed from the moment when the women enter the stage, introduced by words already familiar to the audience : « Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow / In the same time ‘tis made ? » (5.3.19f.). These words, which call to mind the ones professed by Coriolanus at a previous moment of ironically subverted clemency (1.10.80f.), not only introduce the theme of fortuitous contingency in a scene superficially concerned with the absolute  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

  Stated, e.g., by Granville-Barker, op. cit. (note 1 p. 203), p. 123.   For a survey of different critical views on this point, cf. West and Silberstein, art. cit. (note 5 p. 205), pp. 309f. 2

222 morten bartnæs bonds of Nature. Because of their familiarity, the lines also question the uniqueness of the « only scene » of Coriolanus, exposing this scene to the play’s mechanics of ironic distancing. The reconciliation theme, so central to Coriolanus, 1 has already been the object of ironic defamiliarization in the protagonist’s soliloquy before his meeting with Aufidius, where the commonsensical statement that friends may become enemies because of the « dissension of a doit » is oddly followed up by the assertion that reconciliation may occur « by some chance, / Some trick not worth an egg ». (4.4.17ff.) 2 The scene’s potential for unswerving, emotive appeal is further undercut by Coriolanus’s ambiguous continuation of the play’s use of theatrical metaphors when stating that he, « like a dull actor », has forgotten his part (5.3.40). In another setting, this statement might have been seen as an indication of the authenticity of the emotional process going on in the protagonist, who sees himself forced to relinquish the merely assumed role of the avenger in order to reinstate himself as a son, husband and father. However, seen in its context this comment rather represents a thematization of the theatrical aspects of the reconciliation scene itself. Instead of presenting a display of the authenticity of Man’s feelings towards Nature’s bonds, the scene immediately verges off into the realm of the meta-theatrical, ironically making the rhetorical aspects of persuasion an issue once again. Coriolanus, reduced to the existence of an awkward, stupid actor, 3 immediately dons this role in his ensuing greeting of the members of his family. His words to Virgilia, « Forgive my tyranny, but do not say / For that ‘Forgive our Romans’ » (5.3.42f.), appear to be motivated by his forgetfulness rather than by the action of Coriolanus. They would be more appropriate in a play about the rape of the Sabine women and their subsequent intervention in the war between Romulus and the Sabine Titus Tatius. These women would more appropriately describe their fellow citizens as « our Romans », and the description of Titus Tatius (the person with whom Coriolanus apparently identifies himself ) as a « tyrant » has precedence in Ennius’s line, famous because of its frequent use in textbooks of rhetoric as an example of alliteration : O Tite, tute, Tati, tibi tanta, tyranne, tulisti. Furthermore, Coriolanus’s introductory apostrophe, « Best of my flesh », commonly seen as a (fairly  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   On its centrality, cf. Jay L. Halio, Coriolanus. Shakespeare’s ‘Drama of Reconciliation’, « Shakespeare Studies », 6, 1970, pp. 289-303, who also recognizes some of its comical aspects. 2   On this point, cf. also Parker’s introduction, p. 71 (« illogical, extended antithesis »). 3   Schmidt’s paraphrase s.v. ‘dull’, 5.  

 

 

 

223 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus awkward) way of greeting Virgilia, rather leads the thoughts to the paternal relationship between Titus Tatius and his famous daughter, Hersilia. 1 Coriolanus’s apparent allusion to the intervention of the Sabine women, already prefigured in Plutarch’s account, 2 places the move towards non-theatrical authenticity implicit in his words about forgetting his part in the most subversive of contexts. As Roman history’s founding coup de théâtre, the story of the rape of the Sabine women had a central position in Renaissance literary theory concerned with theatre’s origins and societal justification, e.g., in Thomas Heywood’s An Apology for Actors (1612). 3 Whether his words « O, a kiss […] » are occasioned by Virgilia’s actions or by his own sudden propensity towards theatrical pathos, Coriolanus continues by describing his chastity during his absence from Virgilia, for the occasion awkwardly associated with Jove’s notoriously jealous wife, whose goodbye kiss he has « virgined » since he left Rome. The climax reaches hyperbolical heights in Coriolanus’s blasphemous address to his mother, where the words « You gods, I pray » (5.3.48) 4 are contrasted with the apparently more important action of kneeling before Volumnia. Her answer to this gesture is her own genuflexion, perversely enhanced by the mentioning of « flint » as contrast to the earth in which Coriolanus’s knee has shown its « impression ». Her words are more appropriately seen as demonstrating language’s dissociation from the emotional realities of the scene than (in accordance with today’s commonly held opinion) as parts of an intricate tactics of sarcasm towards her son. The usual,  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Parallel usages in Shakespeare commonly refer to shared genes, rather than to the sharing of a bed, cf. « God knows you are a collop of my flesh » said by Joan’s father in Henry VI, First Part, 5.6.18. Commentators instead mention a Biblical parallel which would endow Coriolanus with some ability of theological reflection : « they twain shall be one flesh » (Matt. 14.5, on marriage). 2   Valeria convinces Volumnia and Vergilia to visit Coriolanus, a « matter […] that shall redounde to our more fame and glorie, then the daughters of the Sabynes obteined in former age […] ». Brockbank, op. cit., p. 359. 3   The primary point of departure for these discussions was Ovid’s Ars amatoria, 1.101ff. Cf. Jane Tylus, Theorizing Women’s Place. Nicholas Poussin, The Rape of the Sabines, and the Early Modern Stage, in Transnational Exchange in Early Modern Theater, edited by Robert Henke, Eric Nicholson, Aldershot, Ashgate, 2008, pp. 99-116. My view on the intertextual relationship between Coriolanus and the myth of the Sabine women differs from, but still finds some support in the point made by Coppélia Kahn, « Livy’s account of the peacemaking role of the raped Sabine women […] shapes the climactic scene in Coriolanus […] ». Coppélia Kahn, Roman Shakespeare. Warriors, Wounds, and Women, London, Routledge, 1997, p. 156. 4   I disregard the conjectural « prate » which replaces « pray » in most modern editions, including Parker’s.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

224 morten bartnæs rather dissatisfying explanation of Coriolanus’s ensuing self-description, « your corrected son », as referring to his recognition of this sarcasm (and implying that he self-consciously perceives himself as « chastised », etc.) disregards the opportunity of seeing the phrase as another instance of linguistic inappropriateness, where the obvious « erect(ed) » is tellingly displaced by a word with both medical and rhetorical connotations. As a medical terminus technicus, the word refers to the reinstatement of humoral balance. 1 In rhetoric, the term ‘correction’ is the common translation of the term denoting the speech act performed before Coriolanus’s kneeling (« You gods […] »), epanorthosis, in Abraham Fraunce’s words the « calling backe of a mans selfe […], when any thing is reuoked, and it is as it were, a cooling of [the] heate of exclamation ». 2 Coriolanus’s ensuing adynata are so maimed by linguistic overload that they literally perform the meta-theatrical act of « [m]urdring impossibility » (5.3.61). In the first case, « Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach / Fillip the stars », reminiscences of the common adynaton of counting pebbles and/or stars are confounded with the frequently mentioned impossibility of circumpolar constellations (e.g., the Great Bear in Britain) changing their course so that they disappear in the ocean ; yet other, classical adynata thematize the impossibility of making voracious marine areas like the Syrtes placid. 3 In Coriolanus’s next adynaton, « then let the mutinous winds / Strike the proud cedars ‘gainst the fiery sun », the idea of a natural portent reminiscent of God’s ability to « break cedar trees » 4 with his voice, and the classical image of the winds’ mutiny 5 are confounded with the impossibility expressed more temperately by Menenius against the Roman citizens : « you may as well / Strike at the heaven with your staves » (1.1.65). The larger-than-human images in Coriolanus’s adynata mutually extinguish each other. They show more resemblance  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Oed, s.v. ‘correct’ 6.   Abraham Fraunce, Arcadian Rhetorike […], London, 1588, sig. [F6]r. I disagree with Brian Vickers, who sees Fraunce’s psychological explanation as « opposed to the traditional interpretations of the figure’s pathetic or passionate effects ». Brian Vickers, Classical Rhetoric in English Poetry, Carbondale, Southern Illinois University Press, 1989, p. 109. Fraunce does not discuss the effects of epanorthosis (and aposiopesis), but rather its causes, and here, he is in line with the traditional view, cf. Heinrich Lausberg, Handbook of Literary Rhetoric, edited and translated by David. E. Orton and R. Dean Anderson, Leiden, Brill, 1998, §§888ff. and §786. 3   For examples, cf. Galen O. Rowe, The Adynaton as a Stylistic Device, « American Journal 4 of Philology », 86, 1965, pp. 387-396.   Psalms 29.5. 5   The locus classicus for this topos is Neptune’s calming of the storm in the Aeneid, 1.124, which is explicitly compared with the pacification of seditious citizens. 2

 

 

 

 

225 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus with lucubrations professed by a dull actor than with the Shakespearean speeches of emotional paroxysm with which they are sometimes compared. 1 Coriolanus continues by greeting Valeria with an outburst that has surprised many readers. 2 This « moon of Rome » is « chaste as the icicle / That’s curdied by the frost from purest snow / And hangs on Dian’s temple ». The Folios’ « curdied », a word that awkwardly leads the mind towards the pastoral handiwork in the image’s Arcadian setting, has been the object of numerous emendatory suggestions, and the greatly diverging interpretations of these lines include the assumption of a potential, amorous relationship between the two 3 and the assumption that Coriolanus’s praise is an ironic taunt against « the very sample of an inveterate gossip ». 4 In his Elements of Criticism (1762), Henry Home, Lord Kames rejects Coriolanus’s comparison as consisting « in words only, not in sense ». Shakespeare, « in the hurry and glow of composing », has considered the verbal resemblance between chastity, « cold in a metaphorical sense », and an icicle, « cold in a proper sense » as a sufficient foundation for the simile. Home’s choice of his next example of « phantom similes », an example that might be seen as a subtle addition to his explicit critique, places Coriolanus’s fit of lyricism in a familiar context :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lucian, in his dissertation upon history, talking of a certain author, makes the following comparison, which is verbal merely : This author’s descriptions are so cold, that they surpass the Caspian snow, and all the ice of the north. 5  

 

Wittingly or unwittingly, Home’s critique of these instances of « merely verbal » comparison places them in the context of stylistic frigidity in the term’s classical (and Renaissance) sense. Bearing in mind Coriolanus’s  

 

1

  E.g., by Adrian Poole, who compares these adynata with « the idiom of Lear in the storm, of Macbeth in the night ». Adrian Poole, Coriolanus, New York, Harvester, 1988, pp. 103f. ; cf. King Lear 3.2.1ff., etc., Macbeth, 5.5.16ff., etc. 2   E.g., R. B. Parker in his comm. ad. loc. I disregard the conjectural « candied » for « curdied ». 3   Glynne Wickham, Coriolanus. Shakespeare’s Tragedy in Rehearsal and Performance, in Later Shakespeare, edited by J. R. Brown and B. Harris, London, Edward Arnold, 1966, pp. 166-181, 175. 4   Junius Redivivus (i.e. William B. Adams), Coriolanus no Aristocrat, « The Monthly Repository », n.s. 8 (85-88), 1834, pp. 41-54 ; 129-139 ; 190-202 ; 292-299, p. 53. In his essay, John Middleton Murry agrees in this view of « chattering Valeria », but does not mention Coriolanus’s later praise (Murry, op. cit. [note 5 p. 203], p. 37). 5   Henry Home, Lord Kames, Elements of Criticism, New York, Collins & Hannay et al., 1829, p. 325, my italics. Home quotes from Lucian’s How to write history, cf. Lucian. Selected Dialogues, translated by C. D. N. Costa, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2006, p. 189.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

226 morten bartnæs tenacious occupation with the functions of rhetoric, the predominant focus on humoral medicine, and consequently on the explicitly thermal aspects of « temperance », the eponymous hero’s verbose, absurdly hyperbolical use of metaphors of coldness suggests that his quasi-poetic language is motivated by causes that transcend the realm of mere verbality. The reconciliation scene of Coriolanus continues – but also impishly parodies – the play’s thematic strand of thermal differences. In this context of humorously spiced but still « tragic » drama reminiscent of Shakespeare’s later plays, Coriolanus’s ostentatiously frigid language is a comically plausible and – for the learned part of his audience – easily perceptible way of referring to the humoral process taking place inside him : Coriolanus has cooled down, literally and verbally. Apparently unaware of this state of facts, Volumnia pursues her imagined task of cooling down the choler of her already burnt-out son. Her bookish name, already punned in the statement that Martius’s « good report » should be her son if he were to die in combat (1.3.20f ), might constitute the main reason for metaphorically describing her grandson as a « poor epitome » (5.3.68). Coriolanus’s own, pious wishes for Young Martius’s future are expressed with rambling unwieldiness. His hope that his son should be « to shame unvulnerable » recalls the more patent ambiguity of Biron’s « We are shame-proof » in Love’s Labour’s Lost (5.2.509), 1 and the comparison of a general-to-be with « a sea-mark, standing every flaw / And saving those that eye thee » constitutes the direct opposition to the martial ideals professed by a warrior whose contempt for soldiers’ flaws has previously been expressed with « He that retires, I’ll take him for a Volsce » (1.4.28). 2 Coriolanus takes up the meta-theatrical theme of stylistic frigidity by introducing Volumnia’s long speeches with the warning against attempting to allay his « rages and revenges » with « colder reasons ». Alone, this use of the adjective may perhaps, with some lar 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  My view on Coriolanus’s words differs from the one found in Ewan Fernie, Shame in Shakespeare, London, Routledge, 2002, pp. 217ff. Fernie’s interpretation does not preclude him from listing « to shame unvulnerable » under « shame-proof » in the book’s index (p. 273), and from repeatedly using the latter phrase with unequivocal irony – e.g., when elaborating on Falstaff ’s « shamelessness » (p. 97). 2   Bliss’s (op. cit., note 1 p. 211) suggestion ad loc. that Shakespeare has been inspired by the image in the Aeneid, 10, 693ff. is as plausible as any other reference to this classical topos. However, the differences between the image’s classical uses (e.g., the Iliad, 15.618ff., Aeneid, 7.586ff., Ovid’s Metamorphoses, 9.40f.) and Coriolanus’s simile are more conspicuous than the similarities. The classical image is based on the resilience of a rock etc. against the powers of the elements, not against the occasional ‘flaw’. Shakespeare’s parody turns an image of rocky steadfastness into a harbor for cowards.  

 

 

 

 

 

227 the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus gesse and disregarding the comparative form, be seen as exhaustively paraphrased with phrases like « without power to influence ». 1 However, Volumnia’s speeches, strongly dependent on Plutarch but ostentatiously interspersed with frigidities, conclude with a statement which picks up her son’s words of admonition : « I am hushed until our city be afire, / And then I’ll speak a little ». (5.3.182f.). Volumnia evidently sees her frigid discourses as capable not only of tempering her son’s rage but also of abating his revenge – the fires of Rome ablaze – in a most literal (and mock-literary) way. Among Volumnia’s less conspicuous frigidities are the bookish worries about her son’s reputation if he disobeys her. His name will be « such a name / Whose repetition will be dogged with curses, / Whose chronicle thus writ : ‘The man was noble, / But with his last attempt he wiped it [sc. the chronicle 2] out’ […] ». Volumnia’s lucid nonsense translates the fate of Herostratus into the larger-than-life proportions of her rhetoric. Whereas Herostratus’s name was famously expunged from the public records of his native Ephesus for setting the temple on fire, Coriolanus’s intended, universal conflagration leaves no chronicle behind (save it be a palimpsest). 3 Volumnia’s warning that Coriolanus will have to tread on his « mother’s womb » (5.3.125) before marching to assault his native city is a statement fraught with a special degree of significance for many recent interpretations of the play. 4 However, the amount of existential gravity implicitly connected with it may more appropriately be seen in Plurarch’s relation of the same words, than in Shakespeare’s gradual movement towards a rhetorical anticlimax. To Volumnia’s warning, Shakespeare first adds the analogous threat made by his wife – an act of subtle subversion because the (slightly, but still) less perverse notion of treading on one’s wife dis 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  The parallel mentioned in Wilson’s comm. ad loc., « your search is cold » (The Merchant of Venice, 2.7.73), is semantically rather distant. 2   For this obsolete meaning, cf. the Oed s.v. ‘wipe’ 2b. Commentators usually see the pronoun ‘it’ as referring either to Coriolanus’s ‘name’ or to the adjective ‘noble’. Parker in his introduction (p. 5, note 1) disapproves of Herostratus « as an influence » on Coriolanus, but only mentions him in his comm. ad vv. 5.1.11ff., where the reminiscences of the Ephesian no-name are less conspicuous. 3   The apparently intended, psycho-physical effect of Volumnia’s speech has precedence in North’s Life of Alexander, where Plutarch, caustically punning the stylistic term, recalls the « crie and exclamation » of the historian Hegesias of Magnesia when describing the burning of the Ephesian temple, « so terrible and cold, that it was enough to have quenched that fire ». Plutarch’s Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romanes […], edited by G. Wyndham, translated by T. North, London, David Nutt, 1895, 4, p. 300. 4   Especially in psychoanalytically oriented and feminist readings of the play, e.g., Adelman, op. cit. (note 4 p. 214), pp. 160ff. ; Kahn, op. cit. (note 3 p. 223), pp. 157f.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

228 morten bartnæs turbs the impression of ultimately abominable, abdominal transgression evoked by Volumnia’s peroration. Subsequently, Young Martius presents his threat, the effect of which is undoubtedly comical : « A shall not tread on me. / I’ll run away till I am bigger, but then I’ll fight ». Unlike any audience, Volumnia appears to take the effect of her grandson’s words seriously when later urging him to speak again : « Perhaps thy childishness will move him more / Than can our reasons ». (5.3.158f.) In the context of Shakespeare’s uses of « childish », according to Alexander Schmidt « always in a bad sense », 1 Volumnia’s words are estranging and might been seen as a somewhat contemptuous, ironic reference to her grandson’s words in his previous (and only) lines. Whether or not one assumes a touch of her own irony in these words, the term « childishness » is more likely to be taken as a way of describing Young Martius’s verbal abilities than as an awkwardly metaphysical way of expressing the quiddity of being a child. Interestingly, the word also carries distinctively rhetorical connotations – as the translation of the name of the stylistic vice known as tò meriakiódes/puerilitas. This stylistic vice is treated together with the frigidum in Longinus’s influential On the Sublime, 2 and Renaissance critics often use the terms together. Frequently, they form a unity of quasi-synonyms used, e.g., in Scaliger’s critique of Homer’s use of epithets saepe frigida, aut puerilia, aut locis inepta (« frequently frigid, or childish, or inapposite »), 3 words that are polemically echoed in Chapman’s commentary to his translation of the Iliad (1598-1611), where Scaliger himself is accused of being putidus, ineptus, frigidus, puerilis. 4 Volumnia’s comparison between Young Martius’s « childishness » and her own « reasons » (the coldness of which has already been mentioned) thus continues the supplication scene’s defamiliarizing and subversive tendency. It is tempting, but not indispensable to my argument, to assume that the ensuing simile – introduced by the meta-theatrical « here he [Young Martius, sc. ?] lets me prate / Like one i’th’stocks » – is Volumnia’s attempt at verifying her hypothesis on the effectiveness of puerilitas :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Schmidt, op. cit. (note 5 p. 204), s.v. ‘childish’.   For further, classical examples of this concurrence, cf. Gutzwiller, op. cit. (note 2 p. 208), pp. 80f. 3   Iulius Caesar Scaliger, Poetices libri septem / Sieben Bücher über die Dichtkunst, edited and translated by Luc Deitz and Gregor Vogt-Spira, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, FrommannHolzboog, 1998, 4, p. 64. 4   Quoted from Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey (= The Works of George Chapman, iii), edited by R. H. Shepherd, London, Chatto and Windus, 1885, p. 52. 2

the ‘ temperatures ’ of coriolanus

229

Thou hast never in thy life Shown thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has clucked thee to the wars and safely home […] (5.3.161ff.)

The display of stylistic vices in Coriolanus’s « unnatural scene » (5.3.184) has ample precedence in Menenius’s failed attempt at pacifying Coriolanus in the preceding scene. In his brief address quickly silenced by Coriolanus’s « Away ! » (5.2.78), Menenius continues the play’s ironic parallelization of emotional and physical heat, stating that his words (or his tears ?) are intended as « water to quench » the « fire » prepared by his « son ». Granville-Barker neatly summarizes the first part of this speech : « Eloquence overflows in affection and tears ». 1 With a metaphor more in line with his mentioning of the citizens’ « sighs », Menenius’s oddly rhythmical, alliterating speech may be said to be rhetorically overblown. His self-description some lines earlier, « I have been / The book of his [Coriolanus’s, sc.] good acts » (5.2.14f.) maintains the play’s ironic occupation with editorial issues, and in a part of his conversation with the Volscian guards (which is also readable as literary auto-criticism), Menenius commits the strange rhetorical act of presenting the possibility of his having « tumbled past the throw » (5.2.22, a literal translation of the rhetorical term hyperbole) when lauding Coriolanus as an argument in his favour. Thus, in an explicitly self-conscious way, Menenius leaves the guards with the impression that he may be a windbag in the word’s pragmatic sense. However, seen from an ironical, pragmato-stylistic point of view, the tumidity of Menenius’s language must not necessarily be considered a vice. Rather, the style of his address is a device humorously appropriate bearing in mind the First Watchman’s question : « Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in with such weak breath as this ? » (5.2.45f.). Embodying a stylistic metaphor present in Western literary polemic since Aristophanes’s Frogs, the inflated style of Menenius’s words simultaneously contributes to the disembodiment of the play’s language from the emotional bearings of its sources.  

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Conclusion Although my argument concerning the frigidities of Coriolanus’s « only scene » may make it more difficult to approve of R. B. Parker’s assertion  

 

1

  Granville-Barker, op. cit. (note 1 p. 203), p. 202.

230 morten bartnæs that its protagonists are « deadly serious », 1 its consequences for today’s common yet disputed view of Coriolanus’s adherence to the tragic genre are less readily assessable than it might seem. The somewhat sophisticated contempt for « haggling over literary categories » that leads D. J. Enright to the view of Coriolanus as a debate rather than a tragedy 2 might constitute a more appropriate approach to Shakespeare’s play than, e.g., the attempts at generically relocating (or relating) it to the realms of satire, Jonsonian humor comedy, 3 « grotesque tragedy », 4 history play 5 or tragicomedy. The latter word has repeatedly been used in critical discussions of the play – most frequently as a term that (presumably) elucidates through being dismissed. 6 Thus, even without recognizing the reconciliation scene’s comical aspects, Steven Marx reaches the conclusion that Coriolanus « clearly would have fallen within the classification of tragicomedy » if the play had ended before the brief final scene. 7 Without attempting to make statements about the play’s relationship to the dramatic genres of its time, one can at least conclude that one of the subjects debated in Coriolanus is the tragic genre itself.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Parker’s introduction, op. cit. (note 1 p. 204), p. 53.   D. J. Enright, Coriolanus. Tragedy or Debate ?, « Essays in Criticism », 4, 1954, pp. 1-19, 1. 3   Holstun, op. cit. (note 1 p. 206), p. 503. 4   Burke, op. cit. (note 2 p. 219), p. 92. 5   A. P. Rossiter, Angel with Horns. Fifteen Lectures on Shakespeare, edited by Graham Storey, London, Longman, 1961, p. 239. 6   Cf. the cautious wording of Norman A. Brittin on the last page of his : Coriolanus, Alceste, and Dramatic Genres, « pmla », 71, 1956, pp. 799-807. 7   Marx, op. cit. (note 1 p. 206), p. 86. 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

« A most strange story » (5.1.119) : 1 Circumscription in The Tempest  

 

 

 

Muriel Cunin «

M

y library / Was dukedom large enough » (1.2.109-110) says Prospero in the long scene of exposition of The Tempest, a line that must have echoed in Peter Greenaway’s literary mind when he shot his 1991 film, Prospero’s Books, in which pages are omnipresent – both thematically and visually – 2 while space actually becomes cine-theatrical but also pictorial through Greenaway’s constant use of frames, curtains and stages. The metatheatrical nature of the play is also highlighted in the film by the absolute domination of Prospero/Gielgud’s voice : sometimes he speaks the parts of the other characters entirely, at other times his voice is superimposed over theirs. Parts of the text also appear directly on screen as Prospero is writing them, using various calligraphies, for instance a chancery hand modified to look like Shakespeare’s own hand. Thus, Prospero is clearly presented as (literally) screenwriter, narrator, director and plotter of a spectacular film (or play) whose visual splendour constantly reminds us that Greenaway was first trained as a painter. Indeed, the camera’s eye becomes the painter’s eye to revive the visual conventions of ‘Renaissance painting’ and more particularly the importance of Albertian perspective. 3 What Greenaway seems to emphasize here is Prospero’s complex relation to circumscription, a term that, 1) etymologically designates the act of « writing around » (Oed) ; 2) evokes confinement and 3) is regarded by Alberti in his De pictura as the first stage of painting. He defines it as « [the] guiding [of] an outline with a line », 4 which makes circumscription the  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

 

  All references are to William Shakespeare : The Complete Works (Second Edition), edited by Stanley Wells, Gary Taylor, John Jowett, William Montgomery, Oxford University Press, The Oxford Shakespeare, 2005. 2   See Karine Bouchy, Repenser l’écriture manuscrite au cinéma, Prospero’s Books de Peter Greenaway, « Lignes de fuite », 2, June 2006, http ://www.lignes-de-fuite.net/article. php3 ?id_article=42. The film is composed of various episodes introduced by different books : The Book of the Earth, The Book of Love, The Book of Architecture and Other Music, The Book of Utopias, The Book of Mythologies, etc. 3   See Anne-Marie Constantini-Cornède, Pictorialité et pictorialisme dans Prospero’s Books de Peter Greenaway, « Études anglaises », ii, 55, 2002, pp. 157-166. 4   On Painting, translated and edited by John R. Spencer, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1970 (first printed 1956), p. 68.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

232 muriel cunin equivalent of the architectural disegno/lineamenta. 1 The delimitation of space implied by circumscription is reinforced by the presence of a frame or window, which clearly separates the istoria from the rest of nature :  

 

Here alone, leaving aside other things, I will tell what I do when I paint. First of all about where I draw. I inscribe a quadrangle of right angles, as large as I wish, which is considered to be an open window through which I see what I want to paint. 2  

In fact, Alberti’s window is part of an enclosing process 3 which cuts off the space of representation from the rest of the world. Filarete implicitly stresses the link between disegno and circumscription in his architectural treatise when he talks about what he calls « the site », a concept whose topographical implications are very reminiscent of the notion of « plot » :  

 

 

 

 

 

When you wish to build a building, it is necessary to prepare the things needed for its construction. When they are prepared the foundations are dug, and then arrangements are made for walling it up. We will do the same with this. As it is necessary to have a site in order to dig and to build the foundations, so we too will first make the site in which we wish to make our drawing. 4  

The word « frame » itself is polysemous, as Roy Eriksen has shown : 5 it refers to Alberti’s circumscription but « to frame » also means to compose (hence a link with plot/disegno) and to entrap. In The Tempest there is, indeed, a strong interaction between circumscription and all the abovementioned concepts.  

 

   

 

 

« ’Tis time / I should inform thee further » (1.2.22-23)  

 

As is well known, confinement is a major motif in the play, 6 whether it concerns Caliban (1.2.344-345 ; 1.2.363-364), Ariel (1.2.275-279 ; 1.2.294-295),  

 

 

1

2   See De re aedificatoria, i.1.   Leon Battista Alberti, op. cit., pp. 55-56.   La Peinture, translated and edited by Thomas Golsenne, Bertrand Prévost, revised by Yves Hersant, Paris, Le Seuil, 2004, pp. 23 and 323. 4   Filarete (Antonio Averlino), Treatise on Architecture, being the Treatise by Antonio di Piero Averlino Known as Filarete, translated and edited by John R. Spencer, New Haven, Conn., Yale University Press, 1965, p. 302. 5   Framing the Duchess : Webster and the Resources of Renaissance Art, « Nordlit », 1, 1997, pp. 3-22. 6   See for instance Ernest B. Gilman, ‘All eyes’ : Prospero’s Inverted Masque, « Renaissance Quarterly », ii, 33 (Summer 1980), pp. 214-230, 228. Evelyn B. Tribble, ‘The Dark Backward and Abysm of Time’ : The Tempest and Memory, « College Literature », i, 33 (Cognitive Shakespeare : Criticism and Theory in the Age of Neuroscience), Winter 2006, pp. 151-168, 153. The word « confined » is used repeatedly in the play. 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

233 circumscription in the tempest Ferdinand (1.2.441-442 ; 1.2.464 ; 1.2.493-496) or the king and his followers (5.1.7-9). 1 Prospero himself feels at times trapped in a mental prison, especially when he loses his self-control (4.1.143 ; 4.1.145) and feels his « beating mind » (4.1.163) « boiled within [his] skull » (5.1.60). In the epilogue he asks the audience to « release him » (9) from the playhouse where he is « confined » (4). This central motif is tightly linked with that of the eye, an organ that is repeatedly mentioned in the play. Both motifs are associated through the character of Prospero, the overseer and arch-plotter who seeks to circumscribe (that is limit, confine) virtually everything in the play. He seeks to circumscribe everybody’s sight (« the fringèd curtains of thine eye advance », 1.2.411 ; « no tongue, all eyes ! » (4.1.59) ; « be subject to / No sight but thine and mine, invisible/ To every eyeball else », 1.2.303305) and acts as a stage director from beginning to end : « the direful spectacle of the wreck » (1.2.26) is already « some vanity of [his] art » (4.1.41). Significantly, the word « perform » is almost always associated either with Ariel, his main actor (1.2.195, 239 ; 3.3.84 ; 4.1.36), or with himself (1.2.245 ; 3.1.96). To per-form is literally to give form to, which is also one of the meanings of the verb « to frame », as we have seen. The spectacle he offers (or imposes) is by his own admission a « direful » one (1.2.26) and reveals the potentially alienating and tyrannical character of the gaze. His is a scopic regime relying heavily on a complex « ocularcentric surveillance system » which seems to foreshadow Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon. 2 According to Etienne Poulard « [Prospero’s] obsession with visibility » and « his awareness that power has to be both ubiquitous and invisible to be effective makes The Tempest the great precursor to [Michel Foucault’s] Discipline and Punish ». 3 Consequently, Prospero also seeks to circumscribe the story (istoria) 4 and the plot as a whole : the words « story » and « tale » are almost systematically associated with him. Significantly, both terms are used as synonyms in the scene of exposition (1.2.106, 137, 140, 308) to reappear in the denouement, when he promises to tell « the story of [his] life »  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   Interestingly enough, Gonzalo’s honour « cannot/ Be measured or confined » (5.1.123124). 2   Etienne Poulard, Shakespeare’s Politics of Invisibility : Power and Ideology in The Tempest, « International Journal of Žižek Studies », iv, 1, 2010 3 http ://zizekstudies.org/index.php/ijzs/article/view/225, p. 3.   Ibid. 4   It may be worth remarking that the word « story » is etymologically linked to the word « stage », which comes from the old French « estage », that is « a story or floor of a building, stage for performance » (Oed).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

234 muriel cunin (5.1.308, 316) while assuring Sebastian and Antonio that he will « tell no tales » (5.1.131) about their plot against Alonso. He is the plotter, stage director and (invisible) overseer who goes as far as to try to circumscribe and shape the other characters’ feelings. As Evelyn B. Tribble shows, this is the ultimate meaning of his words to Miranda, « ’Tis time / I should inform thee further » (1.2.22-23), « ‘inform’ here clearly implying its root meaning of ‘shape’ or ‘imprint’ ». 1 Prospero wants his daughter’s mind to be a blank page/canvas on which he can « guide the outlines » (to paraphrase Alberti) of his own story. Hence his insistent demand throughout the scene that Miranda be attentive : she has to be cut off from the rest of her environment, as by a frame, so as to be receptive to her father’s story and to the single controlling perspective he wants to impose on her. The chess-playing scene (5.1) is the culmination of this process. The chessboard is like a diminutive version of Alberti’s technique to build space in a painting by throwing a chequered pavement into perspective 2 before placing characters on it. Ferdinand and Miranda become the two characters of Prospero’s istoria, momentarily framed in the discovery space by his single-point perspective. This tableau vivant is the climax of Prospero’s artistry, echoing the masque. But it is also fraught with anxiety : darker issues such as cheating are at stake (« you play me false », 5.1.174), turning the chessboard into an ambivalent symbol and suggesting that the young lovers’ idealized relationship might not stand the test of reality. 3 As such, the scene recalls the interruption of the masque more than the masque itself. Paradoxically, disillusion is brought about by the game. 4 This might be an echo of early modern England’s uneasiness about central perspective.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prospero’s Cell and Caliban’s Cave Indeed, early modern England was quite impervious to central, fixedpoint perspective. As Lucy Gent remarks, [it] implies an eye that while in the body also functions in some other immaterial way. The eye may be the agent of our fall into concupiscence, lust, and 1   Evelyn B. Tribble, art. cit., p. 158. Prospero also seeks to circumscribe everybody’s memory (especially in 1.2), more particularly Miranda’s, Ariel’s and, up to a certain point also that of Caliban, by « [figuring] himself as the sole retainer of the past » and establishing 2 « mnemonic rivalry », ibid. ww, p. 156.   De pictura, Book i. 3   See William Poole, False Play : Shakespeare and Chess, « Shakespeare Quarterly », i, 55, Spring 2004, pp. 50-70. 4   Margaret Jones-Davies, L’Échiquier et Médée : Deux Points de Controverse dans The Tempest, « Études Anglaises », iv, 46, 1993, pp. 447-451, 449.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

circumscription in the tempest

235

deception, but in the services of an architecture organized by number it may also be purged, made an airy spirit 1 receptive to rays of pure light. 2  

 

Central perspective offers an idealized vision of the world, 3 divorced from materiality and bodily reality, which Prospero reflects in the betrothal masque. But, Gent continues, « that such notions of the eye are fully congruent with the conditions of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century England may be doubted ». 4 There the materiality of the building and the fascination with surface come before rationalized sight. What Christy Anderson calls England’s « antiperspectival preference » 5 is well illustrated, according to her, by the exact opposite of Alberti’s window, viz the type of window used in country houses (e.g. at Haddon Hall) :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[G]laziers set the glass in diamond patterns to relieve the stress on the leads so that the weight of the glass would not distort the glass and weaken the window. It was a practical solution with extraordinary visual results. […] From the interior […] the view is transformed through the small diamonds of glass […]. The image is fractured and multiplied, there is not one view of the landscape but multiple, separate images. 6  

Hence early modern England’s taste for the disjunctive and for the multiplicity of viewpoints within the frame of a single work. 7 As Prospero’s manipulation of vision shows and as evidenced by his desire to confine most characters, there is a strong link between central perspective and political power. Prospero wants to be ‘the’ ruler and to regain absolute power while securing his « Royaltie of Sight ». 8 The interruption of the masque marks the failure of a very topical tentative absolutism :  

 

 

 

 

by the early 1650s the […] ‘natural’ claims of the sovereign to power have been replaced by a form of government conceived, like a design (or a plot), in the brain. 9  

This accounts for Prospero’s « beating mind » (4.1.163) when his apparently perfect plot is shattered, turning the masque into « a demonstration  

 

 

1

  Ariel is described in the dramatis personae with precisely the words « airy spirit ».   ‘The Rash Gazer’ : Economies of Vision in Britain, 1550-1660, in Albion’s Classicism. The Visual Arts in Britain, 1550-1660, edited by Lucy Gent, New Haven London, Yale University Press, 1995, p. 379. 3   Ernest B. Gilman, The Curious Perspective. Literary and Pictorial Wit in the Seventeenth Century, New Haven-London, Yale University Press, 1978. Hubert Damisch, L’origine de la 4 perspective, Paris, Flammarion, 1993 (first printed 1987).   Op. cit., p. 379. 5   The Secrets of Vision in Renaissance England, in The Treatise on Perspective : Published and Unpublished, edited by Lyle Massey, New Haven-London, Yale University Press, p. 325. 6 7   Ibid., p. 329.   Ibid. 8   Henry Wotton, The Elements of Architecture, London, 1624, stc 26011, p. 3. 9   Lucy Gent, art. cit., p. 389. 2

 

 

 

 

236 muriel cunin 1 of royal power which fails » while signalling the return of the repressed (Caliban, the body, materiality…), that is to say all the things of darkness which Prospero will have to acknowledge his. 2 But, as Evelyn B. Tribble suggests, it is also symptomatic of « a failure of mindfulness » : 3 Caliban’s plot poses no serious threat but Prospero’s oversight is a real problem (« it is the crisis of forgetting, not the crisis of the conspiracy itself, that agitates Prospero », she writes 4). His idealized mental construction 5 is disturbed by his own passion (« distemper’d », 4.1.145) and this, ironically enough, has a strong effect on his body. His plot, epitomized by the « grass-plot » (4.1.73) on which the masque is performed, is upset when he realizes that « the minute of [Caliban’s] plot / Is almost come » (4.1.141142). Thus, as Ernest B. Gilman sums it up, « plot displaces plot ». 6 This brutal interruption, is, however, prepared by a constant questioning of Prospero’s royalty of sight, more particularly by the grotesque figures. The diffraction of marginal voices and points of view defies Prospero’s circumscription. Even as he turns the island into a gigantic maze, his « oblique strategies » 7 almost backfire on him. Caliban momentarily escapes his control, striking Prospero himself with ‘amazement’. Prospero’s circumscribing mind is epitomized by the « grass-plot » of the masque and by the circle which he charms his enemies into entering (5.1.sd), a circle that is supposed to « cure [the] brains » (5.1.59). But this mind is at times closer to a maze than to a circle, as evidenced by his meandering speech in act 1 scene 2 when Prospero fails to circumscribe his own istoria, burdening his speech with digressions and interruptions and « accumulat[ing] clauses so haphazardly that [the sentence] never completes the anticipated subject – ‘my brother’ – with a verb » : 8  

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

1   Roy Eriksen, Masque Elements in Dr Faustus and The Tempest : Form and Function in the Literary Masque, in The Show Within : Dramatic and Other Insets. English Renaissance Drama (1550-1642), Proceedings of the international conference held in Montpellier, 22-25 Novembre 1990, edited by François Laroque, Montpellier, Université Paul-Valéry-Montpellier III, Centre d’études et de recherches élisabéthaines, 1992 (« Astraea », 4), p. 296. 2   See for instance Ernest B. Gilman, art. cit. ; Roy Eriksen, Masque Elements, cit. ; A. Lynne Magnusson, Interruption in The Tempest, « Shakespeare Quarterly », i, 37 (Spring 1986), pp. 52-65. 3 4   Art. cit., p. 161.   Ibid. 5   « If the play represents life or external reality as shapeless – or as indifferent to shape – yet it represents the human mind in opposition as shape-making and shape-needing », A. 6 Lynne Magnusson, art. cit., p. 57.   Art. cit., p. 216. 7   Sophie Chiari, L’art du détour selon Shakespeare : les déviations de Troilus and Cressida, d’Othello et de The Tempest, « Revue LISA/LISA e-journal », vi, 3, 2008, p. 182-197. http :// lisa.revues.org/393 8   A. Lynne Magnusson, art. cit., p. 56.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

circumscription in the tempest

237

My brother and thy uncle, call’d Antonio – I pray thee, mark me – that a brother should Be so perfidious ! – he whom next thyself Of all the world I loved and to him put The manage of my state ; as at that time Through all the signories it was the first And Prospero the prime duke, being so reputed In dignity, and for the liberal arts Without a parallel ; those being all my study, The government I cast upon my brother And to my state grew stranger, being transported And rapt in secret studies.  

 

 

(1.2.66-77)

Because the vitality of margins makes it very difficult to circumscribe them, Prospero’s perfect circle briefly becomes a bag of knots, a plot trod through more meanders than forth-rights. His central perspective is thus put into perspective. The struggle for circumscription revolves around the opposition between Prospero’s cell (1.2.20 ; 1.2.39 ; 4.1.161 ; 4.1.216 ; 5.1.168 ; 5.1.305) and the cave of Caliban (1.2.345). Whereas the latter is evocative of nature the former is evocative of intellect and art. This is perfectly illustrated in Greenaway’s film : the shot that shows Prospero in his cell is clearly based on Antonello da Messina’s St Jerome in His Study (c. 1460-75), where the book is placed at the centre of the composition. 1 The cell stands for Prospero’s mind ; it is the place where the story is circumscribed :  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sir, I invite your Highness and your train To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night ; which, part of it, I’ll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away : the story of my life…  

 

(5.1.304-308) 2  

It may be worth remarking that the word « cell » was already used by John Gower and John Lydgate (Oed) 3 about the « cell of the brain », i.e.,  

 

1

 

 

 

  http ://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/paintings/antonello-da-messina-saintjerome-in-his-study and http ://theredlist.fr/media/database/settings/cinema/1990-2000/prospero_s_book/016_prospero_s_book_theredlist.png 2   My emphasis. 3   « The imaginary cavities or compartments in that organ, formerly supposed to be the seats of particular mental faculties, or to serve as ‘pigeon-holes’ for the reception of knowledge ».  

 

 

 

238 muriel cunin the skull [about the « cells of the brain »]. The struggle here is between mind and mind :  

 

 

Shakespeare stages profound tensions between an individualist, faculty-based model of memory in which the mind is figured as a “cell” bounded by a monadic subject, and the constant threats to such order and control on the part of other minds. 1  

Significantly the entrance of the cell is associated with a mouth (« this is the mouth o’th’cell », 4.1.216), implying that words are a central stake. It is tempting to imagine Caliban’s cave as a version of the famous ogre (also known as the Mouth of Hell) of the Park of the Monsters (Parco dei Mostri) at Bomarzo. 2 Peter Greenaway’s vision of the cave looks close to this interpretation and stands in sharp contrast with his tribute to Antonello da Messina. 3 The insistence on the motif of the voice, in the grotesque vein, in act 2 scene 2 is a way to question Prospero’s dominant speech. The repetition of the phoneme [o] (56, 64) literally echoes the visual image of the mouth of the cave and Stephano’s « cellar […] in a rock by th’ sea-side » (133-134) is an anamorphic reflection of Prospero’s ‘cell’. 4 The opposition between the monster’s « backward voice » (91) uttering « foul speeches » (91) and his « forward voice » (90) also called « [the] other mouth » (94, 96) seems to be yet another way to reinforce the contrast between cave and cell. However, this schematic opposition is deceptive : obviously Caliban does have another mouth when he utters splendid verse (for instance 3.2.138-146) ; as for Prospero, is he not in danger of becoming a « backward voice » when he hurls abuse at his enemies ? His resentment leaves a bitter taste in his mouth especially where Antonio is concerned : « For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother / Would even infect my mouth… » (5.1.132-133).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Paradox of the Masque Inigo Jones used the Continental literature on perspective in his own practice, especially « demonstrations of perspective, such as the urban views by Hans Vredeman de Vries or the stage scenery of Serlio, as ex 

1

  Evelyn B. Tribble, art. cit., p. 155.   Interestingly an inscription around the mouth reads « Ogni pensiero vola [all reason departs] ». 3   http ://www.allcluesnosolutions.com/products_pictures/Prosperos_ Books_%28M%29.jpg and http ://images.allocine.fr/r_640_600/b_1_d6d6d6/medias/nmedia/18/65/31/27/18875934.jpg 4   My emphasis. As the Oed indicates, « cell » is a possible synonym of « cellar ». 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

239 circumscription in the tempest 1 empla for his masque designs ». At a masque, the throne is the one and only place from which the Royaltie of Sight is guaranteed :  

 

 

The Scene behind, seemed a vast sea (and united with this that flowed forth) from the termination or horizon of which (being the levell of the State, which was placed in the upper end of the hall) was drawne, by the lines of Prospective, the whole worke shooting downewards, from the eye… 2  

Only from the throne is the perspective correct while the King sits at the exact point in which all visual beams converge. Thus, « Jones transformed his reading [of treatises on perspective] into political drama, but one that operated through careful hierarchies and visual exclusion ». 3 The stage design for scene 2 of Prince Henry’s Barriers (1610) is the first extant perspective scenery in England : using Alberti’s technique of the chequered pavement, Jones drew on the floor a series of converging lines that meet in Saint George’s Portico, the central structure. 4 Circumscription (framing) plays an essential role in the new aesthetics introduced by Jones, as Stephen Orgel and Roy Strong remark :  

 

 

 

 

 

[The masques] represent a visual tradition new to England, one governed by the conventions of Renaissance painting in which the picture frame marked a boundary across which the eye travelled into a world governed by the rules of scientific perspective. 5  

Jones’ style was to evolve from the clumsy perspective of Prince Henry’s Barriers to the perfectly mastered technique of his drawings of the 1620s1630s. The introduction of the proscenium arch to England was the ultimate step in turning the English stage into a framed picture. The masque turned out to be an ambivalent construction : on the one hand, it was marked by the idealism of its official discourse – whose main symbol was central perspective, on the other hand it became more and more of a very material spectacle, which, as is well-known, was to be the main bone of contention between Inigo Jones and Ben Jonson, who loathed what he scornfully called the body of the masque. But Jones’  

1

  Christy Anderson, art. cit., p. 342.   Ben Jonson, The Masque of Blackness, in Works, edited by C. H. Herford, Percy Simpson, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1925-1952, vii, p. 171. 3   Christy Anderson, art. cit., p. 343. The Teatro Olimpico in Vicenza is, on the contrary, « an academy of social equals », where there exists no ideal point of view, only an imaginary one that has to be imagined by all : Stephen Orgel, Roy Strong, Inigo Jones. The Theatre of the Stuart Court, London, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1973, i, p. 7. 4   John Peacock, The Stage Designs of Inigo Jones. The European Context, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1995, p. 290. 5   Stephen Orgel, Roy Strong, op. cit., i, p. 37. 2

 

 

 

240 muriel cunin stage scenery also led to a confusion of forms typical of mannerism. While defending his status as an architect he insisted that his masques were pictures :  

lest I should be too long in the description of the frame, I will go to the picture itself ; and indeed these shows are nothing else but pictures with light and motion. 1  

 

As any form of scenic structure came to be replaced by shutters painted in perspective the evanescent character of the masque was reinforced. Circumscription itself seemed to be dissolved at the end of the performance when the characters left the stage – crossing the frame – to join the spectators for the final dance. Ben Jonson hoped to save the masques from oblivion thanks to his descriptions : « else the glorie of all these solemnities had perish’d like a blaze, and gone out, in the beholders eyes » – 2 and, we might add, would have « left not a rack behind »… But Jonson’s ekphrasis failed to capture the ephemeral – partly because as the quarrel with Jones grew increasingly acrimonious he became less and less keen on even ‘trying’ to describe the body of the masque, partly also because it is an impossible task. But is the soul of the masque anything without its body ? What remains of these spectacles now is necessarily incomplete because this body ‘cannot’ be circumscribed by words. The more the body of the masque asserts itself, the more intangible it becomes, so that the masque eventually appears as a paradoxical form whose essence is ‘precisely’ its evanescence. By definition, the dissolution of forms evades any form of circumscription.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the end of The Tempest Prospero makes all the characters of the play and all the threads of the plot converge to a single, fixed spot : first his magic circle and then his cell, where he intends to recount his plot and to tell his story. But even as he « figures himself as the sole retainer of the past […] and thus responsible for establishing the play’s controlling perspective » 3 his attempt at re-membering, 4 that is, at re-establishing form, 5 partly fails because memory cannot be contained or circumscribed. 6 It becomes, then, the reader/spectator’s task to put everything back in or 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Tempe Restored (1632), quoted in Stephen Orgel, Roy Strong, op. cit., ii, p. 480.   Hymenaei (1605-1606), in Works, op. cit., vii, p. 209. 3 4   Evelyn B. Tribble, art. cit., p. 156.   Ibid., p. 164. 5   A. Lynne Magnusson, art. cit. 6   Evelyn B. Tribble, art. cit., pp. 165-166. 2

241 circumscription in the tempest der and recreate his or her perspective, as is suggested in the E pilogue. As he loses control over the masque Prospero does not try to regain any form of power by attempting to recapture the essence of his creation. On the contrary, he renounces circumscription altogether : his evocation of the « revels » (4.1.148) never tries to be a description but remains deliberately hazy and vague. This may be the best possible form of (anti-) ekphrasis for the masque, a form of paradoxical circum-scription whose istoria is literally « rounded with a sleep » (4.1.158).  

 

 

 

 

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PETTER DASS IN A WIDER WORLD : RECONSIDERING THE SECOND CATECHISMAL HYMN ON THE LORD’S PRAYER, HERRE GUD ! DIT DYRE NAVN OG ÆRE  

 

Peter Young

T

hese remarks derive from work in progress on delineating a transnational cultural community in the North Sea countries in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. As a beginning, this article suggests a modified approach to the work of the Norwegian cleric and poet, Petter Dass (1647-1707), 1 within a cultural context wider than has generally been the case. I shall on the whole skirt discussion of the mythology surrounding the man and the work for which he is best known to the modern public, Nordlands Trompet (1696 ; pr. 1739), 2 which has become so integral a part of the cultural psyche of Norway, the North in particular. Rather less familiar are Dass’s devotional works, except for the much-loved hymn which is my subject here, though it is so in a form comprising only three of its sixteen stanzas. 3 For convenience, I shall call the full text the Second Catechismal Hymn, or simply the Hymn (Fig.  

 

 

 

1

  Petter Dass, Samlede verker, edited by Kjell Heggelund, Sverre Inge Apenes, 3 vols., Oslo, Gyldendal, 1980. This is the reliable textual source, with some glossing of regional usage. Dass, however, is in need of an updated commentary. References to Dass’ works are to this edition, unless stated otherwise. Dass’ date of birth, along with a good deal else, such as the accepted portrait, is debated in Kåre Hansen, Petter Dass : mennesket, makten og mytene, Sandnessjøen, Hansen, 2006. Iconoclastic and indignant in tone, this book by a local historian makes more accessible essential documentary and illustrative material. Its re-readings remain controversial, and there are curious omissions ; I found no mention of Thomas Kingo, for example, nor does he appear in the index. None the less, Hansen puts Dass in a persuasive local setting. 2   Hanne Lauvstad, Helicons Bierge og Helgelands schiær : Nordlands trompet tekst, repertoar og retorikk, Oslo, Universitet i Oslo, 2006. Lauvstad considers matters of emblem, decorum, informational purpose and regional awareness, as well as contemporary attitudes to Sami religion. 3   « HErre GUD ! Dit dyre Navn og Ære » : Petter Dass og barokken, edited by A. G. Lombnæs, Sigmund Ro, Kristiansand, University of Agder, 2000. Along with much else of interest, there is discussion of the reduction and alteration of Dass’s text in the modern Norwegian hymnal.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

244 peter young 7, p. 259). This is the second in a group of nine hymns, Katekismasangene, which received episcopal approval in 1698, but only published posthumously in 1715. 1 The Dass myth does stand in the critic’s way, however. Since Hans Midbøe’s 1947 book (still the place to start), close to the end of World War II and the laying waste of North Norway, each fifty-year cycle of Dass’s birth or death has brought its celebrations and reassessments, more or less modified by changes of taste and media attention. 2 Postage stamps have borne his (accepted) portrait, statues been unveiled and his old parish of Alstahaug enjoyed a sudden exposure to the limelight. Most recently, the tricentenary of his death in 2007 saw the opening (only a little late) of a fine Dass Museum in his old demesne. In keeping with the times, the iconoclasts were out in force to deny pretty well any cherished fact from date of birth, to mourning patches on fishermen’s sails, and the familiar portrait just mentioned, which like that of any seventeenthcentury Lutheran cleric’s has a production-line look about it as if faces had been left blank till occasion should present a new worthy. The most comprehensive of such revisions is Kåre Hansen’s indignant account of 2006, which is otherwise valuable for its collection and reproduction of largely inaccessible documents and material. 3 In the 1947 book referred to, Midbøe noted « a sense of loss » in Dass’s work4. The editors of the 1980 Samlede verker note, too, that he « lived in tension between being the king’s man and man of the people » and speculate on reasons for the delays in publication. 5 I suggest that there seem to be many other indications of division in what we know of the life and personality of Petter Dass. The barest discussion is appropriate here, but some account is necessary in the light of what I have to say about the Hymn’s levels of implication. One may start with Petter’s name, for it was acquired not through heredity but as a result of a familiar blend of bureaucracy and ignorance. Petter’s father, Peter Dundas, likely arrived in Bergen from Dundee sometime in the 1630s and was registered as a burgess of the city, seat of  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Samlede verke, cit., 2, pp. 131 ff.   These vary from the official and adulatory to the ahistorically outraged. Of the latter, a representative example is Rune Blix Hagen, Petter Dass : Nordlandspresten som diktet avmakt til folket, « Humanist », , Oslo, Human-etisk forbund, 1987, pp. 5-23. 3   See note 1 p. 243. 4   Hans Midbøe, Petter Dass, Oslo, Gyldendal, 1947, pp. 9ff. 5   Samlede verker, cit., 2, pp. 133 ff. 2

 

 

 

petter dass in a wider world 245 the Kontor, with the right to trade along the coast as far as Helgeland. 1 He is registered as Don Doss, in an early foreshadowing of Ellis Island, but seems to have preferred several spellings of Peter Petersen. We cannot know whether this was to attract less attention to his immigrant background, or to assert his adoption of Bergen and Norway on his advantageous marriage to the widow of the fogd, or bailiff, 2 of the place in which he was to settle and Petter was to be born. Peter Dundas died when Petter was six or seven, by which time it is reasonable to suppose that our future poet was exposed to (Scots ?) English, the local dialect and, as required for even the earliest learning and Luther’s Little Catechism, Danish. Such a sociolinguistic situation is suggestive. Whatever the case, there is enough to suppose that the emphatic persona that the public man projected has a link to the over-compensatory cultural assimilation associated with certain forms of expatriation and awareness of cultural estrangement. Added to this, following his mother’s remarriage and move north with her youngest son Benjamin, Petter was left in the care of an aunt whom folk memory depicts as dismissive and unfeeling. 3 Until he finished his education Petter Dass was dependent on the charity of others, and a sense of embarrassment or resentment of indebtedness seems to have afflicted him. It may also explain that in addition to his diligence as a priest, he was by all accounts also an acute, perhaps rapacious, merchant and property magnate. 4 These two aspects of his nature also reveal themselves in the efforts of his last years to ensure that his son Anders succeeded him as incumbent and heir. The impression is dynastic, with roots in cultural, social and familial uncertainty. Equally, such public actions may often be called for in creating and maintaining social status and identity, further concealing the man behind the mask. Petter Dass’s times were harsh. His life coincides almost exactly with that terrible period of the Little Ice Age known as the Maunder Minimum. The economic disaster of the Thirty Years War was followed by further war between Denmark and Sweden, and extreme weather  

 

 

 

 

1

  Hans Midbøe, Petter Dass, Oslo, Gyldendal, 1947, pp. 9ff.   Øystein Rian, Embetsstanden i dansketida, Oslo, Det Norske samlaget, 2003, offers useful analyses of the roles of civil servants in Denmark-Norway, the relation of church and state, and emerging national consciousness ; see for example pp. 61-65. 3   E.g. Midbøe, op. cit., p. 15 ; Hansen, op. cit., p. 34. 4   After 1660 and the fusion of the two kingdoms of Denmark and Norway, all appointments civil and church were centralised in Copenhagen. The conflicting impulses in this merging of the civil and ecclesiastical can be imagined and may account for the ambiguity of Dass’s image in some quarters today. This conflict of priest and king’s man has been widely noted as indeed by the editors of the collected works ; see note 1 above. 2

 

 

 

246 peter young bringing famine with it. Finland is said to have lost about a third of its population over the winter of 1696/7. 1 The religio-political scene was also uncompromising. The reformation in Denmark and Norway was, as Erik Sidenvall puts it, « orchestrated from above » when by 1537 the Danish crown had consolidated power by appointing a compliant episcopate and establishing the Confessio Augustana as law. 2 In Dass’s own day, following Frederick III’s union of the two kingdoms (eneveldet) in 1660, all official appointments including those in the Church were centralised in Copenhagen. 3 Church and state merged, and inevitably religious orthodoxy became indistinguishable from political orthodoxy. One did well to be careful. The loss of office was the loss of everything else. In Sweden, expatriation was added to the threat. 4 The Reformation, after all, and its conflation with royal power was just over a century old at Dass’s birth. Conformity was sensible in a hierarchy only too aware of the difficulty of controlling an officialdom spread throughout areas far more remote from the metropolitan centre than they now appear. The required learning of Luther’s Little Catechism had a secular as well as a spiritual purpose. Indeed, the gigantic figure of Luther has tended to obscure in popular thought that of his friend and colleague Philipp Melanchthon, the humanist scholar who longed to return to his study as Professor of Greek at Wittenberg. It was « Gentle Philipp » who drafted the Augustana and submitted it to Luther for approval. « Sweet Philipp » also insisted that Lutheran clergy should undergo a full humanist education. This was, it is true, to ensure a learned and informed interpre 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Knut Mykland, Gjennom nødsår og krig (1648-1720), volume 7 of Norges historie, edited by Knut Mykland, Cappelen, Oslo, 1977, gives an account of the harsh realities of life in the North following the end of the Thirty Years War and the death of Christian IV in 1648. The period of extreme climate, famine and social adjustment coincides almost exactly with Petter Dass’s life. The Swedes famously crossed the ice to invest Copenhagen in 1658 ; the 1690s were even more severe. Fishing was drastically reduced, crops failed and people died of hunger. The suffering was increased by epidemics, as well as failures in trade and cynical Bergen monopolies. Cf. e.g. Midbøe, op. cit., pp. 150ff., Mykland, op. cit., pp. 150ff., Hansen, op. cit., pp.148 ff. A further element discussed by Midbøe (pp.117 ff.) is that the end of the Thirty Years War with a victorious (Protestant) Christ brought to those so inclined confirmation that human suffering was punishment for sin. In the 1690s there was ample scope for a fundamentalist ‘orthodoxy’ from which Dass is not entirely free. 2   See Erik Sidenvall, A Classic Case of De-Christianisation ? Religious Change in Scandinavia c. 1750-2002, in Secularisation in the Christian World : Essays in Honour of Hugh McLeod, edited by Callum G. Brown, Michael Snape, Ashgate, Farnham, 2010, especially pp. 122-125. On Norwegian church history for the period, see for example Bernt T. Oftestad, Tarald Rasmussen, Jan Schumacher, Norsk kirkehistorie, Oslo, Universitetsforlaget, 2005, pp. 85-177. 3 4   Cf. Rian, op. cit.   Cf. Sidenvall, op. cit.  

 

 

petter dass in a wider world 247 tation of the Bible. Ironically, the provision ensured the possibility of distraction in the exhilarating world of the imagination revealed in the early modern age. There is a sense in which devotional poetry of the seventeenth century tries to bring about a reconciliation in this conflict of world and spirit in the self. With such pressures and ambiguities in mind, we may turn to the Second Hymn. We do not need a taste for conspiracy theories to see how a busy Bishop of Trondheim might have missed some of the subtleties of Dass’s work, or why a watchful censor might have suspected its orthodoxy. The delay in publication remains intriguing, for Petter had influential contacts, among them Petter Jesperson, to whom the Hymns are dedicated, Bergen schoolfellow and student friend who had risen to be royal chaplain. Then again, Christina of Sweden’s conversion to Rome and abdication in 1654 were of very recent memory. Current, was the scandal of her literary court of Arcadia at which was to be found the Fransciscan Francesco Negri (1623-1698) whose travels around Norway and Sweden and enjoyment of the hospitality of many of their rectories in the 1660s still arouse curiosity. 1 The whole matter must have become news again when Christina died and as only one of two women was buried in St Peter’s in 1689, the very year in which Dass at last gained advancement to his prosperous living of Alstahaug. Little of this can have been direct, but it illustrates some of the suspicions and tensions of the day. Then again, the reason may well be more mundane. Dass received his bishop’s imprimatur in 1698, the year before Thomas Kingo, Bishop of Odense, published the approved hymnal for the Danish Church, a forthcoming event of such importance as to have been known to senior members of the hierarchy. 2  

 

1   Negri’s trip to Scandinavia is intriguing and has long been mentioned as a curiosity of Norwegian travel writing. More recently, some account is to be had from Nathalie Hester, Literature and Identity in Italian Baroque Travel Writing, Ashgate, Burlington vt, 2008, who maps Negri’s itinerary (p. 131). A man of his time of transition, Negri sees himself as a representative of the new science, poet wanderer, self-conscious « Italian abroad ». Negri’s Viaggio settentrionale (1670) narrates his three-year travels of 1664-1666. 2   Kingo’s immensely influential Denmark’s and Norway’s Hymn Book of 1699 probably scotched Dass’s hopes for his own hymns. Kingo’s title page is a classic of the genre and is reproduced by Midbøe facing p. 112. The hymnal is shown descending directly from God through the heavens by cherubs to a modern pillared temple church. At one end a choir, choirmaster and musicians are singing. In the left foreground Christian V kneels among his royal emblems of crown and scepter, on the right kneels his heir, that year to succeed as Frederik IV, in military dress. Beneath this architecture of divine hierarchy, is depicted the earthly kingdom with a shining Copenhagen. A curious inclusion at the base of the square  

 

248 peter young A further clue to the Hymn’s concealed heart may lie in the baroque obsession with emblems, as Peter Zeeberg and others have pointed out, nowhere more so than in Denmark. 1 The most extravagant example is Tycho Brahe’s Uranienborg, not only decorated with emblems, but built as one. Its very name expresses the conjunction of the heavenly and the earthly. Henrik von Achen makes an equally persuasive case for the same enthusiasm in Norway. 2 More specifically, my suggestion is that Dass may have been acquainted with Benedict van Haeften’s hugely popular Schola Cordis (Antwerp, 1629) or its English version by Christopher Harvey of 1647, the year of Dass’s birth. In particular, its meditational The Ladder of the Heart, with its stepped stanzas ascending in contemplation from earth to heaven (Fig. 1). 3 A knowledge of the English metaphysical poets also seems likely, particularly George Herbert, as I hope will become apparent. Dass’s highly conscious attention to rhetorical conventions has also been documented by Laila Akselsen. 4 Unsurprising in a product of Bergen’s Latin School trained in back-and-forth translation of Latin verse who went on to study theology at Copenhagen. It seems odd that the embedded meaning of the second of the nine hymns devoted to the Lord’s Prayer has apparently escaped notice. On the face of it, of course, it appears as simply a didactic working of the sec 

 

 

 

chtonic pillar at the right bottom corner is the inscription « Ps. 146 ». The illusion could hardly be missed in a biblically aware age, for Psalm 146 is especially recalled by its third verse : « Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help ». It is good to remember that hymns and their music had the blessing of Luther himself : « singing hymns is good and acceptable to God ». Cf. Christopher Boyd Brown, Singing the Gospel : Lutheran Hymns and the Success of the Reformation, Cambridge, Mass. London, Harvard University Press, 2005. 1   Peter Zeeberg, The Inscriptions at Tycho Brahe’s Uraniborg, in A History of Nordic NeoLatin Literature, edited by Minne Skafte Jensen, Odense, Odense University Press, 1995, pp. 251-266. See also Inger Ekrem, Norway, ibidem, pp. 74-83, Vibeke Roggen, Intellectual Playword and picture : A study of Nils Thomassøn’s Latin rebus book Cestus Sapphicus, 2 vols, Dr. art. Thesis, Oslo, Faculty of Arts, University of Oslo, 2002. 2   Henrik Von Achen, Visions of the Invisible : Seventeenth- and Early Eighteenth- Century Emblems in Norway, « Glasgow Emblem Studies », 11, 2006. On the role of emblems in popular culture and piety, a useful English parallel is to be found in Tessa Watt, Cheap Print and Popular Piety 1550-1640, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1991. 3   An accessible, valuably informative source is Charles Moseley, A Century of Emblems : An Introductory Anthology, Aldershot, Scolar Press, 1989, pp. 284-312. Among many stimulating studies in the field, one or two stand out. For insights into structural strategies in Renaissance poetry, Alastair Fowler’s work is invaluable e.g. Triumphal Forms, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1970. Likewise for the emblematic habit of mind, see Michael Bath, Speaking Pictures, London-New York, New York University Press, 1994. 4   Laila Akselsen, Norsk barokk. Dorothe Engelbrettsen og Petter Dass :retorisk tradisjon, Oslo, Cappelen, 1997.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

petter dass in a wider world 249 ond invocation of the Lord’s Prayer, « Hallowed be Thy Name ». As the text passed on by Christ directly to the faithful, official scrutiny would be intense. Too much of the individual in a text for instruction in an atmosphere of increasing pietism and political watchfulness would be bound to attract notice. Nonetheless, the Prayer is at once collective and vocal, while as the Lord’s personal gift to each intensely private, a natural invitation to meditation. In keeping with this, the Hymn mixes linguistic registers, for example between the dialect names of fish familiar to the congregation and the more intellectual or theological. 1 The most immediate feature of the printed Hymn is the choice of a carefully numbered total of sixteen stanzas ; that is, two octaves each signifying harmony. Here these are of Creation and Heaven, para- Fig. 1. Christopher Harvey, Schola Cordis, London, 1647, p. 149. doxically opposed and One. Each octave is in turn composed of two sets of four ; the number of natural creation but also the base of the tetractys which culminates in the monad, the ascent from sublunary mutability to the superlunary divine. These structuring forces of number and emblem are worked with great care. First, however, some general account of the Hymn’s structural and thematic organization will be helpful. Most obviously, the immediate purpose is declared in the title : the second petition of The Lord’s Prayer,  

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Alfred Jakobsen, Norskhet i språket hos Petter Dass, 2 vols., Svorkmo, Forskningsrådet, 1952-1953, examines Dass’s vocabulary.

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Hallowed be thy name (Matt. 6 : 9-16 ; Luke 11 : 2-4). In the heading too is the information that Dass set his verses to his own music ; a tradition arising from the metrification of the Psalms, familiar in seventeenth-century Europe. (Appendix 1). That more is to be understood than the obviously didactic is signalled visually, for Dass shows that he is a man of his time in his consciousness of print. Emblem poems are, of course, ancient and were familiar from such texts as the Greek Anthology. However, the encouragement of print is marked in the typographical dependence of such famous examples as Herbert’s Easter Wings (Fig. 2). When Dass’s Fig. 2. George Herbert, The Temple. Sacred Po- Hymn was posthumously printed in 1715 from the text ems and Private Ejaculations, London, 1633, approved for publication in pp. 34-35. 1698, his intentions are clear in the setting in two parallel columns of eight numbered stanzas, the use of capitals for « HERRE », Lord, and « GUD » and the line arrangement of four tetrameters comprising two couplets rhyming AABB and concluding with a monometer in the initial rhyme A. To the initiate this description of a circle in the rhyme encompassing the chtonic quantity of four would be striking. Dr Johnson remarked in his life of Swift that in the late seventeenth century the English « were not yet a nation of readers ». However true, those who were readers were for the most part initiates who shared a common learning and a sharp eye for emblem and rebus. Following from this strategy of attracting reader attention, a further paradox is revealed. As a hymn with its own music, the emphasis is obviously on vocalization, whereas the versification, typographical and nu 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

petter dass in a wider world 251 merological organisation depend on the modern habit of silent reading. Now the primary form of reading, it was once so unusual that Augustine in the Confessions famously notes with wonder St Ambrose doing so. 1 In an early modern context, Dass’s Hymn signals a transition between the spoken mode of rhetoric and silent introspection as well as accommodation to printed publication. This distinction of the interface of spoken and written modes is simple but important. The first impression is that the Hymn is didactic, vocal and public. The mutable world of the first octave teems with life and the presence of the Creator. The incantatory fourth stanza, for example, begins in the very depths of Creation ascending from the most humble fish familiar to the congregation (in good years) to the noble dolphin of the closing line. It is a natural world as abundant as Yeats’ « mackerel-crowded seas », and the octave ends on the promise of a higher reward (Skal stige/ shall rise.), as the second, according to the rules of meditation as a series of steps or rungs of a ladder, begins the ascent from stanza 9’s recognition of human suffering and infirmity towards the bliss of becoming, At blive ! On the face of it, Petter Dass’s Hymn is straightforwardly one of praise as sanctioned by the Psalms, here 146 to 150, notably 148. As familiar, is the direct reference to Isaiah : 40 which occurs crucially in stanza 8. This movement from praise to prophecy serves to make plain the Hymn’s typological terms of reference, figuring as it does the movement in The Book of Isaiah from suffering mortality to the promise of salvation. Whether or not this was seen by Dass’s superiors as a parish priest straying from didactic duty into matters of theology must remain speculation, which the Hymn’s chequered history over three centuries does nothing to allay. The key stanzas 1, 8 and 16 provide useful examples (Fig. 3) :  

 

 

 

 

 

Fig. 3. Petter Dass, HErre GUD! Dit dyre Navn og Ære, Samlede verke, 2, 131ff. 1   On the profound effects of silent reading, see for example Paul Saenger, Space Between Words : The Origins of Silent Reading, Stanford, Calif., Stanford University Press, 1997. Elspeth Jajdelska, Silent Reading and the Birth of the Narrator, Toronto-Buffalo-London, To 

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The Hymn as a whole is framed by the first and final stanzas which stand out from the rest in « perfect circles », signalled by the double lexical and prosodic link of the first rhyme and the emphatic monometer, ære (honour, praise) in st.1, and bliver (modern blir, become) in st.16. The transition is from praise on Earth ascending in the second octave to inclusion in the divine, a commonplace of Christian neoplatonic thought. Further, the transition from the first to the second octave is signalled in stanza 8, again in a cyclic structure. This time, however, the circle is imperfect, the link of first line and refrain being limited to the artifice of rhyme and an antithesis. More, vige (waver, yield, give way, depart) of its first line indicates human imperfection, while stige (climb ; ladder) indicates the possibility of salvation and escape from the mutabilty and extinction emphasised throughout. As the final word of the octave, the prominence of ascent is even more obvious. It also marks a change in tone in the second octave, which moves from collective worship to something profoundly personal, a craving for reassurance in an acute consciousness of mortality. Stanza 10 and stanza 13 are the only ones in which the invocations « Herre » (Lord) or « Gud » do not occur. In stanza 10, indeed, the first person is used, while stanza 13 is a personal intercession for the priest’s flock. These choices seem clearly marked and emphasise the essentially Protestant temper of the second octave in the direct relation of the individual and God. They also serve to remind the poet that elevated by priesthood though he may be, he is no different than his flock in the hope of bliss. Further, the traditional significance of the number 10 includes that it is composed of the number of Creation (7) and that of the Trinity (3), 13 in turn offers 10+3. Whether Dass intends to reinforce the primacy of the second octave by marking of this kind is impossible to state with certainty. However, religious lyrics of the seventeenth century offer numerous equally arcane examples. Indeed a case has been made for a 4 :3 element in one of Thomas Kingo’s Danish hymns. 1 A closer look at stanza structure also reveals careful patterning of form and thought. First, the metre is the most familiar for hymnodists, (iam 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ronto University Press, 2007. C. S. Lewis, The Allegory of Love : A Study in Medieval Tradition, Oxford-New York, 1936 [1958], remarking on the same famous event also notes Augustine’s ‘climbing’ in meditation pp. 64-65. 1   Rolf Gaasland, Formens Optimisme : analyse av Thomas Kingos ‘Hver Har Sin Skæbne’, Festschrift til Nils Magne Knutsen, Tromsø, University of Tromsø, 2003 (« Nordlit », 13), pp. 313-324.  

 

 

 

petter dass in a wider world 253 bic) tetrameter. The number 4 is repeated in the four-line body of the stanza, which is in turn divided into rhyming couplets (aabb) which clearly continue the significance of 4 through- Fig. 4. Richard Crashaw, Steps to the Temple, London, 1646, enlarged 1648. out. The transition to the monometer of the refrain-like final line, supplies 1, establishing the 2 :1 commonplace of the octave. Further, the movement from the 4 of the main body to the 1 of the refrain evokes the tetraclys, the movement from the chtonic 4 to the divine monad. Parallels are numerous, the most familiar perhaps being metaphysical emblematic poems such as Donne’s The Relic, or more immediately visually striking examples of the emblem poem such as Herbert’s Easter Wings. At Copenhagen, Dass may also have come across German emblem poems such as those discussed by Peter Daly. 2 The case for Herbert’s influence is strengthened by Dass’s stanza structure, and by the theme of fall and ascent. A possible source already suggested above is Christopher Harvey’s Englished version of Benedict van Haetner’s Schola Cordis (1647 ; 1629) which contains the stepped stanzas of The Ladder of the Heart. (Norwegian stige as noun = ladder) in the tradition of seeing ascending steps as stages of religious meditation. 3 Harvey also imitates the upper ‘descending’ halves of Herbert’s stanzas for Easter Wings (Figs. 1, 2, and 4). If Dass knew English and English books, as I think he might since his father was alive during the vital early years and he is said to have lodged with his Scottish maternal aunt during his Bergen schooling, the connections are persuasive. Ultimately, of course, devotional poets have the divinely sanctioned model of the Psalms. All the same, it is difficult to think of an English poet of the age easier for Dass to identify with than Herbert, especially 1

 

 

 

 

 

1

  See for example, Enid Hamer, The Metres of English Poetry, London, Methuen, 1930 [1969], pp. 149-185. 2   Peter M. Daly, Literature in the Light of the Emblem. Structural Parallels between the Emblem and Literature in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, Toronto, Toronto University Press, 1979. 3   Moseley, op. cit. The tradition is familiar since Augustine, indeed Luther uses it. See for example Henry Chadwick, Augustine : A Very Short Introduction, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1986 [2001], p. 53 . Anthony Low, Love’s Architecture. Devotional Modes in SeventeenthCentury English Poetry, New York, New York University Press, 1978. Louis Martz, The Poetry of Meditation, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1954 [1978].  

254 peter young if these suggestions for a new reading of the Second Hymn have merit. The complex interplay of prosody, number and emblem is for Dass, as for Herbert, the private prayer within the public utterance. What then may we conclude ? A personality in conflict certainly. Perhaps, too, Dass’s ‘immigrant’ origins and precarious youth, the anxiety to ensure his son’s succession to his living and estate, as well as his exaggerated self-projection as the vox populi and self-conscious North Norwegian identity of such secular informational work as the Trompet, speak of deracination or common processes of acculturation. It is unlikely that Dass would have been aware of any such thing. Even in our own age when displacement is on a scale previously unimaginable, such self-knowledge would be unusual. Dass’s tragedy is that he was born a poet when neither accident of birth nor the social and historical realities of his time would allow it. His Second Hymn seems to me a document of his dilemma, the reconciliation through art of the private man, the dutiful public servant, and priest. Outwardly the Hymn is didactic as prescribed, the poem hidden within offers the initiate a meditational model for spiritual ascent. 1 Such a reading of the Second Hymn as encoded reconciliation offers a very different perspective to the popular image. A contradictory figure in a contradictory age of change, Dass seems to have sought for a place in a wider cultural context. His admiration for the immense published success of his fellow Bergen hymnist Dorothe Engelbretsdatter is attested. There was too the model of Kingo’s Danish hymnal referred to above. Kingo, like Dass of Scots immigrant descent, contributed almost a third of the three hundred or so hymns himself. Perhaps the oddest of role models, though, is the Danish poet Anders Bording (1619-1677) whose verse newspaper, Den Danske Mercurius, appeared monthly from August 1666 until May 1667 at the beginning of Petter Dass’s days as a student at the University of Copenhagen. 2 This use of verse as a public medium, with its combination of the informational and authorative, seems sympathetic to the more extrovert side of Dass’s nature, and is a likely impulse to the writing of Nordlands Trompet. What emerges is a Petter Dass who sees himself and the coast of West Norway along which he sailed and traded as part of a wider intellectual community, particularly that connecting the Protestant countries bor 

 

 

1   Cf. Hans Dieter Betz, The Sermon on the Mount, including the Sermon on the Plain, Minneapolis, Augsburg Fortress Press, 1995, pp. 373-374. I am grateful to my colleague Tor Vegge 2 for this source.   Midbøe, op. cit., pp. 24-26, 41-42, 85-86 ; passim.  

petter dass in a wider world 255 dering the international highway of the North Sea. Hansa Bergen, the base of his education, family and business was a highly cosmopolitan place. Again, his fellow clergy in the region and civil servants (frequently German as well as Danish) made up a highly educated elite. Visitors such as Negri added to the milieu now and again, as did talented observers like Hans Lilienskiold, government official in Finnmark, with his Speculum boreale (1701). 1 Among others of Dass’s contemporaries who may be mentioned, is the Icelander and Copenhagen graduate Tormod Torfæus (1637-1719), credited with the first modern history of Norway to emphasise a distinct Norwegian cultural identity. 2 Torfæus in his turn is generous in his acknowledgement of his debt to the Cambridge linguist Robert Sheringham (1602-1678) who spent the years from 1644-1660 in which he was turned out of his fellowship teaching Hebrew and Arabic on the continent, mainly in Rotterdam. Largely forgotten, now dismissed by historians as « credulous », his history of the English language and people was published in 1670. 3 But as other than history, Sheringham’s work was understood by many such as Torfæus as expressing a new sense of regional uniqueness. All this gains perspective if we are reminded, for example, that Newton, seen as unimpeachably modern and who produced some work that was nothing of the kind, was the almost exact contemporary of Petter Dass. None the less, as a man and poet, Dass deserves to be set in a wider historical and literary context than is generally allowed ; none of which is to diminish his status in Norwegian cultural consciousness. Like all myths, Dass’s is likely to be greater than the sum of his life. Indeed, without the popular appeal of that myth and its adaptability in the course of Norway’s re-emergent nationhood the man and his work are likely to have been forgotten. However deserved the reputation of his public verse may be, it has prevented a clear view of his religious verse. Added to this, is the general change of taste since Dass’s day. Dr Johnson declared the death of the devotional genre in his life of Cowley towards the end of the eighteenth century, and the distance has widened with increasing speed ever since. There would seem to be a further aspect of Dass’s work which may be due for reconsideration : his relation to Norwegian baroque. Normally bracketed with figures such as Dorothe Engelbretsdatter, Nils  

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  See for example Jahn Holljen Thon, Talende linjer. Lærde illustrerte bøker 1625-1775, Oslo, Novus, 2011, pp. 93-167. 2   Tormod Torfæus, Historia rerum Norvegicarum, a translation edited by Torgrim Titles3 tad, 4 vols., Bergen, Eide, 2008.   dnb entry.

256 peter young Thomssøn, Knut Sevaldsen Bang and others, 1 the convention works well enough most of the time. However, on closer examination he seems to differ in important ways, not least in the kind of craftsmanship to which the Second Hymn attests. I have in mind here something other than the rhetorical artistry that makes the informational drive and clangour of Nordlands Trompet as effective and popular as it is. In the Hymn though, as suggested above, there is a manner of mind and emotion in equilibrium reminiscent of such as Donne and Herbert. The point may become clearer in a comparison with another seventeenth-century English poet, Richard Crashaw (1612 ?-1649). Included in anthologies of metaphysical poetry from Helen Gardner’s influential Penguin edition of 1957, Crashaw has none the less seemed untypical to many in spite of the homage to Herbert expressed in the here especially relevant title of his The Steps to the Temple (1646 ; enlarged 1648). The reasons for this critical unease are notably vague, even equivocal, such as that his work is ‘un-English’ or closer to continental forms of baroque. But it is true that Crashaw’s characteristic exuberance and preference for evocative sensation rather than silent meditation distinguish him from most of his contemporary English devotional poets. A parallel of temperament shows itself elsewhere in representatives of the baroque in Norway in the Latin rebuses of Nils Thomassøn’s Cestus sapphicus (1661) and the work of his nephew and engraver Knut Sevaldsøn Bang. Bang’s catechism distributed to the households of his parish of Toten in 1681 has a titlepage engraved by himself (Fig. 5). This depicts a Christ whose swollen breasts discharge milk into a large pot at which the faithful are shown feeding. The carefully arranged subtitle reads in literal translation : « The sweet and delicious Catechismal breastmilk, issued from the two breasts of God’s love, the Old and New Testaments ». The allusion is to Luke 11 :27, which is also the source of one of the favourite examples cited by those who find Crashaw little to their taste (Fig. 6). 2 The comparison is further strengthened if one allows that titlepages and frontispieces are parts of a network of relations within what amounts to a literary genre of the emblem.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1

  Engelbretsdatter (1634-1716), Norway’s first published woman writer, enjoyed a popularity (now less obvious) much envied by Dass : Dorothe Engelbretsdatter : Samlede skrifter, edited by Kristen Valkner, Oslo, Aschehoug, 1955 [1956, 1999]. A study of her Norwegian offers interesting parallels to Dass’s in terms of use of dialect and standard Danish. Egil Pettersen, Norskhet I språket hos Dorothe Engelbretsdatter , Bergen, Beyer, 1957. 2   The relevant image from Luke 11 :27 reads in the AV « Blessed is the womb that bare thee, and the paps which thou hast sucked ».  

 

 

 

 

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257

Fig. 5. Hans Sevaldsen Bang, Den Søde Catechismi Bystmelk Uddragen aff de tvende Guds Kierligheds Byrste Det Gamle oc det nye Testamente, Kiøbenhafn, 1681.

The comparison is striking despite the fact that time has rendered both quotations odd, even absurd. The metaphysical intention of Crashaw’s conceit is clear enough, however, as is the shared extravagance of the two examples. Both clearly differ in tone, depth of execution and sensibility from Dass’s Second Hymn. It is as well to recall that the poets commonly grouped as English metaphysicals were not always well regarded or understood until moderns such as T. S. Eliot championed them. Certainly as late as the 1960s, the form in which students came across Herbert’s work as a whole was in the Oxford World Classics volume based on Grosart’s nineteenth-century edition and still containing an introduction by Arthur Waugh first published in 1907. 1 Praise is for the poet’s Anglicanism and its « sweet reasonableness and moderation » and freedom from « those kinds of enthusi 

 

 

1

 

  George Herbert, The Poems of George Herbert, introduced by Arthur Waugh, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1907 [1958].

258

peter young

asm which are congenitally foreign to the English character ». To Waugh Herbert’s poems « have their mannerisms, of course, many of the foibles of their day ; such as the strange devices of arrangement and type ; such too as the occasionally tortured and “conceited” Fig. 6. Christopher Harvey, Schola Cordis, phraseology ». WrongheadLondon, 1647. ed as this now seems, it is a reminder of earlier tastes before the revaluations of the early twentieth century. 1 Any direct influence on Petter Dass from English seventeenth-century verse cannot be certain. However, his likely exposure to bilingual and bicultural models during the formative years of childhood and education is suggestive, as is the contrast to baroque contemporaries outlined above. Far more important than any ‘influence’, however, is the re-establishment of the Hymn as a complete poem and its recognition as the original work of art that it is. What should be clear is that Petter Dass deserves better from his critics than portrayal in his variously assigned roles as regional bard, ploughman poet, eccentric squire or brimstone minister. The Second Hymn has been chosen for discussion here in no small part for its prominence and popularity in its homeland. One of nine in its group, it is part of a far larger body of work which promises to confirm Petter Dass as a cosmopolitan participant in a major endeavour in European poetry of the seventeenth century.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

1   The notion that remote places in Norway were necessarily devoid of cultural contact is modified by research into book auctions in the latter half of the eighteenth century : Lis Byberg, Bøker for bymann og bonde. Bokauksjon : norsk litterær offentlighet 1750-1815, Dr. art. Thesis, Oslo, University of Oslo, 2007. Almost a century after Dass Johnson and Boswell were to classify places they visited according to books at hand in their tour to the Western Isles.  

 

petter dass in a wider world

Fig. 7. Petter Dass, Samlede verker, vol. 2, pp. 131 ff.

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INDEX OF NAMES

Aachen, Henrik von, 248.

Adriaen, Marcus, 95, 114. Akselsen, Laila, 248. Alberti, Leon Battista, 13, 16, 215, 23132, 234, 235, 239. Alexander, John Patrick, 36, 39, 56. Alexander, the Great, 39. Alsop, Bernard, 164-166. Amynomachus, 36. Ambrose, St., Bishop of Milan, 251. Andreas of Crete ,74. Andronikos, 78. Antiphon, 176. Antisthenes, 44. Antonello da Messina, 237-238. Arrianus, Flavius, 46. Aristotle, 35-36, 38-40, 42, 44-47, 59, 173177, 181, 205, 207, 209, 211-212, 216. Athanatius, 105. Augustine, St., 79, 87, 90-93, 106-108, 113-114, 251-253.

Bang, Knut Sevaldsen, 256.

Bartnæs, Morten, 7, 14, 16, 203-229. Basil I, East Roman Emperor, 75. Barzizza, Gasparino, 174. Benthan, Jeremy, 233. Blumenberg, Hans, 205, 216. Bording, Anders, 254. Bradley, A. C., 203. Brahe, Tycho, 248. Brazil family, 125-128, 141, 152. Breugel, 190. Brockbank, Philip, 211, 214. Brooke, Tucker, 210-211. Brown, Anna Gordon, 131-133, 135, 152-153. Buchan, David, 131, 153.

Budé, Guillaume, 155. Bultmann, Rudolf, 47. Busleyden, Jerome, 155, 162.

Calvin, Jean, 196. Campion, Edmund, 197. Cancik, Hubert, 43, 45. Cartiér, Jacques, 197. Catullus, 208. Causabon, Isaac, 10. Cave, Terrence, 156, 160-162. Cecil, William, 58-59, 161. Chapman, George, 228. Chautemps, Maurice, 205. Christina, Queen of Sweden, 247. Chrysippus, 45. Cicero, Marcus Tulliu,s 40, 174, 205. Cope, Edward M., 208. Constantine, the Great, 10, 65, 70, 71, 74. Constantine VII, East Roman Emperor, 73. Cowley, Samuel, 255. Crashaw, Richard, 253, 256-257. Crates, 44, 48. Creede, Thomas, 164-165. Cunin, Muriel, 7, 13-14, 16, 231-241. Curtius, Ernst, 174. Daly, Peter. 253.

Danson, Lawrence. 203, 206. Dass, Petter. 7, 14, 242. Davis, Doris. 126-127. Demosthenes, 35. Deloney, Thomas, 18. Demetrius Falerius, 74-74, 207. Demetrius, the Cynic, 40. Demetrius Lacon, 37.

262

index of names

Desportes, Philippe, 207. Derolez, 90, 95, 114. Diogenes Laertius, 35-37, 44-45, 47-48. Donatus, 88. Donne, John, 253, 256.

Eliot, T. S. 257. Engelbrtsdatter, Dorothe, 254. Ennius, 222. Erasmus, Desiderius, 10, 155, 157, 162. Epicurus, 35-36, 43, 45. Epictetus, 40, 46. Eriksen, Roy, 7, 9-16, 171-69, 232, 236. Euripides, 49. Eusebius, Bishop of Caesarea, 65. Fabre, Émile, 205. Florio, John, 197, 214. Foucault, Michel, 233. Fraunce, Abraham, 176, 197. Fredrick II, King of Denmark and Norway, 246. Freud, Sigmund, 16. Gamble, Harry Y., 49.

Gardener, Helen, 256. Gazdar, Gerald, 172. Gent, Lucy, 234-235. George, David, 210. Gielgud, John, 231. Gilbert of Poitiers, 98-100, 115. Gillis, Pieter, 155, 162, 164-165. Gilman, Ernst B., 232, 235-236. Gjerløw, Lili, 17, 84, 89, 115-117. Gomme, Andor Harvey, 211. Gorgias, 176. Gower, John, 237. Granville-Barker, Harley, 203-204, 218, 221, 221. Gregory, the Great, 84, 87, 90, 95-96, 107, 110, 113-14, 118. Greenaway, Peter, 231, 237-238.

Gunnarsdottir, Ingierd, 135, 147, 152. Gutenberg, Johannes, 121, 152.

Haetner, Benedict van, 248, 253.

Hall, John, 194, 198-199. Hansen, Kåre, 243-246. Harvey, Christopher, 248-249, 253, 258. Haugen, Odd Einar, 114-115. Hays, Richard B., 51-52, 59. Hayles, N. Katherine, 9. Heraclius, East Roman Emperor, 75. Herbert, George, 248, 250, 253, 256257. Hermes Trismegistos, 10, 216. Hermarchus, 36. Herodotos, 35. Hohler, Christopher, 88-89, 116. Home, Henry, Lord Kames, 225. Homer, 35, 49-50, 60, 228. Hook, LaRue van, 208-209. Hooper, John, Bishop of Gloucester, 195-197, 201. Hulse, Clarke, 166, 168. Hunt, Maurice, 203, 205. Håkon V Magnusson, King of Norway, 114.

Isodor of Seville, 84, 87, 101-102, 106, 109, 113-114, 117. Isocrates, 35, 49.

Jensdatter, Sidsel of

Gjellerup, 129-

130, 133, 143, 152. John V, East Roman Emperor, 78. John VII, East Roman Emperor, 7879. John, St., 92. Johnson, Samuel, 255. Jones, Inigo, 238-239. Jonson, Ben, 238-240. Julius Caesar, 37.

index of names Justinian, East Roman Emperor, 72, 76, 77-78. Justnes, Årstein, 7, 11, 16, 19, 20, 22, 24, 26, 28, 30, 52.

Karlsen, Espen, 7, 11-12, 16, 83-119.

Kassia, the Nun, 66. Kennedy, George A., 57, 174, 176, Ker, N. R., 90, 117. Kingo, Thomas, Bishop of Odense, 247, 252, 254. Kingsley-Smith, Jane, 194. Koch, Dietrich-Alex, 51. Kleanthes, 44. Krajewski, Bruce, 216.

Lange, L., 174. Leo VI, the Wise, East Roman Emperor, 72. Lietbert of Saint-Ruf, 111-113. Longinus 207-208, 228. Lucian of Samosata, 44. Luther, Martin, 10, 244-246, 248, 258. Lyco, 39. Lydgate, John, 237. Lyly, John, 17. Lynch, John Patrick, 39. Lysias, 35. Malherbe, François de, 207.

Manuel II, East Roman Emperor, 76. Marlowe, Christopher, 14, 16-17, 170188. Marx, Steven, 206, 230. Masai, Francois, 95, 117. Maurice, East Roman Emperor, 72 Melanchton, Philipp, 246. McKenzie, D. F., 156. Melantes, 36. Menander, 49-50. Michael III, Emperor, 75. Midbøe, Hans, 244-247, 254.

263

Migne, J.-P., 92, 94, 103, 106, 117. Mirollo, James, 174. More, Cresacre, 165-166. More, Sir Thomas, 22-23, 132, 155-156, 160, 164-166, 169, 217, 247-248, 252.

Nashe, Thomas, 17. Negri, Francesco, 247, 255. Neleus, 36. Nicanor, 36. Ommundsen, Åslaug, 111, 116. Orgel, Stephen, 239-240. Pancreon, 36. Parker, R. B., 204, 210-211, 218, 222-223, 227, 229-230. Paster, Gail Kern, 209. Paul, the Apostle, 7, 18, 21, 32-61. Petrus Comestor, 114. Pettitt, Tom, 7, 11-13, 17, 121-153, 188. Philodemus of Gadara, 37-38, 53. Photios, Patriarch of Constantinople, 75. Piso, 37-38, 53. Plato, 35, 42, 45, 48. Plutarch, 16, 39-40, 57, 210, 215, 218221, 223, 227. Porter, Stanley E., 50, 52-53, 59-60. Pricoco, Salvatore 110, 117. Poulard, Étienne, 233. Pseudo Daniel, 24. Pseudo Ezekiel, 24. Pseudo Jeremiah, 24. Quintilian, 35, 40, 57, 209, 215, 218. Raasted, Jørgen, 97, 117.

Rhabanus Maurus, 95, 97. Richard II, King of England, 7, 13, 171, 191-201. Ripa, Cesare, 216. Robertus de Tumbalena, 84, 106, 108.

264

index of names

Robinson, Ralph ,155, 158-64, 166, 169. Romanos Melodos, 64-66, 76-78, 80. Rosweide, Heribert, 92-94, 103, 106, 117. Rowley, Samuel, 181-182, 188-89. Rubin, David C., 122. Rufinus of Aquileia, 97-98, 111, 113, 118.

Saint-Ruf of Avignon, 111.

Thomas, Peter 18. Thomssøn, Nils, 256. Timocrates, 36. Timothy 34, 49, 56, 59. Titus Tatius, 222. Torfaeus, Tormod, 255. Traversi, Derek, 207, 209, 212. Tribble, Evelyne B., 232, 234, 236, 238, 240. Turner, William, 190. Tveitane, Mattias, 114, 118. Tytler, Alexander Fraser, 132-133.

Scaliger, Julius Caesar, 174, 178, 228. Schjoldager, 84, 118. Schwartz, Regina, 195. Seneca, 40. Shakespeare, William, 13-14, 17, 124, 139, 153, 171, 191, 198-199, 201, 203205, 209, 214, 225. Sheringham, Robert, 255. Sidenvall, Erik, 246. Sidney, Sir Phillip, 208. Sivefors, Per, 7, 17. Sophocles, 208. Spanos, Apostolos, 7, 11-12, 18, 63-81. Speroni, Sperone, 173. Stanley, Christopger D., 50. Steinthal, H., 175. Sterrett, Joseph, 11, 17-18, 191-219. Stowers, Stanley K., 47-48. Strabo, 38-40, 57. Straton, 36. Strong, Roy, 239-240. Sydow, Carl von, 139.

Waugh, Arthur, 257-58. Wellendorf, Jonas, 114, 118. Werth, Paul, 172. Willems, Radbodus, 92, 118. Wilmart, A., 111, 118. Wilson, Richard, 191. Wilson Knight, George, 203-204, 206. Wilson, Sir Thomas, 215. Wolf, Kirsten, 114, 118.

Tang Kristensen, Ewald, 129-130,143,

Young, Peter, 9-15, 18, 243-259.

152. Tasso, Torquato, 16, 211, 215, 307. Theodoricus Monachus, 86, 90, 97, 116. Theon of Alexandria, 35. Theophrastus 35-40, 174.

Ulrich,

Eugene, 19-21, 24-25, 27-29, 41, 53, 59, 61. Unger, C. R., 114, 118.

Valla, Lorenzo, 10, 11. Vegge, Tor ,7, 11-12, 16, 18, 32-61. Vele, Abraham, 126, 158, 163. Vries, Hans Vredeman de, 238.

Zaerr, Linda, 122-123, 153. Zahn, Molly, 25-27, 30. Zenon of Sidon, 37, 43. Zeeberg, Peter, 248. Xenophos, 43-44.

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EA R LY M O D E R N A N D M OD E RN S T UD IE S a se rie s dire cte d b y roy erik sen 1. Ashes to Ashes. Art in Rome between Humanism and Maniera, edited by Roy Eriksen and Victor Plathe Tschudi, 2006. 2. Urban preoccupations, edited by Per Sivefors, 2007. 3. Imitation, Representation and Printing in the Italian Renaissance, edited by Magne Malmanger and Roy Eriksen, 2009. 4. Serafino Della Salandra, Adamo caduto, revisione, saggio, traduzioni e note a cura di Flavio Giacomantonio, 2009. 5. The Formation of the Genera in Early Modern Culture, edited by Clare Lapraik Guest, 2009. 6. John Milton, Il Paradiso perduto, a cura di Flavio Giacomantonio, con un saggio di Vittorio Gabrieli, 2009. 7. Il Paradise Lost di John Milton e il tema della caduta nella tradizione letteraria italiana: da Giambattista Andreini a Serafino della Salandra, Atti Milton Conference, Matera, 10-11 novembre 2006, a cura di Flavio Giacomantonio, 2009. 8. Urban Encounters. Experience and Representation in the Early Modern City, edited by Per Sivefors, 2013. 9. Approaches to the text: from Pre-Gospel to Post-Baroque, edited by Roy Eriksen and Peter Young, 2014.